Tag Archives: personal

Letty, it will be okay.

Posted on by

4

Letty did not want to leave my friend’s house today. It broke her heart to leave as we had been there all weekend. She cried in the car for much of the way home. It was a long two and a half hours home. It’s still disconcerting to have the awareness that there is a part of me that was upset with leaving, and another part that was very calm about it.

Honestly, it’s incredibly difficult to write about the inner details of my DID. This is why I write less than I used to a year ago, or at least that’s my theory.

I know I should write more, think more about why Letty gets upset when she anticipates being alone. But my brain just shuts down when I contemplate this, and when I start to write my brain goes blank as well.

Doc says there’s answers in how and why selves react to certain things.

But I suppose I’m not ready to do this yet because when I start to look at what Letty is feeling I get floaty.

All I can do is tell Letty that it will be okay. But I don’t know that it will be okay. It’s what I hope for us, more like a prayer, a wish, a hope set out into the universe every time it is uttered.

To my lovely co-workers … I’m sorry

Posted on by

6

Hi all,

Yesterday was supposed to fun. An after work get together at the pub across the street from us was a good idea.

We ordered pizzas and I had my trusty club soda with cranberry and extra lime.

But then Bobby started talking to Sydney over me, and there was no place for me to move, no place to go. Bobby and Sydney had to speak loudly in order to be heard. I felt trapped, and my brain got all fuzzy and fiery with the loud volume of voices stretching to be heard.

Then the martinis came, the lovely martinis with extra olives in them for my colleagues, Rita and Wanda. At that moment those martinis became the most beautiful things in the world to me. I could sense the ease in which I could grab both, and finish them off in a swish.

Bobby was nudged up against me talking to Sydney, who was on the other side of me. Sydney’s voice was in my ear. I could not move, and there were two beautiful martinis in front of me.

There were only two choices in my brain in that moment, and neither was discreet.

I shot up from the bench, and said, “I gotta go! Sorry guys!” That got Bobby’s attention, and he moved so that I could move, and when I was able to move I scrambled for that door like my life depended on it.

Only one of you knows that this weekend is my five year sobriety anniversary. I wish I could explain to all of you why I behaved so strangely, but I know that it would not be wise to share that bit of information with all of you.

I ran out of the pub, and cried because I wanted to be in there with the rest of you. I wanted to be like the rest of you, but I’m not. I’m a person in long term sobriety that is still figuring out how to navigate the world as a sober person.

I needed an AA meeting at the moment, and I was within easy driving distance of one.

And that’s a whole other story …

You, my fellow colleagues, are not the only ones who don’t get me.

In my infinite wisdom I decided to be straight forward with the group. I shared what had just happened, and the fact that I don’t get AA. I so badly want to get it, but it’s like my brain rebels against it. I truly wish I could love AA. It’s the negativity towards ourselves in the group that turns me off instantly. I’ve been trying to learn how NOT to beat myself up on a regular basis, and coming into these meetings seems to be a return to that way of life for me.

But here’s the frosting that frosted my ass last night. I can try to tolerate the way people beat themselves up in there. But I will never be okay with the way we attack each other. We had someone in our meeting talk about how they previously had decades of time sober, but picked up a drink a few months ago. Since then she has not been able to put together any amount of time sober. This person with so much pain and struggle was so brave in admitting this to all of us. My heart just went out to her because I do not think I would be able to admit what she admitted to all of us.

Then some judgmental gal with a fancy dress spoke up, and wondered aloud what this person learned in the rooms with 20+ years of sobriety, the implication that she must not have learned anything since she picked up a drink. Well, Ms. Fancy Dress, I should hope that you don’t meet someone like you if you ever pick up a drink and come back to the rooms to admit it. I should hope that, but I don’t.

Fellow colleagues, I am not sure if I will attend our next outing to the pub. I assure you that it’s not a reflection of how I feel about you guys. I wish I could tell all of you this so that you would know that it’s really about me, and not you. Sure, Bobby and Sydney were loud, and I felt trapped, but it’s my brain that gets me keyed up in these instances. I recognize that. Please know that I love you guys, and wish I could hang out with you more often.

Beatriz

P.S. I will be ever so grateful if you don’t talk about my Friday weirdness on Monday. 

You are the weird one between the two of us

Posted on by

4

Let’s get one thing straight: You are the weird one between the two of us.

I was encouraged by your “wink” on Match.com last month. You had a certain cute nerdiness that I like, such as the fact that you knew right away which David Foster Wallace essay I was describing to you. “A Supposedly Fun Thing I’ll Never Do Again” confirms my belief that a cruise vacation should never be in my future. Ever.

When your profile mentioned a liking for David Foster Wallace, how could I resist such a like for literary brilliance?

But then I noticed what you wrote under occupation: therapist.

Crap and fuck, as there would be no way to gloss over the details of my DID diagnosis. It gave me pause as I wasn’t exactly thrilled at the thought of dating a therapist, but you liked David Foster Wallace!

We had a brilliant first date of nerdy talk for 5+ hours at the coffee shop.

I loved the fact that though you majored in film in undergrad you had never seen any of my favorite movies. Of the five I listed, you had only heard of two. I loved that I stumped you that way, though I didn’t do it on purpose. Those movies really are among my favorites: Happy Go Lucky, Pane e Tulipani (Bread and Tulips), Spanglish, Johnny Stecchino, and Vicky Christina Barcelona.

Sometimes it’s fun to be weird.

And then, other times, it’s far less fun.

For example, admitting to you that I have dissociative identity disorder was certainly less than fun. It was one of those moments when you feel all of the weirdness inside and outside of you like a Cloak of Weirdness you can’t shake off no matter how hard you try.

You said to me that you “didn’t know about that …” And it got all weird. You said something about waking up with a knife to your throat, or rather you “jokingly” asked if that would ever happen. You asked rhetorically when you really wanted an actual answer from me.

I let you sit with the discomfort of your stupid rhetorical question.

Get rid of your stupid hollywood images of DID.

For fuck’s sake, I’m a professional with a job with gobs of responsibility, and I am so non-violent I can’t even stomach many violent movies. So, no, you don’t have to worry about waking up with such a situation.

Why the hell did I let the words hang like that?

Why didn’t I say to you, “Hey! You’re a fucking THERAPIST. Don’t be all weird on me for something I never asked for, AND for something that I’m working on … AND get lost, lose my number!

That is what I should have said.

Instead I let it go. I understood the reluctance to believe because I had the same reluctance. I thought if you just see me as I am it will be fine.

But no, everything was colored with the DID, the remarks, the conversations, the non-verbals … it became the weird thing in the room between us.

Things were more fun before DID came into our conversations.

I fear that I will eventually lose my glass-half-full optimism.

And, then I learned just how weird YOU are.

For instance, there’s no plainer way to put this, but you’re a dick.

I said to you this week that I was disappointed because I lost my first case ever in my career. I wasn’t a mess about it, but I was disappointed, and surprised as I believed in my case.

You said to me if no one died then it was a good day.

That was a jerky thing to say. Professional disappointment is normal and okay. You just needed to be mildly supportive of me. Even a simple “I’m sorry to hear that” would have sufficed.

When I told you that we had a drug situation at work, and I laughed at telling you that I had no idea that the word “roach” was slang for marijuana you told me I should be embarrassed that I didn’t know what that word meant.

Really? I should be embarrassed? Hell no, I am fine with not knowing that. It’s not like I work in law enforcement or narcotics. I work in human resources, and I’m so legalistic I reel at the thought of doing anything remotely illegal. I would have been great for the military if I wasn’t such a pacifist and left-leaning feminist. They would have loved my propensity for rules and structure.

Nope, you are the one who should be embarrassed, mister. You should be embarrassed because you really aren’t very empathetic or kind or understanding. Maybe you use it all up at work, but from what I’ve seen, you’re all tapped out.

And, I’m out.