Tag Archives: triggers

Father’s Day, be gone

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Father's Day Cake 2009

I recently wrote about my father, and I find myself thinking of him again on this day. I remember Father’s Day 2008 when I reached out to him, and he was drunk. He had wanted me to reach out to him, but when I did he was unable to be present in the conversation because he was drunk. This experience sent me on a drinking and acting out binge of my own. A few months later, after I entered sobriety, he sent me a chapbook of poetry. I really did not look at that book until a few weeks ago.

His drinking is so painful to me that I can’t have a relationship with him. I wish there was some way to work around it, but there isn’t. I get too messed up in my brain when I can see and hear his sickness.

I want to write more, specifically I want to write about the few good memories that I have of him. Today I want to remember the good of him, the part of him that resonated with me.

But, alas, I cannot. It’s hard enough to write this small blog post, and it has taken me an inordinately long time to do so. I’m foggy, and in and out of being present. And so, Dad, I’m sorry that I cannot do better than this post in your honor today. I hope we cross paths again before one of us leaves this earth. I miss you, and I still love you, even though you have a hard time accepting my love. It is there.

(Photo credit: Jim, the Photographer)

Sometimes you have to break a commitment …

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I take commitments seriously, and do everything in my power not to break them. But, today I found myself breaking a commitment that I wanted to keep. I started running regularly again, and I was scheduled to volunteer at a 5k race today with post-race refreshments.

As I was driving to the race location I came upon a detour that bottle-necked traffic on the highway. I felt my body start to panic and tweak out. For the first time, I understood what was happening. It was Secret. The traffic was scaring her, and because she was scared other peeps were getting scared as well. There was a domino effect at work here that needed intervention.

So I made a quick and decisive move. I immediately got off the highway, and started driving towards a place we like for breakfast. In the past I likely would have just persevered on, and eventually I would have arrived at the race. But I decided that such a move would have exacerbated things, as it has in the past. This was not a situation where I needed to get to a work site, or something just as critical. At that moment in time I needed to get the peeps feeling safe again, and proceeding on to the race likely would have delayed getting everyone feeling safe, in particular, Secret.

Until I’m able to work further with Secret on the whole traffic issue, I need to understand where she is in the process. Right now, if it takes aborting a volunteer situation in order to help her feel safe I will do it. I don’t like to let people down, but I had to make a tough choice in that moment. For the time being, I won’t be volunteering at any race that requires us to travel on the highway in order to get there.

It was a good move. Secret was on the edge for a bit the rest of the morning, but, ironically, running helped her feel better. A lot of this work is just trying to figure out how to work with the peeps or selves. And with that, I am tired, and falling asleep as I write this. Here’s hoping for no more dissociative sleep.

Belle and the singing bowl

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A Japanese rin marks the beginning of moments ...

(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

For days I’ve wanted and not wanted to write. The words and sentences were swirling around in my head, but I could not bring myself to take out my laptop. I feared that writing those sentences would propel me closer to the depths of blackness. My selves were vacillating between wanting an end, and not wanting an end. When I’m in a situation such as this the best thing to do is nothing, and that is what I did. I simply fell asleep in a dissociative state around 7 pm.

We saw Doc yesterday, and discovered a new self. Honestly, for some reason, I don’t care for the term “alter.” Since Doc says they are all a part of me, I shall call them selves because I can. I was late for the appointment because I got lost on the way. There is no good reason for this as I’ve been there many times.

Sure enough, Doc figured out that someone else was taking over, and out tumbled, Secret. Secret is young, though I can’t figure out her exact age at the moment. She is terrified of highways and heavy traffic. Apparently, this appears to be the reason I have so much trouble getting to his office on time, or losing my way there at times. She recalled instances of horrifying car rides with my stepfather. Even now, I feel myself slipping away because I don’t want to remember. I don’t want to remember the feeling of impending death from his careless and thoughtless acts behind a wheel. He loved to scare us in the car.

It seemed like Secret was around for the scary car situations, but Belle would appear when the horror turned to feelings of death. Belle holds the worst of the feelings, the feelings of wanting the pain of existence in that household to end. Belle, for the most part, just knows despair, no hope, and a desire for an end. Doc’s theory is that Belle exists just for that, to hold the worst of the despair for all the others.

As Secret started to recall the scary car experiences to Doc, Belle appeared when it became too much for Secret. Belle has this defeated sounding voice that breaks my heart. As she tells Doc that she wants to die, he comes and sits right in front of us. We are almost toe to toe. He starts to ask her to think about what it must be like for a psychiatrist to lose a patient to suicide, knowing that his patient gave up on life. He also told Belle that we don’t know what it’s like “on the other side” so stay here, and keep trying.

He then went over to his desk, and picked up a singing bowl, of which I had never seen in my life. He touched it on the side with wooden mallet, and it let out this peaceful sound that I can’t even describe. Belle asked if she could play it herself, and he allowed her to do so. Then as quickly as she felt the joy of the sound of the singing bowl, she found herself feeling like throwing up. Apparently, the good feeling was so new, and so foreign that she nearly became sick.

We were then in and out of a dissociative state for the next 12 hours. We have now come out the other end and survived, but we are tired.