The Life You Save May Be Your Own

DID, knitting, sci-fi, and strong opinions

Lonely July 4, 2013

I’m frustrated with myself.

I’ve been home all of three days, but I’m already feeling alone and disconnected. I guess I should’ve seen that coming. I let myself get spoiled: I spent four months in a place where I always had somebody around to talk to who understood, and I let myself get dependent on that. Now I’m back to the real world, where most people don’t understand trauma and dissociation, and I have no friends or anything. And I’m sad.

I’ve also done zero internal communication since I’ve been home. I know I should, and I can’t even explain why I’m avoiding it. I guess I just don’t trust that my team would know how to help me if things got difficult. Their hearts are in the right place, but they don’t have experience.

I’m afraid. I don’t like admitting that.

It’s not like it was easy at Sheppard Pratt. God knows it wasn’t, and I spent plenty of time curled up in a ball crying, and there were a number of times I wanted to punch someone. Still, I was surrounded by people who understood trauma and DID–the other patients, too, not just the staff.

While I was there, my grandfather asked my social worker to keep me there longer and offered to pay for it. My reaction at the time was, “What the flying fuck?” but without the swear words, since we weren’t supposed to use them. But there is at least one part who wishes I had stayed forever. There were a lot of infuriating aspects to being there, but at least I was around people who understood what I was dealing with. There’s a kind of safety in that.

I wish I had real-life friends in my area with DID. I don’t want to feel this alone with it.

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Blank January 27, 2013

Filed under: Uncategorized — weordmyndum @ 3:46 pm
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I haven’t written about what’s going on in my head for several days because I don’t really know. I’m cut off from feeling anything.

I think I’m cut off from a great deal of myself, actually. I think there’s a lot going on that’s beyond my reach, and I’m not going out of my way to grab at it.

I can’t focus. I can only knit a row or two at a time. I put on a DVD and then realize I have no idea what happened in the movie. Trying to read is a joke. I can’t keep track of time.

My weight is under 130, making for a 35 lb loss in the last 3 months. I’m overusing laxatives still, of course, but with less desperation than a week or two ago. I have a very short list of safe foods.

I think my foot may finally be healed enough to resume normal activity. Yesterday I walked to town and back (a mile and a half each way) without the brace and with only a little plan. I’ll try going back to kung fu tomorrow night.

I’m on the waiting list for Sheppard Pratt. Right now my instinct is to say nevermind, I don’t need it. I know that’s not true; I know the chaos and desperation are still present, just behind my walls. And I’m not happy with this way of being. I know that. But for now, during the waiting, the numbness is okay. I actually kind of hope it stays until I get to Sheppard Pratt, although I know almost certainly it won’t.

 

Huh December 15, 2012

Filed under: Uncategorized — weordmyndum @ 12:08 am
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I’m hesitant to talk about what’s going on in my head. Part fear of being judged, part fear of being told I’m totally crazy, part not wanting kindness, part not wanting anyone to try and take away my craziness, part not understanding what’s going on in my head….

But here it is anyway.

I’m not depressed. I have energy and motivation and interest in life. I don’t feel sad or especially distressed. I don’t hate myself (which is not to say I love myself).

But I feel this powerful urge to kill myself. There’s a huge chance things will go downhill from here in ways I don’t want to deal with. There’s also a chance that my life might work out and end up awesome or even just satisfactory. The chances of that are, however, much slimmer.

I know there were reasons I fought like hell to survive all my life. There were things I held onto–mostly the hope of an okay life. Now I have an okay life, and it’s not enough to hold onto anymore. It’s too small.

I feel disconnected from the world. I like my life, my activities, most of the people in my life. But I feel distant from them. Not in an angsty way, just matter-of-fact. So why not shove off this mortal coil? There’s nothing tethering me to it these days.

I sound callous, don’t I? I want to care, but I think I’ve forgotten how.

It’s the same with the anorexia. All the times I’ve done this before, I felt desperate and trapped and in need of release. Now I feel no connection to desperation, either to starve myself or to stop starving myself. I’m doing it because I can and because it entertains me. Again, I wish I felt something about it, but I don’t.

Conventional wisdom is I must be doing this to block something out. That’s not what it feels like. I know when I’m avoiding stuff, even when I’m trying really hard not to know. If I’m avoiding anything, it’s a normal, small life. There’s no underlying angst I’m running from. I just lack ability to connect with my life anymore, so I’m playing with fire for the hell of it.

I think maybe I’m an alter somehow. I think of myself as Sara–but I remember what being Sara felt like, and it wasn’t this. Sara cares about EVERYTHING. I still have the strong opinions like she does, but that’s not the same as actually caring. Sara would be taking all this seriously and figuring out what demons of the past were motivating this–because with Sara, it’s always about the past. Sara would never have lied to Fake Therapist about something as significant as the eating disorder. This doesn’t feel like being Sara feels, but I still think of myself as Sara, or I did until I started thinking about it.

So who the hell am I, and what do I do about it?

 

How am I not myself? November 28, 2012

Filed under: Uncategorized — weordmyndum @ 8:11 am
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I don’t know why this video is yellow.

I had a long phone conversation with my friend D tonight. D and I have been friends for 7 or 8 years, and he also has DID. He kept insisting that I’m not okay and I need to acknowledge that so I can deal with it.

Is D right? Am I really not okay? Am I really ignoring my own distress, or not registering it? Does being unwilling or unable to do things like calling therapists or getting food stamps mean I’m “not functioning”? Am I telling myself I’m just unwilling to hide from myself the reality that I’m unable? Is my Windhorse team hopelessly inept at dealing with my traumas, missing all the signs and neglecting to offer help? Am I not even myself anymore, but some part, some Denial-Sara?

I don’t know right now, I honestly don’t. (D said I never say “I don’t know” this much.)

Most of the time, I don’t feel distressed; when I do it’s mild. Today I felt happy, watching the snow fall for the first time this season. I enjoy kung fu and my work with the attorney.

But…then why ami starving myself? Not getting food stamps? Hiding it all from my team? Insisting to myself that maybe I just don’t need a therapist anymore?

Then again, aside from the self-starvation, these could be healthy choices. Moving toward independence.

He kept pressing me about what changed, what happened. I kept saying I don’t know, but then it occurred to me that it could be hospital/treatment/therapy issues. I haven’t dealt with the retraumatization at Menninger. Hell, I’ve barely touched on the issues from the state hospital in Iowa. Then the situation for dredged up after the incident with NT. I did start the starvation shortly after that.

But correlation doesn’t equal causation. I’m not depressed. I’m not having flashbacks or nightmares. I’m not losing more time than usual. That doesn’t sound like a PTSD flare triggering my ED to me.

I don’t know. I just don’t know.

What I keep coming back to is, if everything is as bad as D thinks, then why do I feel okay? He says I don’t feel okay; I’m just in a milder depression. I don’t think that’s right. I know what milder depression feels like–that’s what summer and fall were. This, where I am now, this feels okay.

He also objects to me saying if my life goes downhill and there’s not much chance of fixing it, I’ll kill myself while things are still mostly okay so I don’t have to live the downhill tumble. I think this is reasonable. I think it is my right as a person to choose my life and death, and I think owning that right lets me value my life more. D says I wasn’t always like this. I think I always was, I just wasn’t able to articulate it so clearly. But he thinks I’m different and it means I’m somebody else.

I don’t think that’s even possible. I feel like myself, like Sara. If I was someone else, I wouldn’t still think I was Sara, would I? I’d think I was Kat or Corey or Alison or whoever. I wouldn’t still think I was Sara.

Maybe.

I don’t know.

How am I not myself?

 

From the Department of Random November 25, 2012

Filed under: Uncategorized — weordmyndum @ 7:03 am
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Ex-Housemate, the food police and passive-aggressive extraordinaire, emailed me today to see if I wanted to have dinner since she’s moving to New York soon. LOL WUT. Strangely, there’s a part of me that wants to say yes. I don’t get that.

Today’s been a switch-fest. No particular reason, wasn’t triggered or anything. Just everybody trying to do different stuff at once: watch Stargate, sing Christmas carols, knit a hat, play with Winston, play iPhone dragon games, check email, write, eat leftovers, cuddle the baby doll. It was pretty weird. Sometimes having DID can be pretty comical.

I really need to fucking call the list of possible therapists. Things are going well and I’m happy, but I feel myself itching to process stuff that’s happening. I keep thinking I have therapy tomorrow, and I feel relieved until I remember I fired NT. It’s not even that I want to talk to NT–I just want to talk to somebody whose entire purpose is just to sit there and listen.

But I haven’t made a single call, and I’m frustrated as hell with myself. I have a script and a list of questions, but I know no matter what I say, I’ll feel like it’s wrong. I’ll feel stupid and ashamed and panicky, and I might very well end up cutting or purging to shut those feelings off. But for god’s sake, I’m 26. I should be able to make phone calls.

I also need to call the back doctor’s office and see if I can get a follow-up sooner than four weeks. The last two days have been bad pain days, and that’s unusual considering I haven’t been on my feet much. I’m hoping it’s just taking longer for the cortisone to kick in than the last two times, but I should see him sooner if I can. If nothing else, I need to talk to him about pain meds. I may have to ask for something stronger than the Vicodin.

Also, I want snow! All the meteorologists have been saying we’re in for a bad winter, but it’s been fairly warm for November, and no snow yet. As a reformed Southerner, I still think snow is awesome, mainly because I don’t have to shovel it or drive in it. One of my favorite things in the world is to walk down the street at night when it’s snowing. I love the way the snow swirls in the streetlight beams. And last year, I hiked up a mountain in the snowstorm (not my best idea ever) and climbed up to the top of a fire tower. I could actually hear the snow falling. You think it’s silent, but it’s got its own indecipherable whisper.

Right. That’s it for now from the Department of Random.

 

the possibility of hope November 17, 2012

Filed under: Uncategorized — weordmyndum @ 6:52 pm
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Right now I’m feeling overwhelmed by a feeling of panicky hopelessness. There’s this craziness going on in my head that I can’t untangle.

I had this dream where I was moving. I kept packing my things, and then I’d come back and I’d find things I needed that weren’t packed. I just couldn’t get it right, couldn’t get what I needed.

Then I wake up to all this noise in my head about finding a new therapist.

“I need to start making some phone calls…”
“No, please don’t make me.”
“What’s the fucking point? They’re all assholes who’ll screw you over as soon as you let your guard down.”
“We need therapy.”
“I want somebody to talk to me.”
“It’s a bad idea to trust anybody.”
“They wouldn’t like me anyway.”
“I want them to like me.”
“No. We can’t be needy. They don’t like needy patients.”
“We are needy.”
“Which is why we can’t do therapy. Have to make ourself not needy.”
“That makes about as much goddamn sense as starving yourself.”
“That makes me feel better than therapy.”
“Don’t be stupid.”
“This whole thing is stupid.”

And on and on.

I want to believe there’s hope. I want to believe that I can find the right therapist. I want to believe that the right therapist will help me calm down the chaos in my head so I can function. I want to believe that my persistence and hard work will pay off and I’ll feel better.

But right now I just feel hopeless.

 

Someone else in the mirror November 16, 2012

Filed under: Uncategorized — weordmyndum @ 10:26 pm
Tags: ,

I know it’s not unusual for peoole with DID to feel disconnected from their reflection, but this is different.

Tonight when I look in the mirror, I keep seeing my sister. I mean, on some level I know it’s me, but I keep seeing my sister. We don’t even look that much alike.

I don’t understand why it’s happening. It’s really freaking me out.

 

 
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