It's Time To Talk...Stigma

While it may be my goal to write this blog and begin to talk about my experiences living with Dissociative Identity Disorder, I am in many ways very invisible.  There are many who have read this blog over the last few years who know who I am.  Yet, at the same time there will be many who don't know me. I contemplated beginning a new blog where, I can express my views and be honest about my life, my difficulties, my experiences....safe in knowing that no one would know who I was. I have decided it is high time I begin to talk.

This week I have been thinking about why I chose in most circumstances not to discuss my diagnosis. I realized that my fears surrounding the stigma of mental illness really do impact my everyday life.  It is time to talk.

I guess to the outside world looking in I may seem very normal...whatever that might be.   I do not carry a label saying I have mental health issues. However, many who know me know that I do.  I do not carry a label that says "I have D.I.D.".

Obviously, when I meet people for the first time, I tend to skip over the fact that I have DID, and the fact that I have been hospitalized for severe depression and suicidal ideation. I do not lie. I just do not expand on certain issues.  I have a crap load of medical professionals in my life currently. Unless asked, I do not bring this up. Again, I will not lie. However, I do not expand. It is my expectation that they will ask.

My birth father is deceased.  My mother and step-father are still alive.  I do not ever say I was a victim of child sexual abuse and that one of my parents did the best she could and the other was the abuser.  I will tell you that my abuser ended his life a few years ago.  A few years to late....

The fear of rejection is fairly huge. I chose to limit what I tell people, even if I have known someone a long time I am often not upfront and open.  Why?  Truth be told I would like you to judge me as a person and not a label.  To see me as an equal who can contribute to society and can make a difference to this world that I live in.  I want you to see me as a wife and mother of two beautiful, well adjusted and smart teenagers and a wife.  So I try and seamlessly interact with society, despite everything I work at me fitting in to a world that at times is extremely frightening, triggering and scary.

It isn't easy for someone with DID to live in this world and appear normal.  I often switch between parts, my voice changes, my facial expressions change, my mannerisms change.  For many years I have tried very hard to try and plan and prepare for everything just to look normal, you see just being out there and being adult....it takes a huge toll on me...on anyone with DID.

I find it extremely hard to justify why I am so forgetful.  Why am I loosing track of a conversation half way through?  Why I have to keep time in my schedule free...just so I can either rest and recover.  Yet the reality is people don't recognize instantly that I have DID.  They do not realize when we have switched between parts/alters unless of course we react in a very clear physical way or the change is very drastic, they will just assume I am forgetful or pre-occupied with something else.

My husband, best friend (who lives 5 states away) and therapist...they know me well enough to know that these memory lapses are because of DID.  Only my therapist can tell instantly when there has been a change. My bff when we are together is also able to tell instantly.  My husband...he is learning and slowly figuring it out.  Often, my husband is able to prompt me during discussions because he knows where the forgetfulness is coming from.  He attends 99% of all doctor appts with me because of this very reason.

Society views mental health with scepticism.  The statistic that 1 in 4 people will struggle with some sort of mental health related issue....society tells us that it won't happen to us.  Indeed, with the 1 in 4 statistic, you know a minimum of 1 person who struggles with mental health issues.

Fear and stigma surround us.  There are tv programs about mental health, however it is often more for entertainment and just creates more stigma in my opinion.

People do not generally know anything about D.I.D, it is not the most talked about issue.  There is VERY Little coverage in the media about dissociative disorders.  Why? Because the underlying issue is trauma. Media doesn't want to talk about trauma.

Being victim of child abuse and young adult who was victim of abuse leaves a stigma that goes above and beyond mental health.  As a young adult, I was told it was my fault. I tend to hid the shame and the guilt I carry and have carried since being a very young child.  As a very young child I was told I was bad.  The harsh reality is of course I was a child/young adult, who was hurt.  Who suffered at the hands of adults and and employer who should have protected me or at the very least not hurt me.

Ultimately, I tend not to tell people about having a diagnosis of D.I.D because I am ashamed, not of the diagnosis or my parts but of what has happened to me.  I carry an extreme amount of shame that belongs to someone else. My abusers. One who is dead. One who is not.  This is my own self created stigma, I know.

Admitting that I have D.I.D means I am admitting not just to them but to myself, that what happened to me is a reality and as much as I sometimes wish I could, I can't deny my past.  I cant wash it away. I somehow need to embrace it. I need to someone how take up the mantel of rebuilding a life out of my past.

I want to live with this diagnosis and all of its difficulties and challenges. I want to not be a victim but a survivor. I do not want to be a statistic of someone who had a mental illness that is not commonly recognized and went misdiagnosed for 15 years while seeking mental health treatment.

My personal challenge in the coming weeks and months is to start dealing with the stigma. If people stop talking to me, judge me or ignore me. So be it. That is their problem not mine.

I am who I am.

I am the 1 in 4.

It is about damn time I begin talking....

Dear Asshole (Part 1)

**I tried to keep this short. For my own sanity. This is a FAIR WARNING there is very likely going to be several explicits. It is what it is. It is where my heart and head is with this.  This is just the beginning of a series of "Dear Asshole" posts.  More will come as I'm able to process.  Each time I've ever started to write something similar to this I've ended in a pretty rough space.  Never got past the first few sentences and ended up in fetal position on my bathroom floor/tub for heaven only knows how long afterwards.

As the title states: Dear Asshole.  He is just that. An asshole.  And so much more.  As mentioned above it is likely these will not be pretty.  

Dear Asshole,
You may have been excited to see this letter from me since we've not had contact in over 30 years.  What pictures and information you have from me you received from your mother.  Good for her for caring.
I didn't want to write this when I was overly angry, emotional, or depressed.  However, those 3 words seem to be part of my every day life. And have been for several months.

This last bought of severe depression was not triggered by the trauma piece you help create. It is very likely it was just part of much more going on.  Each time I get closer to rising above the fog this particular piece begins to boil over. Causing there to be a ripple effect into my everyday life. You destroyed me in more ways than not.

I spent years trying to figure out reasoning's for your actions.  I've spent countless hours talking to other victims. I've spent countless hours reading and trying to sift to the bottom of why abusers abuse.  The more information I have found, the worse I've felt abut the situation.  They say that abusers have the domino effect.  The abuser was once abused.  That's bullshit.  I'm nearly certain that never happened to you.  Next option?  You strive to dominate.  That is exactly what you did.  When you could no longer hurt my mother, you choose to hurt me.  Fuck you!  You rat bastard.

I hope you woke up each day of the last 33 yrs of your life and took a good look at your shit-filled self and were eaten alive by what you did to me.  I hope you never forgave yourself for it.  I always thought I would be thankful for the day you died.  Each day I got closer and closer.  And the day that I got the phone call was the day when the previous 33 yrs of attempting to stuff deep down came boiling over.  Each day, I prayed for closure that you would die.  Instead, rage took over deep w/in my heart.  Rage that you took the easy way out.  Rage that you didn't suffer.  Sure, I'm sure you suffered.  You have never suffered a moment of the torment that I live each day.  You don't wear the physical and emotional scars that I do.  Those scars that are not seen.  Only heard by the rage that has built within me.

I can only hope hell is as it is chalked up to be!!  There is no amount of repentance that would bring you closer to the pearly gates of heaven. None. I know first hand that in order to cross that gate you would have needed to make amends to those you hurt.

Screw you!
Your Daughter

Safe Place and Getting There

I'm a bit resistant in hand writing things and so I'm going to put this on here instead of writing it out in detail on the workbook paperwork from J* (therapist).

I think it could/will be particularly helpful since I am often not far from my phone.  Since I have access to my blog posts via my phone...this simple reminder is much easier/better than the hand written notes  J* has given me.  I will still write them out on the workbook papers.  Only this will be a bit more detailed.

Creating and Getting to My/Your Safe Space.  It means exactly what it reads.  Creating a safe space.  And how do you/I plan on getting there.

Last week I wrote out on the workbook paperwork in brief detail 'what my safe space would be'.  I don't think I fully comprehended the extent that J* wanted me to go into detail and why I needed to do so.  As the week has progressed, as I had a particular upsetting outburst over the weekend that left me ridden with guilt and trying to not be triggered in the failure mode, as I encountered some difficult feeling/memories/triggers during massage on Monday....as these things and a few other things have been put on my plate the last week....I've been able to see a little bit clearer why/what exactly J* was talking about.  Some of it is pretty private, some of this I can write...but don't know I can accurately talk about unless it is brought up. 

Creating a safe space isn't just about finding a place w/in your home, work, environment that you can go.  It is about finding that safe space w/in yourself.  As I read the homework assignment this week and it talked about 'getting to my safe space....whenever I am in distress or feel the need to do so' it made me think more about expanding this area.  It isn't just the place w/in my home that I feel is "my safe space..." but something that I can access when I'm not home.  I often carry w/me in my car (actually ALWAYS in my car) are 2 things from my Orlando 2011 ETAAM trip.  I have my damnit doll and 'you are not alone' rock.  These 2 items in the past I've found myself rubbing.  Often, when I'm working doing my normal job the rock is in my pocket.  Being able to rub it, feel the smoothness, the edge where the printed paper was put on it...and meaning behind it...will make the difference.  I've got a few of these rocks and I will in the very near future be getting them out. 
One space that works for me is a hot shower/bath.  I've struggled in the past with this being a borderline self injury tool.

Two days in a row this week I was able to get myself to that space and have it remain helpful.  Getting to this 'safe space' was not hard on Sunday.  I was able to put my computer down, lock my bedroom door and lock the bathroom (I Know...I know...locking myself behind 2 doors isn't the brightest idea) and get into the shower where I was able to decompress for whatever length of time. 

Getting myself there the 2nd day was not  as easy.  Life got in the way.  This is where finding something "outside" of my home is important. Having some sort of object to concentrate on would be helpful.  By the time I got home on Monday evening and was able to shower it was late.  It was quite a few hours later.  And I had worked myself up in a tizzy.  My head hurt. My jaw hurt.  My shoulder hurt.  My entire body hurt. 

I had spent several hours attempting to push back the swirling thoughts/memories.  Hell, I sat in my Psychiatrists office....did I mention it to her.  Hell to the No!!  If I had an appt w/J*...it might have been a good thing.  My pdoc and I have a love/hate relationship and I wasn't loving her that much on Monday.  Shit, I wasn't loving myself.  So loving/liking someone else was not in the works.

((((I KNOW I"M RAMBLING......But this is FOR ME)))))

Creating and getting to safe space are 2 very different things.  Yet, as I think about it...I find it very much the same.  If I have the item/space available to me....choosing to use them is much easier. 

H* (massage therapist) often uses different oils.  I am not real good about remembering which oils/scents she uses.  One of these days I will remember to ask her (or email her before an appt to ask her to remind me) which one it is that seems to be the most helpful.  Valor is one scent that she uses often. 

***************

Tapping with Brad Yates

Not much I can really say about this right now.
Overwhelmed is an understatement.
This week has been tough...hell when is it not tough.

Traditional medicine isn't helping.
Medication isn't helping.

As a friend mentioned in a private FB group she was rebelling the concept of tapping.  I've continued to rebel.

I know why I've rebelled and I really dont' care to say why.  I guess its a bit personal.

I did take this from the conference call tonight.  It isn't easy to hear.  It is harder to repeat to myself.

Even though I feel this despair, I choose to deeply and completely love, honor and accept myself ... and my kids ... and anyone else who might be involved in this." - tapping session with Brad Yates