Too Exhausted to Think of a Clever Title

Happy news! My grandmother turns 91 years young today! She will be traveling back to California from New Mexico tomorrow and I’m very excited to be celebrating with her.

This workweek has been a living hell. We are delivering lay offs, 7 to be exact. 2 of which got the guillotine last Friday. More to come over the course of 3 weeks. Emotions have been intense with coworkers. People are walking on eggshells in apprehension of being the next one to be let go. It’s also just been very stressful as the workload has increased and dispersed throughout departments unequally. Stress, stress, stress.

Lucky for me, I get focus on my girlfriend’s upcoming birthday to completely take my mind off of work during the weeknights.

I’ve restrung my guitar, have been writing a lot more poetry, and have been making a lot of progress on the book I’m reading, The Dissociative Identity Disorder Sourcebook. All to keep busy! I had a little slip up this past weekend on Father’s Day.

Then, yesterday, I was talking to my mom. Her husband was out of the room. She asked me how I was, how Sunday was for me. I don’t know WHY I decided to confide in this woman about this particular area in my life, but I did. I said I was okay, but that I felt really triggered. Then she began to tell me how wonderful it would feel to get high. My phone lost reception at that moment- probably God telling me to take it easy. I didn’t bother calling her back.

Two more days. Two more days and I will be sipping Vodka Redbulls in Las Vegas with my beautiful girlfriend by my side.

Waste Basket- Triggers

My thoughts this morning as I lay crumpled in tears next to my sleepy girlfriend: (not for the faint of heart. suicide, drugs, self mutilation)

1. I wonder what was going through my father’s mind as he injected himself one last time with his lethal opiate cocktail. I wonder what he was thinking when he wrote his last letter, his farewell memo. Did he see my face, my brother’s, or sister’s? Did he really think the world would shine brighter without him in it? I wish I could remember what he smelled like, how his arm muscles felt when he picked me up, or how his face wrinkled when he smiled. I wish I could remember his voice. Remember, Dad, when you wrote me my first birthday card? How you said you’d always be there for me and I was your little sweetheart?

2. My grandfather. His Alzheimer’s took over. He had always been my dad; taught me how to ride a bike, how to build with nails and wood, how to weld metal, how to dance Cumbia and Salsa. He taught me about music like Glenn Miller, Arite Shaw, Frank Sinatra. He showed me my culture, the language, the passion. When the family first found out that I had been cutting and had become suicidal, he looked at me with a heavy heart and said, “What happened to my little girl? You used to follow me around like a puppy. Now, you barely even say goodnight to me.” I had hit that teen angst, and I was sucked into solitude. It had hurt him that I had become apathetic and unresponsive. Fast forward a few years when his memory was being eaten alive. I called my grandparents house. He answered with a shaky voice, “Mija, when are you coming back?” I had moved out of the house at that point. I was impatient on the phone… “Soon, Tata, soon…” The regrets I bare now are unbearable.

3. Am I a selfish person? Like my father? My grandfather, in his own and old way was begging to see me before he forgot my face. I was so wrapped up in my own selfish little world. Why couldn’t I have looked past my irrelevant bubble to see his human desperation?

4. I must have felt what my dad felt the moment he boiled his tar. Years ago, I too sat in my bedroom, saturated with benzos. I relived it this morning whilst thinking of it. I had clutched these bottles of pills in my hands, thoroughly weighing the pros and cons of my suicide. In the past, it had hurt to realize there were more pros. This time, however, something terrible had shifted within me and I felt peace. Everything would be okay. I hope to never lose myself again to the irreparable ideation. What a terrifying place to be… no longer able to feel emotion, ready to pull the trigger, to jump, to inject, to inhale, to swallow and hang.

5. I want drugs. Anything I can snort. I want to sift through all the drawers here and find as many hydrocodones and I can. Crush, snort, repeat.

6. Will I ever meet my mom? Do I even care anymore? I’m embarrassed to admit to anyone that nearly every time I call her, she sounds high. Sometimes it doesn’t even register to her that she’s talking to me. I call her on my way home from work, she blames it on her exhaustion. Until I hear her husband in the background, “Come back baby, one more hit.” I stay on the phone, pushing back tears. I just want her to talk to me. I just want to tell her about my day. Mom, I’m having a hard time, please for fucks sakes, can you please just listen to my problems for once? Even if you don’t care? I hang the phone up, left to my own thoughts, feelings, fear. I go home, panicked because I’m home alone. I’m drawn to the bathroom cabinet like a moth to a flame. I fill the bathroom sink up with water, take out a razor blade, and hold my wrist under the faucet. This is not the answer…. put the blade away. I crawl under my sheets, text my girlfriend and cry.

7. How much more of this can I hold on to? I’ve lived my entire life with the magnificent ability to control my emotions, to eat them like air. Down they go to lie. I am beginning to feel sick and one by one, they come bellowing out from my stomach. I feel too humiliated to ask for help. “It’s always something, isn’t it? You should be better by now. Come on, we’re all going through something.” I’m just sad. I’m sad about Father’s Day, I’m sad that my mom can’t even hold a sober conversation with me, I’m sad that I’m sad.

8. Okay, Lazarus, that’s enough emotion for you now. Suck it back down

down

down

down

The Steel Baby

I woke up from a semi heart-wrenching dream this morning. I was a little girl, playing in a living room. It wasn’t a familiar room to me.

(I must have manufactured it from memories my mother had told me about: She said when my dad committed suicide, she had returned to the apartment and his walls were covered with pictures of me.)

There I sat, on the carpet. My dad walked in the door. He looked tired, rugged, worn out. I clutched onto a stuffed animal he had given me- Topaz the wolf. I had been coloring pictures for him to decorate his fridge with.

There was an uncomfortable silence. With a small voice, I asked, “Dad, why aren’t you here anymore?”

Through a foreign gaze, he replied, “I’ll show you why.”

He grabbed my arm, pulled out a pouch, and sat next to me on the floor. He pushed a heroin needle into my vein. The stuffed animal fell from my grasp and I collapsed into the dirt-footed carpet. I opened my eyes wide and stared at the ceiling fan beating overhead. Foomp, foomp, foomp…

“Relax,” he whispered, “You’ll sleep in a moment.”

Foomp, foomp, foomp.

We died. All of a sudden, I was looking down from the ceiling fan, onto our bodies. My stuffed animal just inches away from my fingertips, his gun and needle centimeters from his reach. Sirens.

Happy Father’s Day.

One Hundred Questions

Stolen from blahpolar

1. How are you, really?
Fragile
2. How do you feel right now? What are you thinking about?
I feel alright, content. I’m thinking about being a nicer person.
3.What’s your favorite color?
Purple
4. What’s your favorite food?
Cuisine? I suppose Middle Eastern. Specifically… I really like mac and cheese
5. What’s your favorite dessert?
Banana and chocolate ice cream
6. How old are you?
23
7. What have you learned today?
That people are good, we make mistakes, but forgiveness is possible.
8. What was your favorite subject in school?
Arts, English
9. What do you do?
I work in Human Resources currently
10. What are some of your favorite books?
Catcher in the Rye, Secret Life of Bees, Kindred, Be Here Now, Go Ask Alice, Speak, Eat Pray Love
11. What are some of your favorite movies?
The Hours, Fight Club, Inception, Breakfast Club, Virgin Suicides, Clueless, Requiem for a Dream…
12. What kind of music are you into?
Progressive Rock Metal, underground 80s, soundtracks (for example, Donnie Darko, Inception, The Hours, Interstellar)
13. If you were going to write a book, what would you call it and what would it be about?
I’ve thought about this quite a lot. When I was motivated to publish my poetry, the title was “Solopsist.” Nowadays, It would probably be a compilation of these blog posts in an autobiography type setting. I would pull one of my favorite titles from my previous blog posts and use that.
14. What’s one of the scariest things you’ve ever done?
Hang over the edge of a building, convincing myself that it would be better if I jumped.
15. What accomplishment are you most proud of?
Overcoming addiction, although I know it is a perpetual effort, I’m happy I’m aware and am working towards happiness.
16. Are you married?
No
17. How did you meet your spouse / girlfriend / boyfriend?
Girlfriend- through work
18. Do you think it’s better to get married when you’re young or better to wait a while?
Wait a while.
19. Do you have any kids?
No
20. Have you ever thought of adopting?
Many times
21. When you were a kid, what did you want to be when you grew up?
A writer, an actress. I always wrote books and wanted to have my own library so I could do book signings!
22. How did you get into health care?
A good friend of mine recommended a mental hospital. With the help of him and my girlfriend, I was finally admitted.
23. Would you recommend healthcare for other people? Why / Why not?
Yes. It may feel as though it will be futile, or a waste of time, but healthcare is there for a reason.
24. What do you do for fun?
I love writing. I like to listen to music and create new stories and poems from whatever inspires me. I also enjoy coloring!
25. Do you like traveling?
Very much so.
26. If you could visit any country in the world, where would you go?
India
27. Who are some people you’d like to meet someday?
Homeless people, monks, yogis, gurus, rich people, CEOs, humanitarians, activists
28. If someone asked you to give them a random piece of advice, what would you say?
You are exactly where you need to be. Be patient with yourself. Love yourself.
29. What’s one of your favorite habits you have?
Blogging!
30. What are some things that make you really happy?
Watching other people perform random acts of kindness, the sunrise, mango lassis, my girlfriend, my dogs, disco music
31. What are some things that make you really sad?
Too many things. Elderly people, my past, my mom…
32. What are some things that scare you?
Not much anymore. I’m scared that one day I’ll have a psychotic episode and switch, stay switched, and lose myself.
33. Do you like to plan things out in detail or be spontaneous?
I much prefer to live spontaneously
34. Are you a religious person?
No, I’m spiritual, though
35. If you could go back in history, who would you like to meet?
My dad.
36. Would you rather live in the country or in the city?
City
37. What was your life like growing up?
Happy, sad, confusing, abusive, active. I grew up with my grandparents. I was really sheltered as a kid. I had loads of imaginary friends.
38. What were you like in high school?
I was really weird and odd. I was THE theatre kid. Depression took a great hold of me, though. So, to everyone else, I was silly, crazy, daring, fun. However, I remember the nights of binge drinking whiskey out of the bottle, inhaling hairspray and desk cleaner, crying, sleeping, and walking to my old high school drunk and high at midnight to leave a suicide note on the office window.
39. Do you have any brothers or sisters? How many?
Half brother, half sister
40. What’s your favorite part about today so far?
Waking up next to my girlfriend
41. Who in your life has influenced you the most? How did they do it?
Many, many people have influenced me, in many different ways. Perhaps it’s my mother. Not necessarily in a positive way, but she is a reminder of what I have chosen not to become.
42. What’s your favorite joke?
Why did Barbie never get pregant? Because Ken came in a different box.
43. Have you ever tried sushi? (Did you like it?)
Yes and NO. Bleh.
44. Do you like spicy food?
Yes! I’m Mexican afterall.
45. How do you like your steak cooked?
Medium rare
46. Do you have a favorite number? Any particular reason why you like that number?
21, it’s my birthday
47. If you were a type of animal, what would you be and why?
Wolf. I’ve always believed it to be my spirit animal. Loyal, loving, fierce and they are survivors innately.
48. What’s one of the strangest things you’ve ever done?
I’ve done many a strange thing! Perhaps one of them is when I was younger, I would talk to my rake and broom.. the Broom’s name was Brad and the Rake was Scott.
49. What kind of vacations do you like?
Leisurely, adventurous vacations to places I’ve never been to before.
50. What are some of your major goals in life?
I would like to become a published author, perhaps even get back into theatre. Live life happily.
51. What are some of your smaller goals in life?
Visit an ashram, travel to Europe, have children.
52. What do you like least about yourself?
My self criticism
53. What embarrasses you?
My mental health- or lack thereof
54. If you could try out any job for a day, what would you like to try?
A college professor, and/or motivational speaker
55. What’s your earliest memory?
Seeing my dad smoke in front of me at the dining room table
56. What’s the best decision you ever made?
Getting mental help
57. Who’s your best / closest friend?
My girlfriend
58. What do you think people think of you?
People may think I’m bubbly, a little (too) outgoing, maybe off my rocker a bit.
59. What were your grades like in school?
Terrible- save drama and art.
60. If you could learn one random skill, what would you learn?
Baking
61. Are you an introvert or an extrovert?
Extrovert all the way.
62. Have you ever taken a personality test? (How did the results turn out?)
Multiple times…. usually they tell me that I’m a loving person, great communication skills, but I’m stubborn as hell and too harsh on myself.
63. What’s the first thing you notice about people?
Eye contact
64. Do you think people can control their own destiny?
I suppose, to an extent. We create the majority of our karma. Sometimes life throws us curveballs.
65. Do you think all people are equally valuable, or do you think some people in certain situations might be more valuable than others?
We are all equally valuable, in our own equally needed ways.
66. Do you think people are basically bad or basically good?
Good
67. Do you think morals are universal or relative to the beliefs, traditions, and practices of individuals or groups?
I think they are relative for the most part. Except maybe killing for fun? I don’t see how that could ever be moral!
68. Do you think God exists?
I think we all exist as God.
69. Do you think any kind of afterlife exists?
I think so… right?
70. Do you vote? Why / Why not? If you do vote, how do you usually vote?
I do! I’m a libertarian., whatever that means!
71. Do you think gay people choose to be gay? Do you think straight people choose to be straight?
No. I think we’re born with it. Maybe it’s Maybelline.
72. Is torture ever a good option? If no, why not? If yes, when?
I really don’t think so. Ever.
73. Would you kill an innocent person if you thought it might mean saving a dozen other people?
No- because if I “thought” it, that means it’s not a definite. I have an odd way of thinking.
74. What’s the most money you’ve ever given away?
A lot
75. What’s the biggest personal change you’ve ever made?
Leaving the Church of Scientology
76. What’s the stupidest thing you’ve ever done?
Joining the Church of Scientology (ha!)
77. What do you think would be one of the best steps we could take toward ending poverty around the world?
People realizing we are all here together for the sole purpose of the pursuit of happiness.
78. What do you think we could do to best improve the education system?
Improve educators’ pay rates
79. In general, what do you think about art?
I love it. Art is fantastic and without it, I think the world would be really, really shitty.
80. What are some of your favorite websites?
WordPress!! Wimp.com
81. What’s the biggest turnoff in a man/woman?
Arrogance, lack of empathy, ignorance
82. What’s the biggest lie you’ve ever told?
I shall never say
83. What’s something most people don’t know about you?
I’m listening to 5 other people in my head as they’re talking to me
84. What’s something you wish everyone knew about you?
I’m a really good person who genuinely wants to help people
85. What are some of the first things you do in the morning?
Check my phone, hug my dogs, stretch, stare at the ceiling, pray
86. What’s the worst thing that’s ever happened to you?
Well, I had a scary thought. My first thought after I read that question was, “That I didn’t succeed at my suicide attempt(s).” That’s not a legitimate answer. Worst thing… rape.
87. Do you cry easily?
Oh, yes.
88. How do you feel about public speaking?
I love it. I think it’s super fun
89. Do you like to talk on the phone?
Very much, especially when I’m cleaning.
90. How many emails do you get each week, roughly?
200? Spam, mostly
91. If someone were to make a movie about your life, who would you hope would play you?
Oh my… am I allowed to play myself? That would be great. It could be my big break.
92. What’s one of your favorite questions to ask new friends or to get a conversation going?
What’s the craziest thing you’ve done lately?
93. Would you ever sky dive or bungee jump?
Oi…. sky diving….uhh…sure. No to bungee jumping.
94. Have you ever been in a fist fight?
A couple times. Won both times.
95. What’s the best prank you’ve ever pulled?
I’m not really one to pull pranks- at least I can’t think of any at the moment!
96. What did you do on your 16th birthday?
I had a roaring 20s themed party with a bounce house! One of my favorite memories.
97. What do you think is one of the most undervalued professions right now?
Teachers
98. How would you explain your basic life philosophy?
Keep moving, you never know whose life you can save.
99. Would you rather be hated or forgotten?
Hated. At least I would have made some kind of difference.
100. If you knew you would die tomorrow, would you feel cheated today?
A little bit.

On White Lines and Morning Prayers

I meant to write this past weekend but found little time to sit and type!

The therapy session went well. My girlfriend came along and was able to give my therapist a lot of insight as to the others- a lot more insight than I expected her to give. I found myself becoming very uncomfortable at the descriptions she gave of Rogue, recanting violent acts, punches and harsh words. Some mental fog consumed me and I was enveloped in thick, muddy time, listening to my girlfriend converse back and forth about my dissociation. Allie sat to my left, patting my knee, telling me to relax. All the while, Rogue stirred beneath my ribs. I could feel my eyes almost dilate.

My therapist recommended that I communicate with Rogue, perhaps through writing. I don’t even know where to begin.

After the session, I felt very detached from reality. I could hear R in the background, “Now you really did it. You fucked up.”

I went home, paced nervously around the house, walking over the carpet spaces in which I was taken advantage of. I downed a beer, two, three. My cousin came home with his friends. I retreated into my bedroom with Allie and I cried into my pillow. The walls were closing in on me. Dee said I should get out of the house. Somewhere in between my melt down and sticking my keys in the ignition of my car, I had gotten ready and left my house. I met up with a good friend of mine/coworker for a drink. The space made me relax more. I was able to forget about R.

Good conversation, good drinks, good music. My girlfriend met us later at the bar, looking absolutely stunning as she had just come from a family quinceañera.
More conversation, more drinks, more music.

At the end of the night, my girlfriend and I had gotten into a small argument, which I can’t blame her for. We had been at the bar with another friend, who so happens to have a coke habit. We had gone into the stall together. She asked me if I wanted a bump. I said no. I held my hand out as a table as she did took a line. Another line. I wanted it, it was so close to me. But I thought to myself, “I’m not going to waste my sobriety and I’m not going to hurt my girlfriend.” She put the coke away.

Moments later, my girlfriend walked into the restroom with us. I guess I looked suspicious, or so she said. When we got in the car to drive home, she spun around and said, “Really? One night and you’re already snorting coke?”

Like I said, I can’t blame her. I was a desperate junkie not too long ago. I think I was just upset because A) I had been proud of myself and I was excited to tell her, “Babe! Guess what!! I was strong and I didn’t do it!”
B) I hadn’t taken my meds that night and I was feeling it.

The next morning everything was fine. She asked me again to reassure her. I did. We made up and went to the dog beach with my little ones. I think we both needed the sun and sand. The weekend ended off with homemade tie-dye shirts.

On a completely separate note, Ramadan begins next Thursday. I wanted to begin a week early. Unfortunately, I did not set an alarm for Morning Prayer- Fajr- today, but I did make up the prayer when I woke up. I will be fasting this week. God willing he will rope me closer to him, to myself, to love and to general patience this month. I need faith again.

The Child’s Ten Year Suicide 

I spent yesterday packing boxes from my former apartment, meticulously studying my memories, my items. It’s then that I came across a blue binder full of poetry, short stories, drawings I had written throughout my younger years.


The letters begin from 2004. I was 12-years-old. The topics of my stories were sexually explicit, contained suicide ideation, physical abuse, and mental health. So much of my poetry revolved around “the voices.”


I don’t even remember drawing and writing these things. It’s chilling.


My heart aches for my younger self. I truly was hurting, I was trapped and the signs were all there. At least to my knowledge, no one noticed the suicide letters I had used as bookmarks. No one noticed the doodles I’d made of a girl hanging from a tree.

The first time that there was widespread alarm for my mental stability was when I was 13, in 7th grade. I had written a short story, 6 pages long, titled, “Find Me, Anthony.” The story revolves around the main character, Lark, who narrates from within a mental institution. She’s a sex addict, mute for 11 months, a witness to her mother’s battery and abuse, an observer to the casual world encompassing her. She has never felt love. Finally, in the end, she finally speaks to her therapist. This was written just months after I was raped by my cousin.

A lot of those words seem to have held true all these years. Looking back, I want so badly to sit there with my young self, hold her, love her. Life continued to spin around me, yet in the midst of it all, I stood there feeling absolutely neglected. I remember thinking, “If only my Dad were alive, he wouldn’t let this happen to me. He would protect me.” That’s where Allie filled the void; all I wanted was love. I wanted someone to hold me and love me, accept me. It breaks my heart to look back on the little girl who would flee to the bathroom when her grandfather was belligerently screaming, only finding solace and desperately seeking love from her imaginary friend.

It’s hard to admit that a lot of my hurt and depression stemmed from the basic desire of just wanting my mom to brush my hair at bedtime, but being so fucking helpless. She was gone. And my dad, I wanted nothing more than to throw a baseball and have him catch it. How is it fair that at 4-years-old, instead of him teaching me how to read, I was throwing small fistfuls of dirt over his casket at his funeral? I still miss him. I hold on to my memories of him. I never talk about them, in order to keep them sacred. But now, I want him here with me. I wanted to share my first car with him. I want him to teach me things about mechanics, about tools, anything…. about life. I want him to worry about me on my drive home. I want him to just be a phone call away when I need him.

God this hurts. I’m 23 and this still hurts like it happened yesterday.

Anyways, I rambled. The point is, it’s painful looking back on that child, and I realize that I’m hurting just the same, and I’m desperate just the same for release.

Hell is a Place Full of Uneducated Psychiatrists

Oh, have I got a story to tell you.

Firstly, my anxiety and symptoms came to climax yesterday. I have been feeling chest pains- more specifically, it feels like sharp pains centered around my heart- for the past 2-3 weeks or so. Yesterday, the pain became consistent and was accompanied with numbs fingertips, tingly lips, and dizziness. I was alarmed, but even more so alarmed because I was withdrawing off of the lithium.

So, we journeyed to the Urgent Care by work. They couldn’t really do anything, so they sent me to the Emergency Room. I checked in there and long story short, they told me my symptoms were just a manifestation of bad anxiety. I was relieved, yet my inner hypochondriac wanted to scream, “But! It’s my heart! I think! Am I really okay?!?! Are you sure?!?!?”

They gave me a dosage of lithium and sent me on my way. I began to feel better an hour and half later.

Now, I had my first psychiatrist appointment yesterday evening. I left work, arrived at my destination early, filled out all of my paperwork, and waited. I waited for 45 minutes. Alright. I’m just going to bullet point all the STUPID AS FUCK things my psychiatrist said. I was livid.

This is during the initial interview. I filled out all the relevant information (suicide attempts, family history, abuse, trauma, drug use, diagnoses, etc..)

• She asked me, “Tell me about your suicide attempts, how did you do them?” I told about the first time and when I came around to the second attempt, I said, “Well, I tried to jump off of a building…” She promptly dropped her pen and asked dumbfoundedly, “Why would you do that?” (Insert uncomfortable blinking here) “Why would you try to jump off a building?”
• She noticed my scribbled in heroin history in my drug use summary. She said, “So you grew up with mom and dad and saw them doing it so you just thought it was okay?” No, bitch, my dad COMMITTED SUICIDE and my mom ABANDONED ME so I didn’t get the basic privilege of watching them shoot up while I was enjoying an edge-of-your-seat episode of Blue’s Clues.
• She asked me what my official diagnoses was at the hospital. I told her it was Schizoaffective. BRACE YOURSELES. She said, “That can’t be right. You don’t look to me like someone who is schizoaffective.

You must have PTSD.” Are you kidding me? I don’t look like someone who has Schizoaffective…I’ve never in my life….well, actually no that’s not true. Kayden, where are you? You mentioned this happening to you, too. But oh my dear Christ on a sunflower, I’ve never heard anything more unprofessional.
• She was reluctant to write me a prescription because she didn’t feel she should be giving me medication for PTSD, but because I was in the damn emergency room yesterday, she wrote me a script.
• She asked me if I was sexually active and use protection. I said yes I am but I’ve been with a girl, so I’m not getting pregnant anytime soon. She got quiet and said half under her breath, “Oh…so homosexual…”
• THEN, at the end of awful experience, she was mid-sentence talking to me as her eyes widened and she exclaimed, “OH! I have another appointment. Oh no! Is she here?” She whips around in her chair, glances at her calendar and she said, “Oh! She’s here already! Here, sign these…” She rushed me through some paperwork and my script. I waited for 45 minutes AND my appointment was cut short.

At least I got what I needed. I have my prescriptions and that’s what matters. But oh my god…

Psychiatrist from hell.

My Happy Place; a Realization

I finally see a psychiatrist tonight after work. I’ll get my refill on my meds tonight, and all will be well.

It must be the change plus medication that is throwing me off so much; I don’t feel like I’m here. I feel like a totally different person most of the time. It’s affecting her, too. I’m distant. I’m even distant with myself, distant with Allie. She tries to get me to talk to her about what’s going on through my head. I almost feel as if I don’t have the energy to confront the recent shift(s) in my life. I’d rather crawl into my shell and introvert. Although, I know that’s not healthy.

Last night, my cousin and I had a rather long conversation- a much needed conversation. He had seen my book on the dining room table, The Magic Daughter: A memoir about living with multiple personalities. He was really curious about that specifically. He asked a lot of questions regarding my mental health in general. I told him about the Schizoaffective Disorder, my dissociation, my depression, etc. He understood. I don’t think he quite “agrees” with me taking medication, but I explained to him that I feel much better now, I feel leveled out.

We also discussed the family, trauma in the family, etc. IT was healing for both of us to talk about those issues. As a conclusion, he let me know that he has unconditional love for me and hopes that we have many more conversations like those, that we can learn from each other while living together, and become closer as family.

My final thought for my post: My cousin asked me last night, “What’s your happy thought?” He, of course, was referencing one of our most sacred childhood movies, Peter Pan. No one had ever asked me this. I sat there in reflective silence for a minute or so. He said, “I ask a lot of people this. Most of the time, I get a superficial answer like ‘weed.’ I find that the ones that take a little bit longer to think are the ones that have something very lovely to say.”

I cleared my throat and said, “Me. My resilience. The fighter in me is my happy place because I know that no matter what happens, no matter what tragedy or obstacle comes my way, I will always, always flourish and prosper.” He looked at me, raised his wine glass, and with tears of humanity in both of our eyes, we smiled.

I can honestly say that despite having been going to therapy, our raw and human conversation last night felt like the very first step to my recovery of my soul. That is a beautiful thing. Thank God for my family.

The Weathered Rescuer

3rd therapy appointment. It was alright. It felt pretty unproductive to be honest. I didn’t know where to start, continue, or end. I blabbed uncomfortably about my family, my dad, my cousin….etc. I did, however, come to the realization that I am VERY detached from not only my past trauma, but reality in general. I’m apprehensive about therapy because I’m terrified of digging into myself and restoring those memories.

Before this, we had gone to the laundromat. I wasn’t totally there, either. I constantly feel that my wherewithal is a red balloon and I am holding on to the string. The balloon is tugging away from my grasp in every which way, and I have to keep re-tying the ribbon to my wrist.

Laundry, appointment, then we went to the mental hospital where I was enrolled in the out patient program(s). I have yet to find a new psychiatrist and I have about 3 days left on my medication. I’m getting a little anxious about the medication aspect….

But hey!!!!! Guess what!!!!! I got a new car!!!!!! YESSSSS!!!! This is my first car ever and I’m so damn excited. So, my mood has been outstanding considering the recent changes and such. Yes yes yes. Adulthood.

I’m bracing myself for this week. I have some bills I need to pay, I need a refill on my lithium badly and my seroquel, and I need to start learning to not freak out whenever I sleep in my bed alone. Baby steps. Growing pains. It’s going to be okay.

I start reading the book, The Magic Daughter, and I can already relate to her. She says that her selves were there to protect her, and from them she learned great lessons and talents. It’s very interesting.

That’s all I could tell my therapist today. “It’s interesting.” This, of course, is in regards to my dissociation in general. I don’t how to feel about it. I don’t know how to personally react to the fact that Goldie came out to her and her roommates. I really don’t. I told my therapist that I almost feel guilty, embarrassed, because I don’t want other people to view me as weak. I don’t want my girlfriend to see Goldie and think that I was too weak that I couldn’t even handle being in the moment.

I guess I’m still trying to wrap my head around all of this, blah, blah, blah. I’m feeling introverted. Even though I have been able to keep it together relatively well, I still feel something inside of me cracking. I feel fragile, vulnerable, terrified, and fragmented. I don’t know what to expect from meeting my child self, repairing the hurt and heartbreak…

31 Day Blog Challenge- Day 1

My girlfriend is doing this challenge, so I will, too! Check her out sometime 🙂

Day 1: Tell Your Life Story in 300 Words or Less

Born with heroin in my system, daughter of two homeless and drug-saturated parents, dad committed suicide. I always thought I’d become either a writer or an actress. Beaten and abused a a child, alcoholism runs in the family. Institution when I was a child. Allie is my best friend but nobody else can see her. Teacher’s pet, good grades. Then I was raped by my much older cousin, molested for months. Forced upon again by another man. Cutting, burning, self harm, suicide attempt, stitches. Aunt died, high school came, hallucinations started, cross country, theater productions, AP Calculus and AP English. I fell in love with a girl and her name is Sarah, came out to my family as a lesbian. I was punished for it in the Church of Scientology. High school friend died, I missed my mom, went to school drunk, tried heroin and liked it, popped pills. Was accepted into Juilliard, didn’t go. College, I don’t remember much. Raped by 4 men at once, Morris came. Cutting, burning, heroin, xanax, cocaine, alcohol, opiates, inhalants. Almost jumped from a building. Hallucinations. Took my pills and said goodbye. 5150. Rehabilitation, more work in the Church of Scientology. Miscarried. Mania. Cutting. Psychosis. The voices won’t stop. Found my mother. She lives in South Carolina. More drug use. Fell in love again with a woman. I found help. I have Schizoaffective Disorder and I take Lithium and Seroquel to keep me alive and stable. Blogging.

Did I miss anything?