Therapy Made Me Smile

I feel fantastic. I love when I have good therapy sessions!!

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I am continuously realizing my own strength and will power. I am so cool!!! I’ve been through so much shit in my life- I mean REAL shit, real trauma- but I’ve come out of it. I’ve come out as a good person and loving person. I’m not calloused. I am optimistic, resilient, caring, loving and bright.

I’m really proud of myself for making huge improvements! I’m really admiring every aspect of myself right now. I don’t need anyone’s approval or praise. I am more than enough.

I CAN handle my past. I CAN handle my present. I CAN handle anything that comes my way. I can love everyone and help them if I want to. I can choose what hurts me and what doesn’t.

I am not a prisoner of my prior mistakes. I am a survivor.

I am no longer afraid of the monsters from my history. I can be assertive and firm when it comes to my personal integrity because I deserve happiness.

Love and forgiveness are stronger than hate and anger. I am pouring out my heart and loving vibrations to the universe and am receiving it in return.

There are a lot of people in my life who love me and I am strengthening more of those friendships every day. There are people in my life who are happy to see me happy! Who make me feel amazing and powerful!

Ahhhh….. I’m just so happy about my life right now. So many doors opening, so many lessons and experiences. Everything is falling into place.

Thank you for reading!!!

To My Abusers

To my abusers:

I forgive you.
However, I’m still hurting.
This may not matter to you,
but I thought I ‘d let you know.

I believe you are human.
I don’t think you’re awful.
I don’t think that you are beyond repair.
Maybe that’s my fault for always seeing
the good in people.

I think- I hope (perhaps foolishly)-
that sometimes you regret your actions.
I am a good person, I’m worthy of love.
I did not deserve your abuse.

When you raped me, I didn’t fight back
because I thought maybe this was the
only way you would feel wanted,
the only way a person would open themselves to you.

When you needed help, even
years after your attacks,
I still listened with an open heart.
I didn’t blame you; I  simply wanted you to feel loved.

I’ve been told by several people that
I am too forgiving, I love too frivolously.
I wanted to take their advice,
but I don’t believe that to be true.

I think that if you were loved,
I mean really, really loved unconditionally
with support and encouragement,
maybe you wouldn’t have done those things.

Maybe these words won’t make a difference
in your life, or your month or day.
But I want you to understand that you
hurt me tremendously- but you did not break me.

I’ve spent years trying to recover from
what you did to my body and mind.
Years in and out of therapy and rehab,
thousands of dollars to fix your mess.

I’ve tried to forget about what you did
by injecting heroin into myself, drinking
to the point of hospitalization, cutting into
my skin, losing 30 pounds in two months.

I even tried to kill myself, three times.

It takes one night for you to get drunk with
your friends, unzip my pants and have a good time.
But it will take years for me to love myself fully again.
It will take years to undo your one “crazy” party night.

I refuse to let you walk away without at least
knowing that your actions will forever be remembered.
There has not been a day that has gone by
where I haven’t looked at my body and have
seen “worthless” stripped across my ribs.

Slowly, every day, I’m learning to love myself again.
I’m learning to accept my scars,
both physically and emotionally.
I’m reclaiming my self-respect, my story.

I hope you find what you are so desperately
missing from your hearts.
I hope to God it doesn’t happen to your sisters,
your daughters, your friends and family.

Dear abusers, I was your victim.
But you did not break me.
I am strong enough to forgive you
and I am strong enough to forgive myself.

#breakthestigma

 

 

10 Things We Want You to Know: A Letter from a Multiple to a Singleton

10 Things We Want You to Know: A Letter from a Multiple to a Singleton

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Dissociative Identity Disorder, formerly referred to as Multiple Personality Disorder, is a condition wherein a person’s identity is fragmented into two or more distinct personalities. Sufferers of this rare condition are usually victims of severe abuse.

1. We’re not faking it. DID can be very complex and difficult to understand. Unfortunately, there is a LOT of stigma against it- not only in the general public, but in the medical profession as well. Please believe us when we say DID is VERY real. It is as real as the trauma that caused us to split.

2. Please be patient. We know sometimes it gets difficult and frustrating. Try to remember that it is also difficult and frustrating for us. We appreciate you being there for support.

3. No, DID is NOT the same thing as schizophrenia. They are two completely different disorders that are totally unrelated to the other. If you would like to know what DID really is, just ask!

4. Switching isn’t always as obvious as you think it is. Thanks (no thanks) to media productions like United States of Tara, there seems to be a misconception about what switching between alters looks like: drastic wardrobe changes, speech alterations, etc. Most of the time, you may not even notice a switch has occurred.

5. Please don’t make us feel bad if we don’t remember something. We can at least speak for our system on this one. Sometimes we just don’t remember things. It’s usually because someone else in the system experienced it. More often than not, later on we will remember.

6. We are not a circus act. Please don’t ask us to switch on command; it doesn’t work that way. Our disorder is not meant to be used for your entrainment and it is incredibly disrespectful to ask for such.

7. It’s okay to ask questions. As a matter of fact, we urge you to ask! The more we are able to talk about it, the more opportunity we have to fight stigma.

8. Please don’t share our DID with others that we haven’t explicitly told ourselves. As with any mental or health illness, it is inappropriate and may cause us to break our trust with you. No matter how open or closed we are about our alters, it isn’t in your place to share our personal information.

9. Don’t be discouraged if you have never met our alters. Like we mentioned above, we don’t switch on command (at least, I have never heard of a multiple who was able to do so!). If we don’t introduce ourselves to you, don’t take it personally.

10. It’s not all bad. Sure, therapy is tough, flashbacks suck, and amnesia is a drag. But sometimes, having multiple selves can be kind of fun. There’s always someone to talk to! We get to experience happy moments multiple times! We can unlock hidden talents that we didn’t even know about!

 

Additional Do’s and Don’ts for Singleton Friends of Multiples

DO speak to our inner children like children.
Do NOT ask “Who’s here now?” If we wanted you to know we would tell you.
Do NOT tell an alter that you don’t know to “go get” the host.
Do NOT expect consistency of feeling, thought, or action on any subject.
Do NOT tell anyone to go inside because you do not like their views.
DO set healthy boundaries.
If you are uncomfortable with something said or done, say so, and do NOT avoid us in the future without an explanation.
Be HONEST.
Be understanding that we have many crisis situations in our lives of healing from our abuse, i.e.: flashbacks, panic attacks, body memories.
Laugh, make jokes with us, really, it’s OK!
Do NOT assume anything if you honestly want to know about our “disorder” please ask, we’ll tell you the truth.
Do NOT treat us like “the freak you happen to know” around your singleton friends.
Do NOT use our difficulties as a subject of conversation with your singleton friends.
Sometimes we are paralyzed with depression, and cannot call you, clean our house, or get out of bed. Don’t take it personally.
We will fight being hospitalized….. even though we actually show that we need it at the time. Hospitals are extremely frightening for us.
DO be supportive of our healthy behaviors no matter how small the accomplishment may seem to you.
DO be encouraging.
When we ask to talk to you, we aren’t asking you to come up with answers to our problems. We don’t expect you to FIX it. Sometimes we just need someone to LISTEN… that is the greatest gift of all!!
DON’T tell us that the abuse happened a long time ago and for us to “just get over it!” That is a HUGE insult!!

 

For additional information regarding Dissociative Identity Disorder, please visit: 

https://www.psychologytoday.com/conditions/dissociative-identity-disorder-multiple-personality-disorder

https://www.nami.org/Learn-More/Mental-Health-Conditions/Dissociative-Disorders

http://www.fortrefuge.com/DIDfacts.html

 

 

A Puzzle Piece Poem- What does my DID mean?

You look at me and see
One whole piece
But what you don’t understand yet
Is you’re looking at me: 3, 5 and 13

Welcome to DID.

D is for dissociative.

For most, It’s when you finish the chapter to the new book and have to go back and look, to reread it because you weren’t paying any attention in the first place.

For most, It’s the moment you catch yourself behind the wheel of your car and you have no clue how you got so far

For some, It’s the moment you fall and skin your knee and tears start pushing out from your eyes until you realize. you feel alright, even though youve stopped feeling altogether

For me, It’s the moment when I had to find a hiding place in the bathroom, angry voices tangoing back and forth in hot and unforgiving Spanish, it’s me at 5 looking down at my wet dress from the plummeting sadness begging for my dad to come home to save me from the sounds of an alcoholic monster. Only to look up and find her- my first friend. The southern belle with the little pink bows. My best friend who no one else can see – this is DID.

It’s the moment my new best friend told me “honey everything is okay.” And then I stopped feeling that day because she started to feel for me.

It’s the moment when he walks into
The room and i know he’s coming for me
Yet all I can do
Is pretend to be asleep as he peels
Off the sheets and splits my little
Legs open like his Christmas doll.

It’s the lull of the eyes
When a hand flies to meet my
6 year old cheeks because my bedtime was at 8.

It’s the rate of my heart beat
When i hear my father has died
On the streets of LA
Probably with a heroin needle in his arm, anyways …

This is DID.

I is for identity.
That’s easy enough… But…Who is me?

Identity is the funny little cloud that has been following me around, shifting, twisting, sometimes white, on Sunday’s black, lightning licking out of me with anger and confusion.

It’s the constant trust issue because i never know if it’s going to rain, or snow, or be bright.

It’s the moments I wake up in someone else’s clothing in the middle of the night.

It’s the reason why I’ve been a Catholic, a Buddhist, a Hindu, a Muslim, and a slew of other worshipping devotees.

It’s the reason why I come to and find coloring books scattered around me like a beloved book fair.

It’s my hair how’s it been red and black and purple and shaved.

It’s how I have ten different names

This is DID.

D is for disorder.

It is the carousal of diagnoses, medication, clip boards and hospital gowns.

It’s being on lock down after I tried to end my fragmented life.

It’s groggy mornings when my eyes won’t open from my slurry Seroquel state.

It’s seeing shadows and voices and feeling men’s hands running down my thighs in the middle of a flashback.

It’s checking into rehab, withdrawing from pills.

It’s the thrill of going to group therapy and trying to explain that THIS shit is DID.

My DID.

My DID is a novel of childhood, trauma, rape, incest, brainwashing, addiction, suicide attempts, lost relationships, lost money, lost time, lost me, my selves and I.

If you must know, no it’s not all bad.

My DID is an intelligent narrative of poetry, calculus classes, a published book, a theatre admission to Juilliard, it’s the reason why part of me can drum and the other part can’t use chopsticks.

It’s tucking myself in at night with stuffed animals and sippy cups. It’s wearing cowgirl boots on Monday and a combat boots on Tuesday.

It’s always having someone to talk to.

It’s being the most colorful crayon in the box and knowing even if I’m broken, I can still color the entire rainbow.

You look at me and see
One whole piece
what you might understand now
Is you’re not only looking at me: we are system of multiplicity.

This is DID.

Homecoming

The trigger.

I had been a heavy pendulum, rapidly swinging from lamented fragmentation to utter confusion. I believe my breaking point had been on the hardwood floors, thudding my hands against the lenses of my eyes, trying to take control of my body… his hands on my shoulders trying to ground me.

The Rabbit. Hallucinations haunted me. Fear.

Sometime between talking to her on the phone and peeling myself from his arms, we had wielded a knife in his direction.

My mind was swimming with pieces of a memory I couldn’t grasp. Fleeting feelings would burst before my face, yet the shutter was too slow; I couldn’t capture the emotions nor the pictures.

Finally, the release.

The trigger.

I asked him to scare me. His hands wrapped firmly around my throat, slowly cutting off my oxygen. We had done this many times before… several times… then WHAM! His hand met my face. He had never slapped me that hard before. Instantly, my ears rang and I could hear children laughing in the distance… a playground?

(This has happened once before while we were in the middle of a scene. He had choked me to the brink of unconsciousness and I heard the laughter vividly. A piece of a memory…)

The trigger.

The laughter was fading. Not this time. I couldn’t keep doing this- running away from the trauma. I begged him to slap me again- hurt me- choke me- anything to chase the memory.

He did. My face burned and tears exploded out of me. Gradually… I began to remember.

A flashback: my face hitting the tile, the sound of his belt buckle clinking, the zipper, the feeling of him in my mouth…

Rogue, once strong and relentless, has been cemented in suicidality.

In this moment of rocking shut into a fetal position, the emotion would quickly dissipate until I felt numb. He wouldn’t let me dissociate. This is what I had been wanting. He pushed me and pushed me to chase the feeling, hunt it down, and fucking feel for once.

It was as if the room went dark. There was a sofa. I sat in the middle as a spotlight shown brightly on me. Rogue walked into the room, sat next to me, and looked forward at the memory. In front of us was our 14 year old body on the bathroom floor, being orally raped and thrown against the shower glass.

She showed me what happened as she carefully unraveled the memory from her oenomel. Rogue allowed me time to process one thing at a time- the feeling of his hands, the smell of blood, the sound of the zipper, the event itself… walking me through it with great compassion.

The film was over. This is what she had been hiding from me. I wasn’t ready until that particular moment. She kept it locked away because she loved me enough to hold on to it.

I hugged her and told her I loved her in our spotlight. I suppose, psychologically speaking, I was accepting my pain, myself, and my experience. It was the moment that I looked inward and told myself “I love you and you did nothing wrong.”

As I began to awaken from the flashback, I was guided by his voice behind me, “You are not a victim. You’re safe. None of this was your fault. I love you.”

I felt the flames settling on my skin- sizzling. The sadness melted away and all that was left was us. The system. The collection of immovable, determined persons.

And so I did what any survivor would do after reclaiming their experience:

I laughed and lit a cigarette.

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The Gun.

We know the trigger. We know it well.
The gun, the gun, run the gun.
She sticks out her tongue, thirsty and writhing
from the scepter, the life-giving gun.

Thrusting, polishing the tool with her mouth.
The gun, the gun, run the gun.
When he’s done, she’ll be painted in glory come.
Twist the head, the bone-aching gun.

Hold her hair back, wet with spit (whose?)
The gun, the gun, run the gun.
Slam into her soft, small throat,
head against the wall, the scream-muting gun.

The same blood courses through her.
The gun, the gun, run the gun.
Bookends to a home ends at the
bell basin, the pearl-spilling gun.

Thumb on the violaceous mark.
The gun, the gun, run the gun.
“Sweetheart, where are your eyes staring?”
At the swollen childhood, the lip-splitting gun.

“Say ahhh… tongue out proud.”
The gun, the gun, run the gun.
A mercury nun collects the words.
She is born, Jude, beneath the still-growing gun.

The crucifix pendulum hangs around his neck.
The gun, the gun, run the gun.
Pray to her father, his father, their father.
The rosary breaks, the half-holy gun.

Hold onto her jaw, two hands at a time.
The gun, the gun, run the gun.
Here it comes, here it comes, “tongue out proud.”
Bathed in white beauty, the swallowed-down gun.

We know the trigger. We know it well.
The gun, the gun, get the gun.
“Say ahhh…. tongue out proud.”
Open mouthed, pull the trigger, the brain-blasting gun.

Deep Throat, Knot in Throat

When huge, emotionally charged things happen in my life, I have a tendency to sweep them under the rug and pretend they don’t exist. Surprise, surprise. Thanks to my Life Coach extraordinaire, he helped me confront and organize these silly little happenings from the weekend.

From having a tough conversation with my girlfriend, to seeing my family on Sunday, I continued to push shit under the rug and conveniently developed strep throat. Not okay. So stupid. What a waste of time.

The toughest thing for me to deal with was my family. I took my girlfriend to my cousin’s bridal shower on Sunday. She finally met the rest of the family—except for my brother. That would be interesting. Anyways, Michael’s (my rapist of a cousin) wife and teen daughters were there. It’s difficult seeing his daughters because I was once so close to them. His wife forbid them to have any association with me way back when. So, when I went to hug them and say hi, they didn’t know what to do as they sat next to their mother. They hugged me anyways. I hate his wife. She has treated me like shit for years. It was also hard seeing them because they look just like their father.

My girlfriend noticed how my family treats me. Sigh. It’s getting better. My stepmom is still….. who she is… but overall, it’s getting better. My brother’s wife hugged me at the end of the shower and told me, “I’m so sorry… I’m sorry I didn’t know, I’m sorry I didn’t pay attention. Especially being a woman. I’m sorry.” And hugged me twice more. That was really hard to hear, but also healing.

Sunday night the sickness kicked my ass and all of Monday I was pretty much stuck in bed trying not to swallow.

Despite my illness, I dragged myself out of the house and went to my first play rehearsal. It was great to be back in the groove, to be in a classroom. The script is very, very heavy. I mentioned before, the play is to raise awareness about rape, especially on college campuses. It’s raw, personal, and vulgar. While I’m excited to dive into this and use it to help others, it’s of course triggering. There was a part we went over about incest and rape. It hit. I didn’t realize how hard it hit until I got home, sat in bed, and started to cry. I didn’t know what else to do… I texted Michael:

“I just thought I’d let you know that I told my grandma what you did. I told my cousin. I talked to my brother and his wife and told the whole story—not just the vanilla bubblegum one you told them years ago. My uncle knows the truth. And it felt really fucking awesome finally getting validation from my family and apologies that they didn’t pay attention to the fact that I was getting molested.”

So, I reclaimed a little bit of myself. He didn’t respond, but that didn’t matter.

Okay. I made a promise that I would stop pushing shit under the rug and I would listen to him more often. I have a tendency to take EVERYTHING on all at once and I completely disregard my mental and physical health whilst doing it. I will listen. I will pay attention, and agree to accept help.

That’s really hard for me, but I’m getting better.

DID- a Personal Interview

I’ve been wanting to write an update, but every time I sit at my keyboard, I lose focus and have no idea where to start.

I’m okay. Things are better. I’m more stable. I have a new psychiatrist. I have a new scrip for Buspirone. My mom is talking to me. I haven’t been feeling the need to swallow a bunch of pills to kill myself. Work is going well. My social life is going well. The system is okay- though we are working through something at the moment.

Everything is okay.

I didn’t want to just leave a paragraph update, so I decided to post an interview regarding DID  that I recently did (which the article itself will hopefully be published within the next couple months!).

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Age:
24

Location:
California, USA

What’s your current profession?
I currently work in HR. When I’m not bustling around the office floors, I’m writing. I recently published my first book ever! It’s called, Solipsist, and it is a collection of confessional poetry that I’ve been writing during my journey in therapy. (Self promoting! It’s available on Amazon and on Kindle!)

When were you diagnosed with DID? What was your journey up to your diagnosis like?
I was diagnosed in the early summer of 2015. Before that, I had been diagnosed with both Bipolar I when I was 16 and Schizoaffective Disorder when I was 22. I struggled a lot with the latter. I had checked myself in to outpatient services once I was hearing malicious voices. It was really intense, frightening, and confusing. I didn’t know what was wrong with me and the misdiagnoses of SAD really set me back a little bit. It was difficult.

When did your different alters start to develop?
This is a tricky question. I suppose they really began developing around 4-5 years of age. My first alter, I suppose you could call her, was Allie. She’s been my best friend ever since. I’ve been told by friends that even in high school sometimes I would act oddly, or would even introduce myself by a different name.

How many alters do you have in your system? Can you tell me about about each different alter and their character traits?
So far, I’ve come to know 6 main alters. However, I know there are at least 3 more and a possible co-host.

Victoria is 24 and loves to write. She’s the host, typically.

Allie is a southern belle. She manages the system and works time out for everyone. If someone has an issue within the system, she is the go-to.

Goldie, or Marigold, is my protector. She’s from New Jersey, she’s tough, and she absolutely has no problem telling someone how we really feel.

Senka is 5. She’s sweet, loves dinosaurs, and likes to color.

Dee is 16, although I think she may age-slide. She’s a typical teenager and enjoys a good party.

Rogue has no identified age. She was angry abusive, and hypersexual. Now through therapy she seems to just bob around in the background.

Those are the 6. The others are:

Citizen, who is quiet and observant.

Lucy Lovelace, who is a more recently realized alter and I don’t have much information on her as of yet. I know that she was “born” in a mental institution.She has been taking on co-host responsibilities and traits.

Celia. She’s what I call the “emotional accountant” of the system.

How does Marigold protect all of you?
Goldie possesses the quality that I wish I always had: She doesn’t take abuse from anyone or anything. If something hurts the system, she’s usually the first to come out. To anyone who has met her, she’s been described as a little “rough around the edges” due to her brutal honesty. However, she is loving. She offers advice to me when I need it, even if I don’t want it.

How often can you switch between alters? Are you aware of what’s happening during a switch or when you’re a different alter?
To be honest, I don’t know how often it happens. 99% of the time, I don’t think I’m aware. I don’t feel that I even switch. Sometimes, I just feel fuzzy and my eyesight starts to shift. My girlfriend is usually the one to let me know, “so-and-so just came out.” Besides her telling me, I don’t know. However, there are times when they are louder, and there are times that I feel that I may be co-fronting, but I still don’t have any way to confirm that that means I’m switching.

Can you tell me a bit more about your day-to-day life is like?
I wake up, sometimes I’ll have a morning “meeting” with everyone depending on how we’re feeling. I’ll drive to work and Goldie typically drives with me. Every now and then Senka will be in the backseat. I work a full-job. I’d be lying to you if I said it’s not stressful because there have been moments where I’ve switched at work. Senka came out once that I know of- imagine working at your desk and then all of a sudden there’s a 5-year-old and no one knows what to do with you!

When I get home, I like to write. I blog. It’s therapy for me. I’ll spend time with my cat, Rita. I’ll play guitar sometimes. Then, bedtime!

Everyday is so different, but this is basically what it looks like.

When and why did you start vlogging and blogging about living with DID?
I started blogging a little over a year ago. I didn’t begin my blog focusing on DID. I had been battling depression for years, as well as drug addiction and rehabilitating from suicide attempts. My blog was created with the sole intention of helping other people by sharing my story. Then of course, as time went on and therapy opened up my trauma, I decided to spread awareness about DID.

The vlog came about 6 months after.

What are your ambitions for the future?
I have two goals:

1) I want to spread awareness, not just about DID, but about mental health and specifically the stigma against suicide. I’m astonished at the lack of information on the topic of DID and I would LOVE to educate people!

2) I want to continue writing and publish my autobiography.

What are the positive aspects to having DID, is it comforting to have the company of your alters?
Even though it’s scary and painful, my alters have shown me so much about myself, my past, and what I am truly capable of as a survivor. There’s not one boring day with all of us. When I’m really depressed and feeling lost, Allie is there by my side, ready to comfort me. When I feel threatened, Goldie protects me. There are a lot of positive aspects.

How did it feel to be finally diagnosed with DID in 2015? Did you feel a sense of relief or elucidation about yourself after your diagnosis?
I had mixed emotions about it. I think I had just been getting used to accepting Schizoaffective as my diagnoses and I didn’t know what to do with myself. I didn’t do any research at first. Then, slowly after working with my therapist, I realized that DID was not a fluke in brain chemistry; rather it is an adaptive and coping disorder. This is when the relief set in, because I knew there could be an “end result.” Integration. I began delving into books and forums. I picked up the DSM-V for the first time. I was so incredibly surprised to see how textbook my case was! There was definitely a sense of relief. I finally feel confident in the accuracy of my diagnoses.

I think you made a really moving point about how your alters have helped you survive trauma in your life and you hate to call DID a disorder. Can you tell me a bit more about this and describe how your alters have helped you?
I had coined this term in my blog when I first began writing- Glitter Rainbow Imagination, in lieu of the word disorder. I feel that “disorder” implies something that you want to get rid of, something negative and that is harmful to your psyche. My experience is quite the contrary! I had suffered through a lot of abuse, both verbally and physically. If I hadn’t have split, I promise you I would not be here today. Some of my alters, specifically Rogue, carry a lot of intense trauma.

I suppose if you look at it for a more psychological viewpoint, each of my alters are kind of like a filing drawer, and I’m the cabinet itself. Each drawer contains information and memories that are unique to that drawer. My brain has compartmentalized my childhood up until now. Through therapy, I am learning how to unlock the drawers safely, how to read through the files and accept the information.

 

What happened when Senka came out at work and did your work colleagues realise what was happening?
I don’t think anyone really noticed except for one co-worker. At the time, my girlfriend was working at the same office and Senka asked for her. So, the receptionist called her and my girlfriend took Senka for a drive. I don’t think she’s been out since then; she knows she’s not allowed to be out at work.

What sort of things do you discuss with your alters at your morning meetings?
We do a quick “scan” of how everyone is feeling usually. More recently, we discuss if anyone needs to take over for a while. For example, Goldie likes to drive in the morning and smoke a cigarette. Sometimes Senka wants to color after work. It all depends.

Do you have to buy or do certain things to accommodate all your different alters? e.g do you buy toys for Senka or different clothes for your some alters?
Senka definitely has a lot of stuffed animals. She loves dragons and dinosaurs so we have plenty of those! I wouldn’t say that the alters have different clothes- however, when we go shopping, they will come forward and give their opinions on what we should buy, or not buy. So, you can imagine how indecisive I could be!

What’s the most common misconception about DID?
Well, first of all, I find that the majority of the population doesn’t even know the term DID. They know Multiple Personality Disorder. Unfortunately, the extent of their exposure to MPD/DID is what they’ve seen on screen- i.e Sybil, United States of Tara, etc.

The common misconception is there are wild switches and that’s it. One day you’re Jane, the next you’re Rachel. At least in my own experience, it’s not like this. Sure, I switch sometimes. But there is SO MUCH MORE to it than that. It’s complex, it’s painful, there are so many layers. DID is not a little thing to work through. Honestly, I believe I’ll be working on it for the rest of my life.

 

The Girl with a Bleeding Heart

WARNING- extreme hippy dippy talk. 

  
I am currently in bed breathing through the most painful menstrual cramps that I’ve had in a while. I woke up writhing in immense, OH MY GOD MY UTERUS IS EXPLODING, pain. So I decided to take this time to meditate on it.
I used to take my menstrual cycles very seriously, for lack of a better term. Excuse the feminine rant here…  Menstruation is a sacred time for women. It’s a time for not only physical renewal, but spiritual rejuvenation. During this time, our body purges out old blood. In this blood also lies all of the energy that has been collected and suppressed during the month. I was very good about consciously letting go of my burdens when my period came. What a blessing, honestly! I welcomed the pain. My cycle was like a brand new start for the month. I would make it a point to be in nature with the feminine light of Mother Earth and I would find healing in that.

Somewhere along the way I forgot about this. I would pop ibuprofen the second I knew my period was coming and I would distract myself. I began to see my period as a nuisance and curse. But this morning, I brought myself back.

I laid here in bed and took myself through meditation. I drew a golden thread from my sacral chakra and took it deep through the core of the earth, past the rocks, past the lava and core and wrapped this thread around the heart of Gaia, the earth. I felt safely connected to the Mother as this thread acted as a spiritual umbilical cord. 

I focused on my womb. I invited any messages from my subconscious to come forward. I welcomed any feelings that may have been stirring in this place that I have been unaware of. As I became in tune, I realized that my lesson for this month was this: I need to nurture myself. I need to also go back in nature and allow myself to be taken care of by Gaia. I’ve been having so many problems with my birth mom. My actual mother- Gaia- has been here all along and I should rekindle that appreciation I have for her.

To end the meditation, I gathered all of the raw emotions I’ve been carrying of abandonment, self hatred, addiction, jealousy, anger, depression, and suicidal thoughts. I poured them down with my thread right back into the earth. From here, those energies were given back from the earth as unconditional love.

Now that you have sat through my probably nonsensical diary of hippie shit, I’d like to tell you about what happened to me yesterday. 

I talked to my brother about michael, my perpetrator. I don’t feel like getting into the entirety of the conversation, but I will tell you that it was an emotional roller coaster with both highs and lows.

The end result- my brother said the words that I’ve been waiting to hear for the past 10 years of my life. He loves me, he believes me, and he supports me. I feel a sense of justice FINALLY as a victim. I feel that my family loves me. I feel that I actually have a brother. And I feel that finally, Michael will be feeling exiled from our family. 

Hearing my brother say “I love you” was like lifting 100 pounds from my heart. The tears burst we out of my eyes. From this very moment of hearing him say this to me, I heard Allie say, Now you can start healing the right way.

The fragments of my life are starting to come together- particularly with my family. It’s hard. It’s painful! Just as I had mentioned above.. This is like one huge painful cycle of my life. The negative hurt is being purged out of my life and wonderful, healing energy is being poured back in.

As I was getting ready to go out with some friends to celebrate my book release, Allie told me how proud she was of me. And Goldie and Dee were proud too. I’m proud of myself for transforming the shit storm of my childhood into poetry, literally and figuratively.

Thanks for reading.

Published and Promoting! Plus, a Prize Contest!!!!

Solipsism: (noun) The belief that all reality is just one’s own imagining of reality, and that one’s self is the only thing that exists. 1871, coined from Latin solus, “alone”

I have been published! Solipsist, my collection of confessional poetry, is now available on Amazon and Kindle!

book

***SHARE ON WORDPRESS THIS WEEK FOR A CHANCE TO WIN GIFTCARDS TO BARNES AND NOBLE, COFFEE BEAN, AND MORE!!!
I will be sending out thank you gifts to randomly selected WordPressers who share my book on their blog! Please be sure to link lazarusandlithium.com so I can include you in the prize selection! I will be sending the gifts on Friday, January 8th, so please make sure you share and link my blog before then!***

For those of you that don’t follow this blog, in 2010, I hit rock bottom. After struggling with crippling depression throughout my adolescence and heavy drug addiction, I attempted suicide. Thankfully, it wasn’t my time to leave. It has been an uphill battle towards recovery ever since. Every day I needed to make a conscious decision to hang on and get better. Slowly, with the love and support from my family and friends, I began to rehabilitate spiritually, emotionally, and physically. I am very grateful to say that I have been sober (and plan to be!) from the drug that had nearly destroyed me.

Through my arduous recovery process, I had turned to writing for healing. These poems that I have published in Solipsist were deliberately handpicked, as each one was written during a crucial point in my therapy. They are raw, unfiltered. I understand that some of them can be hard to read. They are difficult to share.

So, why open up to the world? Unfortunately, suicide is such a stigmatized topic in our society, along with mental health. I painfully remember not wanting to reach out for help for this very specific reason. All too often, people who are struggling with the above mentioned are labeled as “weak” and “attention seeking.” Then, when someone we love takes their own life, we wonder why we never saw the signs.

I lived through my experiences and I know that my purpose is to spread awareness. If I am able to save one life, my purpose is fulfilled.
That being said, I am VERY excited about my first published book. I am inviting you all to share this moment with me!

 

In dedication to:

American Foundation of Suicide Prevention
https://www.afsp.org/

The Trevor Project- providing crisis intervention and suicide prevention services to lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender and questioning (LGBTQ) young people ages 13-24.
http://www.thetrevorproject.org/

RAINN- Rape, Abuse, & Incest National Network
https://www.rainn.org
Thank you all in advance!!
Laz