NEW: PTSD, DID, and Learned Ways of Coping With Trauma

"The blank page is ever staring me down. I'll have to close my eyes and let this flow. There is much to be said, and I hate to be vague about it, but things are getting sort of gritty and sharp around here lately. All my goods and bads are switching places and rubbing each other the wrong way and I find my personality shifting shapes just to balance things out.

I suppose I underestimated my mind's ability to assess stressful situations and organize my reactions accordingly. Rather, I underestimated its ability to do so without my realizing it. And while I go through my days, piecing together blurry, dark moments gone by, oftentimes without say in the matter, I find the ironies of life becoming increasingly burdensome to deal with."



I'm not sure when I wrote the above text. My response to logging into this account and reading my last saved blog was "What the fuck?"  I cannot emphasize how odd it is to read such a profoundly true statement about my daily life. I am proud that I was at some point able to express my situation so fluidly and accurately. However, I forgot expressing these feelings openly. I completely blocked it out. I have not logged in since writing it, I'm positive of that.

With that being said, I'm coming back here with "one I open and one I shut." Please forgive me if I'm being strangely cryptic. I'll try to stay on track, but please bear with me. It's been some time.

I've learned much since last writing. Every day is more informative than the last, in some way or another. I've been in therapy for a few months now, and calling it an eye opener would be such a dramatic understatement, it kind of nauseates me. Without giving out names and mini details, I'll say this:

I've been diagnosed with Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), as well as Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID), formerly known as Multiple Personality Disorder, blah, blah, blah. No, I am not like "Sybil," or "USA of Tara," or any other nonsensical portrayals of the disorder. (No offense, Sally, you're great.)  It's difficult to pen down how it affects my job, relationships, and daily functioning. Those details or useless unless you understand the problem, because the disorders have little to do with my present life, and all to do with my past.

Of course there was love and warmth and joy and togetherness my childhood. "Faith like a mustard seed" is the truthiest of truths, my friends. But more on that later.  There was also a lot of abuse-free illness, sharp physical pain, and fragility that I experienced from a very young age that traumatized me as a child in deep, lasting ways. Soon after, there was a lot of abuse that I experienced, either by witnessing it and its results, or experiencing it directly. Most of it was verbal and very emotional, some of it was physical and sexual. I learned to dissociate from pain and compartmentalize emotions almost effortlessly, so that the abuse I would come to experience for the years, and years to come, became quite manageable indeed.

The problem, of course pops up when I am unable to turn my (many) designated Auto Pilots on standby. By "Auto Pilots" I mean the different sides of me that I sectioned off during my dissociation. I'm sure I'll be getting into that later. I have every intention of spilling my guts out here, in ways I have never done before. This will be a place for all the different sides of me to have their say and make their mark.  Dear Goddess this might get mad!

Until next time