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

Nothing compares to space...

Poteau from Olivier Martel on Vimeo.

Star Trails in the making from Olivier Martel on Vimeo.

Tempest Milky Way from Randy Halverson on Vimeo.

So may the sunrise bring hope where it once was forgotten

Productivity is key to change. Whether it be singing, writing, cleaning, speaking or cuddling, living is production in itself and should not be stifled or polluted, but cherished and kept whole.

Hold close those whose hearts are glad and gracious, for they found their way on different paths and through lessons you might have yet to learn. Giving hearts are pleased to share their methods of joy, love and forgiveness.

Warmth is a sign that someone is close to their core, which burns hotter than our sun. Coldness is a sign of a stifled soul. Be not afraid of pain and tragedy, be only afraid to say you have not lived and loved freely, despite risk.

Give yourself over to the abundance of pure, effortless satisfaction that surrounds and cradles you, even through the fear that curls you into stone. Let it pull you apart, piece by piece until you are open like the sky and air, full of all things yet becoming as free and light as the breeze that passes through the leaves above and the grass below you.

You are one with the flowers that arch towards the sun, just as you are one with the great flame that nurtures you without question.

Blind Girl/Little One's Eggs

I'll sing sing sing
like it's all in a dream
that twists down into
the darkest cave
and only my echoes will
bring me home

Oh it's so so sad
that I lost my sight
and that I always confused it
with my mind
And my blindness makes
the silence so bittersweet

Because even a blind girl
oh even alone
can see she's surrounded
Even a dumb girl
can tell she's taken care of
Taken down though
she may be
She can see, she can see
all the light
there has to be

Even after she's lost her sight
she's not so sad
as long as she doesn't confuse it
with her mind

~~~~~~~~

Oh clue me in, little one
What happened to you
That made you love all
the damage you do

That snake made to ravage
all the innocent ones
you were keeping so close

In your cold, dark slumber
I know you still wonder
what happened to your
most precious one

Oh what happened to you
to make them all prey
You said you would keep them
then took them away

All the damage you love
is sinking into
all the cracks and the gouges
they tore into you

What did they do
to that littlest one
they were keeping so close
that made you love all the damage
they poured into you

Little one, give me a clue
why you crushed it all into you
every bit you had left
to save from the snake
made to ravage the flesh
you were keeping so close

What happened to you
to make them all prey
you said you would keep them
then crushed them away

Stuck on Pause

When I began this blog, I started it with the intention of documenting my multifaceted life-lessons. But what do I share when I let my days slip through my fingers like water? I don't know what phase this is, but it is strange to me, and I don't know what I'm learning. There is apathy and laziness, but I feel there is more to it. I've swapped back to my nocturnal sleeping routine. Sunrise is bedtime, and I wake at sunset. And even when I wake, I don't always get out of bed, and sometimes I don't even wake up until I've slept the entire day away. I wish I could pin it on illness or depression, but I am unsure. I feel as though I am in a mysterious fog of malaise. I rarely leave the house, rarely go to see my friends. It's as if I'm beginning to hibernate, but during the season I normally flourish. My body is unusually exhausted, my thoughts dull. Even the family I live with wonder why I've been so absent.
I wish I had answers. I wish I knew why I feel as though I am on pause while everything else is moving by as usual. I rarely listen to music, rarely dance, or sing, or play, or laugh. I seem only to manage eating, sleeping, and bathing. But why? I usually have an idea. Some sort of perspective about my present situation, but it is a blur. I feel heavy, burdened by some invisible presence that has closed my eyes to everything that made me feel alive before.
I am happy to have my partner, my cat, and my family. But does that make me a happy person? I remember days I would go to the park by myself and walk for hours, soaking in the sunlight or the rainfall, and feel connected with life. I remember when interacting with people, listening to a song, or seeing a tree would fill me with childlike wonder. I could wear a brightly colored skirt and twirl in public without worrying that I stuck out like a sore thumb. I remember a freedom that I have lost. I see these ways I lived and associated wholeheartedly with myself as something so far away from the cubbyhole I've created for myself.
The thought of driving somewhere, socializing, or going upstairs exhausts me, and I only count the hours that I will be able to sleep again. But when I sleep, it is troubled sleep, with dreams of danger and loss and I wake up in a state of terror I cannot shake for the remainder of my day. But why? Why must I feel so separate from the Abbi I once knew? I can only hope I am in between versions of me.

Hoping for a better tomorrow

Now it Shows, How Time Has Made Us Soldiers: Part 1

Here I am again, your beaming host of emotional baggage and occasion charm and wit!

Let me start by saying, I'm sure unnecessarily, that I have a tendency to analyze basically everything. I've always enjoyed breaking things down to their very basics to find out what makes them what they are. Whether it be plants, toys, or Subway sandwiches, I've always wanted to understand things as much as I possibly could. This is also part of why I find people so incredibly fascinating. I like listening to people's stories, because finding what a person understands and feels is like getting a glimpse of life through their eyes. We go our days without realizing it, but none of us are living the same life. The world is not the same place to any of us. And it is oh, so intriguing to discover the worlds of others.

But far more interesting and difficult is discovering your own world. What you feel, think and perceive, and why. Being your own psychologist can be quite a burden. Exploring the corners of your brain and researching all the glitches while simultaneously finding out whether or not you have the tools to correct them, I find, is a really taxing yet necessary task. And the process of discovering if you have the tools is often far more grueling and long-lasting than that of finding the glitches themselves. The only trusty tool I've learned to use is writing, so I will wield its healing powers here.

Since I can recall, I've known my past had a lot to do with all my problems, but I was under the impression I had a hold of it all. I thought I knew my story, the sad and happy parts and all the main characters. I knew that my father was the antagonist, a tyrant and a pervert. I knew my mother, sister and I were all his victims, and that I'd been born into a lot of chaos. I knew my dad made my mother do manual labor while she was carrying me and was already so weak she was ordered to be on bed rest, and so I was born with a low immune system and weak joints that plague me to this day. I knew he was unfaithful and that I'd eventually have to choose my mom over him.

What I didn't know was that I shouldn't have been told these things regularly by my mother and sister when I was a child. But I always knew they were hurt, so I never blamed them for anything, even saying things I didn't want to hear. I didn't blame my mom for showing me the lipstick stains on Dad's collar, because I thought she was educating me. I didn't blame my sister for telling me no one would love me if I didn't fit perfectly in a string bikini, I thought she was warning me. And I didn't blame my mom for showing me my reflection so I could see how much I looked like the man who ruined her life, because I thought I must have been just as evil as him.

I didn't know I should have been homeschooled past 4th grade instead of being left by myself every afternoon for years, that I should have had more than one meal daily, that I should have been taken to the doctor and dentist for annual check-ups, or that ephedra is not a medicine your mother should give you to lose weight. I was innocent, and I trusted them all to have my best interest at heart. I assumed any neglect or punishment was due to mistakes I'd made. I thought there must be something very wrong with me to be receiving all this negativity, and I was very angry and frustrated with myself for doing whatever it was I kept doing to make my family reject me.

And now I'm coming to see how broken and messy it all was and that everyone who was supposed to take care of me dropped the ball in some unfathomable ways. I know without a doubt that my mother, father, and sister all love me. But I know now that they were all too broken to love me properly. I hold no grudges towards them, I am closer than ever with my mother and I'm happy to say we're good friends, my sister and I are learning to be good to each other, and I see my father on occasion. But I'm still left with the mess they left.

I've never been the kind of person to bring up what I know of my childhood on a whim, but it's following me like a shadow, and I know I have to face it to let it go. I have to be honest with myself, and accept that I'm stuck with a laundry list of health problems that have formed from long-term malnutrition and neglect, and mental problems ranging from Post Traumatic Stress to Body Dysmorphia. I know that if I want life to be better, I have to unlearn almost everything I know about myself and the world because most of it is mutated by all the dysfunctional ways I learned to live. I mainly have to learn to see myself as the good guy that deserves every bit of happiness rather than the villain who should be tossed down a well.

Part of me knows that life doesn't have to be a big bad scary monster, and that things are likely to turn out OK. A small part, that is. Though I naturally find myself thinking life is going to squash the people I love like bugs and leave me all alone, I find comfort in the fact that it hasn't happened so far. Actually, now there are lots and lots of things I find comfort in. Things that make life worth living and make me appreciate every step I've taken to get where I am now, which I will save for Part 2, but really is the main point of this entire blog. The only way to change the way I view life is to become its student and see every day as a lesson to be learned.

But bonus lesson for the day is that I need to get a normal sleep schedule going, because it's 5:00AM! Yikes! Good day to you, sir!

Abi-Wan

Appreciation

For the first time in a long time I see my future through hopeful eyes. I feel there might be something good coming, some relief. Though I have no doubt I will have to sweat for it, this past year in Hot Springs has taught me sweat makes it sweeter. After I moved a away from my family and friends to live with the man I loved, part of me quickly grew up to face the various responsibilities of living out from under my mother's roof. But no matter the level of my responsibility and faith in the future of my life with Andrew, life still threw us off track in some immense ways. Most of which are still too painful to go into right now, mostly because of how poorly timed the events were and how detrimental they were to my stability. With five car accidents, four months of unemployment, and roaches 24/7, I found myself fighting constantly just to keep my head above water financially, mentally, and physically, all the while trying to be as optimistic of the outcome as I could. It was much like learning to ride a bike on the bumpy, scary, gravelly road of adulthood, praying you'll begin to find your balance and quit toppling over and scraping yourself up just to do it all over again. When finances began leveling out, and we were able to quit starving ourselves to make rent money, the stress of experiencing a disappointing six months of fighting to stay afloat instead of the anticipated months of comfort and food took its toll on me.

As though collapsing into a dream state, lost memories reformed and began playing as though on a projector reel with no end. I found myself re-experiencing events from my childhood almost as vividly as they'd been when they were happening. I felt the same terror that haunted me as a girl, the fear of being alone, the feeling of being completely unsafe. It tormented and broke me daily. I spent much of my time curled in a ball screaming and sobbing the same way I had as a child, losing many hours and days to the painful regression. Because of it, our move to the small, beautiful cottage on the mountainside and the months that followed are a painful blur. And now as I begin to gather my books and skirts and candles into boxes to go back home, I find myself wishing that I'd been able to feel the reality of my situation, how blessed I have been having the place, the privacy, the mountains and the chance to see Andrew daily. I am sad to find that much of my year of living as an adult on my own has been spent curled up like a scared little girl.

Especially now that my time here is ending, I see that I was never as unsafe or alone as my mind made it seem. I am so grateful for Andrew, in ways that I may never be able to fully express. He laid with me and held me for hours, as I was hit with memories and images that brought all my wounds to a boil. He held my hand every step of the way, he called my name when I was lost in a trance of my own subconscious until I came back to him, no matter how long it took. In many ways, he saved my life. I never would have been able to survive those months without him, I'm positive I would have wound up committed, or drained of blood. He's shown me love, true love; that I don't have to fight my battles by myself, that I am not alone in this world, like I have often felt. He has given me something I can trust in.

And now I am going home a new person, and I am overwhelmed with anticipation. The Gervasios, the family of one of my very closest friends are letting us rent out their basement apartment for an extremely reasonable price that will finally let us get our heads above water. And I guess I can't just pin the "Best Friend's Family" title onto them, as they are more like family to me than anything I've experienced before. They've welcomed me into their home countless times, with smiles and embraces and lots of food, and they taught me what a family really is. Their offer to let us move in with them is a favor I will not soon forget, and it brings me to tears as I write this. Because I have spent so much of my time here feeling helpless, scared, and unsafe, the relief I feel that I will be able to go somewhere with people that love and accept me is almost too much to bear. I am thankful beyond words. They are once again providing me with a safe haven, someplace where I feel true comfort, and am able to rest and feel safe, and feel like I belong; not because I did anything to deserve it, but because they care. I don't know if they are aware of how much I love them, or how much they are saving me, but I hope one day they will see that they have had much to do with my faith in love, and that they've changed my life in some very lasting ways. To feel as though I have a home to come back to is a gift I cannot take for granted, because it makes me feel that things will be okay, which helps me to chase away the dark thoughts that torment me. For that, I am eternally grateful.

I'm afraid I'll have to write a different post about how happy I am to have their daughter Lori in my life, and what a blessing she's been to me. I'll save that sentimental ramble for a later day. I just had to talk about how thankful I am for the people and opportunities that I've been given, and how good it feels to feel the lightness of optimism and anticipation for the future for the first time in a long time.

Until next time
Abbi