Tag Archives: denial

Slow Down, Merry-Go-Round

I’ve had a very difficult and stressful last few weeks, but I am beginning to feel things slowing down. It was almost like my life was a merry-go-round that was spinning way too fast and out of control. Every part of me was stressed out, numbed out, or triggered in some way or another. I actually think this out-of-control-merry-go-round feeling has been going on for some time now. And it feels good to finally feel like things are moving at a slower pace, that things don’t feel so big and so heavy and so overwhelming. I feel more centered and more grounded. I feel like I can finally breathe.

These last few months has kicked up a lot of emotional dust, especially with difficult stuff that happened with a friend, as well as dealing with the aftermath of my partners friend’s suicide. But the dust is now beginning to settle, like snow in a snow globe when you shake it and then set it down, and I’m beginning to see things more clearly.

Of course, the denial of the DID has kicked in big time. Even despite the events of last week (finding out about the real “RAGE”). I’m beginning to think it was all just made-up/imaginary. I also haven’t felt R/Asher’s presence at all, and that is freaking me out a bit. The other night I asked where she was, and this thought came, “I am still here.” But it wasn’t her voice. It sounded like my own voice. Perhaps it’s how she sounds when she’s calm, I don’t know. I told her how much I love and appreciate her. How much I value her in my life. Her response to that was, “okay.” Sometimes I do think, am I just making all this up? Sigh. I have to stop with the non-stop analysis. It’s hard though. How do you stop critiquing it all.

I appreciate all the followers of this blog who have stuck it out with me these last few weeks. I’m sure my posts have been disjointed and all over the place. Thank you for hanging in there and continuing to read. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it!!

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Default: denying the DID

Over the past four or five days, I’ve been questioning the DID big time. I thought that my therapist confirming that she thinks I do, in fact, have DID that somehow it would make it more east to accept. My therapist is an expert in dissociation after all. However much her opinion may be that I have DID, the reality is that it is, simply, her opinion. And opinions can be wrong. She never did a single diagnostic assessment after all. How does she expect me to believe her without some sort of testing to back her opinion up.

Who is R anyways. And if she is real and really does exist then where has she been the last five days or so. I haven’t even felt her close at all. And perhaps I’ve just been imagining her all along. In fact, I haven’t felt the presence of any other “parts” at all this past week. Well… perhaps the younger me was around one morning last week, but that’s about it. And that part of me last week who holds all the feelings of self hatred and self loathing. But… I’m just done trying to figure out who is who and which part is what. Why the hell did anyone give me a DID diagnosis in the first place. It doesn’t explain my experience. It just makes my experience even more confusing.

I want to put this diagnosis aside and just focus on the general dissociation that causes problems in my life. Not alters. Not parts. But dissociated memories, thoughts, and emotions. That’s what I need to gain access to. That’s what I need to work on. I’m done with the idea of having DID. It just simply does not fit my experience. Period.

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It’s only rape after all…

**This title is meant to question people’s attitude toward rape (ie my mother – see below). I am not in any way implying that rape is something to take lightly. In fact, I am saying quite the contrary. It is something that should be taken very, very seriously.**

****Also, if you are particularly sensitive to the topic of rape, please proceed cautiously. There are no details of rape included in this post, however there is frequent discussion of the possibility of it occurring.****

 

Let me start off by saying that rape has been a theme that has presented itself numerous times in my life, although I’m not exactly sure why. What I mean by that is, it has come up in different, mysterious ways, and yet I have no memory or recollection of ever having been raped. It could be coincidence.  Or it could be that I was raped and I have no conscious memory of it. My mind perhaps put it away in a place where I didn’t have access. At this time, either one seems just as likely a possibility.

There are a couple different strange and unexplained events that occurred when I was twelve and thirteen years of age that point to the possibility of me being raped. Both of these events I was unaware of until the past year, when my mom shared about each of them (at different times). Her sharing was prompted by me trying to dig deeper into my past by asking questions. My life is filled with so many holes and unexplained things, and since I was diagnosed with DID last year, I have been on a quest to figure out what exactly has happened in my life to get me to be as split as I am.

One event that (apparently) happened, that my mom told me about, was related to M (see previous blog post). My mom told me that I had begged her to let me to see him, even though he was someone who she had never met, and that she had finally given in. She said that I went to see him, and when I came back, it was obvious that something had happened. She said I had left a happy, cheerful girl, and had come back looking like a different person. She said I climbed into bed, got under my covers, and moaned for three days.

Keep in mind, she did not mention this to me until about a year ago, when I began asking her questions about that time period. I have no memory of this. I don’t remember going to see M. I don’t remember what happened. I don’t remember spending days in bed.

When I asked my mom why she didn’t do anything, or why she had continued letting me see M after that, she simply replied, “Because, Brandic, after those three days you got up and seemed fine, and were acting like your old self again. You seemed fine.”

I seemed fine. Yeah Mom, I spent three days in bed, moaning, under my covers. I was fine. Just fine.

 

Another strange thing that happened was something I literally heard for the first time about a month ago, and then promptly forgot until a week ago. Again, I was asking my mom questions relating to that time period, and she shared with me this story:

She said that when I was in either seventh or eighth grade, the vice principle of the school called her on the phone. He told her that I had been at a party with other students, outside the school premises (at another student’s house), and that there had been drinking involved. According to my mom, toward the end of the conversation he said, “AND, she was RAPED.”

My mom’s response to him at this point in the conversation turned quite bizarre. She said she got very angry, and began yelling at him, saying, “How dare you call our home and make such crazy, absurd statements! You have no right! I am going to report you!” And promptly hung up on him.

As she was telling me this story, she was laughing. Apparently she thought the whole thing was so ridiculous that it was funny. Yeah Mom, so funny you should use it in a stand-up comedy routine.

 

Her reaction to very serious events – specifically the possibility of me getting raped – is mind boggling. Even now, she doesn’t take any of this seriously.

One other piece of the puzzle that I should include here is that during high school, I told several close friends that I had been raped. This I do remember. However, even at the time, I believe I was making it up. I think I was trying to create an explanation for all the crazy symptoms I was displaying that my friends were questioning me about: my extreme depression, my severe and abrupt changes in moods, the fact that I would suddenly and inexplicably be unable to speak for hours at a time… I think I was looking for a reason that I was the way I was. Because it didn’t make sense to me. I wanted to have a concrete thing I could point my finger at and say, “This happened. And that is why I am the way I am.”

Still, the pieces don’t seem to add up. If I was raped, they by who? I don’t believe it could have been M, because I have fragmented memories that indicate the contrary. Also, if this had happened at a junior high party, then it couldn’t have been M…

I suppose I will just have to wait until the memories come, if the memories ever come. To some of you it might seem strange that I would want to remember traumatic events such as this, but I just want to make sense of my life. I want to know why I am as fragmented as I am. I want to know why I have PTSD, why any single little unexpected sound or movement makes me jump and scream. I want my life to make sense. Because right now, it doesn’t. There are too many gaps, too many things unexplained, too many questions unanswered.

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Denial, depression, despair

I don’t know what I’m feeling one minute to the next. One minute I’m numb. The next minute depressed. The next minute despairing. The next minute, pressure and anger pushing up from seemingly nowhere. I’m being flooded with denial. Alternating with feeling completely in over my head. That this is really too much for me to handle.

A friend suggested I reach out to Bean and tell her what’s going on. I can’t. First of all, I have to wait all the way until next Thursday to see her. She couldn’t do our regular Monday appointment cause she said she had a work thing she can’t get out of. So I’ve shut her off completely. She is a stranger to me at the moment. Someone who exists in some far away world that is not my own.

Another reason I don’t want to reach out is, I wouldn’t even know what to tell her. I don’t even know what I’m feeling. I don’t even know what’s going on with me and why. I guess the truth is I don’t have to have it all figured out in order to reach out to her. But… Knowing this and believing it are two different things.

At this precise moment, numbness has moved in and has laid a cloak over my mind, over my feelings, over my thoughts, over my emotions. Numb. Numb. Numb. Without feeling. Empty. Hollow.

Sinking. Longing. Sadness. Mourning. Anger. Despair. Neediness. Frustration. Overwhelm. Pressure. Pushing. Shutting down. Heavy. Numb.

Yeah.

I have just cycled through all of these in the span of thirty seconds.

Great Brandic, great. What do you want, a medal?

Ugh. Mind please go away. Please just go away.

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