Yup. Sheila integrated 7 of her 16 parts from her own sub system. Now, I’ve got an old part, Vicky, who has a split off part named Veronica. Apparently, Veronica likes Van Halen, Live from the Tokyo Dome, black nail polish, girly things and is about 16 years old. She claims that she is the part my first love wanted me to be. I explained to her that a whole lotta too bad happened to us and that if my love and I had been meant to be, we would have been already. Sometimes a, “no”, means an even more amazing “yes” is going to occur. Try telling that to a teenager.
So, I’m guessing from what I’m learning from Veronica and how my interests are changing, a little more rock music, a whole lotta wardrobe changes, and a cleaner environment. She’s a little anal. Well, between you, me and the world wide web.
So, all that sleep I got from Sunday morning to yesterday afternoon is gone. Yes! Parts work is exhausting. Putting Humpty Dumpty back together again takes a lot of work. And time and effort, and, and and…
Yes, I’m pissed a bit. I spent my time busting ass with Sheila and only got her halfway through and now another one wants to play. Dammit. It’s frustrating, this thing called parts work. You go three steps forward and two steps back. Some of it can be fun and rewarding, and other times painful and emotionally excruciating. I have a feeling between VIcky and her part/leaf, Veronica (she hates that), I’m gonna wind up in the hospital again. I usually come out during or around my birthday. So don’t like going to the spa. I hate it. If I’m not wearing my sequined purple beret, or as my friend coined it: “My couples and backward skaters only” hat, the hospital workers- who, most of them, 95%+ are a fucking mazing people, ask me: “What’s wrong?” Um…I’m in the hospital? Again? But they know my purple sequined beret, is one of my coping skills. That and my red lipstick. Yeah. See? It’s not like The Cuckoo”s Nest. Some places are, but the spa ain’t.
My doc don’t like me to do the trauma track. He says I get worse. Well, yeah. When I’m going over my past with a fine-toothed comb, so I can pull myself together- literally- I fall apart a little bit. A part, get it, of me doesn’t die, but integrates. This Tokyo Dome record is like, I’m not sure, David Lee Roth is not like, singing all the words to the songs and now in, “Dance The Night Away”, he’s calling the band, “Chicken Shits”. Okay. Weird. Or? It could truly be me. There is a George Bernard Shaw quote which is amazing. It’s to the effect, if someone knows your weaknesses, and uses them against you (Gaslights you), that is truly the devil’s work. I hate it when people have done that to me. Mostly boyfriends. They knew how sick I was and totally used it against me to their advantage. Lovers? Not so much. But the relationships? Awful.
My therapist asked me if I had known I had a system. Nope. Not till Dr. Ross diagnosed me in 2008. I was like the Kay Redfield Jamison of DID. I researched it, presented on it, studied it, read up on it, but never knew I had a system. My therapist had this like, “How in the fuck could you not know?” look on her face. I said, “I was raised in the theatre, I’m eccentric, I drank a lot before I got sober, I have three closed head injuries, I thought I had a poor memory and was just extravagant. I chalked it up to a lot of variables.
I have to stop. I’m beginning to paint myself into an ugly corner that I don’t want to be in. It’s time to get er done as well. Veronica apparently has an internal clock.
Have a great day…wish me luck and energy?