Round II

Well, this is the second installment of As The Meds Compound.  Actually, it is 2:39 am on Friday morning.  I slept for four hours yesterday, from 4-8:30.  Fell back asleep at 11, just woke up.  Yesterday was a bad day.  My parts came out to play.  They have been coming out to play since July.  But, when I switch, it has always been so seamless, it’s always very hard to tell.  These last parts of my system, are very stubborn, and they come forward so seamlessly and quietly, it’s hard to know when I’m not all here or all me.

Yesterday it was pretty obvious that something was going on.  I was compulsively online shopping, negative thinking, hopelessly stuck in victim thinking.  Didn’t get out of bed, had no desire to get out of bed, it was just bad.  Then, about 2:30, I realized I forgot my anti-depressant.  So I took it, and finally had a little relief.  Great, I got a cat fight on my hands too.  Grover came back to stay.  Siouxsie has been less than hospitable.  It’s okay.  They have to work it out.  Let them sort it out naturally.

But, before I get to Wednesday’s shitshow, I need to cover partial hospital at the View.  I wasn’t there long, but long enough. So, my shrink wanted me to do the PHP.  Fine, no problem.  Well, Partial Hospital had been taken over by a benevolent despot named Alex.  Ex-Military.  He wore combat boots for chrissakes.  The therapist they had found to replace Katy was a TLLP- Temporary Limited Licensed Psychologist.  She had a tail.  Yeah, the hair that was in a string down your back?  So painful.  The whole experience was just painful.  They didn’t put my DID down on my Master Treatment Plan, instead they put ADD.  I’m like okay, kiddos.  No trauma programming.  None at all.  And there were people who needed some trauma intervention.  Bad.  I actually met another cult abuse survivor.  We bonded cuz we’re such odd ducks and not all that common.  You usually don’t get out of cults, it’s kind of like gangs.  You don’t make it out alive.  And if you do, you’re terrified and broken most of the time.

So, I don’t remember much, cuz it was so unremarkable and had changed so much, it left me with a really bad impression.  He- Alex- was like, hadn’t discovered bedside manner, his professional persona yet.  Not really warm, and I in no way, shape or form, trusted him.  At all.  But we did this one exercise, where we sent someone a post card that we wouldn’t send, but it was a closure exercise.  So I chose someone I knew had been haunting me for a long time, and I knew I would never get closure from, and it worked.  Cried the whole hour.  It was really powerful.  It helped ease the pain a lot.  I felt a lot better after the exercise, and I now feel, shaky about it, but on a whole lot more solid ground than I ever had before in regards to this person.  I just feel a lot better.  Huge burden off me.  Huge chunk of shit off my mind and heart.

They do a physical assessment of you.  When I was inpatient, I gave a urine specimen to Amir.  Why?  Because, for Amir, I would pee in a cup.  Well, the nurse takes me back, and says, “your urine specimen came back positive.”  I’m thinking to myself,”FOR WHAT?!!”  I’ve already got the mother of STD’s?!  WTF could I possibly have now?!!  Bladder infection.  From when they took the catheter out at PsychLab.  And poor hygiene, cuz I was on such high alert, with lack of sleep.  Man, getting naked and wet in the shower, getting that vulnerable in those two environments, hell to the nah.  So, I was on horse pill antibiotics.  I was super sick. I had lost 35 pounds and my BP was back to normal.  So, I got a prednisone shot about a month ago for my knees.  Gained back 11 pounds, fucked with my mood, and my hair started thinning and falling out.  So, long story-not really, I wasn’t in Partial that long-short?  The inpatient hospital is still really good for trauma and DID.  Outpatient Partial Hospital- they don’t believe in any trauma or DID whatsoever.  That was my first experience, well, second, experience with someone who thought DID was bullshit.  Which is too bad, but it’s so rare, and so unbelievable that much horrible shit could happen to one person, especially a child, that it’s just repugnant to think of insofar as that is concerned, and then the fact that DID is a creative coping skill for the child to deal with the trauma, it’s too much for the Spock brain to deal with.  Which is too bad.  Most of people with DID I have met are highly intelligent, incredible artistically gifted, very sweet, but very sad and broken.  Including me.  SO, i got discharged from there via mail, and haven’t looked back.

So my next adventure was to interview at Pine Rest for IOP.  Remember, they treated me like an addict, not a mental health patient, so it was IOP.  SO, I went to the Treatment Center out there eon 68th, saw Kevin, and he recommended DBT, not IOP.  I agreed.  So I got in to see someone for IOP.  I had already been to see safe, clearly, so the meds were working and I was doing well.  DBT- long and short of that intake interview?  I would have to give up my primary therapist, that I have worked with for 8 years, integrated all but these last parts with, been through hell in a hand basket with, for a year to work with a chick who was all too willing to label me Borderline PD, told me I would be, “hers”, and wouldn’t look me int eh eye the whole appointment.  Yeah, not so much.  No thanks.  I’ll pass.  And how.  So, I’m back to working with Katy one day a week.  After yesterday, we’re going to have to step it up.  Cuz the parts are popping out all over the place and all the time.

About a month ago, they tried to take over driving.  That was one of the first two cardinal rules I laid down:

  1.  I am the ONLY one who drives, and
  2. No new parts.

So, I’ve been shopping.  A lot.  Not good. So I’m going to have to return somethings.  I’ve been stuffing my feelings.  It’s hard. I never had feelings till I got sober, and I can barely identify them.  Let alone accurately monitor them.  So, I’ve been numbing out and isolating.  I’m also getting ready to do another 4th step.  That really super threatens the leftover parts.  They’re like, “If we get rid of Dave, what and who will be?!”  In other words, if we dump all our pain, and drop the cloak of shame and pain that we have worn so well, for so long, what will become of us?  You can’t convince the die hard parts of your system to enjoy the journey, it just don’t happen.  They’re really not down with that.  Hell, I’m struggling with that, no fucking wonder they are too.  No wonder they are acting out.

My mom doesn’t want anything to do with me and my system.  I switched and was-finally!- co conscious with Alicia, and Mom had told me before, you deal with Katy and Katy alone when you’re like that.  In other words, don’t come to me when you’re not yourself.  It’s a slippery slope.  I had to refresh her memory about babysitting timeline of my childhood.  She didn’t like the truth.  Well, that’s why the truth is inconvenient.  It’s not easy or nice or soft.  But give me truth with tact than a beautiful lie any day.

I made a new map.  It’s, I have two parts that are up front and very active.  They are fraternal twins.  About 14-16 years old.  They each have a system of their own.  Yes, my parts have parts.  Not convenient, but it’s the deal.  So, they’re popping out all over the place.  Not really fun, but what the hell.  They shared a memory with me yesterday.  I have found that if I intensely dislike something or am unreasonably afraid of something, chances are it can be traced back to the abuse.  So, ducks.  I’m afraid, feel sad when I see ducks.  I’m also terrified of them, why?  I have no clue.  Well, I know now.  They made me force feed a duck till it suffocated to death by choking on bread.  then they blamed me for killing the duck.  Not that they weren’t, quite literally, holding a loaded revolver to my head and forcing me to torture this poor, helpless duck and myself.  Fuckers.  OH!  I just burn with anger when I think of all the horrid shit they did to me.  And all the lies I have been telling myself that are so not true.

Like, “You’re not good enough”, “You’re not smart enough”, “you’re not worthy”, “you can’t”, “It’s your fault,  it’s ALL your fault”.  All these cognitive lies they shoved down my throat and into my skull and cognitions and how much it has held me back.  My class at school is a direct result of, “You only live once, so make it good”.  Life is too long to be miserable.”  Don’t get me started on my professor.  She doesn’t return my emails.  Yeah.  Reread that, just in case.  And the guy I got his number, for if I missed and vice versa, hasn’t responded to me either.  I’m realizing we are a very competitive group.  It’s like a low rent version of U of M Law School.  So, I missed Wednesday due to a hellacious migraine.  Do you think they would get back to me seeing as I missed the test review, for our quiz next week?  Hell no. I don’t even want what’s going to be on the test, I just need to know if I need to buy a scantron or my paints or what.  Course, why would that happen? It’s the human thing to do.  In this day and age of social media, who the fuck is congenial and good hearted anymore.  Not many, my friend, not many.

It’s just been a shit day.  Yesterday was a shit day.  My sleep was all broken up.  Sleep has been elusive for me, at best.  Along with all these demons that are beginning to surface and take over if I don’t prune them into submission, I’m going to have a real problem.  So I don’t know.

Today is a new day and I’m going to try to have a routine of some sort down.  It’s going to ne hard since I got a split shift of sleep, but I just need to keep my nose to the grindstone. I need a routine.  I flourish when I have one.  I just have to pencil a lot of stuff in, in a short period of time.  I have a quiz next Wednesday and I have mo idea what to study except everything.  I truly hope she emails me back.  Cuz either I didn’t copy his number down correctly, or he just plum didn’t text me back.  Nada.  Oh well.  I’ve been to grad school.  Even though this is a horse of a different color, it’s still stressful.  Cuz this is when those old tapes get really loud and I cop out/give up.  And I truly don’t want those fucking Roaches to win any more battles and take away anymore from my quality of life.  I’m truly over it.  I only have to change one thing: everything.  So, there.

It’s 3:39 am.  Brand new day.  Let’s make it a good one.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Real Deal

Fuckin’ Hell.  I’m over it.  My new issue of Real Simple came and it said something like:  “The year devoted to you”.  Yeah.  It’s high time I made amends to myself, quit apologizing for my journey and existence, stop making an ass of myself, and groveling for affection.  Or, trying to get affection from people who see me as an option instead of a muthafunkin priority.  Which, this year?  Starting today?  I am.

Was at my therapists last night.  We’re exploring negative self esteem and the negative core beliefs that I operate from…Holy Fuck!  No wonder!  Jesus.  A little time out for Zuzu, goes a long fucking way.  I mean, I’m sneaking out tomorrow about three to go see Spectre and then Star Wars.  Yes, I pre-ordered my ticket.  But, I’m going to be in fantasy land, phone turned off for, like 8 hours.  Crazy!  When I was a kid, I used to escape my reality by reading.  I told my therapist:  I am super uncomfortable reading.  I feel as if I should be doing something.  Fuck!  I’ve turned into a human doing instead of a human being.  Suck ass.  For realz, yo.  I mean, I have books coming out my ears- like the Roman Empire’s library.  I’ve read 10% of them because I feel so guilty taking time out for me.  I mean, wow.  Super unhealthy.  I don’t even have kids.  I do, down to 10 parts, a lot of them littles, and I’m just like, totally overwhelmed.

December 1, 2015 was (and is, every year) World AIDS Day.  I asked my mom if she would like to go to a celebration/remembrance for WAD.  No.  Okay, why?  I had just, finally, viewed Dallas Buyers Club, and I was all jazzed, and she says, “No.  I will never support you in anything HIV/AIDS related.”  Okay, so when I die from shit from my HIV, like, I don’t know, Cancer, you wouldn’t take me to chemo?  She’s all I would’ve made a different choice, and it wasn’t my choice to make and I’m just not there yet.  All like five hours before the WAD ceremony.  Okay.  If I had known he was a lying fucking sociopath, dontcha think I would’ve pulled an Iron Maiden and Run to the Hills?  Woulda, coulda, shoulda, doesn’t really do me a whole lot of good right now.  One thing about my mom- I know where I fucking stand.  So, whatever…

January 4th, I start my Improv class and the 6th is volunteer orientation for HIV/AIDS organization here in town.  I’ll perform, make people laugh, hone a craft I adore, and then reach out and impact others.  Yes, Dave passing helped tremendously.  I feel a helluva lot more free.  Will there be romance in 2016?  I think so.  It’s way over due.  And it’s romance, not bullshit.

Speaking of bullshit, I found out that my first love, that I made amends to a million years ago, is married, was married, has someone.  Awesome.  The piece of shit has NEVER acknowledged he received the amends letter.  No, I’m married.  No, lose my everything.  Nothing.  Just, typical, you ripped my heart out, abandoned me, I’m going to humiliate you.  Kissed his friend in high school- way after we had broken up for the second time?  Walks behind me and says just loud enough for me to hear, “Whore”.  What about your fucking soul brother?  He’s just as fucking guilty.  But, no, fuck you too, ass wipe.

This is why I’m being 100% totally selfish and spoiling the fuck out of myself in 2016.  It starts now.  Went to my HIV case manager.  Made arrangements.  Bought myself some healing crystals and a Star Wars ticket;  Going to see my shrink.  Fuck all y’all.  I’ve been killing myself trying to be all things to all people and make everyone else happy before me.  Well, that fucking never works.  I understand, eat, pray, love now.  Walked into the crystal shop, sign in the breezeway- “eat, pray, love”.  Got it.  Done fucking deal.  I’ve never really acted like the only child I am, but fuck you, now?  Game on.  It’s all about me.

I saw someone speak about their experience, strength and hope a couple of weeks ago.  She remarked when she first sobered up, she didn’t even know what her favourite colour was.  Well, I don’t know what I like to do and how I like to treat and be treated.  I know, for a motherfucking fact, not being my authentic self, and putting everyone and everything and all their shit before my own?  I’m a fucking angry, bitter mess.  But I’m HALTing it.  Before I go off or some shit.  You know what?  I don’t exist to you?  Sweet, now I know where I stand and I don’t have to try to prove myself and sell you on the idea of me because my self esteem is so fucking low.  I think of myself as an ends to a means.  Not a means to an end.  I’m the problem, but I’m also the solution.  So, watch out bitches.

I lost Don, Dave and a few other people.  Some through my HP’s will, some through my own will.  Some just cause.  Maybe, I actually outgrew them, or saw their fucking horseshit games, and said, “enough”.  No wonder I relapsed.  I was living on empty, shallow, surviving instead of thriving.  I bought myself a necklace.  An old therapist said I needed a Badge of Honor.  The necklace is a semi colon necklace.  “All warr;ors have scars”.  Fucking a we do.  And you know what?  If you tip toed through my mental tulips, you’d freak the fuck out.  I’m fucked up.  If you had been and seen and lived through what I have- it’s a fucking MIRACLE I’m not nonverbal.  So stop pushing for more than I can give.  When I set my boundary and say, “enough”?  I mean that shit.  And fuck boy first love assholemonger?  As Don would’ve said, “Put that sonofabitch on extinction.”  And you know what?  My degree is in Sociology, not Anthropology.  Extinction, not excavation.

The only fucking thing I will be excavating in 2016, is my soul, heart, and mind.  My spirit was shmushed.  Just extinguished due to too many high winds and not enough fuel.

So, put your own fucking O2 mask on first- no fucking bullshit analogy there.  Cuz if you can’t breathe, you’re fucking dying, little by little.  Last time I checked, dead people couldn’t help nobody.  Even, obviously, their damn selves.  So breathe, mother fuckers, breathe. I know I am.