Stand up or sit down…

August 12th, 2015, I was admitted to the spa- the View.  I had to go for medical clearance first.  My part/parts come at 1 pm, and stay till 2 pm.  They make me sleepy, slurry, nodding out, it’s like I’m overdosing.  See?  It’s a quarter to two, and I feel better.  I can’t quite crack that one.  I’m working on it.

So, I go in, don’t do trauma.  Because it’s about time I learn how to do normal living skills.  I think it’s safe to say, after 7 years, I’ve graduated from Forest View’s Trauma Program.  Maybe not trauma, per se, but definitely time to take on some new healing modalities.

Over the weekend, from Saturday afternoon till Saturday night, I have constant flashbacks- flooding.  And because the flashbacks are so foul, I puke that whole time.  My poor roomie!  So, remember the first, “Eddie Hamilton”?  The one who I saw hanging from his closet- oxford had a lot of old homes- high ceilings.  Anyways, The High Priestess, whose name is Esther, closest I can recall, is holding my hand and hissing in me ear:  You can run this town.  You can call the shots here.  You can have all the power to make the decisions here.  She died later 1978, in the apartments by Huntoon.  Cancer.  COPD.  Something with her lungs.

Anyways, she requests to be left alone with, “Eddie” and I.  She instructs me to cut out his penis, and instructs me to suck all the blood out of it.  While I’m doing this-she had BIG guards that helped her.  Not guards.  Guards are helpful.  Henchmen.  Definitely henchmen.  She’s lying on the floor, diddling herself.  Whatever.  She didn’t hurt me.  That’s my thought process at 4.  She’s okay, she didn’t throw me to the wolves, try to rape me (?!!!), or beat me.

So, I remember the man in the blue robe.  The leader with the dark hair and grey eyes.  He’s Irish and Italian.  Big dude.  Curly hair.  Brownish/grey eyes.  He was arrested at Beltane in 1978.  He was discovered with two human skulls and various human limb bones.  He went for life.

So, this are the things that I’m flashing to in the spa.  I saw Katy Tuesday.  I told her about the 17 year old, six month pregnant left handed Bride of Satan, that was killed, her baby sacrificed, and how they ate her small intestine.  I told Katy that.  She finally shut up.  I think she wasn’t believing me with 79 parts and down to 5.  Cuz I had stalled in recovery.  I was living life.  I work on this from now till May.  I have from May till the end of August to live it up and pretend I am a normal human being,  I hate doing this.  Putting all this negativity into the world.  I hate it.  But what am I supposed to do?  Keep it all in?  Go mad because I’m afraid?  I challenged the cult’s biggest lie:  If you don’t join us, we will kill you or you must be killed or kill your self by 40/45.  So I made it through 40.  Now, I have a lot of time to work through before age 45.  I hope I can sail  through it.  Halloween is always so difficult.  That is the anniversary of the end of the cult and the beginning of the torture by the Roaches.  I remember hearing Mr. Roach say: “Well, we just have to ruin her.  Destroy her so she can’t finger us.  Kill her.”  And Lord, did they try.

I started having flashbacks in 2001.  About two weeks after the Roaches sold their house and moved off the block, you know, moved on the other side of Oxford, I began to have these horrendous flashbacks.  Sundays were the worst.  I can finally listen to church bells without freaking out.  We went back to the Oxford UCC church in the village where, “Eddie Hamilton” was covered in Lime.  All that remained were pieces of bone and teeth.  Esther said: Build the tower.  Bell tower.  It’s awful.  I can’t go back to Oxford.  I really can’t.  It’s too upsetting.  Too many fucked up memories.  Twisted.

I twisted my knee.  Fluid on my knee and they found more arthritis in my right knee.  We’re going to ZZ Top tomorrow night.  I saw them in high school.  They are amazing.  Dave- has been moved to Lansing.  I got no notice or anything.  I don’t know why I feel hinckey about that.  Why did they move him?  Why didn’t I get a notice/  WTF is going on, over?

I celebrated seven years drink free Saturday, August 15th in the spa.  They gave me Norco for my Chronic pain, mid August.  I saw the Addictionologist to step me down.  I’m thinking of switching programs.  I was addicted to Oxi-Contin.  For two years.  Awful.  So bad.  Chloral Hydrate, Valium, Xanax, Actiq pops.  Fuck, how and why am I still alive?

I found some emails from Dave.  Bat shit crazy.  Simple but difficult abuse-gas lighting.  I knew it was bullshit back then, I, “It’s not worth my soul to lie to you”?  Really, Dave?  Really?  What about lying to 1000-3000+ people?  Is that worth your soul?  No.  And you know why?  Because you don’t have one.  Never did.  Bastard.

Shocker! And not the good kind…LOL!!!!

Well, I added a theme and some new websites I found.  Please let me know if it translates well.  I really do appreciate feedback, because I love different perceptions.  Really, that is what life is made up of-different perceptions.

So, I’ve been doing Partial Hospital, which is like IOP- 6 hours a day of groups and then I get to LEAVE!!!!  WOO HOO!  But, Thursday, one of those financial people came to see me.  *Bitch* *Cough*  Informed me that I only have 9, yes, 9 more Medicare days left- FOR LIFE- at a Free Standing Psychiatric Hospital.  That’s it.  That’s all I got.  So, I took a deep breath, walked outside, sipped my monster and brain stormed.  Okay, because I have an additional Medigap policy supplemental to my Medi/Medi benefits which pays for my therapists.  Yes, “s”.  Plural.  I’m not going over why again.  If you’re new to me and this blog, re-read the previous chapters.  Trust me, there’ll be a test, there always is…Anyways, I call my newly discovered case manager thru my PPO.  She started poking around, and I started researching when I got home.  Because, If I could find a psych unit attached to a regular Medical Hospital, like U of M, say, I’d be covered and cool.  And this is where the learning curve came in.

Called the Mayo Clinic first.  Well, they only treat people from the surrounding states of MN.  And I’d need a referral- fucking DUH!  This ain’t my first rodeo- and of course, how to get there, do they have a bed, what’s their model, blah x3.  So all the rest of the hospitals I called- about ten, I found a Newsmax article about the top ten hospitals that treat DID.  Del Amo, Dr. Ross’ CA hospital was Number Uno, but they were ALL Free standing psych hospitals.  So, I have to covet my days like a mug.  I’ll hop into partial if I feel the blues coming on or I start to flash a lot.

Dr. Ross was there Thursday.  Did I get to see him?  NOOOOOOO!!  The Clinical Supervisor, who was my first case manager there, asked her underling to make it happen that I saw Ross that day.  I overheard her tell the supervisor-her supervisor- make it happen, she said, “I’ll Try”.  WTF?  I’ll try?  FUCK YOU GUYS!!!  I’m finishing partial.  Apparently, God thinks I’ve got plenty of skills and resources to not need to be hospitalized anytime soon.  Which is awesome that God thinks I’m a Bad Ass, my shrink was not listening to a word I said, doesn’t understand how Medicare works and was telling my outpatient therapist that I wasn’t making any sense.  No, motherfucker, you calling me by my childhood name doesn’t make any sense, you fucking pill pushing and taking away doctor motherfucker!

So, I took Friday off.  My 99 year old grandma and my Aunt were coming up to get their hair did and have a Mother’s Day meal.  My grandma went down into the basement to google stuff with my dad while my aunt went shopping for a gift for a person.  Three guesses what my grandma-99 year old- wanted her son to google for her…give?  Her old boyfriends.  I LMFAO at that.  Now I know where I get it from.  Between the two gene pools I come from, it all makes perfect sense.

Yesterday I returned half the shit my part-Sheila-bought.  Made her print out labels, sit back while I drove my mom and myself to the UPS store.  Made her watch the whole process.  Then, we went shoe shopping with my mom. I needed a pair of casually dressy sandals.  I had found a pair when I was at the shoe crack store (DSW) returning a pair that Sheila had bought.  Yeah, her job is to make me happy.  We need to redefine that.  June 10th Rev. Horton Heat is coming to town.  June 12th is my birthday.  I’m busting out my psycho billy gear and have a ball- sober!!!!  But, I took my mom shoe shopping cuz she needed new dog walking kicks.  Got her a sweet pair of navy blue, hot pink and neon green laced Nikes.  I had a ten dollar cert, so I bought that pair of Born sandals.  They fir me the best. They’ve got toe bondage as Dave used to say.  He could find bondage in office supplies.  He used zip ties and diabetic needles to shoot his meth with.  Near the end, he was smoking it.  His teeth were disgusting.  He was disgusting.  UGH!!

So, it’s Sunday.  A huge trigger day for me.  So I’m gonna pick up my bedroom, clean the bathrooms, move a tub of IDK what out of the desk area, and we’re (ma and I) going to move the book nook out of my room and into the front desk area.  Then, we’re going antiquing.  Great store in Hastings called Davall’s.  Used furniture and antiques.  Although, I went to Indy last week to visit my friend, swear to God, just a friend, whatever. He works at a furniture store- Nice furniture and I picked out a chair with leopard print fabric for my desk in my bedroom.  It’s where my creativity comes from and where I work from.  My cat’s all curled up and I’m a typin away on my king size, listening to Linkin Park.

Oh!!!  I met the last two parts- the twins.  The angry, rage filled, self-injurer is Sophie, and the other one is Lily.  Lily is gentle and soft and vulnerable and sweet.  But she only turns her head towards me.  Never looks at me.  Sophie, well, it’s time for a new map anyway.  I see my therapist tomorrow and go back to partial Tuesday.  I’m going to see how much longer I can drag that out.  It really helps.

Well, that is enough for now.  I put up some new links.  I hope they work, and are beneficial.  I finally feel rested.  It’s been quite a ride.  Could use some calm.  Have a good day y’all!!!!!

Well, if you won’t, I will.

So, yesterday I spewed my frustration about the spa.  I filed a recipient rights complaint.  Over the voice mail.  Today, it’s on my list of things to do.  My therapist couldn’t even fit me in yesterday  and I missed her call. I can’t hold all this in.  It’s too much.  I cannot put it here.  I don’t want to trigger or give anyone ideas about what they can do to another person.   But, I don’t know what to do.  I slept for 16 hours yesterday afternoon til 4:00 am this morning.  That’s escapism.  No doubt.  Today I’m gonna make a ghetto scene if I don’t get someone to listen to me and a slot with Doc Ross.  I’m a Mess to quote Ed Sheeran.  I feel like shit.

IDK.  I just feel really hopeless right now.  I feel like I have no one to talk to.  Even my professionals have let me down and they know what a huge deal this is.  It’s frustrating and they’ve got to know that.  One can only handle so much human sacrifice, blood, gore, guts, and sexual assault for so long.  I was a “Bride of Satan”, for chrissakes!  At age 4?  Hello?!  That’s a whole lotta fucked up.  What do I have to do??  Drink?

Had a dream about that last night.  Not drinking, but a person I had a misunderstanding with in the program.  I miss her.  But it’s too late.  It’s been too long.  Besides, I don’t show my face at all the hot spots, they naturally assume I’m out drinking.  Alcoholism is a progressive disease. I left off at Death.  Only the grace of God and Dave (Smith- The AIDS KIller) not wanting to be discovered, was what saved me.  I got sober then, August 15, 2008.  If I were to drink, I’d be dead within 24 hours.  I know what I and my system are capable of.

Speaking of my system, I saw the twins.  One of them, anyway.  I was down to seven- Phylis, thee executive; Matthew, Protector, Sheila and her subsystem; Vicky and her part, Veronica; and then the twins.  They are my self-injurers.  I have never been a self injurer, never.  I have five tats, but no cutting, burning, branding et al.  I made them promise when I was in the hospital, that if they didn’t hurt me, I would turn my upper right arm, and ultimately my right arm into a sleeve.  So I touched base with my tattoo artist.  But I don’t know.  That’s money I don’t have right now.  But I’m working on it.

Fuck, I’m working on everything.  I was in the hospital counseling my friend- who is only my friend when he doesn’t have a girlfriend, and believe you me, that hurts and is not okay.  And yes, I gently broached the subject with him.  But, right now, I need a friend.  “s”.

I’m terribly lonely.  The prospects are nil.  And I am not nearly cohesive enough to be in a relationship.  I can’t even be a FB with anybody because of my HIV.  People have such a bias against…me.  I’m like every ism you can think of- mental illness, HIV, recovering alcoholic/addict, Arabic, Roma, tattooed, single, over forty with cat.  Never married, no children.  Jesus.  I’m the poster child for hate.  Or, is that how I see myself?  I don’t know.  I just feel when I hold the crap in too long, I feel like an alien.  SRA is so lonely.  It’s unbelieveable.  DID is unbeliveable enough on it’s own face value, but when you thrown Satanism in there- you really feel like an enigma. Maybe that is what I am, an enigma.

I know I cannot spell to save my life ever since a few years ago.  I can’t do a lot of things.  It’s fucking freezing out. I know that.  I better be able to get some of this stuff off my chest today or I’m going to explode.  It’s almost 6 am.  Guess I better start my day.  Whatever that means.

I missed Partial yesterday and wound up sleeping 16 hours.  I have a feeling this is the only zen I’m going to find all day.  Yucky.

Fueled by Monster and Sam Kinison

Good Morning, Gang!  I am out of the spa, clearly.  Was released into the wild Friday.  I went in two weeks ago Wednesday.  The head of the trauma program at the spa left Thursday for job unknown.  So, there’s like, no leader.  I get a case manager Monday who is the temporary (?) head of Trauma and he promises to see me three times a week.  Okay, first rule of trauma- NEVER promise anything to a trauma survivor you can’t follow through on.  This fucking piece of shit, I see him Monday and I didn’t see him again till Yesterday when I was at Partial Hospital.  WTF???!!!!  Thanks, ass hat.  Thanks ass.  Can you say, Recipient Rights Violation?  I think we can.

So, Tuesday is Anger- to those of us before the new regime came and went and changed it to- “Feel your Feelings”.  Which was like, the mantra of trauma program- “Feel ypour feelings and stay safe”.  Now, it’s a clusterfuck.  So, I step up to throw some clay balls against the backboard to relieve myself of pent up rage towards my main perpetrator.  Cuz, the act of feeling the anger, and chucking a clay ball- hard- overhand at a board and hearing that SMACK!!! while you’re getting your feelings out is very cathartic.  Ice cubes in the sink work when nothing else is acceptable or available.  So, I switched.  I started with My main Perpetrator, by my thrid word, my protector and all around motherfucker part, Matthew (he holds my rage), came out.  The last thing I remember was throwing a clay ball up above the board and denting a ceiling vent above and to the right of the board.

The next thing I remember was moving closer and closer to the board in a rage fueled frenzy.  Then, at the end, I remember saying, “Why don’t you move down in FL to the Everglades *smack*, sit down *smack* put chicken around your neck *smack* and send me a picture.  I walked it off myself.  Calmed my system down myself.  Scared the other two patients.  Cuz I think, if I remember correctly, I got into details which your not supposed to do.  But I was so enraged that you really- let’s just say:Telling Matthew or myself to reel it in at that point is a REALLY bad idea.  So, went about my day.  This was Tuesday.  Took till Thursday for my arm not to twinge with pain.  Now I know how baseball pitchers feel- OI!!!

But, come Wednesday- No case manager.  No debriefing.  Okay.  This is fucked up.  So I’m left to bleed out and process this emotional violent hairball by myself because the teacher of the class is fucking burned out and I got no case manager?  REALLY?!!!  Then this chick bounces up to me like Tigger Wednesday telling me my case manager is gone and we’ll  be working on my Master Treatment Plan.  WTF, OVER???!!!!  Uh, o fucking kay.  Fuck you.

Thursday- still no case manager.  Friday- my stalker shows up.  This chick, like two years ago tried to seduce me, and I don’t play for that team.  I had female abusers.  When the rubber hits the road in a sexual way with a female, I got nothing.  You’re on your own.  Too much baggage.  I’ve done it, but that was before the flashbacks.  Anyways, so on top of all this emotion, on top of no case manager, I got someone stalking me in the psych hospital.  Who is there INVOLUNTARILY!  WTF???!!  I feel like I’m beyond Nurse Ratchett- cuz 98% of the staff at the View are Saints in training- takes a special person to work with the mentally ill.  I’m beginning to feel like ‘m in a Salvador Dali painting.  Nah, Escher.  But, Friday I left.

I felt like an Escher painting because I was healing. And I was around a bunch of actively sick people.  Gets on your damn nerve.

So, I d/c Friday.  That was a circus.  But, I’m out and doing really well.  Went to Indy for the weekend.  Visited a friend.  Was just what I needed.  A break from the same ol same ol.  And Mother’s Day was good.

But yesterday I had a major revelation in a trauma class.  Major.  Shook my foundation.

So, I have to go and get ready for partial now.  There’s too much that happened.  But, I actually remembered my friend’s schedule.  Three days later- Cohesion is coming.  Dr. Ross is coming to the hospital Thursday.  I’m hoping I can get a one on one with him.  I saw people and babies sacrificed.  I need to debrief.  I dented a ceiling fan.  I am in dire need of debriefing.

I hope you all have a great day and be grateful.  Gratitude for even the smallest of things that we overlook in this first world country is underrated.

Namaste, Beyotches!