Improving, decompensating, or a bad day?

Oh God.  I cannot listen to this Blackstar album anymore.  When you can hear Bowie struggle for breath, it’s painful.  Just breaks my heart.

I’m really funky.  I’m setting up boundaries and I don’t expect people to obey by my rules, but dammit!  I mean, you can’t be mad at the snake when it kills you, because it is a snake after all…I just feel like I have been bit a lot lately.  I’m sick, which never helps matters; and the sickness is like…stress induced viral thingey that no one can understand or fix and I refuse to lay still.  I hate the fact that I have to be chill, both for my cold/flu and for my knees, and I’m terrified to be still, because then I might hear the truth, and Jesus!  Wouldn’t that be a homewrecker!!!  I don’t know.  Shit needs to change.  But, just because I change, doesn’t mean everyone else is going to roll with the changes.  Mobile.  Just like John Bradshaw says- you touch one part of the mobile and everything else moves.  Nature abhors a vacuum.  I’m moving and changing, as is everyone else around me.  Well, no one is on the same timeline.  Not even my parts.  There’s like 5 of us left.

 

Which is a miracle.  Hey man, when I began this journey in 2008, I had upwards of 80.  Not, “That’s how crazy you are”, but that’s how awful ages 4-8 were.  That I had to split myself, into pieces-read: parts, 84 fucking times.  No wonder I’m 42 and I suck at adulting.  I never got to be a kid, let alone figure out how to take care of myself.  If I focused on others, or kept myself busy with triflin’ bullshit, I’d never have to sit down, and feel 84 pieces of emotions, memories, etc. No wonder I’m tired and overweight.  But I did.  And up till I got the pain pills after my surgery in October, I was sober and clean.  Stayed drink free, but man, ate all those pills even after the pain subsided, and damn near licked the bottle.  Then I was ducking and dodging the fact that, Hello!!!!  What did Bette say when I was 16?  If it’s addictable, you’ll become addicted, so stay away from it.

Don fucking up and died.  I know people who read this are like, you weren’t that close or blah blah.  Whatever.  I didn’t know David Bowie or Lemmy and Bowie still fucks me up.  It’s not the quantity, it’s the fucking quality.  We get so hung up on how long, and tenure et al.  What about the quality of the relationship, how deeply did s/he impact your life?  Did you impact theirs- at all?  I’m a sensitive, maudlin, romantic, sentimental little monkey.  I remember things. About others and things they did or said that got me through the day, or the time period.  I mean, when you have a genuine moment with someone or something or some place, you never forget it.  Even if that person, place or thing leaves your life, by whatever way, you never forget them.

I’ve been in love three times.  And was loved in return by those three men.  All three, aside of loving me, had one, other little personality trait in common:  they were all murdering bastards.  No, I’m not joking or being histrionic.  The best ways we knew how, with the circumstances we were in, with what little tools we had, we loved.  And I would never, ever take those back in a million years.  Never.  My life would never be the same with or without those men.  But I may be a mess, a red hot mess, and quick to shoot a guy to the fucking ground, but, dammit!

16 years ago, my childhood- of which I had only one memory and pictures, hence why so many pictures, threw up all in my face, all over me and all over anybody and anything I came into contact.  Why?  Because it was fucking horrific!  I never knew when I walked across the threshold to either their home or church or anywhere they took me, if I was going to live or die.  What were you doing at 4, 5, 6?  Because that is what I was doing.  Surviving.  And I have been dancing as fast as I can ever since.

It’s exhausting.  So, no, my home is not spic and span, my car gets cleaned out weekly, my bills and records are scattered from hell to breakfast, and I’m trying to pick up a life that was blown asunder.  I mean, it’s insanity.  And I know it is.  I’m doing the best I can, with the tools I have, for what all I have been through for 42 years.  Let alone the last 5.  That is a whole other blog post.

I suck at relationships.  I suck at communication.  Especially now.  I’ve been in a dark and twisted place going through weird and downright, made for tv movie shit.  I don’t know how to have a normal conversation.  The bank teller asked me how I was doing.  I gave her the thumbs up, beamed a huge smile and said, “Super Fantastic!” as the blizzard drove snow and wind between us.  She said, “Well, at least you’re better than the weather!”  I looked at her, smiling my smile, square in the eye and said, “I’m lying, but I’m trying!”.

That’s my motto.  I’m fakin it, but god damn it, I’m gonna make it…probably into an early grave if I don’t chill the fuck down.  Or get quiet and be still and know.

Word.

 

 

 

Sanctuary! Sanctuary!!!

So, I’m lonely.  HIV, DID, and being overweight leads you- oh yeah, along with low self esteem-drops you right at the feet of being lonely.  So, I got on Tindr.  Wanted to see if I could get my, uh, needs met.  Also, to see what all the hubub was about.  Well, I swiped right, and so did Anthony.

Anthony and I talked for four hours the first night.  He came over and we talked for for four more. One small problem- Anthony would be homeless by today and had a SCRAM bracelet on and had just been let out of his halfway house into renting a room.  Now, here’s an interesting fact:  Ever since I started to have memories and flashbacks way back in 99/2000-2001, I have been madly attracted to Sociopaths.  Can’t shake em.

Cliff, Scott, Dave and Magic, and now Anthony.  So, I offer for him to stay here.  WTF?!  He had read me so well, I was hooked.  Sociopaths do that.  They can read a mark so well, know exactly what to say, and get under your skin.  So, Anthony grew up on the East side of Detroit. 7-8 mile near Gratiot, on the streets, “because nobody wanted” him.  He was a car thief, and at 12, was in Maxey by Ann Arbor.  So, I knew he had some shit.  And it wasn’t just an attachment disorder.  Three days.

I offered him up the chance to come correct with me. No way can they do that.  He told me he had a Domestic- a misdemeanor.  I laughed. Went to OTIS- 6 years for intimate Assault and Battery, which being his third time in- automatic habitual offender.  Dropped him like a bad habit.

So, Tuesday, I go to my therapist- that’s when I dropped him.  We talked.  We’re going to do a workbook- Mindfulness for Prolonged Grief.  And work on my cognitive errors. My story ended Sunday.  I need to begin a new life/story.  I need to return to the program.  I need, I need…I need to do.

The reason I finally didn’t act impulsively, was that I- my house is my sanctuary. It’s where my healing happens, for the most part.  I have a part system to keep safe.  If I don’t act like a responsible adult, my system will not trust me, and will take over.  Can’t have that.  I had to protect not only myself, but my system- which are one in the same.  That was the whole purpose of this blog.  If you want to heal from your trauma and integrate, you gotta act like a protective adult. The parents wee never had, the ones that were supposed to protect us and soothe us and love us.  If we don’t step up and take steps to protect ourselves, which includes our systems, we’re never going to heal.  We’ll never integrate.  Letting yet another Sociopath into my home and my life- I’d be dead within two weeks.  Whether by his fists, or my drinking- he was a drinker too- real winner. One of my mom’s coworkers told her- she’s not going to bring home an accountant.  Wouldn’t it be a hoot if I did?  I’d invite her to the wedding to just be a bitch.

But, I’ve been dope sick.  Quit the Norco.  Had a cold/stomach flu on top of the dope sickness.  That’ll teach me.  That’ll learn me, as I really like to say.  I had a dream about an Octopus.  Octopus medicine is very powerful and very fitting-clearly, or the Octopus would not have come to me- for what I am about to embark on.

You ready?

I am.

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!