Survivors Can Thrive!

Boy, am I missing blogging and the blogosphere! Here it is May, and I didn't think I would be giving blogging much thought at this point. May is usually one of my best months of the year, when I usually get a great respite from my therapy work, triggers and dissociative nightmares. In the merry month of May, I am usually gardening, walking & hiking, drawing flowers and enjoying the great outdoors. Well, this May the weather is crappy and we're still getting frost at night. Also, there seems to be no let up in the triggers and therapy department. As a matter of fact, I had planned on taking the entire month of May off from therapy, as I have a botanical illustration class on my regular therapy day this month. But, things came up, inner child parts got scared, and my therapist had an opening on a different day from a client who is in Australia for a month. Oh, goodie! Lucky me!

Labels: appreciation, Blog Carnival Against Child Abuse, child parts, comfort, connection, inner child, therapy, triggers

I am really struggling right now. I'm trying to process a new memory that I retrieved recently. It involves so many of my parts that it is taking more time and some extra therapy.

**Trigger Warning**

Labels: aftermath, alters, betrayal, broken, child abuse, child parts, comfort, denial, memory work, torture

Alice Miller in, Pictures of Childhood, refers to the "child within me." John Bradshaw, in Healing The Shame That Binds You, talks about "liberating your lost inner child."

There are entire books dedicated to "the inner child." One author, Lucia Capacchione, talks about becoming more creative, intuitive and playful by getting in touch with him/her in Recovery of Your Inner Child. This book's got great inner child exercises that are easy to do and I highly recommend it.

Even medical doctors are hopping on the "inner child" band wagon. Charles L. Whitfield, M.D. has written Healing the Child Within for adult children of dysfunctional families. Many of these books are listed at my Survivors Can Thrive! dot com site's Resources section, "Books for Survivors," with direct links to Amazon dot com.

But who is this inner child and why would we--as abuse and assault survivors--want to get to know him or her? I get asked this question a lot. I've also been asked to write about this topic for a guest post that will appear soon over at Michele's blog about healing PTSD.

Actually, this is one of my favorite "healing and therapy" topics. I love talking about my inner child!

But, this topic wasn't always so rosy for me. One of my earlier therapists back in Illinois asked me to pull out a photograph of myself as a baby. As soon as I got on my reading glasses and really looked into my tiny little face in this photo, I began to sob. Immediately, I realized that my vulnerable, precious, innocent child self was holding immense pain.

In those early days of therapy, I did not want to look at my inner child. Her pain just scared me too much. I thought that I would get lost in it; it would swallow me whole.

I can definitely relate to the idea of the inner child as the "exile" in the book, The Mosaic Mind,
as well as in the Internal Family Systems model of therapy developed by Richard Schwartz PhD. For me, my wounded inner child was long ago exiled to a land far away so that I could get things done, get good grades, be successful, appear reliable and dependable...and not look like I was "crazy" or a "loser."

I have "firefighter" parts (another IFS term) who have gone to great, dysfunctional lengths to keep these fearful, sad, lonely, abandoned exile parts quiet. I've run away in dissociative fugues, I've drank myself into a stupor, I've had sex with questionable partners, I've binged on chocolate and I've spent too much money.

But, the exiled, dissociated, cut-off inner child won't stay quiet forever. She's got a message to deliver, a debt that needs to be paid.

At first, I had no idea what it was she was trying to tell me. I was so cut off from my feelings (and my own body) that I could not listen to them, nor honor them. When I went down to the Colin Ross trauma unit in Dallas a few years ago, I was shocked and dismayed to be given a handout of "feeling words" that contained columns of emotion descriptions that I didn't even know were feelings! Now, I'm a writer and I consider myself to have a pretty strong vocabulary, but I just stared at these words at first; they meant nothing to me on any personal level.

But, the folks at the Ross program have their ways. They gave us patients hand-outs with exercises to complete as homework. And, boy, did these get the feelings going! In fact, I had to work with my assigned therapist there to come up with ways that I could pace myself, instead of being completely flooded with the new-found feelings.

If there's anything I've found that helps get in touch with that sometimes-illusive inner child it is FEEL THE FEELINGS! I recommend that you work with a qualified, experienced therapist in order to succeed at this without re-traumatizing yourself.

But, what I really want to talk about here is how to comfort your inner child. If you're like me and you never had any healthy bonding or attachment with your biological mother, there may be some real re-parenting that needs to happen to help your healing.

Some comforting strategies that I've found helpful are easy to do, quite generic and would probably work for most people. I've got an antique rocking chair that I drug out from the basement and positioned prominently in a cozy little reading nook I have in my home. I have an amazingly soft throw blanket that's stationed on the back of the rocker for soothing and warmth. Simply wrapping myself in the soft throw and rocking away works wonders some days. In the summertime, I find the same joy and sweet soothing on my porch swing.

Most folks I've consulted talk about "stuffies," stuffed animals that they find helpful. Now, I find that I'm a little shy about walking around dragging a beloved, raggedy stuffy with me. And most of the stuffed animals I've bought for myself as an adult have ended up being "adopted" by my own son. But, what I have done is reclaimed some of these cushy animals and I've recently given them an honored spot in a beautiful, old baby buggy I found at an antique doll shop. For everyday snuggling and comfort, I keep a small, spotted cat in my bedside drawer. After my husband awakes and exits the bed (he's an early riser), I'll get out my kitty and snuggle with it on days that I feel my inner children need some comfort. This is especially helpful if I've had a night that consisted of any flashbacks, night fears or nightmares.

If you spend some time thinking about how attached many kids get to their beloved stuffed animals, it can give you some hints for other ways of comforting your inner child. Just think of anything that you always wanted as a child. What were some of the things you asked Santa to bring you for Christmas? Remember how the adults in the movie, The Santa Clause, always wanted a "Dream Date" game and an Oscar Mayer wiener whistle?

Now, you don't have to wait for Santa. Go out and get yourself something kid-like that you always dreamed of when you were little. For me, it was a dollhouse. This was something I always wanted and never got when I was little. So, guess what I did? I went to the craft store and purchased an easy-assembly doll house kit and put it together and painted it. Over the past two years, I've been having a ball buying little miniature furniture pieces, potted plants, kitchen items and tiny porcelain dolls for my inner child's doll house. It's a splurge, but it's fun and my inner child is worth it and she deserves it!

Little inner child comforts, treats and pamperings don't have to cost a fortune. They can be easy to come by, but full of rewards. How 'bout getting some colorful sprinkles on that sundae the next time you treat yourself at the ice cream parlor? Why not read yourself a bedtime story while you sit in that rocking chair? Remember the lullaby songs you sang to your child when he or she was an infant? Singing them to your own inner child can be amazingly soothing when your feelings get hurt or you feel wounded or scared in some other way.

Why not buy your inner child some coloring books and some crayons? If you feel embarrassed in the check-out lane, you can always say you're buying these child-like items for a baby shower, child or grandchild. Heck, most people won't even ask, so there's no need to tell. Some friends and neighbors have given me a few curious looks about my doll house, but I just explain that it's a hobby, a creative outlet and--with some trusted others--a gift to my inner child. I've always gotten a smile and a knowing nod or look at the latter explanation.

Comfort food is a whole other category. Why do you think they call it comfort food any way? Maybe because it comforts your inner child! While I love a home-cooked meal of fried chicken and mashed potatoes, I have to be careful with comfort food, because I can have a tendency to binge and to gain too much weight. But, I've found that the simplest little things can qualify as comforting in the food category. Remember those sprinkles I spoke of earlier? I bought myself a little jar of them off the shelf in the baking goods aisle of the grocery store and I give myself a shake of them on a little dip of ice cream now and then. I also like whipped cream for a little treat that tells my inner child, "you're special, you're adorable and I love you." Try a little on your coffee in the morning for a quick, inner child pick-me-up. For a totally low fat comforter, hot herbal tea does wonders.

Some fragrances are "tasty" and comforting, but aren't taken internally at all. No calories there! I especially like honey vanilla lip balm (you can find these at health food stores) and hand lotion with the fragrance of cherry blossoms.

Every person I've ever met with DID (previously MPD) talks about their "littles," or little child parts or alters. I especially like Buffalopine's idea of carrying a small toy in her pocket to soothe her littles. In this blog post, she talks about carrying a Stuart Little key chain with her for an entire year. What inner child wouldn't like a little mouse friend to keep him company?

Speaking of Stuart Little, I've talked to lots of folks who, like myself, really enjoy the inner child treat of watching children's movies. If you're too shy to walk into a children's, G-rated movie without a kid in tow, you can always rent one to watch in the privacy of your own home.

I'm smiling right now just thinking of all these comforting, fun, playful ideas for my inner child recovery program. I can't wait to get off the computer and put some of these ideas into action for my own inner child right away. What would you like to do today to comfort and please your inner child? Don't wait! Get up and do some little thing for your little self right now. And leave me a comment with your favorite inner child comforts, play-date ideas and treats and we'll compile and even bigger list!

Labels: abuse, alters, attachment, bonding, child abuse, child parts, DID, dissociation, inner child, PTSD

I'm taking a break from organizing The Blog Carnival Against Child Abuse and Bloggers Unite awareness days and thought I'd just write an update about me and my survivor journey.

I'm feeling quite well right now. In fact, I think I feel so well emotionally, that I haven't caught the nasty cold and cough that my husband has had for a week. It's amazing how that mind-body connection thing works, huh?

I was exhausted from lots of extra trauma processing therapy, so I've been doing some nice things for myself, resting, gardening, etc. I think that's made a difference for me staying physically healthy. During some recent "extra" therapy sessions processing some really icky, terrifying torture memories, I noticed that my IBS had really flared up. But, I took some measures to help with that and I notice that my guts feel better now, too. Yipppeee!

While I was a bit distracted, I got tagged with a couple of bloggy awards. I want everyone to know how much these mean to me. I'm a little embarrassed to admit just how touched and tickled I get receiving these, to be honest. I have some rejected, abandoned, little child parts who still just really want to be liked and accepted. And these awards just seem to go straight to the heart of all that.

First, Cornnut at Picture of Experience has created a whole new award. Is that cool, or what? It's called The Make A Difference Award. Now, as usual, I can't get Cornnut's award graphic to load here, but it has a really great quote on it from JFK that I want to share: "One person can make a difference and every person should try." Excellent, well said, and I so agree!

You know what's amazing? Three days after I received word about this Make a Difference Award, I got a comment from Just Be Real and she's made up her own award as well. Man, I wish I were as cyber savvy as these gals! Just Be Real's award is aptly named, the "Just Be Real" Award. I've always liked the name of her blog and I love the name of this award.




I think one of the reasons I'm so touched at receiving both of these awards is because they recognize what I try to do at my blog:

1. Make a Difference in the areas of assault survivor advocacy and child abuse awareness and
   
2. Be Real, share my story and be real, open and honest with it.

The best part for me is, raising awareness and being real and sharing my story have really helped me in my healing. Another thing I've recently discovered that's helped is art therapy. I originally wanted to major in art therapy in college. But, the state-supported university that I attended did not have a major in art therapy, so I went into commercial art and advertising instead. But, you know what? You don't have to have a degree or seek out a professional art therapist to reap the benefits of art therapy. I've gotten so much out of striking out on my own and trying my hand at poetry, sketching out drawings in my journal and making collages.

I used to make the cut-and-paste type collages with pictures and words clipped from magazines. But, recently I've discovered computer collage at Polyvore. My most recent project is that I'm compiling collages and pairing them with some of my poems.

Here is a recent pairing that I think speaks to my current survivor journey status. Maybe you can relate.


Child Fly Away

I love and cherish you
And I know you love me too
Come now and we will dance and play
And then we’ll simply fly away

I can feel your pain
I know they tried to break you
You’re helpless, sad, alone
No peace within

I can tell you’re tired
I see a child who’s tortured
With trying to atone
For unknown sin

Hey, let’s fly away
We’ve struggled with chains too long
Let’s grab this chance so we can see
If we are ever to be free

Why wait here in the dark?
All it can ever show you
Is pain and it’s the pain
That you still fear

I can see the light
In my heart faith remains
And I know that this is it
Our chance is here

I love and cherish you
And now I know you feel love too
Now we can dance and run and play
Then we just simply fly away

Away
Away
Come let’s fly away
We’ll fly away

Copyright 2002 Marj McCabe ~ All Rights Reserved

Labels: advocacy, award, awareness, Blog Carnival Against Child Abuse, Bloggers Unite, body connection, child parts, comfort, healing, poem, Poetry, therapy

I was watching a situation unfold across the street with a neighbor friend of mine. I found myself saying, under my breath, "That woman needs some boundaries!"

Boundaries. Limits. Self-respect. Assertiveness. Confidence. Self-Esteem. They all seem quite interrelated. I'm sure these are all concepts that anyone who has felt like they have "victim" stamped on their forehead has struggled with. I know I have.

I remember it like it was yesterday: "Work on your self-esteem!" was the battle cry at the after-care program I was attending after my first big stint in the psych ward of a hospital. I guess they figured that anyone who had been suicidal needed to work on their self-confidence.

This was before the retrieval of most of my childhood sexual abuse memories. This was before the onslaught of PTSD, with its flashbacks, nightmares and terrifying moments spent huddled against a firm, safe wall in the fetal position. This was way before I knew about parts, "splintering," and my severe dissociative disorder. I guess I just wasn't ready yet for an overhaul of my self-esteem.

But it's an important topic and survivor issue. I don't think I did much--not right away, anyway--with the books I shelved and the notes I took on the topic. But, I do think I took a lot of baby steps toward assertiveness over the years. Those baby steps have added up and I can now look back and see that I have gotten quite far!

Just the other day I had a run-in with some fellow dog owners who were allowing their two large-breed canines to trample and urinate all over my flower garden. They were belligerent, rude and all up in my face with a "it's no big deal, lady" attitude. On top of it all, these folks were construction workers who were at my neighbor's new house to install some hardwood floors. Were they being paid to be rude to their customer's neighbor? Hell, no!

I stood my ground, stayed safe and immediately called my neighbor who came right over and told them to get those dogs out of there and never bring them back. Yay, little ol' assertive me!

Was it as simple as I've just described? No. Are you kidding? I have a bunch of wounded, inner parts, remember? Man, did I get some little part action!

This scared me at first. It seemed so over the top for the situation I had just encountered. But, as many of us child abuse survivors know, it's not always about the now, it's about the past...especially the unresolved, traumatic past.

I lost control and ended up hiding in the dark, safe closet for a while. Sometimes I just give in to this. After a while, when nobody ends up coming to drag us out of there by the hair, I can convince all myselves that we're safe now. But, that wasn't the end of it. There were a lot of tears; terrified sobs, really. As much as it scared me, I looked in the mirror during this time. What I saw was a desperate, terrorized little girl. Yeah, that wounded little one got triggered alright.

I spent the rest of the day validating the tears, fears, terror and despair while trying not to get "flooded" by the dug-up emotions. I interspersed feeling these feelings with lots of comfort techniques. I did anything I could think of to just comfort and soothe that scared, wounded part of me.

This is one of the few times I can think of when I was assertive and felt the feelings in an appropriate way. I think this is progress. My therapist thought so, too. I guess I have come a long way. I think my doormat status has evolved into something much healthier. I wrote a poem about it.

Doormat No More

I have always
been a doormat.

But, the dirt
that's been scraped
on me
from the throng
of careless boots
seems to have contained
a few viable seeds.

My once barren mat
now sprouts
seedlings of assertiveness.
At first, only
tentative, tender shoots
barely poke through
the trampled earth.

Then, saplings of self-respect
reach for the sun:
boundaries, affirmations and
the ability to say "no."

I am growing
firm, bold
hybrids of strength
into a mighty grove
of confidence.

Copyright 2009, Marj McCabe ~ All rights reserved.

Labels: aftermath, alters, assertiveness, child abuse, child parts, comfort, feelings, healing, poem, Poetry, PTSD, self-esteem, therapy, triggers

After having a much better Christmas than usual or expected--okay, here's the whiny-wiener bad news--I fell while cross-country skiing and injured a few ribs. Then, I got a bad cold. While I was sitting around feeling pain and feeling sorry for myself, I realized that physical illness and injury are big trauma triggers for me.

At my therapist appointment on Thursday, my T said, "You know the actual physical trauma of child abuse gets overlooked and neglected in therapy quite a bit. We focus so much on the emotional trauma and working on feelings, that we don't spend much time on the physical part. As a little girl, you were very, very hurt physically. And most of the time your physical injuries were ignored and received no medical attention."

After she said that, I realized the childhood memory that my recent injury was reminding me of. It wasn't an abuse injury, but the incident reminds me of how many times my childhood injuries and/or illnesses were ignored, overlooked and not attended to in any appropriate, parenting sort of way.

My parents had divorced and, being the upstanding, attentive, appropriate, sane father that he was, dear old "Dad" got full visitation rights with us kids. He had his old, red, two-door jalopy parked in our driveway, waiting to take us to his place for our "visit." I remember that it was winter and there was snow on the ground. My older brother was already seated in the front seat, and my twin sister and I were scooting into the back seat when it happened.

I remember we were all in a hurry to get out of there (even if it was to be with our monster father) because our parents were yelling across the yard at each other: It was the same old topic of, "Where's the child support money?" I got into the back seat first. In her haste to get in after me and close the door behind her, my sister accidentally slammed one of my hands in the heavy car door. I immediately began to wail in pain, while my sister and brother scrambled to get the door back open and release my hand.

My father was oblivious to all this commotion. Instead, he chose this exact moment to zero in and focus on a tiny hole in the knee of my pants, about the size of a dime. Immediately he began to rage. "What the hell do you think you're doing, dressing like this for your visit with me?! Of all the hard-earned money I send to your mother every month, she can't dress you any better than this?! You both have a lot of nerve! Go in and change your clothes immediately! We're not going anywhere with you dressed in rags!" I remember his words and the look of disbelief and outrage on his face. The details of what happened next, however, are rather a blur.

I know my hand hurt like hell. I know all three of us kids did go back inside the house. I know my parents kept on yelling until my father finally drove away alone. I know I did not receive any medical attention--parental attention of any kind--for my smashed hand. There was no emergency room, no doctor's call, no ice pack, nothing. I think I went into the bathroom and ran some cold water in the sink to soothe my throbbing hand.

Now, with a broken rib, all you can do is wait for it to heal. You're not put into a cast. About all you can do is ice it down and take pain meds. It takes about six to eight weeks--and you wait and wait--to get back to normal activity while your ribs heal. That's about all I can do.

There's not much else to be done on this rib issue, when it comes to my healthy, present day self care. But, I started thinking that there are so many ways I can nurture and heal my inner child. This remembrance is an opportunity for me to mourn my lost and neglected childhood and to grieve for the emotional and physical pain that I, as a little girl, had to endure alone. What types of nurturing and basic care did you not receive from the people who were supposed to be your parents?

Hhmmm...let's start a list. Mothering we didn’t get: reassurance, warmth, comfort, empathy, compassion, protection, optimism, confidence, faith, songs, rocking, attachment, holding, gentleness, patience, allowance, acceptance, guidance, safety, reliability, consistency, TLC, caring, attention, medical attention, adoration, play, wisdom, tenderness, joy, trust, LOVE, unconditional love, nurturing, delight...

Delight. Yes. Don't you like that one? Is it so much to ask that a mother actually take delight in her precious child? It comes so easily for me with my own beautiful son. The day I brought my tiny newborn home from the hospital was about the most elated I've ever been in my life. I was so delighted with my new child. Why was it such an overwhelming burden and impossibility for my own mother?

This is one of the reasons why I did what many may consider an odd thing--I bought a baby doll and I sing to her. In a mindful and sincere way, I sing to my inner child: "You're my beautiful baby girl. You're an angel in this world. You're adorable. My beautiful baby girl."

Using my motherly list I started above, I wrote a poem, which I can also put to music in my head and sing to my inner child. Here it is:

Nurture My Soul

I love you

There, there

Let me comfort you

I care

It’s Okay

It’s okay to cry

I’ll protect you

I’m here

It’s safe now for you to rest

Lay your head down

Here’s my shoulder

I will stroke your hair

It’s okay

You can show me

I will dress your wounds

Sleep now

Close your eyes

I will stay with you

No need to hide

It’s safe for you now

You can be you with me

Run to me

When you’re scared

I will protect you

You can feel

Even your rage

It is safe with me

You are beautiful

The way you are

I find great joy in you

I am patient

With your not knowing

And I will show you how

My arms are open

Fall into them

I will gently rock you

You’re frightened

It’s dark

Be still; I’ll sing to you

Everyone has fears

But the world can be a wonderful place

I’ll help you to see that It’ll be okay.

Copyright 2009 Marj McCabe ~ All Rights Reserved

Labels: child abuse, child parts, comfort, inner child, needs, nurturing, pain, Poetry, self-care, therapy, trauma, triggers

I don't know what the hell is going on. I've been trying to reach in and comfort those neglected child parts. I know I said that they keep slipping through my arms, but I really have been doing quite a bit to try to reach them. I do whatever I can to send them the message that they haven't been forgotten, that they are special and precious and that they deserve comfort, warmth, beauty, fun, etc.

I think I mentioned in an earlier post that I went out and bought a doll. She has been lovingly placed in a beautiful, antique doll carriage with cozy blankets and stuffed animals. I speak to her every day. I pat her, I sing to her. I rock her.

I've also had a big project I've been working on for the past several months. I built a dollhouse and I've been outfitting it to make it beautiful. Two little doll girls live in there with their very own angel. They have many toys and beautiful, comforting things around them.

The other day, I decided to go out and get some Christmas decorations for the dollhouse. Boy, did we have fun! We strung Christmas lights, put up a wreath, put up a beautiful treat-filled stocking at the fireplace mantel...and that's when I installed our angel.

I felt so much better after spending this special time with my child parts. Because the holidays are such a stressful time of year for me (with moments prone to running away, etc.) I've really upped my child comforting routine. I do a little meditation pretty much every day. It involves some stretching, grounding techniques and affirmations. Every day I affirm: "We are surrounded by love and beauty. We are enfolded in light and safety." I also always add, "I love you, my Beautifuls."

I've been spending a lot of time curled up in the rocking chair with a soft, cozy throw. I rock and use soothing words to my parts. I read them children's "love stories." We play with the dollhouse. As a little treat--just to show them they're special--I've been putting whipped cream on my coffee lately and dousing it with Christmas sprinkles.

I felt so good that I actually started getting into the Christmas spirit a bit. We got our tree up this weekend and I finished my Christmas shopping. All our holiday greeting cards went out. I was on such a roll that I went in and announced to my T on Monday that I wanted Thursday off. While I was feeling good, and even experiencing a bit of holiday cheer (a major thing to experience at all for me), I recognized that this week was going to be quite stressful. I wanted to avoid becoming overwhelmed before my son is off from school for sixteen days.

On the calendar this week, We had practice for a band concert, a dentist appointment for me, the holiday band concert itself (my son plays the sax), a hockey game, and volunteer work at a food bank. In addition, my son has five tests at school this week and a large writing assignment due. (Since he has a learning disability, his parents are highly involved in studying and assignment completion--we don't do the work for him, but we make sure it gets done and give him a lot of help with it.) I thought two therapy sessions this busy week before Christmas was too much for me.

My T and I had been working on rage. I've had a lot of good grieving going on, especially over my mother's involvement in my abuse. Lately, I've been asking my therapist for assistance on the accompanying rage, with tips on safe anger work. We made a good head start in my T's office on Monday, and then I came home and did some louder, more physical work down in my basement.

At first, I felt great! I congratulated all the parts who were involved and we had a little treat to reward ourselves for our hard work.

Then, the fatigue set in. I was exhausted! After my son came home from school, I told him I had to lie down for a while. Before I knew it, dinner was over and my husband was taking our son to band practice. I had been in bed for something like four hours. The funny thing was, I hadn't been sleeping. I dozed off a couple of times, but it was only for a matter of minutes. I started to get the distinct feeling that I was hiding in there. I was starting to feel some fear (I think from some parts) but I wasn't sure what it was about. Maybe they were scared that we were going to get in trouble for expressing the anger.

While my son was at his practice, I forced myself up and out of bed. I made myself a decadent meal of pizza and Coke and had some pudding (with whipped cream and sprinkles, of course) for dessert. I ate while I watched TV and enjoyed the lights of the Christmas tree. I felt pretty good by the time my boys arrived back home.

The next morning I got out of bed in time to see a beautiful sunrise. (This is often a difficult time for me and I've never been a "morning person.") I went to check my e-mail and found that, after I complained to my son's teacher, she had postponed one of the four tests he was to have Tuesday to Friday. Yay! This was great!

This good news didn't seem to help my son's mood at all. He bitched and moaned about various things and then was loud and disrespectful to me. I told him I was angry and gave him some consequence, but the plug had been pulled out of the bathtub, so to speak. I was already swirling head first down the drain. I tried talking it over with my husband and got some of my anger out. I thought I was feeling a bit better by the time he left the house for work.

Unfortunately, this was the same morning that I was supposed to go back into the dentist for some crack repair and to update the doc on how my night mouth guard is working out. I have my anti-anxiety medication, so I thought I could do it. But, why the hell did I think I could handle it the week before Christmas??!!! That didn't seem very smart. I guess I just wasn't thinking when the dentist's office set up the appointment right before we left for our cruise. I was feeling so good then.

But, now, I had been majorly triggered by my son. Damn it! Why do I have to work my ass off to get out of my comfort zone and make a happy Christmas for our little family when I HATE CHRISTMAS...and then I just get treated like shit??!!

Oh shit, the fear closed in fast. I didn't end up hiding in a closet this time, but I curled myself up on the floor next to the Christmas tree. Sometimes, if I just give in to this for a little while, I can feel better and get on with my day. Maybe it's because my limbs always fall asleep; I'm eventually forced up and on with my day. This time, an hour went by, more time went by, and nothing was happening.

Have you ever asked one of your parts to come out and do something for you?

This is what I started doing, down there on the floor. I started negotiating. "Anybody up to the task in here? I can't do this. Anybody feel strong enough to handle the dentist visit? Please, anybody?"

I got no auditory response. The only thing I felt was Serena creeping in. You remember Serena--she's the one who comes and keeps the body totally still so that there's no injury, suicide attempts or running away. I wasn't sure exactly why she thought it so important to move in, but she was the only one responding.

It was all I could do to get up off the floor to go to the bathroom and call the dentist's office to tell them I couldn't make it in. Then, I moved to the bed. I just let Serena take over. I slept a little bit. But, mostly I just lay there, or I sat there propped up on my pillows, and stared into space for hours.

My mind was still working. I thought about what I would have for lunch. But, more hours went by and I never ate anything. I didn't even have to pee anymore because I'd had barely anything to drink all day. I thought about some clothes I would throw on. I knew I wasn't up to a shower, but the clothes I could do, right? I thought about getting those clothes on and picking my son up at school. I thought about calling the school to tell him I wasn't coming. I ended up getting his call and explaining to him that I was dissociated and it wasn't safe for me to drive in that condition. He'd have to walk home. By this time, I'd been staring at the walls for at least four or five hours.

I had those thoughts, like I said. But, I just couldn't get Serena to budge. Soon, I was negotiating for anybody besides Serena to come out and do anything to make my body move. I have this meditation that I do to collect everybody into this safe place I've visualized and installed in my mind. I count down from ten, like I'm descending stairs, then I open the doors to the safe place and sometimes we do a roll call there. At the very least, I'll assist a part who's hurting. I'll lead them to the porch swing and put them in the arms of the angel there.

This time, I went "down" there and I announced: "It's my turn to sit on the porch swing. I'm coming in and I want somebody else to come out for a while. I can't do this today. Somebody else will have to do it." I feel like an idiot admitting this desperation, when I'm the one who's supposed to be in charge and I'm the one who's supposed to get us to all integrate and all that. Smart move, huh?

Well, when nobody but Serena responded, I got royally pissed! I yelled something like, "Life isn't all just dollhouses and porch swings and sprinkles!" I then visualized myself slamming the door on the safe place room and storming back up those ten stairs. I wanted to add, "Screw all of you!!!"

So, I stayed immobilized and staring for a total of about eight hours yesterday. I dragged myself out of bed just in time to throw on some clothes, barely brush my hair and brush my teeth before attending my son's band concert like the walking dead. I didn't talk to anyone there. There was such a crowd. Maybe nobody noticed.

Labels: child parts, Christmas, dissociation, overwhelm, parts, trance states

So, for those of you who were wondering: I did go to the Christmas party Saturday night. I even wore something kinda sexy. But, I went with a girlfriend. Yes, I had a very nice time. No, I did not get rip-roaring drunk. I actually enjoyed some meaningful conversations with some other women there.

Unfortunately, that night I got home and the wine I had did not help me sleep. Neither did it keep the nightmares away. I had one of those dreams that goes on and on, like you're watching a three-hour movie. A new twist on my torture-themed dreams is that this time my husband and I were both being tortured. It reminded me of watching my sister suffer as a child. It was a dream that took place in some third-world country and we kept being detained; weren't allowed to cross the border into safe territory. Both of us were abused, even tortured, by our captors while we were being detained. Aaaaaacccckkkkk!

I wish there was some kind of pill one could take to never have a nightmare again!

But, Monday I had my therapy appointment. (Ya know, I have 'em twice a week, so they come up pretty often :P ) I even brought in a print-out of some of the comments I got on my blog for our discussion. I got a lot of good work done with my therapist and then I came home and sobbed my eyes out. It's painful and it sucks, but the grieving--the feeling of the feelings--is healing for me. Of this I am sure.

There are two major developments that I'm really mourning over right now: First, there's the ongoing facing of the "mom-was-involved" betrayal. It is huge! It's one of the toughest realities that I've ever had to face. I guess, since I'm now a mother myself, I just can't seem to wrap my brain around the fact that this woman facilitated and shamed me for my abuse after carrying me inside her. I was once part of her own body! How does such betrayal, abandonment and inhumanity work? I'll never figure it out, of course. That's one of the things I have to keep working on--the urge to try to "figure it out." Even when it's obviously impossible.

The second thing--and this is huge, too--is that my sister and I have both discovered recently that our abuse did NOT end when our father left the house after my parents divorced. This just shakes my world, I gotta tell ya. So much of what I'd assumed for years is now proven false. I'll have to get into this one later. I've just scratched the surface of it.

What I am delving more deeply into is an issue that ties both of these recent recovery developments together: After the divorce, my mother allowed us full, overnight, unsupervised visitation with the monster who was our father. She did not fight the visitation one iota. Their divorce was solely for my mother's personal preservation and selfish reasons. It had nothing to do with finally protecting her offspring.

To say that I'm feeling enormous amounts of anguish is a vast understatement. When I had my huge crying jag Monday, I kept hearing this little girl wail, "She didn't see me. She never saw me. She didn't see me!" (Talking about the egg donor who we called "Mom.") I kept trying to reach in, but didn't feel very successful. I kept saying aloud, "I see you. I see you." But, I'm not sure anybody heard. To say that I'm feeling guilty and conflicted about not being able to reach in, scoop up and comfort the littlest of my child parts doesn't come close to what I'm feeling either.

I guess I've achieved a little bit more empathy for myself after getting in touch with what I wrote about in my December 7 post. So that's a good thing. But, after being in touch with--and being able to describe--the horror that I wrote about in that post, I realize that I'm seeing this reaching-in challenge as almost a physical impossibility. Trying to scoop up these little girls is like grasping at shadows. They keep slipping through my arms. Their charred little souls have turned to ash. They've been reduced to dust and have blown hither and yon. I'm running in every direction trying to find them, but there seems to be nothing to hold onto.

How does one return the ethereal to viable flesh and bone?

Labels: abandonment, betrayal, child abuse, child parts, grieving, inhumanity, inner child, mourning, nightmares, therapy, torture, trauma

Facing Demons

You're a part of me that's walled off
Still I feel your fear
You need my attention
It's painful staying here

Facing demons I thought were dead
Retraining the chaos in my head

So, you speak to me in nightmares
Try and get out of my own way
And, I attempt to hear you
You've got secrets you must say

If I look at anymore of this
Will I come completely apart?
How can you destroy your child
And crucify her heart?

Facing demons I thought were dead
Want to feel safe in my own bed

I am reaching in for
A frightened child inside
Who longs and cries for comfort
Then runs away to hide

Yet, I can't forget the children
They're teaching me to feel
Each one of them I'll rescue
As their secrets are revealed

Facing demons I thought were dead
Retraining the chaos in my head.

Copyright 2007 Marj McCabe ~ All Rights Reserved

Labels: child abuse, child parts, comfort, dissociation, inner child, poem, Poetry, sexual abuse survivors, therapy

My T and I have been talking about how I recreate situations in my life now where I set myself up for not getting the never-to-be-obtained approval of my mother. I wrote this post after returning from the trauma program in Dallas last fall, that told about how I had asked the group there for what I needed to hear: "It wasn't your fault. You didn't deserve it. You're not a bad person." I'm forever looking for this repeal.

When another woman in the Dallas group started sobbing, the facilitator left me hanging, pulled her chair in real close to her and said--almost word-for-word--what I had asked for, to the other woman instead! I guess, as with my mother, I was asking for something from someone who I knew couldn't give me what I needed.

That's probably why I get so excited about awards that other bloggers just blow off--I'm still so desperate for approval.

I've decided I really need to up my efforts at re-parenting my wounded inner child parts. I'm sure I never bonded or had healthy attachment with my birth "mother." (My twin and I were an unwanted pregnancy that was discovered after my mother had already attempted to leave my father. We were huge twins--over eight pounds apiece. And when some gushing passer-by would enthusiastically ask, "What's it like to have twins?" my mother would always reply, "I wouldn't wish it on anybody." Thanks, dear old Mom!) I certainly never got her protection, support or approval. I need to quit chasing that fantasy and mother myself(ves).

There's lots of stuff I'm working on in my therapy, but right now I want to share a poem I wrote. I call my parts "my beautifuls." That's the name of the poem. I hope some of the sentiments in the poem might carry over to your parts, alters, or inner children in a comforting way.

My Beautifuls

Dears, I want you to know this
To know I'm glad you came around
For a while I was unsure and afraid
But, now I know that our reasons were sound

When I first got to know you
I wanted to just turn away
I saw you alone with such deep pain
Then I knew that I needed to stay

So, now we've got to feel this
All the pain that we used to shove down
We'll swim through dark waters together
No, I won't let one of us drown

I want to hold you
Rock you in my arms
And tell you that you're beautiful

I want to soothe you
Comfort and love you
The way that you so deserve

I'll always love you
The way that a parent
Should cherish their child

My beautifuls
My sweet beautifuls.

Copyright 2007 Marj McCabe~All Rights Reserved

Labels: alters, child parts, dissociation, inner child, parts, poem, Poetry, re-parenting, self-love, therapy

So much has been going on during this intense phase of therapy and recovery that I can't keep up. I haven't even been able to keep it all up to date in my paper journal, let alone here on my blog.

I'm going to be out of town for Spring Break next week. I had a new part emerge that scares me to my core (way more than Sentry did in the beginning). I think she's very identified with my perpetrator parents. I decided to put working with her and my therapist on hold until I get back into town. I just don't want to be left hanging in the middle of something huge and scary while I'm out of town and away from my therapist.

So, yesterday, at my T appointment, I ran this past my T and we moved on to "lighter" topics (are there really any light topics?). I decided to run a few physical complaints by her. I've mentioned these to mental health providors in the past and never really gotten anywhere with it. I think I've mentioned these trouble makers on my blog. One is the annoying problem of not being able to swallow food sometimes (unfortunatley, this has not led me to become thin).

My other physical problem is really causing me to lose sleep lately. When I sought advice from a medical doc about it, he wanted to do surgery so I walked out of his office. It's the old complaint about my arms falling asleep and going dead on me again. When I think about the assaults where my arms were pinned down, I can't help but think that this complaint has a trauma component. I seemed to get some relief from this for about two years when I was going to another therapist twice a week and doing a lot of trauma processing. My current T suggested that I inquire within myself as to what this symptom was trying to tell me.

So, this morning after about the millionth time that the rest of me was awake because my arms were asleep, I asked for the message. What came to me was loads of grief--not fear as I would have suspected.

We've all had our hearts broken at least once, right? I know I've been through that kind of "lost love" grief more than once. But, how do you mend the broken heart of a child? How do you pick up the pieces after the ultimate betrayal by the parents who were supposed to love and care for you?

I feel like the proverbial Humpty Dumpty. My heart is broken to pieces, as well as my mind. And all the king's therapists and all the king's doctors will never be able to put all my pieces back together again.

Labels: abuse, body connection, body memories, child abuse, child parts, dissociation, grieving, healing, inner child, recovery, therapy

Holy blog carnival, Bat Man! Is it the last day of January already?! I just went to my e-mail and realized that I haven't visited my blog or e-mail since Saturday.

I guess we missed the January Blog Carnival. I'm so sorry. I swore to myself I would never let a month go by like that without a carnival.

I guess I've fallen down on the job. I certainly feel I've done the same with living up to the name "Thriver." That feels like a big, hideous joke to me right now. I think a name like "reeling, floundering basketcase" would be more descriptive at this point.

I think I've started to identify at least nine parts within me so far--14 if you count the original five "inner children" I started with almost a decade ago. Only a few are talking to me. Mostly, they wake me up at night with all the chatter. Sometimes it's like a town meeting with everyone yelling and trying to speak their piece at once. Sometimes it's two teenagers/young adults having a huge, loud gab fest. Other times it's like a negotiation or counseling session that I wake up and eavesdrop on. Sometimes they quiet down immediately when they realize I'm awake and aware. "Ssshhhh! She's listening!" Other times, I have to speak up, "Hhmmm hum...I'm trying to sleep here!"

The thing that's frustrating as hell is that it seems I'm almost always aware, at some level--I have very little complete amnesia--but I just don't seem to have any control! Aaarrggghh! My new therapist seems to think it is possible to have "parts" or "splits" but not have full-blown DID. Has anyone ever heard of that? I'm confused! I've never heard or read anything like that before! Excuse the swearing--but, Jesus Christ! I can't even do DID right! Not that I especially want to have DID. But, at least I know a little bit about that. And I know some people who are DID folks. At least then, I wouldn't feel so all alone.

At first I felt much calmer when I saw my new therapist. And, it was so refreshing to be with someone who seemed to know about this stuff and not be intimidated by it. I finally found someone who I didn't feel like a freak around. But, now...I just don't know. Does she really know what she's talking about?

I got so frustrated, nervous, desperate, doubtful and scared after my session on Monday and ended up having a huge fight with my husband. Some part--I believe--came out and got completely hysterical and then hateful and rageful with him. She ranted and raved for hours after he left. It was a miracle that I didn't self-harm, think of killing myself or run away again.

Then, what happened next was really out of this world--I spent the next two days being a man! This guy, who we are all dubbing, "Tough Guy" stepped in and decided to take control to keep everything quiet and everyone "in line."

Holy crap! That was bizarre! I woke up this morning and he was gone (or quiet, whatever). Even though he was a tyrant and scared everybody, I had kinda hoped he would stick around until my T session tomorrow so that she could meet him. Then, maybe, I could kinda get over this feeling that I continue to have: that I'm making all of this up.

My T wants me to sit down with each part and have scheduled times for interaction (so they don't keep waking me up instead) and she wants me to set certain ground rules with them. How the hell am I supposed to do that? These "people" just shove me aside like the guy who was out yesterday. My husband felt so rejected because this guy wouldn't hug him. It was like I was in the background--if that makes any sense--and I could see my husband through the fog. I just couldn't get to him to reassure him. Aaaahh! I feel more crazy and freakish than ever!

Anyway. Back to the blog carnival. I've had several people ask me about it. The problem is, I don't really know who's turn it is to host it next. At first, when I started the carnival, I wrote down everyone who offered to host, in the order that they came to me. Most of them have been hosts so far (except for one blogger who had some health issues to attend to): Scarlet Demon, ww, Mike and Lisa. But, I know there were at least two or three others. I have someone new who wants to host February's carnival, but I don't want to step on any toes. Is there anybody out there who really wants to host, who I seem to be forgetting? Let me know. Otherwise I'll let the blogger who e-mailed me go ahead and host in Feb. Thanks! And thanks for hanging in there with my reeling, blubbering self (selves). ;)

Labels: Blog Carnival Against Child Abuse, child abuse, child parts, DID, dissociation, mapping, part activity, parts, system, therapy

Hey there and Happy New Year. Yeah, I'm still alive, in some form or another. I went to stay at a hotel when I freaked out on Thanksgiving. Holidays during the past few years have gone quite well. Now, this year, I'm back to "holidays=crisis."

As I was still between therapists, I thought working with some of my survivor workbooks might help me. I dug out my old The Courage To Heal. After doing a few exercises, I decided to take another flip through the whole book. I then decided to put it down, because I didn't see enough stuff on dissociation in there. (I don't think they talked about the subject much back when the book was published.) I've come to the conclusion that dissociation is a key issue for me...and I need to look at it.

It's an issue I feel I finally need to really face and look at honestly. (That's the main reason I've come to feel that it was a blessing in disguise that I lost my therapist--he really had very little experience in dissociative issues and we never really addressed it in therapy).

So, I put good ole TCTH down and looked into The Stranger In The Mirror instead. I realized I had barely skimmed the book since I've owned it. This time, I dove into it with my highlighter marker. I decided to take the dissociation scale "tests" in each chapter...and be very honest with my answers. When I did the interview developed by Colin A. Ross and got the DDNOS diagnosis, I wasn't as honest as I needed to be. Anything that seemed too "out there" I flatly denied. I've been in denial about a lot of things for a long time.

I still may end up with the vague DDNOS--the ever-popular Dissociative Disorder Not Otherwise Specified-- but I want all the issues to come out so I can get help with them. I've been wanting to get as much info as I can, because I was (am) really starting to fear I might have full-blown DID.

I still have never found any items in my possession that I have not known where they came from. And, as an adult anyway, there is not a lot of amnesia.

I called my twin sister to talk about it. I was afraid she would freak out and just not want to discuss such a thing. She surprised me by being very calm and open. She admitted that she had greeting cards and florists cards in her memento box from a man named, um, let's say Phil, who she didn't know. I had never heard of Phil either. WHOA!!

And my sister said that when she met me down in Arizona that time (during one of my dissociative fugue periods) she really didn't know me. HA! I could say the same for her on numerous occasions. I wonder if dissociation has a lot to do with her extreme volatile behavior that I've witnessed at times. Hhhmmmmmmm...

My dissociative fugues do seem quite severe and disturbing to me. Probably the scariest one was when I ended up lost and had to spend the night in the mountains of the National Forest with no food or water...not even a jacket. I'm sure at some points I was just running blind--a storm came up, the lightning scared the hell out of me, and I was soaked to the skin with the rain--but I think there were other points when I thought I'd just make it over that next pass and start a new life there. I also have other brief snippets where I think I was convinced my father was chasing me and was going to kill me. Whew, I feel weird admitting these details.

The amnesia I have in between the time I was soaking wet (I do recall the sound of water squishing in my shoes) and then completely dry is amazing to me. I mean, by the time I had any awareness of where I was, I was totally dry--no dampness at all! And by noon the next day, it was obvious that I had completely underestimated how long it would take me to get out and find the road. I must have really wandered a long way before I stopped when it got dark. The Search And Rescue team that was looking for me must have really underestimated the distance as well. They never even came close to finding me (in the end, I found the road myself).

Then there are the trips to Arizona. I assumed new identities both times (I've never admitted that to anyone before). The first time I was Ellen Hopkins, then Ellen Murphy. I was really sure--or at least there was some part of me that was certain, at least most of the time--that I was going to start a new life down there. I think I oscillated between this plan and thinking that being away from home, where nobody I knew could find me, was a good place to commit suicide.

My twin said she didn't even know who I was down there. I don't know why she never told me that before. I wonder how many times my husband hasn't known who the hell I am...and he's never told me.

I still carry so much shame about those Arizona trips. You see, I stayed in domestic violence ("battered women") shelters for at least part of the time on both occasions. I'm so afraid they're gonna come and arrest me for using those services when that wasn't really my situation. I can't remember which trip it was, but one of those times I vaguely remember crying on the phone to some kind intake person. It's so freaky: It was like I could hear myself crying and talking, but it wasn't really me, and I wasn't in control.

I've always said I'm a terrible liar and I'm no actress. But, I cried those tears and I think I really was very scared and freaked out. I was really running from something--it just wasn't some husband or boyfriend who was beating me up.

My sister explained some details that occurred in Arizona during the trip that she witnessed. I have no memory of some of the stuff. So, I guess there's some amnesia there as well.

The point is, the dissociative fugues have been major for me. And it feels like there's been more than one "part" of me involved--definitely things that I don't think I felt in control of. And here's the thing that I've needed to admit: I'm still doing it!

Shit! I've got to take a deep breath here. I'm going to have to admit this next part to my new therapist (I start with someone new tomorrow. I'm scared as hell but trying to remain hopeful). I don't know if I can admit this to my husband.

When I left on Thanksgiving, it was a plan to leave my husband. I think it was another version--some long, drawn out form--of some kind of fugue. It was my plan, again, to start a new life. I had made up my mind that, if I couldn't find a job, I would just try to get on disability.

The thing is, though, that I've promised--we have a deal--that I will no longer try to kill myself, and I don't self-harm/scratch anymore, and I don't run away anymore. I can go away to a hotel or trauma program, but we need to tell my husband where so he doesn't worry. Then there's the worry and the promise never to do anything again that's like abandoning my son. God, I have so much guilt and shame about these things from the past! Aaahhh! Anyway, so the move-out plan was a way to start a new life but get around all these conditions.

I think it might be "derealization", I'm not sure, but I noticed a couple of times while I was in the hotel over the holiday season, that I just kinda "woke up" a few times and looked around confused. I would ask myself, "How did I get here? What am I doing here?"

Before I forget, I want to write about the paranoia. (This entry is lifted, pretty much straight out of my paper journal--sorry if it's rambly.) My sister said I was acting really paranoid in Arizona. I remember being surprised at how paranoid I felt a few times just recently down in Dallas, too.

I think the paranoia was one of the things that scared the shit out of me that I may actually be paranoid schizophrenic. Being "schizo" or "crazy" scares me way more than being DID...as much as that scares me.

I know that's why I wasn't totally honest on the Ross dissociative interview before. I've always been on the lookout for anything that would alert others that I'm crazy. That's why, when I used to self-harm, I never cut. I only scratched and I always did it in a hidden place, like under my hair. That's why, when I get my "fillers" going, repeating a phrase over and over in my head, if I'm reinforcing it by tapping out an accompanying beat with my finger or thumb, I always hide my hand.

I've been in such denial about my dissociation because I was so afraid I was just crazy (just like my homeless father). I so distinctly remember--about 12 years ago--first getting The Courage To Heal and reading some account of a survivor who floated out of her body and witnessed her molestation from the safe distance of her bedroom's ceiling light. At the time, I actually read that and said to myself, "Now that's crazy! I've never done anything like that!" Of course, that was way before I retrieved so many CSA memories--like the fact that I used to dissociate as a young child by pretending I was a turtle safe in my shell, and I would "go to the light" of the bathroom window during the extreme trauma of the abuse and near-death in the shower.

I guess I've been so afraid that my mother could be right: I just have some "chemical imbalance" (as she calls it) like my father. That evil woman! That would be so convenient for her! I don't want it to be anything "organic!" I want my diagnosis to be the result of human-inflicted trauma. YOU DID THIS TO ME!

But, the dissociation does scare me a lot. The voices are especially freaky. I guess that's another reason I thought I was schizo. (I mean no disrespect to individuals who have this disorder. I just have a hard time spelling the entire, correct term.) When I first noticed the voices, I downplayed them. (That's called "minimization," right?) "Oh, yes," I told myself, "this is just an example of those "old tapes" everyone talks about; those mean things my parents told me as a kid." I certainly do have these, like so many survivors do. If it's, "You're too sensitive," then it's my mother. "You're a piece of shit," is my father.

But this voice--these voices--are different. For one thing, they say things that my mother and father didn't say. Also, I don't hear my father's voice, or my mother's. Who is it? One voice is very mean, cruel and nasty, that's for sure.

And the thing that I've finally had to admit is that sometimes...someone answers back! And it's not always the same type of response or the same "person" answering back, either. Sometimes it's a scared little girl who is all apologetic: "Okay. I'm sorry." Other times, it's an in-your-face, angry teenager: "Just shut up!" Other times (I've noticed more recently) it's a wise, calm voice of someone aware: "Now, that's not helpful. We're not going to talk like that."

Then there are the regressions. I've noticed these for a long time (six or seven years). It's one of the reasons I feel compelled to run away sometimes--I don't want my son to see me in that state. I used to think of them all as strictly flashbacks. But, I'm coming to realize that some of the regressions don't seem to be related to any memory at all.

When I was reading "Stranger," one regression caught me by surprise. I was sitting on the bed in the hotel and my butt started getting numb, so I decided to take a break and get something to drink. Of course, to be honest, there was a fear factor. I was just about to take the "Identity Confusion" test in the book. I was standing in my hotel room's kitchenette and I started to unravel.

Sometimes, I can almost, literally, feel myself getting small. I quickly ran back to the bed and grabbed my cozy blanket and stuffed animal. I began to rock. This is not unusual. What happened next most definitely was.

I could hear someone saying, "I no bad girl. I good girl. Please, no. No hurt. No, no, no!" I could feel my lips moving, but it wasn't really me.

Just as I was trying to be present in some way and wrap my brain around what was happening, I heard another voice. This one was inside my head. My lips weren't moving this time and the voice was new to me. It was a young woman's voice. She very calmly and clearly stated, "Nina comes out when we're in the shower."

Whoa!! What?! Who the hell is Nina? I don't know who that is.

To tell the truth, on and off now for a while, I've half expected to discover "personalities" and expected them to have the inner child names I "came up with" when I was doing inner child work with a therapist back in Illinois. There's Tina. She's tiny--maybe two or three. There's Marsha; a little bit older, I think. Then, there's Sarah. She's about eight and is starting to get very cynical and mistrusting. She's always on guard. I think Rena is a rebellious teenager, and then there's Samantha who is older--a young woman. I've never let myself get to know Rena or Samantha much. Honestly, Rena scares the crap out of me.

But, this Nina? I have no idea who she is at all. I can, however, guess why her name ends in "A" like all the others. My twin sister's name ends in "A." She got the pretty goddess name and I got stuck with the old lady name, Marjorie. I've always hated that name. Marj is better, but I've never really liked it either.

Then there's the "person" who absolutely hates my husband. I feel so guilty about it. He's been so loyal and good to me. I hate to admit any part hates him. But, it's important. I just know this person had a major role in the "leaving my husband" plan. It was very frightening the other night. Back here at home now, I woke up about four in the morning. This in itself is not unusual when I'm going through a period of not sleeping well. What was freaky was that I awoke and immediately felt like someone else. I've never been aware of anything like this before. It's a weird thing to wake up to/with.

This person who I was realized she was lying next to my husband. She hates him! She doesn't want to be here. Here's what kinda went on in my head following: "OK. Get a grip. I'm not going to fly out of this bed and run away at 4:00 a.m. Shit! This is why I was in the hotel. I'm trapped in this place! OK. Calm down. Who is this?" It wasn't like I was asking anyone. I was just thinking, and trying to figure it out, right?

My answer came when I had a thought: "It's Lisa." I didn't hear any voice this time. It was just me coming up with a logical choice of who it could be. But, Lisa? Who the hell is she? Well, I don't know at the moment. But, thankfully, I think I've found a skilled therapist who knows about dissociation. With her help, I feel hopeful. I feel hopeful that, whoever Lisa (or Nina) is, she can help me more than hurt me.

I'm not going to turn away this time. I'm not going to turn on my brain "fillers" and say, "La, La, La! I can't hear you!" I'm going to listen and find out, finally, who I really am, what I'm dealing with, and where I'm going. I hope there are still some blogger friends out there, hanging on, and willing to be with me for what is probably going to be a very long, strange trip.

My new therapist does not seem afraid, freaked out, or intimidated at all by any of this. I've had a few phone conversations and two face-to-face interviews with her. She seems up to the task. That's why I've chosen her. She also seems very understanding, compassionate and optimistic. I really need that type of help right now. She says that I've always had help and I'm lucky that way. She says I've created my own help...and that's a good thing. I'm gonna try my best to start seeing it that way.

Labels: alters, awareness, child abuse, child parts, DID, dissociation, grounding, holidays, inner child, safety, self-help books, self-injury, system, therapy, trauma processing, triggers