Tag Archives: disassociation

First session

“I’m lying there wondering what happens next and I hear a voice. It says, ‘Man, this is not a way to live. This is a way to die.'” -Cornell, “28 Days”


Today was the day. As the alarm blared, and a hand reached from under the covers to slam it off.

Fuckin’ alarm

She shrugged off the echoing words, well-used to strange thoughts and ringing words she didn’t remember thinking. It matched well with scrawled notes she didn’t remember writing and stacks of books earmarked at pages she didn’t remember reading.

The strange bruises and cuts on the canvas of her body. A quick glance in the bathroom before dressing showed there weren’t any new ones today.

Her stomach felt strangely hollow, but she ignored it. Breakfast wasn’t happening anyway. Running too late. She shoved a wad of cash into her hip pocket. She’d get food at lunch. The worshipful caress of her sharp hipbone said otherwise, but it wasn’t noticed.

Time hop-skipped and she was at her locker. The hopscotch jump of lost time didn’t faze her. Thankfully it was a routine school day and she could easily see by the clock on the wall that all she missed was the trip to school and maybe a bit of pre-homeroom socializing. Nothing she would be required to recall at a moment’s notice. But then a post-it on the inside of her locker caught her eye.

Meeting with the counselor today- after lunch

Panic rose. She would have to discuss “things” with this woman. Explain why her schoolwork was slipping and why her friends never saw her eat.

“Hey. Today’s the day.” said a voice to her left. She jerked silently before noticing it was a real person standing next to her. Katherine.

“Yeah. Today.” She replied.

“Are you still mad at me for telling your mom?” Katherine’s bright blue eyes were concerned and Kit momentarily wondered why she wasn’t mad. Normally she would be. She had been furious at Sarah back in middle school. Telling the school guidance counselor about having to prevent her from drinking bleach at a party. That anger seemed to bubble and overflow for weeks. Months.

But Katherine telling her mom about not eating? Nothing. Even though it was the missing piece in the mystery of “Kit’s mental status” that her mother was trying to untangle.

“I’m not mad.” She replied honestly. She had a sudden flirty urge to play with her hair. She squinted for a moment, trying to place the urge. It didn’t feel like hers. Katherine raised an eyebrow.

“What are you planning to talk about? Josh? Texas? Your dad?”

“I dunno. Maybe. Depends on the person.” She shoved the locker closed and twirled the lock compulsively.

“I think you should tell them about everything.” Katherine pushed. Kit’s eyes cut away, fluttering.

Another pair looked up.

Everything?” came the sharp reply. The eyes accompanying the harsh word seemed in contrast. They were a bit shy, but also warm. Katherine turned a bit pink. Her turn to glance away.

“Well. That’s up to you.”

The sharper eyes fiddled with her small green purse, pawing through it with purpose. Suddenly a rattling sound announced success and she pulled out a small bottle of painkillers. Katherine frowned. “More headaches?”

“There’s always more headaches.” Midori replied. “Today’s upcoming party isn’t exactly a help.”

“So you are mad.”

“Jesus Katherine. I said I wasn’t.” Midori huffed, tipping the bottle expertly and dry-swallowing a couple of the oblong white pills. “I’m going to be late.” She shoved the bottle back into the purse and looked expectedly at the dark haired girl in front of her. Katherine glanced at the clock.

“Oh. You’re right. I’ll walk you?”

“Whatever. Your tardy record.”

“Media doesn’t care. As long as we turn in projects, we can pretty much be wherever.”

“Should have gone the media track.” Midori replied, automatically falling into step next to Katherine. Sometimes their arms brushed. It was one of Midori’s favorite parts of the day and she hoarded the feelings jealously.


It was lunchtime by the time Kit was aware and she automatically headed to the table she shared with Germany and a couple other friends. She avoided glancing where Josh and Texas would be sitting, half in each other’s lap.

Charlotte peeked out and saw. She rolled her eyes, knowing she was better at pleasing Josh anyhow. Not her fault he preferred the sane.

Germany never asked why she just drank a diet coke. The excuse of headaches and migraines worked well for Kit’s supposed closest friend.

Lunch didn’t last as long as Kit hoped. As her other friends threw the remnants of their lunches away and headed towards the classrooms, Kit clutched her half finished diet coke and walked towards the faculty side of the building.

It felt like a death march.

The kids all knew where “special meetings” were held at the school. Whether it was tutoring, discipline discussions, or counseling, there was only one area it happened. Kit opened the door to the lobby and tried to dodge the eyes of a secretary she’d never met before.

Blackness

It was Roms who surfaced this time and timidly walked up to the counter. She recognized the sign-in sheet, similar to the one for when she arrived after third bell. She filled out the body’s name, then finally met the eyes of the secretary. The woman was obviously judging her, but Roms tried not to think about that. Someone important needed to attend this meeting. This meeting could not be lost entirely. That’s something a crazy person would do. Sane people remember. The primary goal was to appear sane.

The secretary glanced at the sheet, then at something on her computer screen.

“Room three. It’s the last one.” She pointed down a short hallway. Roms gave a brief nod and headed towards Room Three.

She opened the door and saw a woman already in there. She paused.

“Are you K____? You’re in the right place.” The woman said, a smile on her face. She was younger than Roms expected. Barely out of college. She entered tentatively, the diet coke held in front like a shield.

“Is this all right?” She asked. The woman nodded with a smile.

“Sure. I’m Joy.”

A derisive snort exploded in the back of Roms’ mind, but she ignored it. Fought to not let the offensive sound reach the air verbally.

“K____.” She lied automatically. Joy nodded.

“Do you know why you’re here?”

“Because my father won’t pay for a real psychologist and doing it through the school is free.” Midori interjected bluntly.

Roms pushed back the sensation of a blush but wasn’t positive if her face remained passive. Lately, her and Midori had less of a wall. They synced in many of their goals for the body, so perhaps that was why.

Joy had about as good a poker face as Roms herself so there was no way to tell if the blush avoidance was successful.

“What are you hoping to get out of these meetings?” Joy asked

Roms paused, considering.

“You can be honest. It stays between us.” Joy encouraged.

“I suppose it would be whatever is needed to reassure my parents and friends that I’m fine.” Roms answered truthfully.

“Are you fine?” Joy asked.

“No.”

“Do you want to elaborate on that right now?” Her tone seemed hopeful. Rom felt the immediate upheaval and internal lip curl.

“Probably not.” She said quietly. Joy nodded easily.

“That’s fine. We don’t know much about each other yet. Please do sit.” She offered the open seats at the round table she was at. Roms chose one diagonal from the therapist. Not across, not next to. That seemed the most comfortable. Joy made a note in her pad.

“Let’s start with some easy stuff. Any pets?” She asked, her tone disarming. The buzzing bees of Roms’ head increased. Suspicion was high. Roms pushed back as much as she could, trying to focus on the fact that getting through this meant parents backing the fuck off. That thought decreased the buzzing.

“Two cats. Girls. Velvet and Ashes.” She went ahead and supplied the names. Knowing that was the logical next question. She’d handled enough guidance counselors to know the line of questioning.

“Do you take care of them mostly? Or your parents?”

“They’re only at my father’s house. But I mostly take care of them. He will on the weekends I’m at Mom’s.” This commentary caused another note made to Joy’s pad.

“Do you see your parents equally?”

“That’s the technical deal. But since school is here, I’m at my father’s more. Most of my friends live here.”

“Understandable. And your parents are okay with that arrangement?”

“Yep. Friendliest divorced parents you’ll ever meet.” Roms’ tone edged on facetious as Midori crept out slightly, “Their separation was a business arrangement. Neat, organized, timely, and emotionless.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.” Joy said, her expression remaining fixed. Midori rolled her eyes.

“Okay.” She replied without argument. Joy seemed to react to this, and made another note.

“Why do you say it’s like a business arrangement?”

Midori slumped slightly in the chair. She definitely hadn’t taken enough painkillers for this woman. It was ridiculous that Roms thought to go along easily with this bullshit.

Midori debated a moment on letting Rika out to just end the session bluntly. But that could end with further counseling and possibly school faculty involved. Rika was not good at censoring her language.
Last time in Geography when the boy had made a crude pass at Kit, Rika’s response got her kept after the bell. Thankfully the teacher liked Kit, and had heard part of what the boy said. So the discussion was mostly for show. Not a true disciplinary action.

Rika in this situation would end differently, Midori was pretty sure. She sighed heavily.

“Look. I get that I’m here to ‘sort things out’ or whatever. But I really hate the constant ‘why’ follow up questions to things I say. Can we do this a different way?”

“I appreciate the honesty, K____.” Joy replied matter-of-factly. She did not make a note on her pad. Midori wasn’t sure what that meant. “Any suggestions on the best way to do this?”

“The way that gets me out of here and my parents no longer pissed.” Midori answered.

“Well I’m going to be honest with you then, K____. That’s going to have to involve some whys. I have to be able to see why things are not fine. Eventually. Or the parents probably won’t be cool.”

Midori picked up on Joy trying to make her speech more high school causual in its rhythm and some word choices, but it mostly sounded odd. It put the whole head on edge. Even distant parts of the pieces who were truly unaware of there being a system.

“I’m not sure what to tell you.” Midori said stubbornly.

Then there was a push and Roms gave way. “I guess I should say I just got out of a long relationship. For high school. Almost a whole year. I was dumped a couple weeks ago. He’s going out with one of my former best friends now. Found out they were already doing stuff behind my back for months. My other best friend that I sit with at lunch hasn’t noticed I haven’t eaten at school in three weeks.” Roms paused, hesitant with the last big tidbit. Then she focused again on the goals of just getting through this as honestly as they could without getting committed.

“And my third best friend…she’s the only one who’s noticed anything different about me. But I think I have a crush on her. I don’t know how to feel about that. I’ve only liked boys. I still like boys. I’m not a lesbian.” Roms’ tone became desperate at the end as pieces of emotions breathed in from other corners of the system.
Being more abnormal was a fucking disaster.

Why couldn’t they just be normal.

Joy was silent for a long time. It felt like forever. Roms was resisting the urge to give way to The Compulsives, who would pick or scratch, or toy with something and make the abnormal even more obvious. She remained rigid, in body and head. The headache increased.

“Thank you. That’s very helpful.” Joy said, finally starting to make some notes on her pad. “I think having feelings for people who care for you can be good, healthy, even if they seem confusing. I think we really got through a lot of stuff today for a first session. Is it okay with you if we stop early today? I think you need to pause after telling me all that. And I need to pause too before talking to you about all that. But I’m glad we were able to open a little bit of this box you keep.”

Roms stared, resisting the urge to drop her jaw in open-mouthed surprise. Joy knew about the box. Joy carefully didn’t meet her eyes while she finished writing and Roms composed herself, mentally running through all that had happened in this room. With Joy.

It was vital that Kit be aware of this whole first session.

Roms had a feeling these sessions with Joy would determine some important direction for the future. Others were more skeptical, but Roms was the one who was usually right about those sort of predictions.

Something important was at work here.

The Netflix Solution

I’ve spent the past couple weeks struggling with reality. I’ve been unemployed so long that time has lost meaning.

And for someone who’s main struggle and coping issues stem from disassociation, losing even more track of time is unraveling me from reality.

Time is measured merely in daylight or lack of daylight. There are no hours, no minutes, no days.

I curl into my nest and turn on Netflix.

And my superhero power rises to the surface.

See, I can find the show or movie most likely to overwhelm me with feels in less than 5 minutes. Call it a gift.

-Sense8
-Cake
-Skeleton Twins
-Drinking Buddies
-The Hours
-Neverwas
-In Your Eyes
-Life Partners
-Take this Waltz

I could go on.

I really should attempt to watch things that will tether me more to this reality. But it’s been hard. The most I can manage are horror movies. Those kind of help. In the sense that I’m aware life is not like that. Unlike when I watch the mental-health-like cerebral movies and shows where I find myself entwined with the characters.

I wish something would change soon.

I may float away.

Subspace/Sub-drop versus Depression

Trigger warning: BDSM, kink, and sexual experiences talk (healthy and non-healthy/abusive both)


Subspace: a mental space for those who identify as submissive in BDSM play and sexual situation/scenes. It can be spiritually and viscerally deep for many. The endorphins released for a sub during a scene make it very similar to the high many drugs offer.

Sub-drop: the sharp change in mental status that can happen to a submissive after the endorphins disperse. It can happen at any point from right after the scene ends to hours, or even a day later. It is called “drop” because it is a empty sort of feeling; akin to depression.


For the first time in years, I agreed to let Army try his hand at a true BDSM-centered “scene”. It involved wax play, breath play, and spankings- in addition to actual rough intercourse. Some of the kinks I have not partaken in since Katherine, despite enjoying immensely.

We staged the scene during the mid-afternoon (2-3pm) when my house was deserted. In spite of this, within minutes of us finishing, Army fell deep asleep.

I tried to control my breathing and pushed back the “crying sensation”. Or what I call the crying sensation- never actually cried. Not sure if that would happen if I didn’t push it back. I’ve always pushed it back. Curled into my normal ball.

And the sub-drop hit.

I’ve never been one of the parts in here to really struggle with depression. I suppose I’ve been touched by it during our co-conscious period when depression would hit. But I’ve never soaked in it.

I soak in sub-drop.

Katherine was initially good at aftercare. When we first delved into the world of BDSM, she read all about how to be a good “domme/dom” and we would frequently watch Disney movies or a musical and she’d make me a grilled cheese. There was lots of soothing cuddling. No conversation required, which isn’t really something I can manage while still in semi-subspace.

Then our relationship soured. The honeymoon period ended. And she became harsh. Or lazy. Or both. The end of a scene was the end of her commitment to pay attention to me.

I soak in sub-drop.

Like gin, I learn to make the bitter taste sweet and steep my insides in it.

On the tail of this deep depression that’s been spinning around in the brain the past couple weeks, this sub-drop is more bitter than sweet. My normal tricks and masks aren’t doing it. Perhaps I’m losing my knack.

I’m still doing my best to fight it.

Sometimes it’s just better to squeeze the bruises or brush the burns/welts to try and release some remnants of euphoria. Anything to avoid becoming like one of the cutters. Ugh. I will not be like Victoria.

I soak in sub-drop.

Attempting Focus

I am scared to leave the bedroom.

I have hidden the car keys.

Slipping back into the compulsive habits of checking my hair and skin every time it feels like more than a minute has passed. (has it?)
Checking all online media and the cell phone for unknown communications. Checking the usual hiding places for blades or pills.

Habits left over from a girl who learned to survive. The others I’m sure wouldn’t call me that. I’m the part usually overlooked. Much dismissed.

I bring the clocks out and set them around the bedroom. Make sure the batteries are fresh. I can accept the lost time, but I at least want to account for it.

A good six hours gone today. Sucked into the curling smoke of nothing. In fractions and fragments. Nothing seems to be more than 30 minutes. Here and there.

I keep checking to make sure items stay in their hiding places. I keep checking the skin and taking blood pressure. So far no more than bruises and scratches. That I can handle. And the blood pressure is not ideal, but it is not hospital-level. I am determined.

Though I have just as much of a desire to stay far away from doctors while we are like this, I have no desire to put us in direct harm. I am not a suicidal part.

I remain as vigilant as I can for those that are.

-Roms

Blackouts

Having blackouts again.

Things are also quite fractured. No sense of teamwork. I’m just trying to keep somewhat focused so regular medication and hydration can happen at least.

Army visited this weekend and it’s almost entirely a blur or blank. I don’t think he’s the stress causing the blackouts and switching, but it seems to be worse around him.

At a loss for what to do. Communication is also extremely difficult. Haven’t been able to easily discuss what’s going on with any other parts.

I don’t want to talk to a professional about this. Last time the blackouts were this bad, anti-psychotic medication was prescribed (not always taken) and the possibility of hospitalization was urged. We don’t want those at all. Even though the ED becomes very bad and our blood pressure is shooting through the roof.

I’m worried it’s the nitro pills we have to take for the high BP. They’re new. Combined with the stress of this past week.

I don’t know.

I just want to try and keep things semi-coherent. But it’s hard.

I really hate losing time and being so split. It’s drastically better when we work as a team.

I’m at a loss right now. Trying not to get scared. Then I blackout even more.

-Roms

Dementia and DID

I never knew what a trigger seeing someone I love with dementia and Alzheimer’s would be.

I traveled to Chicago (my hometown) this past three day weekend to help my father and aunt with sorting through my grandparents’ house. We just moved them to a care facility due to their debilitating dementia, Alzheimer’s, and self-care ability.
There wasn’t just the pain and stress of going through their house, the only stable home I’ve ever known; but also visiting them at the facility. They barely recognized me. Had no idea I am well past college and own my own house now.

The memory struggle hit me like a punch to the gut.

The weekend fractured and I have whole chunks missing. I’m back home now trying not to lose myself to the terror of losing my memory more and more. The crippling fright is more overwhelming than it’s been in years. Maybe ever. I’ve never seen the struggle of memory reconstruction from “the other side”.
I love my grandparents with my whole heart. But I seized in panic every single time we pulled into the facility’s parking lot. The first visit I could barely carry a conversation. The other visits are a hazy blur due to the disassociation/blackouts/switching/lost time.

I’ve discovered a trigger than I have practically no coping technique for. Besides being a shaking mess in my bed with Zoe.

I’d rather kill myself than have that much constant trouble with my memory.

And it terrifies me to think that I might already be more than halfway there.

My grandma when she was younger- she has an affinity for masks too.

My grandma when she was younger- she has an affinity for masks too.

My parents just before their marriage. They're younger than me now in this shot.

My parents just before their marriage. They’re younger than me now in this shot.

Above are a couple of the old pictures I found while cleaning that give me a slight smile.

I don’t have the strength for a long entry, even though there is much I could say on this topic.

DID Media Spotlight: “United States of Tara” (S1)

(Note: since this is a multi-season show, this review is strictly about season 1)


Screen Shot 2015-05-14 at 5.59.13 PM
Rating: 4 Stars (out of a possible 5- strictly Season 1)


I thought it might be best to start with an obvious one.

A show that aired first in 2009, “United States of Tara” is arguably the first TV show to focus on an in-depth look in the life of someone with Dissociative Identity Disorder.

In my experience, the only shows in the past to even mention DID in any fashion are soap operas (as a lame plot device) or criminal shows (as a lame villain/criminal device). Only in a single passing episode, of course.

“United States of Tara”, a show to feature a classic nuclear family (two parents, two kids) but with DID as the main conflict, is an interesting way to take the classic family drama/sitcom formula that is so mainstream-popular and feature mental-health.

I have watched this show in the past. Like many multiples, I leapt on it when I first heard of it, In my case, when it was picked up by Netflix a couple years ago. I prefer my shows binge-able and commercial free. I admit, when I watched it previously, I found it mostly offensive and Hollywood-itized. Some of my long-time followers may remember my passionate reactions, especially to Eddie Izzard’s character (who appears in later seasons).

This time I tried to view it with a more fair eye (helps that I’m more co-conscious this time around- HA!).


The Good

#1- No psychopathic killers
I have to say the main good for me, as a passionate lover of the horror movie genre, is that Tara is not automatically a psychopath who has an alter that kills people. I can’t even begin to say how much I hate that trope. I’m sure you shall see in later reviews, when I get into what mainly features that trope- movies.

#2- Family love and dynamic
The other part of this first season that I love is the family dynamic. Yes, there are inaccuracies with how the DID is manifested, especially in the drama-sense; and yes, the way therapy is treated in this show is a joke at best. But I have to say it is truly nice to see a mainstream show showing a family that, despite the ups and downs of living with a family member that is struggling with their identity, remain for the most part supportive.
As a whole, that is. I have beef with Max, but I’ll get to that later. I think the kids are portrayed in as accurate a way as Hollywood can get. They have some novelty fascination with their mom’s “issues”, they also have real anger and fear, but the main emotion is love.

I can’t say how much I adore the tattoo scene with the mother and daughter (Episode 9). If most of the show was more like that, I would give it a full five stars, just for trying so hard.

I also have to give it some credit (strictly in Season 1), for retaining an interesting plot that flows well without resorting to “let’s get super freaky with the DID”. It’s pretty standard stuff: she’s trying to deal daily with the alters (and a little later in the season, figure out some of her past). There’s some mess when her alters come out, but nothing that can’t be (relatively) cleaned up. There’s some good side stories with the kids. You get to see how all the alters have somewhat of a bond with the family. It is truly Tara’s family- alters and all.

There’s some great sister moments in season one as well. I find Charmaine an obnoxious character in general, but for my review I tried to be more empathic and really feel for her as if she was a three dimensional person, like I think the writer’s may have been going for.
She’s a very frustrated person though a bit selfish. I think she has a hard time seeing the family and lifestyle Tara has and equating it with the struggle of her health. I honestly think she could use some therapy to help her love herself more and stop worrying about what her sister has. But there are some great moments where you really see Tara and Charmaine, as sisters, shine through.
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There’s this great bonding moment at the end of Episode 4. One of the alters may or may not have fucked up income stream for both Tara and her sister. And at first, Charmaine is pissed. She lost a job over what she thinks is her sister’s “crazy”. But then, you see this beautiful shift. Tara’s family. And Tiffany was sort of an uptight bitch anyway. And Tara offers binge-food (you can catch the lollipop obsession here, that bleeds over to the alter T, though it seems to be something Tara and Charmaine share from childhood) and Charmaine helps steady her with this wonderful patty-cake game. It seems to be this stimming/focusing technique for Tara that has perhaps been done before. There’s a deeper level to this brief scene and it’s wonderful!! I wish more were like this!

Of course…the show can’t be all unicorn farts and puppy cuddles…


The Bad

#1- Actual system manifestation
All right, let’s get the DID stuff out of the way first. The manifestations are extreme. They all seem pretty anti-keep-shit-flowing-smoothly. Now, I get all systems are different, but this review is based on my personal experience and my knowledge of friends, studies, blogs, etc. But feel free to chime in if you think I get something super wrong. 

So my experience with systems is that, yes there are some that like to be selfish and just sort of fuck shit up. But there’s also a good multitude of alters whose entire purpose is to smooth that shit back over. To keep things so the body seems semi-functional, doesn’t die, or get thrown in prison/hospital/etc. Pretty common. But Tara doesn’t seem to have any alter like that.

UNLESS
Tara is that alter.

Which brings me to point two. Tara is treated in the show as “the original personality”. But DID doesn’t exactly work like that. Again, from my experience and knowledge. Yes, there can be a sort of general “smooshed” aspect (or alter) that can be close to “original”, but the truly original person that was born? That person got destroyed in the trauma event. That’s what makes DID what it is.

And in United States of Tara, we know it isn’t co-consciousness. It’s explicitly stated that Tara isn’t able to do that. She “goes away” when the other alters are out. So what makes her not an alter? In my opinion, nothing. She is one. She’s the one that tries to keep shit together. I just wish they’d label her as such.

#2 – Max- coolest dad and perfect husband?
Okay, so my other big issue with season 1? Max. Maxy Max. The husband and father. Oh my god, could they have gone for “cool dad/perfectly supportive husband” trope any more?!

The teen daughter, Kate, literally takes advantage of this trope constantly, with her blatant discussing of her sexual activity and underaged drinking (arguably, Max sometimes stops the drinking). I get that sex shouldn’t be shameful. And I agree with that. But neither should it be some casual subject with your parents. Your child should understand how to use protection in the act, not just resort to Plan B/Morning After to not “let the fertilized egg implant itself on [her] uterus”.
Their younger son, Marshall, throws a large house party at one point with tons of underaged drinking and doesn’t get disciplined at all. An offense that literally could send both Max and Tara to jail in many states.
I guess perhaps there are families out there like that, I’ve just not come across them. But the “cool dad” trope isn’t even my biggest issue. My biggest issue is the man is somehow portrayed as this amazing freakin’ saint when it comes to Tara and the alters. I’m sorry, I do like that Hollywood isn’t having domestic drama overshadow the DID stuff, but good god Max, get mad like a real person sometimes!

I was actually watching part of season one with my boyfriend, Army, and he agreed that Max was very unrealistic. He agreed that there are great men out there that would be as supportive as they could, but all the shit that goes down in season one would definitely cause some real anger. Especially when it came to stuff that upset/hurt the children. Max seems to constantly choose his wife over his childrens’ wellbeing and I’m not sure how I feel about that message.

That smile though...

That smile though…

I get that I may be bias, but this is my review. So I get to vent about it 🙂

#3- Therapy is pure EVIL
Okay. Third biggest issue. Therapy. Therapy is a joooooke in this show. The whole thing.

It gets worse as the show progresses, but it is already a problem in season one. There’s a very weird message about medication too. What actually kicks off the season is that Tara is going off her psych-related medications for the first time in many years. And that is what’s “letting the system wake up” or whatever. I know there are a variety of meds that “deaden” the whole disassociation thing, but once the alters start doing real damage (hello, one sucker-punched a teenage boy!), does the therapist start discussing alternative medication? No. It’s just a sort of weird “oh shucks, power through this and soon it’ll be totally fine”. Like Tara is supposed to just “suck it up”. A little too reminiscent of my father.
There are only about two moments in the season where we actually see a therapy session with Dr. Ocean, Tara’s therapist. And it’s just…I was slack-jawed. This woman should not be licensed to practice therapy. The way she handles Tara is patronizing, at best. And even Army agreed that her discussing the treatment with Max behind Tara’s back (even in a “vague” sense) was way out of line. Tara is rightfully upset. Dr. Ocean is a terrible therapist. And there’s some sort of awful sick joke thrown in at one point that she “just started reading up on DID” or something. Like she didn’t even care to know how to handle Tara until after the shit-storm started happening. It was horrifying.
And don’t even get me started on the hospital’s/center’s doctor at the end who felt he had to drug Tara to force a transition. Yeah, no wonder the alters distrusted him. Hands-down, the worse part of season one.

I could take the manifestation of the DID and the characterization of Max. But I really wish the therapy was handled better. The best part about this issue is that therapy was so rarely featured in season one. The good outweighed it in this season.


Honestly, I think season one overall did a good job. For Hollywood trying to portray such a complicated and touchy disorder, they seemed to put some real thought into it. There is heart in season one. Enough heart to make me stomach it pretty well. It’s like “Practical Magic” when it comes to Pagans/witches. Yeah, not really accurate most of the time, but man do they try to not be utterly offensive like 90% of Hollywood.

Have you seen it? What did you think?

Tracking Dirt

Sometimes family isn’t about blood. And sometimes it is.


She was eleven when she first knew he was not trustworthy. Her mother had married him and was expecting the second brother.

Sitting on the couch, she read a Baby-Sitters Club book. The house was quiet. She still felt jittery in this unfamiliar place. She wished they would spend 100% of the time at the house on the corner lot, instead of a mere 40-50% (at best).

Bang!

She flinched at the door slamming and glanced up. Her stepfather loomed near the front door, staring down at the floor. He quickly looked up at her and snarled, “Did you track dirt into my house? You know to wipe your feet!”

She looked down at her bare feet, clean of any dirt or debris. She tried to remember if she’d been outside recently. Logic said no. She was a good ways into her book and she was pretty sure she’d read it in only one sitting so far. The tracks on the carpet were outlined in shoe treads. Her shoes were neatly placed on the mat next to the front door. She looked back up with a pleasant expression, preparing to relay all these steps that had given her the logical conclusion that she had not tracked dirt into his house.

Her stepfather was now closer, stomping his ways towards her. His expression ferocious. She dropped her book.

“I didn’t.” She whispered, “I take them off when I come in. I don’t wear them on the carpet.” Her voice seemed to be swallowed by the shadows of the room. He stopped just above her and leaned down. She made herself very still and her eyes did not meet his. She would be a good girl. Good girls do not cry or plead. Good girls merely listen.

“You will treat this house with respect. You will not dirty it. Do you understand me??” He hissed. She quickly nodded. Good girls respond to questions without complaint.

The stepfather did not agree with these rules apparently. His hand was suddenly clamped around her wrists. Her breath froze deep in her chest. She was a statue. She was ice. She was far away. Someone listened though.

“Did you get dirt on your hands too??” His hand tightened as he examined her palms. She made no sound. She was above pain. Good girls do not feel pain. “Wash your hands this instant.” The command registered with who listened and the moment the wrists were released, the girl was upstairs and in the bathroom.

Click

She does not remember who locked the bathroom door. She does remember that she is supposed to wash her hands. It is done quickly, barely noting the fact that her hands are already clear of dirt. An angry part of her catalogues that fact away though.

Asshole it murmurs. It can say that word silently, deep in the recesses of the girl’s brain. Things are safe there.

She finishes and carefully opens the door and peeks out. Coast is clear. She darts quickly to her room and closes the door.

Click

Again, there is no memory of locking the door. But it is locked. That is certain.

It is especially certain when the knob is tried mere minutes later and the door does not give way.

“What the hell?!” yells the stepfather from outside. The girl curls up into a small ball on her bed. Perhaps she can stop resembling a person. That might help. “Did you lock my fucking door? This is not your house!” The door is rattled. Girl is a tiny stone. She is a pebble. She is not a person.

The door is rattled again.

Then suddenly it splinters open.

Her breath freezes deep inside again. She unravels herself and lets the bits float up and away. It is a tactic she is good at. She can be seeds on the wind.

He is above her on the bed.

She is dandelion fuzz, granting wishes to all the little children of summer.

Her wrists are clamped again. He thrusts a small rectangular object in her face. Only part of the title registers in her fractured brain. B-A-B-Y-S-I-

“Don’t leave your shit downstairs.”

She is the fizz in a root beer float. The bubbles in a bath. She bobs on the surface with the rubber dolphin and Mermaid Barbie.

“Do you understand me?”

She is the spray of a sprinkler in summer. The droplets making tiny rainbows in the air.

“Hey. Do you understand me?!” The grip on her wrists tightens again. The pain crackles her brain and gives rise to someone. The eyes undeaden and she is no longer a pebble. She stares up at the stepfather.

“Yes.” Her voice is barely a murmur, but it is enough. The wrists are released and he leaves as suddenly as he came in.

The fractured doorframe and her splintered brain the only looming reminder.

And she had been doing so well.

Birthday

This past Monday was my birthday.

No magical number or anything. Just a general “you’re getting older” sort of day. I felt very adult by the fact that I actually scheduled a doctor’s appointment for that day. It was a bit stressful for me and my system, but I don’t really want to discuss that right now.

The main gift from my mother was a simple DVD.

It turned out to be a compilation of all these family video clips from when I was a toddler. From before we moved to Ohio. For some reason I cannot entirely comprehend, I was terrified to watch this DVD. I let it sit.

With the freshly filled script of Ativan, I finally brought myself to watch it the other day.

It was a roller coaster of emotion. As expected, I suppose.

I’m going to list my main observations in a list to sort them out better.

1.) I have not always been shy. Through various clips I am very outspoken and interact joyfully with all relatives and friends of my family. This was surprising to see.

2.) There are multiple Christmas clips (from two or three years’ worth of holidays) and though I don’t recognize the event itself, there are gifts/toys that I recognize. There are gifts that Armes especially exclaims over from deep inside my brain. It gives me a smile and yet deeply wounds me at the same time.

3.) My paternal grandmother is featured prominently in many of these clips. She passed when I was 8. I do not remember her unless I really think about it. I remember how she used to collect the Beanie Baby toys McDonalds had for a time. She wasn’t a fan of fast food, but she collected as many as she could just for me because I loved stuffed animals (and Beanie Babies). I remember that she would use any excuse to send me a package in the mail. I used to even get “First Day of School” packages with little gifts.
It’s hard to remember the funeral. But I do remember that for months afterwards, I talked about how her “ghost” watched me and tried to protect me. Dad tried to logically explain how that wasn’t possible until he’d had enough and told me to “cut it out”. I stopped talking about her altogether. I remember that many years later, when we moved to our new house (his current house) and the basement seemed to be creepy and weird to my friends, I told them I wasn’t afraid because “Grandma watched out for me”. I don’t think I even entirely knew what I meant.
It was shocking to see her face on the screen. And yet…her face is not unfamiliar to me. I can’t explain it well.

4.) My father only briefly appears in two clips.

5.) There are clips at the beginning where my mother seems to be recording “for” my father (because he is deployed with the military at the time) and tries to get me to talk to him. My toddler-literal-mind doesn’t understand though. At one point she asks me to “say bye-bye to Daddy on the camera” and I say “Bye Camera!”.

6.) The first clip to feature my father, (more than halfway through the 80 minute DVD) he is putting together a child’s desk for me. I ask him who broke the desk (it’s laid out in many pieces on the floor). He patiently explains that it isn’t broken, just taken apart and he’s putting it back together. He shows me the instructions with pictures. I study it intently for a good 45 seconds. I cannot place this interaction emotionally in my brain. I don’t know how to feel. I feel like I should know how to feel.

7.) The second clip is my birthday. Dad is icing my cake. Not Mom, as I would have expected. It is another moment I don’t know how to feel. I don’t know how to connect this father on film with the one I know who seems so distant and anti-child.

8.) Though my father is not in the clip, there is a clip of me talking to him on the phone. I am very serious in my discussion (though I can barely understand what toddler-me is saying). I am upset when Mom tells me I have to say goodbye and hangup soon.
K on phone K on phone2
9.) I want to watch this again so I can catch more details and try to not be so switchy during the whole thing. But I can’t bring myself yet. Perhaps in another week or two.

Debating

I officially have valid health insurance as of Friday. 

I just got the cards in the mail.  It’s so strange to have glossy nice looking cards with my name on them.  I’ve mostly been on a parent’s plan before this.  Or I had an HSA (health savings account), which works a bit differently.

Anyway, my point in this post is I’m debating on whether to talk more in depth to my doctor about my recent mental-health struggles.

She’s slightly aware of them and has prescribed me stuff in the past when I’ve been bad.  I think I may be tilting towards bad again.  But I think meds might not necessarily be the right course this time.

I’m actually debating on that whole psychology/therapist route. 

Which is terrifying.  But I don’t think I can keep living like this.  I think with my GP behind me, a rare medical person I trust, I may be able to actually track down someone who could work for me.

I just don’t think I can keep going with the ED picking and cackling at me, the disassociation rearing up, and the depression moaning in the background.

I want help.  I just don’t want shitty back-sliding help like last time.

I’m also terrified that someone I know will find out and I’ll be judged.

I’m thinking of talking to Texas about it tomorrow night.  I’m supposed to drive her to get another tattoo (her, not me).

I just don’t know what to do.

But I know I can’t keep doing what I’m doing now and live.