Who Writes This Stuff?

I started this blog introducing my girls.  Although the dynamics of our lives have changed quite drastically over the last several years, my family is still my biggest joy.  So, let's begin the reintroductions.  But this time, I'm going to start with me...

I have always tried to be invisible.  This blog helped me realize I didn't have to be.  It also helped me find joy in the everyday.  Then I got bogged down with life, feeling like nothing ever changed for the good, struggling in the day to day because I was facing what seemed like insurmountable grief.  Simultaneously I began a journey with physical illness.

I was also trying to compartmentalize my life way too much.  I had a public blog about my family, a homeschool blog, a girls scout blog, a private blog detailing some struggles MJ (aka Butterfly, Milah, Miracle) was having in her teens, a secret blog detailing the abuse I had endured and was processing through.  Way too many separate things for me to juggle.  But my life was also that compartmentalized.  There were people who only knew me through the girls and people who only knew me through homeschool.  Most of those people didn't know about the struggles MJ was having battling an eating disorder and even less knew anything of the abuse I had suffered.

So, I just shut down and quit everything that wasn't essential.  Including blogging.

Almost every human being has been through grief.  Mine was especially hard to process because there were so many losses, one right after another.   I broke my foot.  MJ had a brain injury.  I lost a man who had been a father to me most of my adult life before I was able to tell him how much he meant to me.  Then I lost the woman who was a mom to me since sometime in high school, his wife.  Thankfully, I realized and shared with her how much she meant to me before it was too late.  Then I reconnected with my dad, a man who had married my mom and adopted me when I was 4.  We lost touch when he and my mom divorced when I was about 6.  We reconnected and less than two years later he was gone as well.

So very much grief hit me all at once. One thing piled on top of another.  I shut down.  I stopped accomplishing anything.  I couldn't get rid of anything because I was so scared I would get rid of the wrong thing and my life would fall apart.  But the holding on to things is what made my home and life a shambles.  Ironic, isn't it?

Last spring, we were forced to move and I was therefore forced to drastically downsize.  I gave away and threw away 3/4 of my belongings.  I still have too much stuff and I'm working on getting rid of more.

And the illnesses... it seems there was one diagnosis after another.  First, I was told I had an autoimmune disease, not entirely specified but likely Systemic Lupus Erythematosus, SLE.  I slowly adapted to that and all the symptoms that began showing in my body; the fatigue, the hives, the sensitivity to sunlight, the all over achiness, the vitamin D deficiency, the potassium deficiency, the recurrent kidney infections, etc.  But then some of my symptoms didn't really fit Lupus so they added another probable of Sjogren's Syndrome, SS, and I began dealing with other symptoms, mostly related to my heart; swelling feet and hands, shortness of breath, water retention, but also dry eyes and mouth like nothing I could have imagined. Not long after, I also developed Secondary Raynaud's.  Secondary Raynaud's doesn't just make your extremities cold like primary Raynaud's.  It also causes the nerves in your extremities to misfire.  I end up with blisters on my hands and feet after hours of nonstop nerve pain.  Not fun.  And then the diagnosis of arthritis.  Kind of to be expected given all the injuries I had in the past.  I settle in and think this is all I have to deal with, until this past winter.  I was diagnosed with encephalopathy.  That is a post of its own for another day.  Suffice it to say, it sucked the wind out of all of us.

Oh, and I never really told anyone that I have two mental illnesses. I have DID and cPTSD.  Both stem from trauma as a child.  cPTSD, or Complex Post Traumatic Disorder is caused by early and repeated trauma by a caregiver and is characterized by all symptoms of PTSD plus an inability to form identity and sense of self.  It also includes feelings of hopelessness, worthlessness, and helplessness.  DID, or Dissociative Identity Disorder, is caused in much the same way and at its' most basic description, it caused me to be unable to fully form a single self.  Plus, most of my physical problems can be linked to childhood trauma.  People who have DID or cPTSD are more likely to develop autoimmune disease because of the way the body processes ongoing stress at such a young age. And the encephalopathy is likely a direct result of repeated head trauma as a child.

So, here I am, realizing I'm back to blogging for now, putting everything out on the same table, no more compartmentalization.  But I'm also not committing to daily or weekly or any specific schedule.  I can't handle that kind of expectation right now.  I will do what I can.  I will write when I find words.  It won't always be pretty, but it will always be truth.

She's Gone, You Know

OT is gone.  Completely.  Utterly.  Permanently.

And yet, she is more present than she ever was because each one of us holds a piece of her inside of us.

amanda

This hurts

I thought I knew what to expect.  I thought I could handle the others going away or combining inside me.  I thought that since my ultimate goal is to be whole, to be one person instead of many, that I would embrace these changes.  The truth is that it is a mixed blessing.  Even those that I don't enjoy being around, those parts that are so different from me that I struggle to accept that they are inside of me, even they are missed and leave an empty ache inside.  It seems harder this time.  Maybe because I have grown to like OT and I never really got past tolerating Moe.  Maybe because Christina and Jo didn't really go away, they just merged to become cj. I don't know.  All I really know is that this is different.  This is hard.  This is like witnessing some part of me slowly die.  

Reprieve

Days like this are nice.  There was still a lot of coming and going, but when I was here I was able to focus and accomplish things.  The depression is lifting.  That is nice.  Stress is still insanely high, but that is from life as it is today.  Now stress is easier to handle than then stress.  Now stress can be placed in neat little boxes.  Now stress is orderly and can be understood.  Then stress is not filed away neat and orderly.  Then stress spills its mess onto everything at the most inconvenient times and cannot be contained.  I will be thankful for the reprieve from then stress no matter how long it lasts - a day, a week, it doesn't matter.  The break is noted and appreciated.  

Names

As far as Dino was concerned, I had four names.  They were used interchangeably and I was expected to answer to them when called:  Little Shit, Little Slut, Little Bitch, and Little Whore.  When I relay these memories and I say that he called me or referred to me, I don't often mention that he didn't use my name, that I was called one of those names but somehow I think it matters to acknowledge it now.

I am not those things.  I never was.

A couple of the littles, the ones that were only there for some of the torment that he dished out, don't realize they have a different name.  Two of them I call the twins simply because they experienced very similar things and are often called up together.  But they distinguish themselves by the name they most frequently answered to.  One day soon I am going to have to rename those two.  

She asked about camping.

We were trying hard to stick to topics that were positive or at least neutral. We were trying for several reasons. My oldest really needs me to be present right now and sometimes confronting memories makes it hard for me to do that. Then there are her struggles that are creating enough stress for me to deal with at this time. Plus, I hadn't been having nightmares for several weeks. The reprieve was nice and we were trying to extend that as long as possible.

She asked about camping. This really is a safe topic. Usually. It should be. It is one of the few childhood memories that I have that is not tainted by anything bad. Except... Dino has a way of creeping into everything. And it's not even that we were camping; just that we were outside in areas that are similar to those encountered while camping. There are actually two separate incidents and one that happened in the weeks between. I thought of the last one first, but I am going to put them here in chronological order. It makes more sense that way and I do whatever I can to make sense of these things.

First was late Feb or early Mar. TA could probably say exactly when and I am guessing she would know the kids names. All I remember are the sensations that went along with the moment; the smell of the woods and the girls' perfume, the chill of the night, the colors of the sky. I was 11. One of the girls lived a few houses over in the trailer park. She was 14, I think. She asked me if I wanted to spend the night and I said yes. I didn't really see the need to get permission b/c Dino worked w/ her dad and he would know when he got home. So, I left a note for mother and went. When I got to her place, she left a note for her folks and said we were spending the night at her friend's house. Still didn't seem like a big deal. Mother wouldn't care, so long as I had left a paper trail. So, we set off to walk through the woods to this friend's house. We met her halfway there. The girls were all giggly and excited b/c of how they had tricked their parents and the plan was to spend the night in the woods. Sounded safer than home so I was game. A little later, their boyfriend's showed up and I was put on lookout duty. Around 11, the boys went home. I tried to convince the girls to go home at this point. I figured we would get in less trouble if we said we had hung out in the woods for a while before deciding which house to stay at, somehow I knew the one wouldn't last the night, and if she didn't then we would all get busted. They said no and wouldn't let me leave. Whatever. So we all curled up and went to sleep. Sometime around 2 the one got cold and went home. Then, I wouldn't let the other girl, the one I was supposed to be staying with, go home. I figured it would be better to stay out all night and maybe get away with it than go home and definitely get in trouble. So, we curled up and went back to sleep. A few hours later, Dino showed up and scared the girl and told her she better go on home. He then said he was going to show me what happens to whores that stay out all night. He threw me down and raped me. When he was done, he left me. I lay there crying and shivering and went home after daylight, when I was sure he would be gone for the day.

The next has nothing to do with camping, nothing connects this thought to camping; but it happened before the other and as a result of the first so here goes. The next Saturday, Dino took me to work with him b/c I was in trouble. That in and of itself wasn't that unusual. Since it was Sat, the boss wasn't there. There was Dino, Tony, and one other man working on the house. They were hanging sheet-rock that day. Usually I would have to sit around and not do much unless someone dropped a hammer or needed nails or something but because there were an odd number of workers, Dino put me to work. He had me pounding nails into the sheet-rock while the other man held the sheet-rock in place. At first, it was no big deal. There was lots of yelling how useless I was and that anybody who wasn't stupid should be able to hammer a nail, but nothing out of the ordinary. The man held the sheet-rock in place and I pounded nails. Then he was standing directly behind me, pressed up against me, holding the sheet-rock above my head. I was uncomfortable, but didn't know what to do. Then we moved on to the next sheet and he placed one hand above my head and pressed the other against my side. I said, "Um, Daddy * ?" He glanced over and said, "Just shut up and do your job, you little whore." So, I did. Before long, the man was brushing his hand across my stomach as we moved from one spot to the next. Just as he touched my genitals, Dino came over and said, "You have to pay to play with my things." I was horrified. I looked up at him and saw the man looking at me. He turned to follow Dino and said, "How much?" I couldn't hear what they were saying. The noise that fear was making in my ears was too loud. I was scanning the exits trying to figure out if I could get away before they could catch me but I couldn't move; I was frozen to the spot. Dino yanked me by the hair and whispered, "Play nice. No screaming." Then he pushed me to the man who dragged me into another room. I stared out the pane-less window while he raped me. Then he left me lay there. I climbed through the window and ran into the woods. I hid for a very long time, until after they had left for the day. As darkness began to fall, I hid in another unfinished house on the block and fell asleep. Dino found me and beat me and raped me and beat me again before he took me home. He told mother I had run away.

The next week was spring break. Dino had mother convinced that I couldn't be trusted at home alone because I had run away and had been hanging out with those troublemakers. Monday and Tuesday she didn't have to work so I stayed with her, mostly in my room. Wednesday, she worked a day shift and I went with Dino. Thursday, she worked evening shift and took me to the construction site early afternoon. After the boss left for the day, those three decided to have some beers in the woods. For a while, it was no big deal. I sat on the bed of the pickup and took them beers when anyone hollered for one. Then Dino called for a beer and when I took it to him, he didn't reach for it so I had to get really close to him. He reached behind me and turned me around so that my back was to him while pulling me closer to him. Then he put his other hand in the pocket of my shorts. The pockets had been cut out so he was touching my skin. Right then I made a huge mistake. I said, "No. Please, no." He jammed his fingers up inside of me and yanked my hair and told me to repeat myself. I shook my head no. He pulled/pushed harder and told me not to tell him no. Then he said, "You are mine and I can do what I want, when I want, where I want. Understand?" The man who had raped me the week before said it would be a shame for the bed to go to waste. Dino carried me to the truck bed, threw me down, and raped me. When he was finished, he looked at the guys and said, "I think she would like to have a little more fun. Anyone interested?" The one raped me and then Tony raped me and then Dino started raping me again. I must have passed out because the next thing I remember was a cold can between my legs. The sky was a mix of crimson and orange. I jerked and tried to get up but I was tied. Dino was saying that I had woke up and was up for another round. I turned my head to the side and let the tears stream from my eyes. There was nothing I could do.

*I was required to call him Daddy. Anything else resulted in a slap hard enough to make my head spin and something bleed or a beating so bad I could barely stand afterwards. Calling him any other name just wasn't worth it.

These Moments

It's hard when I know that the kids are waiting on me; waiting on me to do something I told them we would do.  But I don't remember because these moments are the first recollection I have for the day.  Sometimes they drop hints and I figure out what it was I promised we would do when they finish what they needed to do.  But today... today all they said with an air of expectancy was, "I'm done, Mom."

Swiss Cheese

It is hard when my recollections of life resemble swiss cheese.  I remember a moment here and a moment there, but not the connecting moments.  It is easier now because I know why, but it is still hard.  Today is Saturday. . . I cannot begin to explain how hard it was to figure that out.  I am tired of life as I know it.  I have been told that this feeling is intensified because of a medicine one of us took.  But intensified or not, it is what I feel all the time. 

Holes

The hardest part is when I know I know something, but can no longer remember.  I remember remembering and yet I have lost that memory again. 

Anatomy of a Day

I get up and take the kids to co-op and wonder what I should do with the next two hours...I talk to another mom about life, not much about kids. When it is time to go, I know we need to go to the pharmacy to pick up some meds...I stop and talk to a girl about assignments and realize I should be addressing her mom and letting the kids talk to each other. We chat for a while and I head to the pharmacy. They are taking forever...I am at the pharmacy. When I am done I head toward home, unsure what time the doctor appointment is and concerned that we will not have time for lunch because one of the children thinks the appointment is in just under an hour...It's lunchtime and I am at home...I am at home and realize it is time to leave for the doctor so I start the drive into the city...It's almost 2:00 and I am driving to the doctor's office...I am at the doctor's office. He is relatively unconcerned meaning the current problem is not in his area of expertise but the previous blood work indicates that I will need regular visits to his office in the future. He asserts that I need to follow up with the other doctor and get that issue under control, intones that I will feel much better after the surgery. I leave the doctor...I am driving and go to the Goodwill...I am shopping; first at one Goodwill and I decide to head to another...I stop at the grocery store to pick something up to eat***I am at the checkout at Goodwill. I get to my car and realize it is a different store than before. I head towards home and remember that I need to stop at the grocery store...I am at a different grocery store, buying basics for the home like shampoo and toothpaste***I am driving home***I wake up and begin eating dinner...I am eating dinner and I don't feel well. One of the kids becomes worried and calls our T to be reassured that I am truly OK as I say I am. I talk to the T and together we calm the child down. After resting a bit, I decide to take a bath...I am soaking in the tub***I type this...I am typing this so I begin filling in the blanks that I can...I am typing this so I begin to fill in blanks where I can...I am typing this, wondering who represents green and who represents blue and what other blanks will even get filled in. My one child shows me a page in a stamp book. I don't remember buying the stamps...I am here, filling in the blanks. One of the kids needs me, unsure if they threw a fit today and therefore needs to go to bed at nine or if they can stay up until ten. I ask the child to review the time in question with me and together we decide that yes it was a fit. I am not very sure that this is the case, but the child seems satisfied so I trust the judgement. I feel dizzy and sit down to watch TV, but am uninterested in the shows available so I come back to this task, wishing I felt better...

cj traici Enigma TA

Does This Make Me A Freak*?

I remember the first time I knew I was a freak. It was the summer I was 14 and I was on a youth trip. My Grandmother had been hesitant to send me, but I pleaded incessantly and promised her I would be OK. As always happens with events involving youth, we were running late. We had left home that morning on time, but when we arrived in the city where we were staying, it was after midnight. Rather than call the families that were supposed to be hosting us, it was decided we would sleep at the church. When we walked into the building and turned the light on, roaches were everywhere. They were scurrying and trying to scatter, but there were so many of them that they kept running into each other and changing directions. I started to scream and couldn't stop. It wasn't about the moment. It was that the roaches brought to the forefront of my mind a different moment. A moment from when I was 11 or 12. I had not faced that memory since forming it. Nothing could convince my mind or my body that I was 14 and safe. A boy that was new to the youth group kept telling me to focus on him and kept reminding me that I was safe and it was just bugs. His parents were foster parents and he had seen them calm children down in the same way for most of his life. Even when I was able to stop screaming, I couldn't speak or even move. I was frozen to the spot. Someone laid out my sleeping bag and walked me over to it. I just sat there, not moving, but watching everything. When everyone was asleep, I tiptoed to the bathroom and locked the door. I sat in there all night with the light on just staring at the door. Since then, I have learned to handle better those moments when I am bombarded with the past. Most of the time, I am able to stay focused on the moment that is now. I seldom scream or freeze. Most people who know me now don't even know. Now, I am only a freak on the inside.

*Freak = having PTSD & DID. I just didn't know it at the time. Not sure knowing it now helps, but I guess it is better than thinking of myself as a freak.