Buddy Movie

Its like a buddy road trip movie, except that the buddy is me and we only travel in our head.  bur otherwise its excellent!!!!!!  So basically that mean to viewer on the outsidfe::   Crazy heavy freckled grirl laughing and taking to herself as she lays in a hammock in the bright orange sunlight.  And alsoo crazy freckled gril doing stuff with herse3fl like a schzo, but I am not schizo I am dissociative. :)

some new rules?

ok, so we are trying to figure out how to dissociate when we are not high.  So we've heard that we have to have an hour of alone naked time in the house to run and scream around  per day.  Ok.   Will do, although there was a quyeasy feeling in my stomach just then , but I think its ok.  be in the sunlight more!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

okeydokey.  sunlight more.  alone.  we need alone sunlight time.  Is the hammock safe enough? No, because of the fucking neighbors.  fich.  well we'll work on that.  laying in the grass.  not the hammock.   ok

gabriel is gay. he likes boys.  we just figured that out.  victoria likes girls. problem.   not a huge problem, but a funny one.  i say.  who is i?

snyder park was a safe place. we need to go there i guess. no place else workds.  ok.  done..once a day? thats a lot.  Yeah, vut what the fuck else are we doing? serisously?  Yeah, I gueass you're right.

tired, movies.  yessssssssssssssssssssssssss.

It's my official coming out party, damnit.

OK, so another fun filled weekend of DXM and drug induced dissociation.  And I have officially had enough.  I freaked at 11pm last night and called both therapists and left messages and was completely out of control.  Which is fine, if I weren't fucking HIGH.  Actually its fine even if I was high, but it's not what I want to be doing.  Summer did a great job of talking me through it last night though.  She also called me on the getting high.  I have to get the info when I am sober or it is tainted.  I have to internally communicate everyday and accept that I have D.I.D.  I have DID.  I have it.  I do.  It's time to finally fucking accept this.  It's over.  It's beginnning.  I have it. I have it. We have it.  We have it. We have it. :)

So who's here?  Gabriel, of course.  He's me most of the time.  Him and Victoria.  And Allison Lee.  And the little one with her cap of black hair.  And a little boy.  And a baby.  Gabriel and Victoria are groups.  Groups of parts?  Still working it out.  Allison Lee is part of Victoria.  I think.  She's the smiler.  Real smile.  Victoria is the Chesire grin.  But she does it for everyone.  We were doing the chesire grin at the beginning of therapy today.  We were so embarrassed about calling Ryan fucking high.  But he was cool with it.  I love him.  He is so good at his job.  Yay! I am going to miss him. 

Man, I got caught.

I am forcing myself to sit and write this.  This is like when J says she has to do things bit by bit, dragging herself inch by inch to do them.  This is that.  I don't want to write about this, mostly because I am not use to it, it is stretching, it is uncomfortable.  But it has to be done.  Now is the time.  It is time to write about stuff, when I am not fucked up.

I got caught on the phone last night with a new butterfly friend named E.  We were talking, doing the therapy story swap when she asked if I was high.  I immediately snapped as back to reality as I could, and said "there is absolutely nothing wrong with me."  So I lied.  Panic, then immediate shut down about that topic set in.  She let it go, so I guess she believed me, or she didn't and she just allowed me to lie.  But that is not OK.  She is also a trauma survivor and I cannot lie to her about reality.  It is absolutely unethical.  So I am going to tell her the truth today when we meet for the first time for dinner.  Yay, great.  I am a fucking asshole.

I've been mulling this over in my head every spare moment since it happened, and that's why I'm writing, because I need to process this BEFORE I talk to E, not WITH E.  I don't know her that well yet, and it would be innapropriate and unfair, and immediately fuck up our new friendship boundaries, and I don't want to do that.  So maybe I'm not the right friend for her right now.  And if she decides that, that would be fine, I have to be fine with it.  It does not mean I am a bad person, but just not healthy enough for her.  And I don't want to be perpetrating my crap on her.  It is not fair to her.

I'm also almost gleeful that somebody FINALLY fucking caught me.  I didn't know this, but I was waiting to be caught.  And this is where this stuff gets personal and vulnerable.  I think I am using DXM to test dissociation vs reality?  Like, if I can handle everything on DXM, then I can handle anything?  Or maybe, if I can handle life while on DXM, I can allow myself to dissociate in real life (in safe supportive setting)?  That's it.  I am so fucking afraid of appearing "crazy" or "out of control" or "not rational" that I have a major steel fucking door on anything that seemed irrational, which included allowing voices in my head telepathically telling me something.  So I shut that shit DOWN.  And I learned to concentrate.  CONCENTRATE. To the point of a laser beam.  So nothing could distract me.  And for the most part on the surface at least, nothing ever did distract me.  It worked.  Welcome physicist Civil Engineer.

But now through 3.5 fucking years of INTENSE fucking therapy with many different people, but mainly L, I have learned it is safe to let go.  If you learn when it's safe, when it's the right time.  Because it isn't always the right time.  But my problem was more that I NEVER let go, rather than letting go in the wrong places, which seems to be what is the problem for most other butterflies I've met.

And with DXM it is so easy to get to that open, creative sweet spot.  Without it I have to....  what .... I guess I have to concentrate, hah.  I have to let go.  I have to allow myself to be silly and make intuitive leaps that may not seem normal or rational.  And it is not being crazy.  It is being creatively co-consciously altered.  It is being a healthy butterfly.  Without drugs, and without being crazy.  It is NOT crazy.  People may look at me weird, but that's because they don't understand.  And I think that has been what I've been doing in therapy, learning exactly what dissociation is and isn't, completely and thoroughly, enough so that I could teach it to someone else.  And that someone else I was teaching was me. 



Wow.  OKay, so back to E. What is the gameplan?  What is enough and appropriate to tell her and what is a boundary violation to a new friendship?  OK. 1. Tell her she was right about me being high.  Validate reality.  2. Apologize that you lied to her, because you understand that invalidating a trauma survivors reality is extremely wrong.  3. Tell her you are working on it, and promise never to talk to her high again without telling her.  4. Tell her you are working on the problem, that you take it seriously, but it is not completely under control yet.  5. So, with this info if she thinks its not safe to be around me, I perfectly understand.  I am see-sawing trying to figure healthy out, and I'm going to even out eventually, I'm just not totally there yet.

If she wants to know what I think about it:
I think I can be a good friend to her.  I can watch my boundaries.  I will utmostly respect her path to getting better.  But I honestly don't know.  That's the truth, I don't know what's right.

What I don't need to tell her about:  why I do DXM.  My personal science experiment with DXM.  No talking about the creative sweet spot with her.  No talking about dissociation too much with her.  I can later, but not today.  We don't have enough intimacy yet.  We ARE NOT IN THERAPY together.  There is a difference, although right now I am having a hard time figuring out what that difference is.  She does not need to know every thought that is in your head.  You are not lying if you are not telling her every thought in your head.  That is not deceit.  That is technique.  Your insightlfulness can hurt people, including yourself, if wielded at the wrong time, just as if you were carrying around a sword, an epee.  Very useful tool, but you can't just slash it around like you've been doing.  Which is Ok, you are learning.   But really, you seem to have a talent that others either don't have or don't admit to having, and just like if you were an X-men, you have to learn to wield your power correctly.  Really, it is just like the laser beam eye guy.  Except you have to build your own glasses to control the beam yourself.  And you are.  Yay.  Cool, in this metaphor, L is Dr. X.  I'll have to tell her. :)

Long Talk with my Bro

My brother and I have been talking for the past coupla months.  Which is a big deal.  Because of the way our mother manipulated us, we have stayed pretty seperate as adults.  So Jem (my bro) has had a helluva month.  He basically has had a trauma breakdown.  And we talk/have talked a lot lately about our childhood and our mother and her behavior.  There is so much I want to say about Jem, but right now, I just need to get down some points that came up in this convo.

1. Mom sat with Jem at a table and said "You have to become a lawyer, it is like a license to steal."  This may not seem like a big deal, who cares.  But it is huge.  Because the mother I know would never say something like that.  So our mother talks to us in different ways.  Meaning she is manipulating us, and is fully aware of doing so.  The Allison/Mother connection would never think "a license to steal" is a good career choice.  We are all about nobility and truth and working hard and making money that way.  And doing good, and being ethical and trustworthy.  So basically, MY MOTHER IS A LIAR, AND QUITE PROBABLY A SOCIOPATH. A PSYCHOPATH, SINCE I NOW KNOW THEY ARE THE SAME THING.  Not just a narcissist, a psychopath.

2.  I found out about yet another time when my mother did not tell me that Jem was sick and had had a suicide attempt.  She has never told me that Jem's problems were that serious, and thus I was never able to support him.  I had NO IDEA how bad it was for him.  NONE.  And I think my Mom deliberately kept the information from me.  She never visited Jem in the hospital, never comforted him.  Nothing.  Angry, anger starting.

3.  Jem just found out that 15 or so years ago, when he was in a relationship with a girl I'll call Mary that Mom did some fucked up stuff.  Mary sent a letter to Jem that she was pregnant, and Mom got her hands on it and Jem never saw it.  Mom then proceeded to attack this young woman (maybe 19) and call her white trash and a gold digger and that she was making it up to get money from Jem.  Mom then paid Mary some amount of money to go away and never talk to Jem again.  16 year old Jem had no idea any of this happened, all he knew was his girlfriend went away and never talked to him again.  He was heartbroken and depressed and started smoking weed.  Which I now understand, probably made mom very happy in her fucked up head.  So fast forward to now (a few months ago), and Mary and Jem connect via Facebook.  Mary asks Jem, what was that all about with your mother? Jem has no idea what she's talking about.  Mary thinks Jem is bsing her, pretending not to know to not take responsiblity, and it takes four or five conversations before the truth becomes clear- the Jem had no idea, and that mom is a monster.

I am very specifically writing these things down so I can take them to my therapist tomorrow.  I am so disgusted and angry that I think I am in intellectualization mode and am numb.  But actually, it may be just acceptance.  My mother is a monster.  I am lucky to have survived.  I hope Jem survives this breakdown part of the trauma fucking path.  I can only suggest to him what I did, which is to cocoon yourself and GO TO THERAPY. He is a different person, so his path will differ.  duh.  I just want him to know that he is lucky to be alive, and that he should pat himself on the back for surviving not only our childhood, but also the past month of shenanigans he has self-harmed hisself through. (I am fully aware of my atrocious grammar).

OK, now I am going to fucking be dark and angry and usefully vengeful and watch "Men Who Hate Women" Swedish version, with the amazing kick ass Noomi Rapace.  GRRRRRRRRRRRR

Am I Dr. Watson?

So, I am totally in a spiral of self-hatred, dissociation and shame.  I have been stuck in my house for about 2 months (?) basically eating and watching Netflix and whatever I torrent off the internet.  I am not in a good place.  And no matter how I say it here, I will sound better than I actually am.  I am not good.  3 weeks ago, if I had a gun, I probably would have killed myself.  Ironically, only my depression stopped my suicide.  It was too much work to plan the whole fucking thing, so I slept instead.

I have been watching and "fangirl" ing this TV show I like- Sherlock on BBC.  It is about Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson in the present.  Dr. Watson is a ptsd guy from the Afghanistan war, and he shacks up with Sherlock to solve crimes.  What I love about the show is that Dr. Watson is just like me.  He has nothing, no love, no passion, nothing to live for and as he says in episode 1 to his therapist (!) "nothing ever happens to me."  And then he randomly becomes flatmates with Sherlock and his life begins.  GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOODDDDDDDDDDDDDDd.  Please let that happen to me.  I have nothing, no life, nothing.  I feel I am unworthy of even a tumblr account.  I want a Sherlock to come save me.  And I will be the practical human being to his sociopathic/neutral good/asperger's bx.  I just need to be saved.

The beauty of the show Sherlock is basically that they fall in love with each other, without either one knowing what the fuck to do about it.  So they stay platonic work partners that spend every fucking waking moment with each other.  I would be happy with even this fucked up codependent relationship.

I just need help.  Help..  I need love.  And companionship.  But I need to save myself, because no one else can save me.  The idea of a Sherlock is beautiful, but misguided.  I have to be my own Sherlock.  I have to save myself.

PS. After at least a year and a half of abstaining, I got drunk tonight at a lesbian bar and talked to some women.  I even sort of have plans for later in the week.  And let me tell you, I would trade (and did) all the sobriety in the world to have a life. and friendship.  So there.

Friends?

Hola.  So I just painted my nails and am trying to type without smudging them.  We'll see.  Just got off the phone with Tara and had a good talk with her about Susan.  Susan and I are having problems because... well basically because she is clueless on how to be a good friend.  I asked her on Weds to hang out with me because I was having a bad day and she said she would come over, even though she didn't want to.  This hurt my feelings, and I told her so today.  After discussing this for 10 minutes or so on the phone today, she told me our friendship was not going to work out and she wished me luck in life.  Then she hung up.  So I guess we are not friends anymore?  This is really Susan's issue.  It is not cool to say you dont want to hang out with someone, but you'll still come over.  Not cool, it hurt my feelings, and that she can't understand that is her problem, not mine.  So I guess we're not friends, and that's the way it is.

I slept all day today.  I mean all day.  But I am not going to beat myself up about it.  So there.

OK, gotta go, gotta eat.