The last few weeks (I think…) have been a hurricane of emotional, spiritual and real-life crises. Trauma is triggered all the time. Flashbacks, memories, alters all so confused, emotional and loud in the head. Need to find a home, NOW…its basically an emergency. It feels hopeless to me, but other people don’t think its hopeless. So confusing….not used to people who don’t even know me well treating me with such love and kindness. It really feels like the last few weeks have been a dream/nightmare. Both good and bad. Breaking me to a point I have nowhere to look but up. No one to talk to but Creator. Nothing to do but pray, and cry, and allow this body to shake and hold the teddy bear. Trying to give the body food, sleep, rest, warmth, gentleness, comfort. Past traumas are so triggered right now though, that the body doesn’t, or can’t believe it is safe. What does safety feel like? What does a safe home feel like? What is home? So broken that only Creator and the “ordinary angels” around me can keep me afloat. The strength in myself feels like its been drained out, drop by drop, like blood, like life. Creator, I pray for a home and the strength to do what I need to do to fulfill my purpose. And safety, whatever that looks like. I am broken into a million pieces. I need a miracles, maybe a lot of miracles…but I know miracles are real now, and I know if I stay on my path, I will see more.
Beautiful Words of Comfort for Torture Survivors November 23, 2013
This is an article that I have clung onto for years, and in times of deep depression, despair and hopelessness, has brought me comfort. Thank you K, whoever you are…. Your words have helped me for years.
MERCY (for me and my Best Friend and for every other survivor of torture) By K.
What if you put up your tortured eyelids one more time and brought your full palms towards yourself towards your heart that limps and stutters as if it too barely survived maleficent torment – and it did, the blue crackle scorching its rhythm, the blood seeping out faster than its faithful milkmaid self could churn and replace into the gouged vessel, the oxygen stolen in fistfuls as your head stormed frantically under water two large implacable hands pushing on the back of your neck – and what if the fullness of your palms was mercy?
What if you took your own trembling hand and walked yourself away from the rack and chains and needles and flame and knife and whip and broomstick and penis and cattle prod, walked yourself away from believing that you belong on that cold slab of a table where they once stopped your heart and your child soul wandered the universe terrified by being dead and alone until they brought you back, the table where the blood seeped and stained and ran like money into their greedy hands, what if you heard your own voice telling you that you deserve a warm whole weltless skin, knitted bones, unburnt neurons, muscles healed of swelling and ruptures, blood humming in vessels not pooling under the skin rotting turning purple then yellow, what if you gave the creature of your body kisses and blankets and feathers and bandages and an unstitched mouth?
What if you held your body while it spoke, what if you believed its every word, what if you helped it wash using its tears as soap, what if you watched it dress and promised that this time it would be allowed to keep its clothes? What if you slid a safe hand along your muscles and were kind to the quivering that would come sure as shale and as loud, what if you held your terrified breath in your ears and owned it owned it even as you carefully unwrinkled a memory of hands around your throat rolling up your lungs like an old camping mattress, what if you gentled your timorous feathers with a wise finger and warm air and time like bread-giving yeast, what if you let your body make blood and then hold on to every red ounce?
What if you told your body it was precious, what if you actually believed it, what if you loved its clenched shoulders and compressed lungs during a routine visit to the chiropractor the allergist the hairdresser, what if you listened when it said I don’t want to undress in front of strangers, what if you gave it mangos and nut milk and soft covers and songs and walks in the park and encounters with trees and blueberries and poetry because that’s what made your muscle fibers unfurl from coils tight as anchor ropes and gulp in air, what if you cried with it and stroked its hunched disappointed back when your poverty stripped you of the only means to give it enough nourishment, what if you patiently soothed it into clothes rather than yanking them on with the harshness of manacles, what if you loved it even when it stood before you damaged: scarred twisted hurting weak bruised gasping ill fragile some of its nerves crushed or eaten away and the damage stopped you from doing daily tasks, like a rusted car that wouldn’t go, what if you didn’t shout at and shame your courageous corroded body, what if you told it that it wasn’t useless that it didn’t fail you that you still wanted to live, what if you felt its dog devotion gratitude for your acceptance, pouring in like rainwater and just as jobless, what if you resisted the urge to call it pathetic and push its shaggy head off your feet, what if you just held it through the pain and the tremors and the loss of strength and the numbness like cold sea tide, knowing it might not ever heal? What if you loved your body in/through/with its catastrophic damage because what happened to you was nothing short of catastrophe, because two decades of torture leaves bite marks on your bones and corrosion in your nerves and shreds your muscles, because it’s a fucking wonder you made it and your body was so brave and good and caretaking throughout it all and it needs you now when the stains of damage spread and widen as they must after a cataclysm, when its weakness is not failure but simply inevitability like the kiss of gravity, when its courage is courage no less even when it cannot alter the truth waking in your tissues?
What if you loved your body fiercely and without reservation loved its every hurt fiber, every scar every cracked bone, and what if you decided to love all of you and make no mistake it would be a decision hard and sweaty and gritty like gravel, what if you threw yourself into loving you your soul your heart your mind your all? What if you let the love make you tender and generous and kind and painstaking and forgiving to yourself? What if you gently scooped up memories when they come in ragged shoes and smelly clothes, what if you held them against your warmth till they stopped trembling and settled into you and showed you the details and maggots and bloody gashes and piss of your past, and you still held their gory smelly selves because they’re yours and they brought you your truth had held onto its sharp secret for you all this time? What if through remembering you slowly put your jigsaw self together the gore and stains and smell side by side with the lavender blossom and sparkle and your singing mathematical mind and ticklish feet and pretty bellybutton and lily-shape hips and uneven back and scarred lip and merciful soul and curly hair and bulging discs in your spine? What if you saw that there was enough of you rescued from the rubble, that you had a human shape that you belonged here and now, that you took up space, your space, that you had a presence a voice a motion a shadow? What if – breath in breath out heart squeeze release – you lived?
What if you helped another victim of torture live? What if you started an epidemic of living, what if all those whose tired animal skins were working on giving up, whose mortally bruised hearts spoke only suffering and despair, slowly drew sap into their dying trunks feeling green dizzily chlorophylled hope spread itself ubiquitously like dust to every cell every crevice, what if we released our stranglehold on our own throat and let our eyelids clamber up once more let our heart abandon syncope for a clear steadfast entitled rhythm sweet like bicycle wheels let our mouth talk and kiss and eat and breathe: such a pink-red triumph! What if you lived, what if we all made it, what if you were there lending a hand like a lifejacket, lending words to hold, lending your breath? What if you lived, what if we all made it, what if you living helped us make it, what if your life had meaning, made a difference, was unexpendible?
Gag Orders and … May 27, 2013
Gag Orders and Losing my Voice
I effectively have a gag order on me. Awesome. Again. Still. Whatever. I am moving as soon as possible, and then I will WRITE MY ASS OFF. So, I will be back, just not yet… Apparently I am “violent” and have an “anger problem” so I have to deal with that first. LMFAO
Being Multiple Means Keeping Secrets February 20, 2013
You know what really sucks? That almost everyone in the world who isn’t multiple seems to be scared of us who are. Maybe they aren’t scared of the idea of it, in fact most people seem to be fascinated by it and want to learn about it. But actually learning that someone they know is multiple scares them quite a bit. And if they actually see the alters, and realize that they are alters (ESPECIALLY if the alters introduce themselves and act “weird”- meaning too far outside of “normal socially acceptable behavior”) then most of them will totally freak out and go running and screaming in the opposite direction…. It’s no wonder people like me, multiples, keep their alters a secret from almost everyone they know….
My alters are so frustrated right now by this reality. They want so badly to come out, to be acknowledged by at least some people, and to be called by THEIR names, not the name that was given the body at birth… There is the core part still called by that name, but there are more than 12 others, and we all want to be heard and validated. We have started the process and we don’t want to have to pretend anymore!!!
Today one of our child alters came out and she was very happy and excited. She wanted to play but our cat was really bothering her. To make a long story short, one of our neighbors saw her, recognized that something was amiss, and she told them her name, Anna…. It scared this woman quite a lot. She says everything is fine now and we have talked about it and I believe her that everything is good. But we are all scared, and we just know that we can’t be obvious at all when we come out. We are fairly good at that, we have been practicing our whole lives, but we WANT TO BE OURSELVES!!!! And our living situation is one in which we run into people regularly, even when we are trying to avoid others….
I think the hardest part for us will not be dealing with all of the part of US, but dealing with the outside world in a way that feels safe and ok, while still being allowed to be authentic and happy…. We don’t want to keep secrets anymore, we don’t want to tell lies to pretend we are not multiple anymore…Many of us want at least some people to know our names and who we are- our likes and dislikes, what we have been through, how we help each other and work together…. Just DON’T WANT TO KEEP SECRETS ANYMORE!!!!
And being multiple means you have to keep lots and lots and LOTS of secrets……
Dealing with the Big Secret of Alters… February 19, 2013
This journey is so rough. Finally I have let the biggest secret of my life out, that there is not only one part inside me, and there are moments when it feels amazing and so relieving, but other moments when I get so terrified again that bad things will happen because we are starting to talk about this truth. We have been so scared to talk about it forever because any time we have hinted about it to anyone in the past, or talked about it generally it seems people get so uncomfortable or don’t believe that DID exists, or just don’t understand it at all so don’t want to hear about it. We have been dealing with this alone in our own head for many many years, and the only guidance we have gotten has been from our own research and from a very small group of people on the internet who are also DID (although even with them we didn’t admit we actually had alters too….). Letting this secret out, especially in the art work is very scary, but it is also very empowering too. I have been shocked this week at what supportive responses I have gotten from the people I have told.
The one thing we still wish we had soooo badly is a real person, here, in real life, who has experience with this, who can help explain and help us understand it all and work through it so it is not so difficult to handle day to day. All of the work that is happening to heal and deal with the anorexia, alters, and ritual abuse is being done alone, in our own head and its so hard and so exhausting. I wish so badly that there were therapists around who would be able to truly help us delve into all of this. All of the alters want desperately to heal, and are ready for it, but we can’t do it alone… We don’t want to put too much on our friends or make them too upset by talking about it, but we need someone we can really speak the honest TRUTH to, and have no on like that who lives near us. We have our friend Jeanne Sarson in Nova Scotia who works with survivors of Ritual Abuse and all sorts of torture and she is AMAZING, but we can only talk on the phone and by email and that is just not enough anymore…
I want to thank everyone who reads my blog and comments on it, it is so incredibly validating to know that so many people care about my story. Even though I don’t always respond to all the comments I read every one, and they make me feel better, so thank you!!!! My blog and my art work are my way of healing right now because I don’t have an expert therapist yet.
I am still working hard on myself. Working so hard on communicating on the inside with all the alters, and trying to figure out how to make them all feel safe and not be self-destructive anymore. Every day is a struggle but we are all just taking it minute by minute, hour by hour and that is working for now. Since the secret about the alters has finally come out, most of them feel better because they are FINALLY being acknowledged, and that is good progress I think. Not sure how people deal with healing from ritual abuse when they have alters at all, I am feeling lost in this respect, but I am holding out hope that good help and support will come soon….
Cassie (one of the alters)
Can’t Keep this in anymore February 16, 2013
I have been forced to keep so so many secrets throughout my entire life, and there is one secret that has been extremely hard for me… and I just can’t keep it anymore. I have always been afraid to talk about this secret because I am scared people won’t believe me, won’t understand, will think I am lying, or will think I am crazy. But this secret is real and it is the truth. And it is coming up so very much in the past little while, I can’t keep it inside any longer. I have to be so careful how and who I talk about it with, but I refuse to be silent about it anymore, and honestly I really can’t be silent about it anymore, I don’t think it is possible…
So here it is…. I have othere “parts” or “alters” inside of me. Those are the terms I like to use the most, which make me feel the most comfortable. Not “pieces” or “personalities” please. I have not been formally diagnosed by a doctor with DID because I haven’t talked to any mental health professionals about it, it hasn’t been safe. But I have been aware of it for years, although it has always been confusing and frustrating to deal with all alone, and I have tried to push it away and pretend its not real. When that never worked I just got quite good at hiding when my alters switched so that most people in my life have never caught on to the fact that this is my reality every day (except when I am too medicated that I am a zombie).
Anyway…. this is the beginning of my secret coming out. I don’t know how much I will be able to share or write about it on my blog because of safety issues, but I have been feeling like I am going to explode with the pressure of keeping this secret inside for so long. I hope you understand…. Please feel free to comment and ask questions if you don’t understand and want to try. Thank you for reading, this has been very empowering to write.