Trying to Remember, Trying to Heal

"There are some remedies worse than the disease."  ~Publilius Syrus

I fear this may apply to me.  I've been attempting, in therapy, to recover from my traumatic past.  I don't believe that I can actually heal unless I've come face to face with what happened to us, what hurt us, what created the broken person we are today.  I've been doing a lot of writing, subconscious exploration I call it, as I take a pen and paper and close my eyes and just let the words flow out of us.  The words aren't always legible of course, and they often don't make any sense, but it's interesting to see what comes out of our mind.  Words of a negative, even violent nature appear on the paper often.  Nonsensical ramblings seem to tell the tale of a shattered little girl who is scared of everyone and who only wants her daddy back. Daddy protected us, or at least he tried.  He died never knowing about the abuse I had suffered at the hands of my tormenters.  I've been having some memory recollection, and it's not been a positive experience.  I'm scared of what lies in our hidden past.  I'm not sure we can handle it.  K doesn't remember the specific bad thing(s) but somebody inside must....we just have to find those memories.  Not sure I want to find out what happened to us.  I'm afraid.
 

Another person who has DID told me that you can ask to remember only 5%  instead of 100% and that your subconscious will know to let you recall only 5% instead of total recollection.  This is supposed to make it much easier to deal with the pain of remembering trauma. I am going to try this technique....just as soon as I get up the courage to remember any trauma at all.  I'm so afraid of knowing the truth.  My psychiatrist tells me I don't have to remember everything to get better, but someone inside me wants to remember it so we can forgive ourselves and move forward with our life.  However, I'm terrified that by recovering these lost memories, I will make myself even worse.  I don't want to get sicker than I already am.  I must have blocked those memories for good reason.  I'm not sure I want to know...I just know I want to get better.

School Daze

I've been asked how it is that I was able to get through high school/college and maintain a 4.0 GPA as long as I did with a memory as spotty as mine as well as the dissociative episodes I've had since childhood.  It was not easy, that's what I'm supposed to say.  But, well, actually, it was at first... I believe I've already blogged about how I was such a perfectionist and so I had to be a straight-A student.  I had to win all the awards, get my picture in the paper, have a closet full of trophies and plaques. Everything I did had to be PERFECT.  Well, believe it or not,  from 1st through 12th grade, my memory was extraordinary-photographic even. (But it was only when pertaining to books and school work; I've never remembered  much about my earlier years or ballet classes or soccer practice, etc)  I never studied for a test, I simply read the material in the morning, before that class, and I was able to recall all the information later when taking the test.  I think I became Smart K on the way to school and she stayed in control of my body and mind for the school day.  I'm not kidding.  Some part of me was always whispering answers in my ear and plus I could remember things in a way that suggests a camera taking a snapshot. 

 I could literally see the pages of my textbook in my mind and read what was written on them.  It was simultaneously bizarre and cool. Sometimes, it even seemed I knew the answers before the questions were asked, as though I were psychic or something; I always explained this as my spirit leaving my body and peeking at the answers, then willing me the knowledge. Weird, yes, but I know now that I was dissociating at those moments. But I took advantage of this special ability,  up until the day came when I simply could no longer do it.  Perhaps due to my taking psych meds ages 16-19, I'm not sure. I lost my photographic memory shortly after I'd transferred from business school back to art school.  I don't remember when or how or even why it happened.  (You can't blame it on smoking pot-I never tried that until my mid-20's) I just remember being unable to recall phone numbers and apartment numbers, little things at first, hardly noticeable. Then my grades began to slip-I remember my first "imperfect" grade; I physically wanted to die. I was studying like a maniac, at all hours of the day and night. At some point in time, my memory began to seriously slip, and it rapidly got worse, until I had/have the memory of a senile old lady. As my memory worsened, my dissociation seemed to increase in severity and duration. But remember- at that time, not only was I living "all natural" (meaning without psych meds) but I didn't realize that anything was really wrong with me when it came to these "out of body experiences".  Yes, I'd been to see countless therapists and doctors and taken all sorts of medications for different mental illnesses, so I knew something was wrong, but I had no idea that my losing time and memories and talking to the voices in my head was abnormal.  I just thought I was different.  People always talk about that "little voice inside your head". I thought I was special and had more than one. 

Go back to my first year of college, when the pressure was first building....I had always been a good student and now suddenly I was having to work hard to maintain my grade point average.  I couldn't concentrate anymore, I was unable to focus my attention on my studies.  I became so stressed out that I overdosed on sleeping pills and my friend had to take me to the hospital to get my stomach pumped.  I don't remember that; I think it happened to "someone else" and I just heard about it from my friends.  Another time, that same year (Freshman year) I overdosed on No-Doze.  I told myself I had to stay awake to study, so I swallowed the whole box.  At the ER, the doctor told me I had enough caffeine in me to kill an elephant; I told him he just didn't understand-I had a very important philosophy paper to write.  I never realized until then that you could OD and/or die on caffeine.  After that I was careful about what kinds and how many pills we kept in the house. It was pretty obvious that someone inside me was a threat to my own self.

As my memory continued to slip away, so did my social life.  I was no longer eager to attend all the parties and social functions that we once had enjoyed so much (Note only some of the K's are very sociable).  Memory problems lead to embarrassment (like when you forget your teacher's name in class) and humiliation (like when a guy asked for my phone number and I couldn't remember it).  Classes got harder and harder as the years passed.  I went from being on the President's Honors List and taking extra-load classes in order to graduate early, to dropping courses and taking only a few art classes which I could barely concentrate on.  I was getting further and further behind in my school work.  I was an artist but found it harder and harder to pick up my paintbrush.  Somewhere during this time period, about age 23, I went back on psych meds, and that did wonders for my mood but squelched my creativity.  I could no longer think.  After 6 years, I had changed my major 4 times, switched schools 3 times, and finally just had to give up and drop out. (I was also having some health problems) It was supposed to be a temporary break-a vacation of sorts, to help me get my life back together and relax for awhile and become more stable.  But months turned into years and instead of going back to school, I went back to the psych hospital.  Sigh. 

So much potential, wasted.  I don't think I'll ever get over the guilt I feel for not finishing school.  My parents were so proud of me at one point-I was the first in the immediate family to go to college.  Then I became a subject "we just don't talk about".  My sister, who is 20 years my senior, was never told of my mental illness back then, and so she hated me for squandering my education and opportunities.  She thought I was a selfish, lazy bitch who just wanted to have fun and not take life seriously.  How ironic it is that now, I take life TOO seriously.  Oh yes, and my sister knows now about my mental illness, but she doesn't understand at all.  At least she doesn't hate me anymore, but it'd be nice to be able to talk to her about my problems.  Oh well, I guess that's what my psychiatrist is for.  And who knows?  Maybe one day I WILL go back to school.  I'll have to win the lottery first, since from what I understand, my being deemed mentally disabled means I'm unable to attend school without losing my benefits i.e. my health insurance. So until the day comes when I can afford insurance (or can move to some country with free healthcare) I'll have to remain a college drop-out.  I should've had a master's degree by now.  Damn.  Still, I can dream...Stranger things have happened to me/us!

Memories Lost and Found

Memory is a funny thing...I think.  That's my attempt at humor. I have to make fun of myself or I'd have no relief at all from the teasing and taunting and laughter that comes at me from all sides much of my waking life. But I'm already going off on a tangent-we can't have that! Let's try again.  I can't explain this very clearly, I can only tell the story as it exists in my current state of consciousness.  I remember on a different plane of "reality", which an alternate K presides over, and which sometimes drops us bits of information or pictures in our mind of things from K's past (and sometimes her future!).  Sometimes this works out well, the right version of K will remember what she needs to know, but more often than not, K is unable to retrieve the information and she feels foolish and frustrated and angry with herself. 

It's so embarrassing to not be able to remember someone's name, someone whom you've known for years.  How do you play that down, or get out of that situation gracefully? You really can't.  Blame it on getting older or being intoxicated, anything to keep the truth hidden from the Outside World.  It's reasons like these which cause us to want to stay home.  At least, some of us do, the current K included.  I'm not sure where I've been, but I've been reading the blog and a book I found at the library, and I've determined that K has been having a dissociative episode, and has switched several times over the course of 2 weeks or so.  I'm here now, to try and make sense of all these notes and writings and websites.  This is going to take some work, and some time.  But-in the end, I'm hoping to help K get better, to live a somewhat stable life, to be HAPPY. (K doesn't really know what that means, she only pretends to know)  I've touched on happiness since we got married, actually since we began dating our husband, which was about 4 years ago.  My happiness swelled to such an extent I thought my heart was literally going to burst out of my chest on our honeymoon, and has been present more days than not ever since.  Yes, we still have days in which we're depressed, or want to hurt ourselves, but a lot of days we wake up and look over at our husband and emotions pool inside of us and I can often feel tears run down my cheeks and I know those are tears of joy.  K had such a hard time for so many years of her life, it's just awesome that she's finally found a piece of happiness, a life with purpose, a future worth living to see.

I wonder if K will live to see her future... I don't mean to sound so doom and gloomy but I mean, her health is not so great considering how young she is.  She already has to wear oxygen at night when she sleeps (that's something that came about only recently but is because of the ARDS incident (The story of my ARDS ordeal).  She has COPD (Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease) as a result of the ARDS too.  Needless to say, by the time she got out of the hospital, she was a non-smoker.  (It's interesting to note that some of the K's DO smoke)  She recently had exploratory surgery to find the cause of some severe pain she'd been having in her right side for several months.  The surgeon found something called adhesions (the abnormal union of adjacent tissues) growing on her colon and he had to scrape this tissue off her organs.  She was really sore after that, and ran out of pain pills too quickly,  but the doctor refused to refill them.  It's often hard to get some medications, such as pain relievers and sleeping pills, when you have a history of mental illness.  My theory is that the doctors are afraid you'll intentionally take an overdose of the pills.  Or perhaps they believe that people will take advantage of our impaired judgement and we will sell them or give them away.  Now I will confess that on certain nights, rarely, my mother will be so nervous and anxious that she cannot sleep, and on those nights I will give her a quarter of one of my Xanax pills to calm her down and help her relax.  Is that really so wrong?  Mom's always worried she's going to become an addict, which I think is hilarious-she's 82 for Christ's sake!  So what if she DOES get hooked?  What difference would that make now?


Damn! I've gone and forgotten what it was that I wanted to write about tonight.  I HATE when that happens, and unfortunately, it happens a lot.  It's embarrassing and drives me crazy, pun intended.  K used to always have a pad of paper and a pen with her , as well as a sketch book, a pencil, and a fine-point black Sharpie marker.  We got out of that habit at some point when other, less active K's came to visit our mind.and K became lethargic and less inclined to do anything (anything at all by the end of that time period)  I guess after we dropped out of college our mind and memories started to get fuzzy from neglect.  I, and the other smart K's (I don't know how many there are, I'm still figuring all this out), will try and focus our energy on remembering what to blog about.  OH YES, and we've begun to carry a pad of paper and a pen in our pocket at all times now.  I think that's as good a place to start as any. If you want to remember, write it down. If I find some notes or remember something on the subject later, I"ll be sure and post those thoughts  here.

Pills Are Like Candy

A large part of K's life revolves around the use of different medications.  She takes all sorts of pills, and has been taking psychotropic medication(s) on and off since she was 16 years old.  Over the years, the medications have changed-every time K saw a different doctor, that doctor would prescribe new medication(s) for her (often) new diagnosis.  It started out simply enough-K's parents were told that K is Manic-Depressive and the psychiatrist put her on Lithium.  I can't recall how long K actually took the Lithium, but at some point in time, she saw a different doctor, (because her parents disagreed when the first doctor said that they had somehow contributed to K's illness) and this new doctor decided that the Lithium was not working for K (she was still "out of control", in other words) and so he took her off that pill and put her on two or three new pills.  I can't recall now what those medications were-how can I, when I can't remember what pills we took this morning?  Now I'm not going to sit here and recount every trip to every doctor and every diagnosis, for that would A) take too long and B) be impossible without K's medical records and the memory of an elephant.  Let's just say that for the most part, with each new doctor came new pills and a new label.  The doctors love to stick labels on people. This infuriates K, who doesn't want a label, just a life.

                                        
Some of the labels which K has worn over the years, in no particular order, (in addition to Manic-Depressive/ Bipolar II Disorder), are Major Depressive Disorder, Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, Generalized Anxiety Disorder, Bulimia,  Schizophrenia, Borderline Personality Disorder, Social Anxiety Disorder, Body Dysmorphic Disorder, Panic Disorder, and a  few others which I can't seem to recall.  I'm shocked that I was able to remember as many as I did, but I suppose that after hearing and reading these terms repeatedly throughout the years, one becomes accustomed to them and they are ingrained in her mind, and they become a part of that person's subconscious and therefore are "remembered".   K sees her memory as an entity of its own, a location which different K's can visit at different times, but which is never completely accessible to any of the K's.  Certain K's have more freedom to roam in this memory locale than others, and some of the K's can barely remember anything at all.

If we look at a list of psychotropic medications, I am able to recognize many of them as pills we have taken at various points in time, and in various combinations, throughout our physical life.  Sometimes the pills don't work,  and we must suffer through all the dreaded side effects for a long enough period of time for the doctor to determine that the pills are not working, and therefore we have to be weaned off these pills and placed on new pills. Sometimes the pills work well, and we will take them for awhile, until the day comes when either K decides that she is stable and feels healthy enough to live without the pills, (this always happens after she's been diligently taking her meds as prescribed for a good length of time)  or until they no longer work.  This is what invariably happens-a phenomenon the doctors have explained to us is not unusual.  Sometimes medications simply stop working.  At these times, K would either have to change medications, which sometimes meant withdrawal symptoms,  plus new side effects, or else she'd just give up on the meds altogether and go "all natural". (This is something which some of us have tried repeatedly to do, but which always ends badly)  I haven't mentioned the side effects before now, (Or have I?) and I wonder if I'll even be able to satisfactorily convey the discomfort one feels when on such psychiatric medications.  For one thing, you're most likely either a zombie, emotionally empty and unresponsive, walking around in a fog, desiring nothing more than to sleep at all times, or else you're wound tighter than a noose around a neck and spend your days bouncing off the walls and rambling like some hyperactive disc jockey.  Some pills cause tremors, which K has had to deal with over the years, and which makes us look nervous or scared, even when we are not.  It's very embarrassing to be paying for your groceries and have your hands be shaking, trembling so uncontrollably that you're unable to count out coins. Other side effects, which may be slightly less aggravating, include (but are not limited to) constant dry mouth, spontaneous sweating, headache, fluid retention, dizziness, upset stomach, constipation, fatigue and sexual side effects. (OK, that last one does bother us a good bit)  Substantial weight gain is far and above the worst side effect of them all; I'm not talking about 10 pounds, I'm talking about 25 pounds or more.  The K who suffers from eating disorders has an especially hard time handling this fact of life; she is usually quite depressed  because of her intense self-hatred and the shame she feels upon looking at her body.  Because of our medications, or lack thereof, our weight has fluctuated over the course of our adult life from 98 pounds to 183 pounds and everywhere in between.  K is 5'5" tall.

I would also like to tell you the other side of the story, and that is what happens when K goes "all natural" and gives up her medication altogether, but I think that story is best told in several separate posts rather than one gigantic one. Forgive me if I've rambled too much.  It's a bad habit.  Much like K's Xanax habit, although we must admit that she'd be a disaster without it.

New Years Evil

Ah, New Year's Eve.  A time for reflecting upon the triumphs and tragedies of the past year and looking ahead to the bright, shiny possibilities of the upcoming year.  Ideally, that's what I'd be doing, along with drinking champagne throughout the day.  Instead, I'm just waking up from a sedative-induced sleep which I forced myself into after having a major meltdown this morning.  We were so excited, eager, and anxious about going out to celebrate New Year's Eve tonight that I was completely overwhelmed by the thought of it all.  I was supposed to come up with something special to wear, and get all dressed up, and go out to a party or two with my darling husband, whom I planned to kiss at midnight. But the pressure of doing all those things was just too much for me to bear and I completely flipped out and had the worst anxiety attack I've had in ages.  My heart was pounding so hard I could feel my whole body shaking.  I couldn't catch my breath, and began to pant as though I'd run a marathon. I was enveloped in a desire to self-harm, but was unable to do so because my eyes couldn't focus and everything was fuzzy. I tried really hard to make myself dissociate so I could escape this agony but that never works when I want it to.  My head felt like it was in an ever-tightening vise, and I could feel the blood rushing through my brain; the pain was so intense that I thought I might have a stroke at any moment. I thought I was going to die, literally. All because I had plans to go out tonight...

Well, we didn't even have specific plans at the time of my freakout.  We were pondering two choices: a large, rowdy party with some friends and a ton of strangers and massive quantities of booze and whatnot, or a small, intimate get-together with 2 other couples, some fireworks and, of course, more drinking.  I intentionally skipped all my meds this morning, specifically so that I might drink more tonight without fear of drug interactions.  Apparently, that was a bad idea.  Not a half hour had passed after I'd made that decision before I had a complete and utter breakdown.  My only option was to take 2 mg Alprazolam and lie down on the bed with my eyes closed and my head hidden. My husband was quick to discover I'd skipped my pills and thus forced me to take them and eventually I passed out. (I was doing my yoga breathing to calm down and I guess that plus the drugs worked wonders)  Not sure how long I was asleep, but when I woke up it was no longer this morning, it was well into this afternoon, so I'm guessing I slept for hours. I just don't know for sure. I have no concept of time. I'm not kidding. NONE. But that's a story for another time...


When I woke up, my husband came to my bedside and asked if I was OK.  That's when it all came rushing back to me and I remembered that I had lost my mind for a bit there. Suddenly I was embarrassed and ashamed.and humiliated and felt as though I'd ruined our holiday even before it had begun.  At the same time, the person waking up from her drug-induced coma was someone new and different and she didn't feel anxious about going out to a party at all.  I was stoked about New Year's Eve and eager to find out where we'd be spending our evening. Well, my husband told me then that he'd decided it best for us to just stay home tonight.  I knew immediately that it was because of me/her/"us".  He was giving up his night of partying because he didn't think I was stable enough to be out in public. That made me feel like utter shit. But he wouldn't admit that I was the cause of it-he gave me perfectly logical reasons to stay home (too many drunks on the roads, cops everywhere looking to pull people over, etc) and I could say nothing to change his mind.  So I have already messed up our New Year's weekend (and it hasn't even started yet). What a fitting end to a fucked up year.


I guess this is where I should go into details about all the important things that happened in 2011.  That's what the average person would do, right? But I'm not the average person and besides that, my memory is so bad that I've forgotten most of the past year anyway! I remember LAST New Year's Eve however. My husband and I rented a cabin with 2 other couples (the same ones who've invited us to hang out tonight) and we spent the weekend in the mountains.  We had a fabulous time, drinking and feasting on grilled steaks and dancing and singing and being silly and dressing up and playing board games and lounging in the 2-person hammock and chilling out in the hot tub with the always-present glass of champagne in my hand... When the time warrants, I can become this person who is sociable and funny and seems to be normal. It's a mask I wear. (another story for another time) Now I have to admit, the main reason I'm able to remember all this so well is because that Christmas, I'd received a mini video camera and I was filming our whole trip.  So I can watch the video and relive the experience. That camera has become an invaluable tool to me, for it gives me the ability to document my daily life and remember the important events/people/etc that I'd otherwise forget due to my ever-shrinking memory. The only problem I have now is, I always FORGET that I have the damn camera!


After starting off 2011 with a bang (fireworks!), it was only a short time before my husband and I were celebrating our very first wedding anniversary.  Yes, I am just recently married, and my husband is the most supportive, understanding, kind-hearted man I've ever known.  He's my best friend and I absolutely adore him and can't imagine life without him. I don't know how he puts up with me (us?).  I really don't.  Hopefully, my mental illness won't drive him away like it drove away so many boyfriends/friends/family members/co-workers...(big sigh here) Now back to our story. February brought Valentine's, my birthday, and my mother's hospitalization. I very nearly lost her this past year.  She's 81 and precious to me, and her near death brought on alot of mental problems for me. But you must understand one thing: I NEVER tell my mother what is going on in my head.  We don't talk about the voices, or the hallucinations, or the dissociation, or any other symptom which she might perceive as serious.  I hide avoid her when I'm having an episode.  She really has no idea exactly how ill I truly am.  But I digress-


My husband (whom I need to come up with some name for, so that I don't have to continually type "husband") threw me a birthday party at the bar we normally hang out in.  I like it because it's dark and smoky and usually empty. The owner knows us, and my husband bartends there sometimes, and so the bartenders and waitresses and everyone there went out of their way to make my night special.  Balloons, party hats, cake, the whole shebang.  My sister was there, which is simultaneously awesome and bizarre, since she lives so far away from me, but she'd flown in to be with Mom on her supposed death bed and was therefore able to attend my little soiree.  I drank until I got sick (it's not a party until you puke!) and ended up talking and laughing with my hubby and sister all night,  long after the bar had closed and we'd stumbled home.


The next 6 months I don't remember at all. Seriously.  Not a clue. Sitting here right now, I can't tell you if we were sick or stable or up or down. I can't recall a thing. I have some photos of the birthday party I threw my husband in August, so I'm able to vaguely remember that.  We rented 2 hotel rooms (so no one had to drive home drunk) and invited everyone to party and hang out with us at the pool.  Actually, it wasn't nearly that smooth and easy, but I'm going to gloss over it for you. After that, I can't remember anything until near Halloween.  October is my favorite month, I LOVE Halloween and all things spooky and I usually get manic and ridiculously happy during that time of year.  I'm having trouble remembering what we actually did for Halloween.  Hmm.  Oh well.


With November comes the onset of my traditional holiday blues, and this will last until just after my birthday in February.  Thanksgiving was stressful to the max, but we can't remember any specific details about it. Next was Christmas, which sucked, and that brings us to where we are now.  I'm quite certain that you're sick to death of my rambling by this point anyway. And besides that--SHIT!--the whole day has already gone--I have to go get dressed for tonight.  Tonight.  New Year's Eve.  This will be the first time I've stayed at home for this night in decades, I kid you not. As it turned out, I've spent my entire day either sleeping or working on this blog entry.  Yes, it has literally taken us all day to write this post.  I can't remember how long this entry is or even what I've been talking about.  My OCD tells me to reread it for the 1000th time but at this point I'm so mentally exhausted that I just want to stop thinking.  So I'm going to post this without a final edit. Holy shit, I can't believe she's doing that! But I'm tired, so very tired.  And the night has yet to begin, along with the new year. Let's pop some fucking champagne, shall we?