Psyched To Be Here

I had therapy Wednesday.  The only reason I know that is because it's written on my calendar, and I look at my calendar weekly because I need to know when I have to go out in public, e.g. a dentist's appointment, therapy, a birthday party. (I actually have to prepare myself mentally to be around other people, sometimes for days)  I'm trying to strain my brain and remember what happened in that therapy session.  I honestly can't recall anything at the moment.  Let me concentrate harder...  I still can't remember.  Damn.  I have no memory of showering and/or getting dressed, no memory of driving to her office, no memory of sitting in the waiting room.  Perhaps I should check my phone and go back through all my texts, and then read all my Tweets from the past 2 days, and check my journal for any entries made in the past 48 hours.  This is so frustrating.  I wanted to write about my session, but I can't remember it. Not any of it. Hmm.

OK, something's coming back to me now- I showed her my journal.  Yes, I remember that. I read her parts of my journal, the parts written by other me's.  (Hey, I'm starting to recall stuff now!)  I talked to her about how I switched over the weekend, and remained a different K for about 2 days. I have evidence-notes and lots of lists and partial blog posts and various writings, all written by person(s) other than "me".  Also, there is mention by the one known as Switch Kellie of another K coming to our assistance, the one known as The Cleaner.  So there's that. I talked about being 2 different me's for a few days.  I mean, I switch for short periods of time rather frequently- I'll suddenly change into someone else and get a wild look in my eye and say something out of character or do something odd or my voice and/or language will change, but it could be for an afternoon or even just a moment-but as far as a complete transformation goes, well that happens less often. It does happen however. It all depends upon my stress level and my mood and my environment, among a hundred other things.  When this incident occurred, all the factors were conducive to switching, and so the other K's took over, and my style of dress changed to something more pulled-together (for Switch Kellie) or something very casual (for The Cleaner) and my likes and dislikes (Switch Kellie drinks tea instead of coffee) and habits, both good and bad-all these things changed.  Some differences were more subtle and probably only I would notice them. But I was a different K, no bones about it.

So this past week was eventful, to say the least, and I at times had to take extra anti-anxiety medication. And I was really looking forward to seeing my doctor.  To be honest, I was hoping that I'd show up for therapy and be one of the K's who appeared over the weekend.  Even though my psychiatrist has witnessed me as a different K (she has met Switch Kellie before), I still feel the need to prove myself to her.  I want her to actually see me switch, so that she knows once and for all that I'm being serious. There are many doctors who don't believe in multiple personalities or MPD/DID.  Now granted, Dr. H has never done or said anything to make me believe that she doubts me.  In fact, she's sometimes asked me about the other K's, which implies that she accepts their existence.  And one time I flat out asked her if she thought I was full of shit, and she looked me in the eye and smiled and said, "I don't think you're full of shit."  So this whole paranoia thing is really unnecessary...I think the reason I feel the need to prove myself, to give evidence of my dissociation, is because I've been accused of faking it before.  What's even worse is that it was a family member who proclaimed I was a liar. That still hurts when I think about it.  Maybe I should discuss that incident in therapy one day.

OK, I've been going back through my Tweets and text messages and emails and diary entries and lists and anything else I can find with clues.  I have a better idea of when I switched (approximately April 14) and for how long, and what I did during those times, and where I went.  Also, who I encountered, who saw me "out".  And then there's the Tweet from April 17 which says "Back in my head and body now", so I guess that's when I officially felt like the world had stopped spinning so fast.  Thinking about these things now, it all feels like a dream, or like a story I was told or a movie I watched.  It seems like it happened to someone else, not to me.  I can remember seeing things happening, but it just comes across as so surreal now.  And of course, there are huge chunks of missing time and lost memories.

I went to a bar that weekend. Boy that was tough; I can remember how I felt so out of place while I was there.  And everyone seemed to be staring at me, like I had a neon sign hanging over my head that flashed "MENTALLY ILL".  The bartender that night was a friend, but she doesn't know me as the K that came into the bar; I wonder if she noticed the difference. First of all, I ordered Diet Coke without vodka. Unusual. Secondly, she probably thought it was strange, since for the first time ever, I chose NOT to sit at the bar, but rather to go off someplace where there were no people (I was hiding). Also, I didn't speak to my friend very much at all...I hope she doesn't think I was rude. Was I rude? I'm not sure.   My husband wanted to go check out the band, so he left me alone, just for a few minutes, but it felt like hours. I could feel the eyes of everyone on me, and I was nervous and had to pop a Xanax.  It was really hard being in that environment, surrounded by strangers, when I myself  felt like an outsider in my own world.  That's it exactly! I felt like an outsider in my very own body. My thoughts were not my own; they were foreign to me.  But here I am, and I am fine, I survived AGAIN and no one other than my husband and my shrink knows about me switching.... except maybe anyone who might have stumbled upon certain Tweets during those in-between-me times.  Perhaps no one even noticed. After all, I've been faking normality for more than 30 years now, so I've gotten quite good at it.

I'll tell you one more thing about my psychiatrist's appointment.  She made absolutely certain, before I left, that the receptionist made me an appointment for next week, and for the week after that as well. I thought that was really top-notch of her.  My last doctor would never have been so thoughtful as to do that.  This doctor stood there at the desk with me while the receptionist tried to find an opening. Dr. H insisted that it be in one week's time. I am really beginning to like her, maybe even trust her a little bit. (!) I am holding onto her 24-hour emergency number as though it's my most-prized possession; I put it in my wallet along with my appointment reminder cards and her business card.  I don't have pictures of my kids or my dogs in the clear plastic windows in the center of my wallet; I have my psychiatric information.  How fitting. If anyone ever finds my wallet, they're going to see that I'm just a nutcase with no money but a lot of lists.

Look & Listen

Currently hallucinating. Watching the shadows of people in my kitchen move across the floor. Only no one is in my kitchen.  Am simultaneously listening to all the noise coming from the living room...sounds of the cat jumping on furniture and scratching at the carpet. Except the cat is outside. There's no one in the living room. Shit! Now I'm hearing footsteps...  this is the part where I get scared. Is someone in the house?? Did Hubby forget to lock the back door when he last went out to get a beer? Has someone bad entered my home? Am I going to die?? I'm not finished living yet, in fact I feel like I haven't even started yet. *sigh*  And here comes the panic attack...I better go take a Xanax before it gets too bad.
                                         
LATER--
Have taken anti-anxiety meds and am just waiting for them to kick in. It still sounds like there is someone in the other room.  Everyone that lives here is asleep, I'm sure of it.  So what the hell is that?!  Heart pounding, chest heaving, sweating, shaking, head feels like it's going to explode...just your typical panic attack, which always makes me think I'm going to die, literally.  Come on, Xanax...work your magic. I took a full 2 mg bar; I wasn't playing around with it tonight.

Weekend Visitors

So.  Another K was here this past weekend.  Two actually.  The main one in charge being Switch Kellie, who was with us, as far as my investigation is telling me, beginning Sunday around 1:00 pm.  She was with us for pretty much the whole day and night, except at one point in the early morning hours she receded and The Cleaner came out and took over her chores. The Cleaner was only doing what Switch Kellie had written down on her list.  Switch Kellie always has a list, or I guess I should say lists, as there are so many of them.  Lists of all sorts of things....things to do, places to go, people to call, emails to send, groceries to buy, books to read, I could go on and on.  But on the list were a number of cleaning tasks, and so The Cleaner came out and took over and cleaned everything.  She's quite obsessive about her chores.  If only she showed up everyday, my house would be immaculate!  But unfortunately, that's not the way it works. After she'd cleaned, she went back inside and Switch Kellie was here to finish up some tasks, including writing a journal entry. Both The Cleaner and Switch Kellie wrote in our journal Sunday/Monday.  I'm eager to show it to my psychiatrist tomorrow at my appointment. 

 She met The Cleaner once but I don't think she knew who it was, as she never identified herself; she just went off on a rant about dirt and how it was all around her and how we were so afraid of dirt and dust.  Anyway, The Cleaner came and cleaned Sunday night and early Monday morning then wrote a journal entry and was gone by 7:00 Monday morning.  So Switch Kellie was in control again and there was more list-making (as always) and she paid the bills and went to the bank and tended to some financial matters. She was trying to get as much accomplished as possible before she left. Unfortunately, she didn't get finished before she left (sometime yesterday evening), and now here I am, with all her notes and lists and plans, and I just don't know if I can do all of this. I took a nap yesterday evening, and when I woke up, it was "me" again and I had a million things to do.  Things needing doing include taking Mom out of town to see a pain management specialist, picking up a prescription at Mom's doctor's office, taking Mom to yet another doctor at 2:30 this afternoon, returning some library books, and going by the medical supply store to get Mom a 25 foot oxygen line.  Is that a lot?  I just don't know.  But I guess I better get started, i.e. get dressed.  It's good to be back in my body but I wish that Switch Kellie had gotten more done while she was here.  She's so good at managing things, whereas I have no sense of time and no way to prioritize. All I know to do is follow her list and hope that I get these things accomplished.  Tomorrow we get to see our psychiatrist.  I'm going to tell her that I'm too stressed out, for stress is the main reason Switch Kellie comes out, she takes over when I'm unable to handle all the pressure.  She takes care of us when I can't take care of myself.  If I get overwhelmed, she shows up (ideally).  So I know that the stress level is high around here, just based on her presence.  Man, I really could use her today... If only I knew how to force out a specific me. That would be so awesome. I'd be Switch Kellie and run errands out in public, then I'd change to The Cleaner and do all the housework, and then I would change into one of the K's who is fun to be around and good for socializing.  In a perfect world, the right K would appear at the right time and everything would just flow naturally from one moment to the next.  Sigh.  If only...

The Cleaner

JOURNAL ENTRY-SUNDAY, APRIL 15, 2012  (Late night/early Monday morning)
MUST. CLEAN. EVERYTHING. I don't have time to write, there are things to do, things to clean, things to organize. I have dusted every nook and cranny in this room and the adjoining room and cleaned all the mirrors and glass in the house and swept floors and cleaned counters and put dishes away and scrubbed the shower and cleaned the sinks and sanitized the toilet and scrubbed the baseboards and cleaned the ceiling fan and organized a stack of bills and papers on the dresser. All of those things sound really lame, but if you knew how quickly I was getting each task done, you'd be impressed. I've not stopped, except for now, this moment, wherein I'm telling my story. I cleaned everything in the bathroom. I got a laundry basket and loaded it up with various types of cleansers and dust rags and sponges and a broom and dustpan and a Swiffer duster...you get the idea.  I lugged this basket of cleaning supplies around from room to room. I cleaned the kitchen while I was waiting on the coffee to brew. The other K, the one who was here earlier, she drinks tea. Switch Kellie she's called. She wrote a journal entry too.  We are having trouble deciding if we should share all this with the public. Do they really need to know that one of the K's is known as The Cleaner and is OCD about cleanliness and organization?

 
Well, there you have it. I'm always cleaning when I am in charge.  I have an actual fear of dirt. I wear rubber gloves up to my elbows (they're actually lime green with a Pucci-style print on the cuffs; they're called "Glam Gloves") I'm terrified of the cobwebs which I sometimes find in the corner of a spare room. If I get in the shower, the tiles over my head seem to try and swallow me up and drip germs on me and I look around and I'm just surrounded by dirt, dirty tiles, mildew, black gook, rust stains, red streaks where hair dye got on the shower wall, stained grout that is no longer white...oooooh Shivers just ran up my spine! I can't think about the dirt anymore.  It's freaking me out. Besides, I cleaned all that stuff, so there's no dirt now, and obviously I was exaggerating about how dirty the shower was to begin with. Everything has been cleaned and sanitized.  In pretty much every room, except for Husband's rooms of course.  I'm afraid to dust in there; what if I accidentally broke something?  So I've cleaned the kitchen, the bedroom, 2 bathrooms, the den, the dining room, the living room, the laundry room...I organized drawers and shelves...I thought about alphabetizing all the CD's, but that seemed like a task larger than I felt I had time to accomplish.  Some day, I will do that task.  I promise you.  So I, The Cleaner, for a while have been sharing co-consciousness with a different K.  The Good Daughter appeared occasionally when we went into our mother's room, but for most of the weekend, Switch Kellie was here.  She made the big list of things to do, and cleaning was on the list.  And so I came and took over and saw to it that everything got cleaned properly.  I can't vacuum because Mom is asleep, but I'll do it later. Also, still need to mop the kitchen. And I wonder if the windows need washing...What else can I clean? I don't see any point in going to bed now. Might as well keep cleaning. Let's get serious-I'm thinking about polishing silver... And have I ever mentioned that I wash the bar of soap  in the soap dish? It's true. Is that weird? I mean, it's soap. It should be self-cleaning.

Journal Entry

SUNDAY, APRIL 15, 2012

1:00 PM
I'm back. I, being the persona who's writing this post, being, I believe, (I hate to say it yet I'm excited by it as well), it is I--Switch Kellie. That's the name Husband gave to me when he first met me in January 2012, just a few days before our 2nd wedding anniversary if I'm not mistaken.  It was quite the night, that night of our introduction. Switch Kellie is mentioned here: Blog Post A and here: Blog Post B I'm faced once again with the choice of whether or not I should tell Husband that I'm here.  I'm wondering if he'd notice eventually anyway...I mean, there are clues. For one thing, I'm making lists. Tons of highly-detailed lists, of a variety of things.  What to do, Who to call, Where to go, etc. I'm also doing a lot of paperwork, researching, Googling, taking notes. I have so much work to do, I fear I won't have enough time to finish it all.  It is 1:02 PM and I'm pausing just long enough to make a note of the current time, so that I might be able to keep up with how long I've been here. Here being this moment in time, this "now". How I value time...probably because I lose so much of it. *deep breath* OK, feeling a panic attack coming on...I better go take the meds I forgot to take this morning, since it's now time for the afternoon pills.  Drat.


4:28 pm
 I'm still here, or so it would seem.  I successfully kept my presence a secret and now Husband has gone to work so I'm safe for a few hours. If only I can keep Mom from noticing. I think she might be suspicious, because I was making and maintaining eye contact with her earlier.  That's NOT something I can do very easily, and it's rare that I even try.  But I did it without thought or effort, just action. Just knowing. Just do it.  Oh dear God, have I ended up a Nike commercial rip-off? Sigh. Went to a chocolate festival with Husband this afternoon; he wants to go walk thru the carnival rides section tonight after work, so we just hit the food and vendors side today. There was an appalling lack of chocolate at the supposed chocolate festival. Now, let's get serious. I can't believe how bad this "Kellie World" situation has become. For one thing, K totally flaked out and forgot to pay a number of bills last month. Now I'm getting phone calls from people wanting their money. I had to combine money from my savings and checking accounts to cover them, and even then I had to borrow money to cover everything, since I had 2 months' payments due. *Sigh*  For another thing, K is really looking bad, in so many different areas.  Her skin is all messed up; stress has caused her to break out all over, and her Dermatillomania has caused her to pick at all the zits. Therefore, she looks like an acne-ridden teenager.  Her arms also look horrendous from CSP (compulsive skin picking) so she's been wearing long-sleeves even though the temperatures have been in the 80's F.  Her self-injury is the worst it's been in years-her calves are covered in big, bloody scabby sores. Gross. The new medications have made her gain weight so she sees herself as obese now, although that's probably not really the case. (Maybe it is though, we really don't know how to tell; we see a fat person in the mirror no matter how much I weigh)  Still, it's a major stress factor in K's life. Her hair color needs to be touched up-she's got roots showing, and her bangs are far too long.  I can't tell you the last time she had a manicure, and her nails look like hell. Apparently we've been biting them, just like old times. HA. So NOT funny.  I've been binging on Easter candy lately, and that has got to stop immediately. Also, it's time to start working out regularly again, better yet obsessively.  K has some vitamin deficiencies and needs a multi-vitamin supplement, which she's not been taking. She's been flip-flopping between starvation and overeating. Binging and purging is the norm around here on days that she eats. There is no happy, healthy medium.  This is the worst, perhaps, she's ever been; I don't mean the thinnest of course, I mean nutritionally speaking. K is very unhealthy at the moment. I mean, K is unrecognizable.  Her face is so puffy from the medications that she looks positively round. It's a nightmare. Very unattractive.  And we're supposed to go to our nephew's wedding in mid-May.  Damn.  So much business to attend to, even without all the physical makeover stuff that I must now do.  K has utterly let herself go, and I'm ashamed of her.  Obviously, she's quite depressed.  That's the number one reason she looks this bad.  Am thinking perhaps this switch was brought on by the stress of having to sleep with Mom again recently so that I would be able to hear her calling my name (she was in so much pain the she got scared and kept calling out for me).  I was afraid I'd not wake up seeing as how Dr. H increased my nighttime meds to 4 pills a night rather than 3.  And indeed, I slept long after Mom had gotten up. I slept in til about 8:15 this morning.  Well, not I per se, but us. The K's.  This K is getting antsy now.  Feel the urge to go clean something, or to self-pamper, to give myself a deep conditioning treatment and a fizzy foot soak and a mani/pedi and then I've got to get off my fat ass and get to work.  The bathroom needs sanitizing.


6:09 pm
 Paranoia is putting crazy thoughts in my head. This is making me wonder if I'm faking it, this dissociative disorder. Is this all just in my head?  Am I really all that different from the other K's? Signs point to yes, as I am thinking more clearly and quicker and just...differently.  I see things in a whole other light than what K sees.  I'm more responsible than she is, more able to multitask, I'm more mature and dependable. I don't do drugs. Cigarettes? No. Not Switch Kellie. I might have a drink or two (well, I would if I were allowed to drink; my meds interact badly with alcohol) but I'm definitely not a party girl. I'm more serious than that.  I think about things like our future...Mine and Husband's....I think about what's going to happen after Mom dies. I don't know if we'll be able to continue to afford to live here in this house. Plus, Sis will probably want to sell the house and split the money.  I would do anything for Mom, I'd give away all that I have if it'd make her pain stop. The Dilaudid seems to help a lot, and they gave her some pain patches which I've cut in half and put on her back and chest. Things with Hubby's health are sketchy too. His asthma attacks are getting frequent and more serious. Aunt B gave us some Advair that she had for her husband but he never used. Too bad she gave it to us the day after we'd spent $266 (borrowed from Mom) on a month's supply. At least by the time those run out he'll be enrolled and active in the discount prescription drug plan at the medical complex and can get his meds for like $15 or something. What else has been happening? It's so hard to remember.  A few things on my Master List:  Wash car, Fax letters to banks to add me to Mom's account, a facial masque, dusting the bedroom, cleaning the bathroom, painting the porch, refill the sugar canister, blog about Switch Kellie, Cancel online gaming subscription, etc.  Notice how the list is so scattered-they can be trivial, like the sugar dish, or labor intensive, such as painting the porch. I also have written down to call a dermatologist. It's time to get my legs looked at. What started out as a light rash has now become large scaly patches of itchy, red skin. I've been self harming by scratching them until there are bloody holes in my legs, and now I have awful looking scabs over most of my calves in a spotted pattern. It's quite a shame. I've been trying to let Crickette (Husband's little dog) lick the wounds to help them heal. Speaking of Crickette, did I tell you that Mom was telling me what she wanted on her headstone (just what someone who's a big baby with abandonment issues wants to talk about), and she said she wants her dogs. Sam (Daddy's, now Mom's schnauzer) & Crickette, their photos or engravings or something like that on her marker.  I told Husband that and he teared up; said it was touching.  I thought it was sad to be thinking stuff like that.  But I, being the smart one, know in my heart that Mom is not much longer on this earth.  I don't know if she can ever learn to live with the pain of PHN. She told me that she understands now what Daddy had to go through all those years he was suffering. I would do anything to take away her pain; I can only wake her up to give her Dilaudid, put ice packs on her back, and stick pain patches on her.  She squeezed my hand really tight tonight and thanked me for taking care of her.  I told her that I didn't really do much, and she said "You're here with me, and that's something". Or something along those lines. Damn I can't remember exactly as I keep switching, or trying to switch or something.  Something happened to me sometime around 1 pm this afternoon, and I became Switch Kellie.  I don't drink, or at least very rarely/lightly, and I don't smoke and I don't do drugs. I enjoy reading and crossword puzzles and brain teasers and philosophical debates and hot cups of tea in my "#1 Wife" (isn't that funny? as in #1 of many) mug that Hubby gave me for Christmas.  Now I think, but I can't really be certain without going back into the bedroom and asking Husband the question, but I think that I told him that Switch Kellie was out. He asked, I believe, if "the other Kellie was here", and I told him I'd been here since this morning but didn't want to tell him. I didn't want to freak him out.  But it must not have freaked him out, or else he's just drunk enough beer to cope really well, for he's back there now on the phone with his buddy, not even thinking twice about me or her or any of us.  OK, I've got to get back to my list. I have so many things to do and so little time to do them all. Well, I don't know how much time I have actually; I've stayed over a week before...longer if I'm needed.  OK. Gonna change clothes and start cleaning the bathroom.  Also going to dust the bedroom ceiling/corners/walls.  Need to get some sticky tape and remove the dust from my wigs, especially my favorite blue & black one. I hope it's not ruined.  :(  The K that wears the wigs hasn't been around in a long time, that's why the wigs are all covered in dust.  She last came out.. I believe the year was 2008 or 2009. I really should tell you about her sometime; I find her fascinating, if I do say so myself.  And I do say so, to myself. HEHE  Mental illness humor.  OK, now let's see. Here are the facts as we know them: Switch Kellie was triggered, possibly by stress (from worrying about Mom's health and money and Husband's asthma), possibly by the new increased medication dosage.  At any rate, she's here now, I'm here now, I am in control and I will see to it that all this business gets taken care of.  K has let her finances really get into a mess. We have to close one bank account and switch to a credit union account in order to save $11/month.  We have to write letters and fax them to banks and financial institutions, so that I can do banking for my mother and also talk to phone support about her accounts. OH and VERY important-we have to find our misplaced medical insurance cards!!! Or call and request new ones.

5:15 am (Monday)
Sigh. So much to do. K has really dropped the ball here. But I'm a hard worker.  I've already cleaned everywhere, thoroughly. I never went to bed last night because I felt like I had too much to do, and so I cleaned all night/morning instead of sleeping.  There's just so much that needs to be taken care of.  So much adult stuff.  Not many of the K's can handle adult stuff, so I've got to hurry up and accomplish as much as is humanly possible before I go away again.  If only I knew how to control which one of us comes out when... wow...I'd be like a super hero! *mind wanders again*

Unwelcome Visitor

I (or someone inside me) was really nasty to my husband this morning.  I mean early this morning, around 4:00 A.M.  I was so sleepy that I could barely keep my eyes open, and he was wanting to stay up and talk. He was having a bad day and was feeling down and just wanted some encouraging words.  He'd had a few drinks, and perhaps more importantly, I'd had none.  He stumbled a little as he came into the bedroom, and suddenly someone jumped up off the bed and growled loudly at him. I can't remember now what was said, but it was absolutely hissed at him.  I can hear the sounds in my head, but I can't make out the words.  It makes me very uncomfortable, the noises emanating from this creature who appeared all at once, without any warning.  I can see her gesturing wildly at him, and I can hear her spitting out words, but I can't control her at all. She is a part of me, of us, but she is a person all her own.  I am so ashamed of myself for letting her take over my mind and body, even if only for a few minutes.  She doesn't have my permission, she just comes out at random moments in time...and she leaves behind her a trail of hurt.

Thoughts After Therapy

I was very angry before I went to therapy yesterday.  I mean, I was really pissed at my doctor.  Her office had said last month that they would call me to set up an appointment, and they never did.  Subsequently, I ran out of medications and then proceeded to lose my mind.  I really thought I was going to let her have it when I got there. I was scared she'd dump me as a patient, for I intended to cuss her out big time. My stress level was very high when I walked in the door...but things didn't go as I thought they would; someone sad took the place of someone angry when I sat down.  It felt like 15 minutes, but according to the clock I was at my psychiatrist's office for nearly 2 hours (30 minutes were spent in the waiting room, 15 minutes in the lab for blood work).  Can't remember all that we talked about, but that's not unusual.  I do know that I complained (without the use of swear words) about the fact that her receptionist had never called me after our last session to tell me my next appointment time, and since I have trouble calling people, I just kept waiting on her to call me and 2 weeks went by. So not only did I run out of meds, but I went quite crazy by the second week. When I finally got up the courage to call her office, I found out she was on vacation and the office would be closed for another week.  I had a major crisis (my mother was hospitalized and could've died) while she was on vacation and had no medication to help me, so she felt really bad that I'd had so much trouble. She was determined that I never be put in that situation again, so she gave me an emergency contact number for her. I am so grateful for that! In all my 20+ years of therapy, I've never had a doctor give me a 24 hour emergency number. She said I can call that number any time, any day, and they'd be able to contact her and/or refill my prescriptions. That is fantastic and I couldn't have dreamed of  anything better.

For some reason, I asked her again what my proper diagnosis was, and she told me-again-that she doesn't put labels on her patients.  She would only verify that I am experiencing frequent dissociative episodes.(Duh!)  At one point, however, she asked me if perhaps a different K had been taking care of me for the past few days; doesn't that indicate she knows about the other K's?  (She brought it up when I made a casual remark about the fact that I didn't recognize the clothes I was wearing, that it wasn't something I would normally wear.) Isn't that an indication that she's leaning toward a diagnosis of Dissociative Identity Disorder? I'm feeling more hopeful now that I know she believes me. I asked her if I could ever get better, and she asked me if I was sure I wanted that.  Made me think.  On the one hand, it'd be nice to be more stable and on less medication, in other words, more normal.  On the other hand, I don't think K could handle the stress of our day-to-day life with only one of us in control of her brain and body.  We help each other, we keep an eye on K, you know?  Each of the K's has a specific job to do, a specific area of our life which they handle for her. K needs all of us. Dr. H thinks the other K's are for my own well-being and protection, and she doesn't seem to think that integration (the blending of all the different personalities of someone with DID into a single identity) is the best goal for me.  To be honest, I'm glad I don't have to integrate.  I am fond of a few of the K's and would miss them were they to be fused into my core personality (whomever that may be). Not to mention the fact that if, say, The Good Daughter goes away, then K won't remember everything she needs to know to take care of our mother.

 I'm blogging too much, or at least spending far too much time online.  My husband says I'm obsessed.  Big shocker there. And my shrink stressed that she really wants me to hand write a diary which I should bring with me to therapy every week. Of course, I forgot to take it with me yesterday.  I did start a diary, but I find it difficult to remember to write in it everyday, and a lot of days I just don't have the mental energy to do it. Plus, while there are some diary entries which are obviously written by someone else (I can tell by the handwriting, the grammar, and the language) some of the K's refuse to participate in that activity.  I think maybe there are parts of me who are still hiding from the outside world, or even from myself.  Apparently, this blog is worthless to my shrink, and that just sucks.  "Blog less," she said.  But this blog is my outlet for my madness!  Some of the other me's blog sometimes, and I think that's important.  I can't talk to anyone in real life (other than my psych) about my mental issues. My husband has never fully recovered from the shock of seeing me become a different person right in front of him.  I feel like he looks at me differently now.  That's why I worked so hard to hide it after we got married.  I thought I was doing better at that time.  I really did.  I seemed happy and safe and stable and I kept the other K's hidden from him for 2 years.  But it was not meant to be.  I have crashed and burned, repeatedly now, since January.  Yet I still asked my shrink yesterday if I could cut down on some of my medications; instead, she increased my dose of one of them. She explained that each pill has a different function and that if I were to stop taking the meds, I'd be bombarded with all the hallucinations and voices that I now experience to a "lesser" degree, plus I'd be likely to fall into a dangerous depression.  I don't think I'd want it to be any worse than it is.  I can get used to the dissociation, the depersonalization, the derealization for the most part, now that I understand what is happening during those times.  I guess I must just accept the fact that I'm always going to see and hear things that are not real, I'm always going to have anxiety attacks, and I'm always going to be prone to depression.  The other issues I still need a lot of help with. The paranoia.  The self-harm.  The suicidal ideation.  The self-loathing.  The fear of people.  So I guess there are plenty of things for us to work on in therapy, even without a specific diagnosis.  It still frustrates me though.  If someone asks what my disability is, I don't know what to say. (How about "Pick one"? LOL)

Thinking in Black and White

I have a tendency to view things as "all or nothing".  Everything in my life tends to be good or bad, up or down, beautiful or ugly.  I love you or I hate you. Throughout our lives, we often inspire undue stress and anxiety by viewing our existence with a "dualistic mind". This is called black and white thinking, or splitting, and it causes a lot of unnecessary problems in life. Black and white thinking is sometimes referred to as absolutist or dichotomous thinking.  When we fall victim to black and white thinking, we have mistakenly reduced an entire spectrum of possibilities down to the two most extreme options, each the polar opposite of the other. Often, those categories are of our own creation, and we are attempting to force the world to conform to our preconceptions about what it should look like. It's common in those who suffer from Borderline Personality Disorder and can lead to depression, anxiety and even anger.

Everything is seen as either positive or negative-there is no in between. This type of thinking colors all of our experiences and pressures us to live in the irrational realm of extremes. We do this because it gives us a (false) sense of security and control over life's uncertainties. Black or white, no gray area. I feel uncomfortable with ambiguity, shades of grey and subtle distinctions. Unfortunately, a great deal of life's situations are in the gray area, and since I can't see things in that light, I set myself up for a great many disappointments and failures.

Before I got married, my relationships were all extremely turbulent.  I tended to idealize a person, put them up on a pedestal, and then of course they invariably made a mistake and tumbled down from that pedestal and then I devalued them.  I could be madly in love one day, and despise that same person the next day.  When we view the world in strict and over-simplistic terms, we are less likely to compromise and cooperate with others to meet common interests.  This is how my social life was from the very beginning of my dating career, and it continued in that manner until I got married just 2 years ago.  I'm still holding my breath, worried that my skewed view of things will have a negative impact on my marriage.  So far, so good. I believe everything needs to be a specific way, and I'm not willing to deviate from this narrow view of the world.  This makes us stubborn and frustrating to live with.  My husband is very, very understanding and patient with me.  I've explained to him that sometimes things come out of my mouth that are harsh and I don't mean them (especially when I see something as black and he sees it as white),  that I blurt things out without thinking first, and that I can be an evil bitch. One of the K's tells lies and tries to hurt people just for the hell of it. That K thinks in black terms only. On the flip side, I have me's who are positive and always look for the bright side of things.  But there is no one in the gray area. I don't know how to think like that.

I see things in absolutes. Black and white thinking causes me to choose either A or B, without ever considering that the correct choice could be C.  When we only see things in black and white, we miss out on alternative ways of viewing the world. These other perspectives may be just as good if not better than our current perspective.  At the end of the day, black and white thinking makes us less adaptive to our surroundings. This hinders our growth as individuals. It’s also what keeps us stuck in old habits and thought patterns.  Believe me, I have tons of experience in this department.  

I'm an open-minded person on so many levels, yet I cannot bring myself to deviate from the way I believe things are supposed to be in my life. Some things must be a certain way, and I find it impossible to be flexible when it comes to those things.  I can't find a happy medium anywhere.  Things are seen as great or terrible. I lost a job once, and to me that meant I was going to forever be unemployed.  If I gain 3 pounds, then I'm on my way to being obese and no dieting will prevent it. I'm either a success or a failure, and this is only emphasized by my perfectionist nature. I simply cannot see that the answer could be something in between yes or no.  If I'm going to be 5 minutes late for a movie, I won't go at all.  If someone says something hurtful to me, then that person will forever be associated with that negative thing in my mind, even if they never again hurt my feelings.  I can forgive a person, but I can never forget, and they will always fall into the category of either good or bad.  This, of course, is ridiculous, for no one can be all good or all bad; human beings are both good and bad, at different times, depending upon the situation.  

I can write these things down, and it all makes sense to me, but at the same time I can not bring myself to think like that, even though it is perfectly logical.  To me there is no viewpoint outside of black or white. Rising above our dualistic mind means learning to identify our cognitive positions as rational or irrational, as balanced or imbalanced. We need to learn to be reflective rather than reactive. If we are reflective during life's difficult times, and we can use this new way of thinking, we are less apt to react negatively, and we decrease the probability of wandering off into extreme thinking, which can cause more distress.  For many, being reflective instead of reactive in these situations will feel like a leap of faith at first. But it means learning how to nurture the flexibility of our ego, that maybe we don't have the answers to everything, and that life is not so black and white.  Ask yourself, "Am I looking for too much certainty in a world full of uncertainty?"  If you are like me, then the answer is a resounding yes. Regardless of how much I rationalize and try to open up my mind to new possibilities, it just never comes to pass.  I'm now and forever a black and white kind of girl, and that's a shame. I'm missing out on a lot of things in life because of this, but I've always been this way and as far as I can tell, I'm doomed to be this way forever. Forever. I guess just by saying that, I'm proving my point. A regular person would say "sometimes", whereas I say forever (or never). If only I could open my mind up to new ways of seeing things...I'd like to find out how it feels to be in the gray area for a change. I think I'd be a lot happier.

Magical Thinking Outside the Box

I fall into the category of a patient who holds the erroneous belief that ones thoughts, words, or actions will cause or prevent a specific outcome in some way that defies commonly understood laws of cause and effect. Magical thinking is defined as believing that one event happens as a result of another without a plausible link of causation.  In clinical psychology, magical thinking is a condition that causes the patient to experience irrational fear of performing certain acts or having certain thoughts because they assume a correlation with their acts and threatening calamities.

 In other words, you believe that by doing a certain thing, or by thinking certain thoughts, that you can cause bad things to happen.  The outcome can also be a good one. I have had these sorts of thoughts since my childhood, and indeed magical thinking seems to be a normal part of childhood development. (Except I never outgrew it)   I think that if I focus on one thought, one idea, one sentence even, and if I repeat it over and over again, many many times, then I can cause a particular event or outcome.  I also believe in performing rituals, such as turning off the lights a certain way or counting the number of times I lock the door.  Locking the door in and of itself is a ritual, for after it's been locked, I must unlock the door, open it, unlock the screen door, open that then slam it shut, lock it, then close the wooden door and lock first the deadbolt and then the door lock. I will repeat this process 3 times.  Later that evening, I will have to check the door locks (repeatedly, as it's one of my compulsions), and to check the main entrance, I must repeat the ritual of unlocking everything, opening both the wooden as well as the screen door, and start over again with the shutting and locking of the doors, again 3 times.  I believe that if I don't do these things each and every time I walk past the door, something bad will happen.  I'm not sure what, but something along the lines of the boogey man getting inside the house and hurting me and my family.  I have to protect my family, so I perform the locking of the doors ritual every single night.  As far as magical thoughts go, I can give you an example from just the other day.  I had to take my mother to the hospital for pneumonia, and I believed that if I said a certain phrase over and over again, that it would cure her.  Since she wasn't cured immediately, I believed that I'd not said the phrase a sufficient number of times, so I tried harder.  I repeated my magic phrase over and over as I walked through the hospital doors, walked up the hallway, and got on the elevator.  When someone got on the elevator with me, I quit saying my phrase out loud, but continued repeating it to myself in my head.  When that lady stepped off the elevator, I resumed my oral recitation.  When I got to my mother's room and found her to still be sick, I blamed it on my period of silence while riding in the elevator.  I change my magic words to suit each situation, and while I don't know how the rituals get started, I do know that I feel tremendously ill at ease if I don't perform them.  Most of the rituals which I do are far too personal and embarrassing to admit here in the blog.  I will tell you that I have rituals for driving my car, which are designed to keep me safe on the road and accident-free, and I have rituals for when I am sick which involve lighting specific candles, candles whose flames I believe will shorten my illness and make me well again.  Some of the rituals I perform are quite simple, such as writing a phrase on a sheet of paper over and over again.  I believe that the more often I write the phrase, the more likely it is to work.  I do believe these rituals and magic words will work if I can only do them properly.  When they don't work, I assume I must've screwed up the ritual or said the wrong words or said them an unlucky number of times.  I have a conviction that thinking equates with doing.  Magical thinking is characterized by lack of realistic relationship between cause and effect.  Intellectually, I know that I can't alter reality using only my thoughts...yet I believe that I can. Different parts of me hold different beliefs, and sometimes the various K's contradict one another.  In other words, not all of the me's perform the rituals.  The turning off of the lights.  The counting. 

Everything revolves around the number three, and I must perform each ritual a minimum of three times, or a number divisible by three.  This does not apply to the TV-yes, I have rituals associated with watching television-whose volume must be turned to a certain number on the control, rather than based on the actual noise level.  Also, I tune in to specific channels based upon their numbers rather than the programming,  Some numbers are good-3, 6, 9, 13, 23, 27, 30, 33...I can go on and on.  I just instinctively know which numbers are good and which ones are bad.  My belief that the number 3 holds special powers is a strong one, so strong in fact that as an artist, I feel it is my responsibility to hide the number 3 within each of my paintings or pieces of art.  I also have the number 3 represented in all of my tattoos, the ones I have and the ones I hope to get.  Three is my own personal magic number. I suppose it's common for people to believe they have a lucky number; well, I take it to the extreme.  I do everything 3 times. If I enter a public restroom, I always enter the third stall.  I always take the third item off the shelf at the grocery store.  In every aspect of my life, the number three plays a role.  I remember the first time one of my doctors brought up the subject of magical thinking.  I got really paranoid, and assumed she was trying to trick me into giving up the secrets of my power. Years later, I understand that this is something that ALL of my doctors believe I engage in, but I still can't wrap my brain around the fact that it's considered a symptom of my mental illness. It's not a symptom, it's a philosophy. It's a lifestyle choice.  I push the elevator button 3 times, I count the stairs as I walk up them, I avoid stepping on sidewalk cracks.  Do these things make me more mentally ill?  I think not.  I consider all the little rituals I do to be a part of what makes me ME.  It is just who I am, these are my personality traits, or quirks if you must.

 I can't explain it rationally, I just know that in my mind, I completely believe that by burning a light blue candle, I will cure my cold.  That by flicking the light switch on and off 3 times, I will keep the negative energies from entering the room.  Keeping bad spirits away is a huge part of my magical thinking, and many of my rituals are designed to keep negative energies away from me and my world.  I'm not sure if this counts as magical thinking or if I'm just being superstitious, but I believe that spirits who exist on an alternate plane of reality come into our world and affect our lives, touch our souls.  Whether these spirits are positive or negative depends upon what rituals I've performed that day, what mantras I've repeated, what thoughts I've had, even what colors I'm wearing.  I guess that does sound irrational...but to me it's completely rational. To me this is truth.

Empathy Extremities

Empathy is the intellectual identification with or vicarious experiencing of the feelings, thoughts, or attitudes of another. True empathy means understanding a person’s pain and suffering because you have experienced something similar, you know what it feels like, and their situation has inspired those same feelings in you, on their behalf. If you haven’t had that same experience before, you can feel for the person, feel sympathy for them, but empathy may not be possible.  This is something that certain people have trouble with. I am one of those people, but not because I'm incapable of feeling empathy. No, I'm on the other end if the spectrum.  I feel too much empathy.  I physically ache when I'm in the presence of those who are suffering.  I literally cry when I see someone else crying.  I take in all their hurt and it radiates throughout my heart and soul, and I become that hurt.  I suffer with them.  Whomever it may be-the heartbroken, the sick, the losing team. I can relate to them all, and I feel just terrible, for them. I hurt because they hurt.  It's very difficult for me to be inside a hospital, for I can sense all the rooms filled with people on their sick beds, many upon their death beds.  I can feel the physical pain as well as the sorrow, the desperation, the agony of fear and of loss.  My memories of all these things build and build until I can take no more. I feel as though I might explode from all the suffering, on so many different levels.  I try to avoid places like nursing homes and funeral homes because I simply cannot tolerate that much emotional and physical pain all at one time, coming right at me.  I've been spending a good deal of time at a hospital this past week, as my mother was admitted for pneumonia, among other things.  I've been going there every day, walking the halls, hearing the cries of physical torment coming from some of the rooms, seeing the tears of the frightened, and feeling every little agonizing detail as I walk past hallways and rooms. I am extremely sensitive to any type of emotional pain, and the over-the-top sensations coming from within the walls of a hospital are very nearly too much for me to bear.  I cry with strangers. I literally hear someone crying, and my eyes well up with tears, and I begin to cry for that person, even if I can't see them.  I only need hear the crying, and I'm enveloped in emotions and unable to contain my tears.  This makes it especially difficult for me to visit my mother right now, for she has shingles, one of the most painful conditions a person can have.  Shingles is a nerve infection caused by the chicken pox virus and is common in older people or those with weakened immune systems.  It's a nerve pain, a totally different kind of physical suffering.  She cries out suddenly and often, and each cry is like a dagger through my heart. My whole being aches for her, and with her.  I wish I could take the suffering for her, take it all inside of me and bear it for her. I'd give anything to make her pain go away.  But I am powerless to help her.  The doctors can barely do anything. She's on some of the strongest pain medications available, and they make her talk crazy and go out of her head.  She hallucinates and talks to people who aren't there. "Welcome to my world, Mom. Sorry you have to experience this."  I don't think I can adequately describe how much I ache for my mother and how much it kills me to see and hear her in that much pain.  It's the worst form of torture for me.  This is creating flashbacks....  When my father was dying, he was in a tremendous amount of pain due to a rare neurological disease, and he would sometimes scream, and it ripped through me each and every time.  I had to witness my father's suffering for two years before he finally died and was at peace.  Now I'm having to watch my mother suffer as well. I guess my complaining about it only succeeds in making me seem selfish, and for that I am sorry. I don't want to be selfish, I just don't want anyone to hurt so badly. Mom first developed the shingles rash in February, and while the rash is fading, she's developed a complication called PHN (postherpetic neuralgia) so the pain is still excruciating for her and has the potential to last for years, possibly even for the rest of her life.  Add to that her pneumonia and asthmatic bronchitis and anemia and she's a very sick woman.  And so I must go to the hospital every day and every evening and sit with her for hours at a time.  During those hours, I feel her pain.  Every jolt of nerve pain that courses through her body also courses through mine. I cry with her. In fact, it would be much easier for me to bear the pain if the pain were all my own.  I can tolerate great amounts of pain and I'd love to take over for my mom and let her be at peace.  I can't imagine continuing this degree of physical torment for very much longer.  Every day when I get to the hospital I have to take an Alprazalam just to be able to walk in the front entrance.  Everywhere I look are sick people, dying people, people in agony either physical or emotional.  I absorb it all like a sponge until I am doused in suffering.  This physical and emotional and psychological pain will stay with me throughout my hospital visit, and lingers long after I've gone home.  When I try to sleep at night, I can hear the cries of pain, the moans of my mother, the screams coming from down the hall.  The doctor said Mom might get to come home in 3 days, and I'm banking on that.  I don't think I can stand much more of this. Watching my mother suffer is the hardest thing I've ever done, second only to watching my father suffer and die.  Part of me wishes that I were incapable of feeling empathy. I don't want to hurt for strangers who neither know nor care that I'm aching for them.  I don't want to shed a tear every time I wander through the emergency room.  I don't want to feel so much.  But I guess it's better to feel than not.  Feeling empathy to any degree means I'm feeling, and that makes me human. At the very least, I have that. I may not be "normal" but I am still a human being.

Someone Else's Tears

It's happening again.  Right now.  I've just come to, or "just woke up" or something.  I feel like I've been gone, away from my physical form, and just returned, but my body hasn't moved.  (I don't think.)  Anyway, the point is that I have just regained consciousness or regained my sense of time or something, something has changed, and I find that I'm crying.  Tears are pouring down my face.  I don't have any recollection of when I began to cry or why. I don't know if this is important, or whether my doctor will find it interesting or helpful, but I wanted to make a note of it.

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.

Diagnosis Timeline

WHEN I WAS DIAGNOSED WITH WHAT (yes, I know some of these are the same thing but with a  different name; I've seen about 13 different doctors)

1. Manic Depression----------------------------------------------Age 16
2. Anorexia Nervosa----------------------------------------------Age 17
3. Major Depressive Disorder-------------------------------------Age 19
4. Generalized Anxiety Disorder-----------------------------------Age 20
5. Panic Disorder--------------------------------------------------Age 21 (?)
6. Bipolar I-Rapid Cycling-----------------------------------------Age 22
7. Bulimia----------------------------------------------------------Age 23 (?)
   
8. Obsessive Compulsive Disorder---------------------------------Age 24
9. Social Anxiety Disorder-----------------------------------------Age 25 (?)
10. Schizophrenia---------------------------------------------------Age 27
11. Body Dysmorphic Disorder-------------------------------------2002
12. (unspecified personality disorder)-------------------------------2002
13. Borderline Personality Disorder---------------------------------2004
14. Multiple Personality Disorder------------------------------------2005
15. Dissociative Identity Disorder------------------------------------2007 
16. (unspecified mood disorder)--------------------------------------2010 
17. (unspecified dissociative disorder)--------------------------------2012

Paranoia Will Destroy Ya

Paranoia wraps itself around me like a python, squeezing me tighter and tighter until it's difficult to breathe.  I can't shake it off.  Every little thing warrants suspicion and I see hidden agendas everywhere-they're out to get me, I just know it.  All of them.  It seems as though each person I meet has some ulterior motive, some evil reason to pretend to be on my side when in all actuality they are poised to strike me down. I don't know who to turn to anymore, as everyone seems in on it, this secret plot to deceive me. No one can be trusted-not them, not you...At this point, not even myself. Time to recede back into the shadows...Time to pretend we don't exist.

Shut Up Already!

K has a big fucking mouth and she just will not shut up. God! She embarrasses us to death! She must drive everyone crazy with her ramblings. On and on. She never stops. I'm not sure which K was in charge yesterday, but I'm ashamed of her. She completely crossed the line and talked to too many people, gave out too much personal information, and even shared some of our secrets.  We, the K's, are very angry with her for this lapse in judgement.  I'm not sure who she was, but she's a talker.

Man, she would not be silenced, and she spoke quickly (according to Husband) and loudly (according to our mother) and I'm totally humiliated today.  We had a couple of friends over last night, and I'm afraid that K got on their nerves.  Now, they gave no indication that this had happened last night, I'm just assuming that if this K got on our nerves, then she got on everyone else's as well.  I'm terrified of going back through my Tweets; God only knows what all was said and to whom.  It's a sad fact that even though I seem to recall a number of different conversations, I'm not certain today who those conversations were with.  This is quite common with us, in fact it's pretty much a daily occurrence in our life.  So every morning, whomever is out and about is supposed to go back through our Tweets and text messages and emails and Facebook posts, and try and piece together what happened the day before.  This doesn't always take place--a lot of times we forget to do this.  It depends on which K is in charge. Some of us are very self-conscious and worry incessantly about what was said and done the previous day and will not relax until we've read all those pieces of information which are available to us via computer or phone or handwritten journal entries.  Some days we find that K didn't talk to anyone at all, or she just barely interacted with others, choosing to show herself only to those certain few with whom she feels comfortable and who she likes and trusts (to some degree, not completely of course).  Just today our husband told us that there are days in which we talk a great deal (like yesterday) and days in which we stay quiet and hardly talk at all.  He knows now that these are different K's, and he's come to accept that.  He even admitted to me this morning that he very much likes the one he calls Switch Kellie, the one who first showed herself to him for a week back in January.  It seems to me that Dr. H, our psychiatrist, got to meet her too.  I really can't remember.  I suppose I should take the time everyday to re-read all the blog posts and journal entries so that I know exactly where we stand, mentally speaking, and so that we have knowledge of our prior behavior and activities.  But I've come to realize within the past 24 hours that I have a good many blog entries at this point, or at least more than I have time to read over again everyday.  Time is short, especially when you are someone who tends to lose time on a regular basis, and so we can't afford to spend too much of it refreshing our memory of the past several months.  We just have to check our day-to-day activities and interactions, and hope for the best, i.e. hope that we don't say something inappropriate or ask a stupid question (again) or in any way give away the secret that we actually don't remember much of anything that happened to us the day or night before.  Hell, we can't even remember what happened to us a few hours ago, much less days or months ago.  So everyday is like a crap shoot for us...We have to decide which blog posts to read, how many texts and Tweets to go back through, and how far back in our journal to explore, and all of these decisions will, in the end, affect our ability to carry on conversations with Tweeps or friends which make sense and follow the proper timeline. Since K has no concept of time, she usually can't recall when something happened to her, even if it happened that very morning or sometimes even in the past half hour.  I can't stress enough how frustrating this is, not just to K, but to all those parties involved.  K always ends up looking foolish, but she tries to play it off by just pretending that she'd been drunk or drugged at the time.  That's her fall-back excuse: that she was too impaired to remember things properly.  And the thing is, most of the time it works.  Most people really do believe that her forgetfulness is caused by pot-smoking or alcohol or all those pills K has to ingest every day.  We worry that our friends will figure out our secret at some point, hell I guess some of them have already figured it out by this time... I guess our memory loss is severe enough to be quite noticeable to everyone who's around us frequently.  I wonder what they think about that. I wonder if they think K is an idiot.  Or just a stupid pothead. 

Here's a good example of how easily we forget things: I am unable to remember what this blog post is about. I can't recall what I've just typed, and can't remember unless I scroll back up to the beginning and read it all over again.  I hesitate to do that, as it not only makes the perfectionist within us go crazy and try to correct each and every little mistake and we could end up spending hours rewriting this whole blog entry, but it also breaks the stream of consciousness which I like to just let go of and see where it leads us.  So I'm stuck now, stuck here in this situation in which I can't remember what I was talking about, but I don't really have time to find out, and so I'll just flounder and  flail about and try to compose some sort of blog post which has an understandable point and which all ties in together somehow.  I know, in my heart, that this is not going to happen.  I know that I will repeat myself, not just today and tonight but probably in this post alone, and that I do so all the time.  All the time.  Sigh. So much wasted time. So many lost memories.  Some of which we're glad to be rid of, others which could really help us in our recovery process if only we'd remember them.  It could be that every time K goes to therapy, she starts all over again, from the beginning, with her therapist. 

 I'm having a memory clip play in my mind right now, and it's showing me my doctor, and she's explaining to us that we've discussed these things before, whatever these things may be. I can see her looking at us, with this look in her eye, that says "I've told you this a hundred times".  I wonder if she and I are making any progress at all in K's treatment.  I wonder if she'll decide I'm too difficult to treat and just give up on me ever getting better, and dump us as a patient.  Our last therapist dumped us for forgetting too many appointments.  What if this doctor does the same thing? What if we get dropped again, and any progress which has been made is lost, and we must once again go to a new doctor, and spend the approximate 2 years it always takes for them to get an idea of what's really wrong with us? This would be a tragedy.  I don't know what makes me think this, but I have an idea that we, the K's, have gone further in our therapy with this current psychiatrist than we've ever come with any one prior to her.  We are learning, we are taking steps toward healing. We've made some progress.  I know this because I read some of our journal and some of our blog and I found that we're starting to remember things from our childhood.  Now K is absolutely terrified at the thought of having total recall of her childhood trauma(s).  She's not sure that she wants to remember, but some people (we can't remember who now) have told us that we can't truly heal unless we face our fears head-on.  So in order to get better, we have to see what all the fuss is about-we have to relive the horror that must've taken place at about age 4 (we've gleaned this information from the memories we've recovered and from old diary entries).

Shit.  I just paused to take a drink of water and I've once again lost my place and have no idea what I was talking about.  I don't want to read this post again. Maybe I should just shut the hell up.  Maybe I've said a whole lot of nothing.  I wouldn't be surprised at that. Not at all.  If only our brain would stay on track for more than just minutes at a time!  If only we could focus long and hard enough to finish a blog post!  Have any of our previous blog posts made sense or had a message?  Has this entire blog been a huge waste of my time, and yours, the reader's?  I shall stop now, for the shame and embarrassment is overtaking me at this point.  I'll just go take a pill and try and forget my humiliation.  It just popped into my mind that I could have blog posts which look and sound pretty much exactly like this one... now wouldn't that be funny and sad at the same time?  All I can really remember right now is that yesterday there was a K here who had a big mouth and wouldn't stop talking and spilled the beans to just about anyone and everyone and now, today, right now, the K that's doing the typing of this post is completely humiliated and feels as though everyone out there in the cyber world is laughing at us.  Are you laughing at us?  Do all of you make fun of us all the time?  Am I the laughing stock of Twitter?  Or is this just K's paranoia taking control of our mind and twisting things around so that K looks like a failure at everything she's attempted to do with this blog?  What was this blog post about again? Oh yes. One more thing, before I forget (HAHA!), I'd like to apologize to all those Tweeps with whom I had interactions yesterday and last night and even early this morning. I'm very sorry that I talked your ears off.  I'm sorry that I was a nuisance.  I'm sorry if I bothered you, or if I've been bothering you for quite some time now.  I really can't remember what's been happening since...well, I don't know.  I just can't remember.

Not Too Early To Tweet

It's 7:04 A.M. and I'm up with no one to talk to or nothing to do and I can't make any noise or else we'll wake somebody up so I can't vacuum or anything like that and I can't leave the house so taking a walk is out of the question and I just don't know what to do with myself.  So many voices in my head, all talking at once, each one trying to be heard over the others. I'm being told to eat, to go back to bed, to blog, to make a list of today's errands, to wash our hair, to give ourselves a pedicure, to draw pictures in our sketch diary, and someone wants a cigarette. Several of us want to write, just in different places-one wants to write in our journal, one wants to sketch in our diary, and a couple want to blog.  I guess blogging wins, as it has the most votes.  Our psychiatrist is going to be disappointed in us (she wants handwritten journal entries). Oh well.  We don't care right now. Another K can handle that task. The Good Daughter will be here once Mom wakes up, and she's trying to spend less time on the computer and pay more attention to her family, so I guess I better blog in a hurry.

It's been a strange couple of days (or has it been weeks? We're just not sure) and I find that we are missing Twitter.  We think it's time to go back to Tweeting, which is our outlet, where we share honest thoughts and actions and where we are free to be whomever we happen to be.  Some of us have friends on Twitter, and we miss talking to them.  I wonder how everyone is doing.  I think maybe I'll have a cup of coffee and either blog or Tweet....stay tuned...

We just haven't been ourself (LOL!) lately.  That means we haven't felt like K, whatever that means.  Wait-I seem to remember K being out yesterday for a few hours.  I didn't have therapy last week, which bums us out, but the lady never called to tell me when to come in.  I suppose I should've called them, but that's really hard for us, calling people I mean.  I guess one of us will have to call them tomorrow.  The Good Daughter I assume. She's here most of the time lately, co-conscious with other K's. Co-consciousness means that you are more aware of what others in your system are doing; you know what they're feeling and thinking.  Like right now. The Good Daughter just spoke to Mom. I heard her. I guess that means our time is up...

Charging my phone now.  Prepare for Tweeting today- Yay! We've missed Twitter, and it's been difficult to keep our thoughts in our head and share them only with our psychiatrist, because we're still afraid to be totally open and honest with her.

The Good Daughter

Since she's been mentioned in the blog before (I think the last post?)...This will be a blog post about one of the K's, someone we've seen/been everyday for the past 4 years or so. She believes herself to be the most important K. The jury is still out on that. Although we must admit, she's the most important one right now, this month.  She's caring for our mother, whom she loves very much, and who is suffering from shingles at the moment.  She tells us that the pain is worse than that of childbirth.  It was this K who made all the phone calls to all the doctors and drugstores and relatives until she procured some pain medication for her mother, who refuses to let us take her to the hospital. (She really needs a shot of morphine or something). The doctor we took her to last week refuses to refill her Lortab prescription. The Good Daughter doesn't trust doctors, in fact if she were capable of hate, it would be directed at doctors, because they let her daddy suffer for so many years. The Good Daughter was always Daddy's little girl.

The Good Daughter has been with us for as long as we can remember, and she is the K that most (not all) of our family members know.  From a very early age, she's been responsible for making important decisions (in the nature of what's right and wrong), for being sociable to strangers, for making our family proud, and for maintaining our image as a "good girl".  She comes out whenever we run into friends of our parents or people from church, or anyone who should believe us to be a moral, respectable, responsible young lady.  She usually shared co-consciousness with the smart K until we got to high school, then The Good Daughter went into hiding for several years, not returning until we were in college. Anyway, the rest of the K's appreciate what The Good Daughter does-we couldn't get by without her-but they think she's too much of a wuss. TGD doesn't drink or smoke or do drugs of any kind.  She's very sweet, and respectful, and affectionate.  She always says "Yes, Ma'am" and "No, Sir" and she doesn't curse.  She's the K who usually meets parental figures (of our friends) for us, and they always seem to love her. It's interesting to note that The Good Daughter has a very Southern (USA) accent whenever she's with our mother. The rest of us hate that. I mean we really hate it; we think it makes us sound less intelligent. Thankfully, not all of the K's have this accent.

The Good Daughter is young, but has aged over the years. I'm not sure exactly how old she is, but I'd guess she's in her early 30's.  She dresses modestly, meaning she doesn't let any of K's tattoos show and she doesn't like anything tight or low-cut.  She is one of the few K's who likes to dress in colors. (Most of us wear black)  She can be casual or professional, depending upon what the situation calls for.  She's very practical, helpful, and dependable.  She's quite a penny-pincher with money and likes to clip coupons and shop at thrift stores.  She is not materialistic, but she does appreciate nice things.  She mails cards on special occasions and reminds us to stay in touch with our friends via texts, emails, and phone calls.  Ironically, she does NOT hang out with our friends.

UPDATE: The Good Daughter took our mother to the Emergency Room, where she was given a shot of  Dilaudid for her excruciating pain.  We have been to the ER twice now.  Our mom is still very sick and in a lot of pain, but she's found a new doctor whom we hope will help manage her pain.  Apparently this Shingles thing that Mom has can last for months.  We really don't want our mother to suffer that long, but we are powerless to stop it.  All we can do is keep giving her medications, pain pills, and ice packs.  TGD is doing all she can to make our mother as comfortable as possible.

Today she went to the library and checked out a book about Shingles, in the hopes that her mom can read it and gain some insight into her affliction. Perhaps get a few tips on how to deal with the pain.  The Good Daughter comes and goes, but always comes out whenever we're alone with our mother. Also when relatives show up, or repairmen or anyone who needs to speak with the "lady of the house".  TGD is getting tired, as she's been tending to Mom for several years now, but that is her job.  The purpose of The Good Daughter is to take care of our parents (she was the caregiver for our father for 2 years before he died) and make our family proud.  She often does the grocery shopping and pays the bills.  She answers the phone and makes appointments for dentists and whatnot.  She's the responsible one, and K couldn't survive without her.  The other K's are very irresponsible, except for the smart one.

I don't know what else to say about The Good Daughter.  She's got the most important job out of all the K's.  She is the most reliable, but even she can't be on time for an appointment. We are always late due to our warped sense of time. TGD tries to keep up with time and takes a lot of notes about what needs doing when.  Sometimes we find notes left for us by TGD, telling us our errands for the day.  She's a list-maker. None of the K's can function without a list, instructing them what to do. We find lists everywhere, lists of all sorts of things.  What to do, who to call, where to go, what to buy, when to take meds, even when and what to eat. In fact, she's telling me right now that it's time to make tomorrow's list of things which need to be done.  I guess we better listen to her, as she's the one with all the common sense.

Disconnected

We've been struggling.  We feel terribly guilty, but we can't remember what it is we did wrong.  I can't figure out who I'm supposed to be today.  The Good Daughter is taking care of Mom but it's not real.  I'm not in control of that "me", she just comes out and takes charge of things around the house.  I'm glad she's able to do those things, such as give our mother her medications and put ice packs on her back and bring her food and water.  Mom is very sick right now and is in a lot of pain.  She needs us.

Husband needed K this morning, but she just couldn't pull it together. Tried to fake it for his sake. We're all over the place, feel disconnected from everything. We went into some kind of trance state, or maybe we were just dissociating, but Husband says I was staring into space and unresponsive for a few minutes.  We were at a shopping mall, and then Husband left us alone for just a few minutes, and I had a freakout.  There was just too much for me to deal with-too many people, too many voices, too many colors-I was overstimulated. Just too much noise. Too much movement. Everything was just too much. Had to get out of there.

Took an Alprazalam and tried to drive home, but it was hard. Couldn't concentrate. Can't focus. Had to keep repeating out loud to myself where it was that I was going, or else I'd have forgotten. So we're driving down the road saying, "We're going home. We're going home. Just go home." but man it was hard today.  Sometimes we can't drive.  Too much to look at.  Distractions everywhere. And I forget what I'm doing, I forget that I'm driving.  It's amazing I've not wrecked and died.

We haven't Tweeted in what seems like a long time, but I don't really know how long it's been-could be days, could be months.  For some reason I'm afraid to get on Twitter now.  We miss several of the Tweeps but feel too ashamed to come out of hiding.  I guess that's what we're doing now, hiding.  Not unusual for the K's.  But I miss Twitter. It was an outlet for my madness. Why did I stop? Why can't I go back?  I just can't remember. I can't remember how to get back to being "here". We are lost. Lost inside our head apparently. Who the hell am I now? Need to take meds and just go to bed.  Maybe when we wake up, we'll be someone everybody likes.  I hope so.  It's so important that people like us. Don't know why, it just is.

I caught myself smoking a cigarette this morning. I don't smoke anymore.  Thought that was odd. Blog post from last night (? I think) is embarrassing and I'm ashamed of us.  I'd delete it but this blog is my record of my illness and symptoms and I guess it's important to keep it since it was written by that angry K.  I hate when she comes out.  She draws negative attention to us. And she hurts people. I seem to recall that she screamed at Husband sometime....not sure when, but I remember the look in his eyes and it was very sad. We feel terrible about that. He doesn't understand our sudden outbursts of anger. I think he's worried about us...

Damn.  I want to blog but can't concentrate. Can't figure out what to write about. Need to empty my head, which is overflowing with information and thoughts of all kinds, but can't seem to do that today.  Hmm.  Pills I took are kicking in and I'm getting sleepy.  Yay;! Naptime at last!  Hope this works, and brings "me" back.

I'm so very sorry if I've said or done something bad or hurtful or inconsiderate. I don't want to be like that. But I realize that some of the K's are less congenial.  Shit.  We're just going to go to bed for a while..,

The Criminal Returns

I'm back but can't stay long.  I'm here because K got so mad she disappeared. I can come at anytime, anyplace. It happens without any warning signs whatsoever.  Anger boils over and erupts like a volcano, spewing hot, molten hatred onto everything around us.  Things get thrown, things get broken. Sometimes things even get burned. I love the smell of something burning.  There is yelling, from more than one person...Lots of yelling, in fact, as some try to shut me up and others try to win this internal battle, which becomes an external battle if anyone else happens to stumble into my personal space. I will scream at them just because.  K is afraid of this part, this unsolicited and inappropriate anger.  She disappears and won't come out again until the drama has died down.  I'm the angry one, the one who is so filled with resentment and bitterness.  I used to be around a lot when K was a teenager, and she got locked in a hospital because of me. And jail too. Yeah, I've been arrested, so fucking what?! We get K in trouble. We love trouble. I am mean, a bitch, or so "they" say, but I say I'm just brutally honest and speak my mind. And I use colorful language. FUCK YOU!!! See? I can curse like a sailor. I frighten small children, and I get a kick out of it whenever it happens too.  I've made men cry. HA. I'm strong and outspoken and fight for what we believe in, but K doesn't always agree with what I believe in. Like the crime, the shoplifting. The vandalism. Hell, K doesn't even like to litter, for fuck's sake. What the fuck ever. I like to cut loose and be impulsive and throw caution to the wind. I like to have fun, it doesn't matter if that fun is legal or not.  The K's want me to write this blog post because I've been out for a little while (long enough to do the forbidden-smoke in the house! HA!) but I have to disappear before tonight. K has obligations tonight which require self-control and good manners and shit like that. Possibly even talking to other people.  But I don't know how to express myself without yelling and cussing and throwing things. I have tantrums like the little girl who lives in our head, but mine are much more frightening.  Is that the right word? Hell if I know. Fuck this shit. K is making friends online, but I can make them disappear if I want to. I can scare them off for good.  I've done it before, I can do it again. We don't need any fucking friends. They don't understand us and they want us to be someone else usually. Fuck everything in fact. What's the fucking point of any of this shit?! Wasted years of therapy, all the motherfucking pills, this "support" bullshit, this fucking blog. What the fuck good does any of that shit do? K is fucked in the head-always has been, and always will be.