My dog Maybelline is stressing me. She wants to go on a walk, and I just don’t have it in me to get off this couch, which makes me feel like a terrible pet partner.
Taken from today’s journal:
Been a busy day. Service, errands, back pain. The works. I wish I could take a muscle relaxer right now, but I’m supposed to take Mabes for walk, and I can’t do that if I’m asleep.
Times and days are running together. I find no support anywhere. I was doing fine until Husband came home. I was busy packing for our move, and when he came home we started to feel “off”. Most would call that experience dissociation. I don’t know what to call it anymore. There is still the troubled argument of whether we accept the D.I.D. DX. Tina gets very angry if we accept it. But writing and talking just like this, isn’t that a sign of dissociation and of others? This battle gets old. I KNOW what’s wrong. Tina’s doubts have left an imprint on us, but not a lasting imprint.
*****I wonder if we’re making it up as we go *****
If you have D.I.D., but don’t acknowledge it, can you still improve anyway because the prescription of psychotherapy is still the same? I hate whatever I’m going through right now.
So I was fine until Husband came home. Then I felt “off” or dissociative. I lasted as long as I could but broke down and took an anti-anxiety med. It didn’t help much. A muscle relaxer would help, but the timing is no good.
So why do I feel “dissociative” when Husband comes home? Probably because he’s so temperamental and to some degree I (and the littles if there really are any) am afraid of him, his moods, his headaches, his temper, his race -car driving. I never know which Husband I’ll meet next. So we get scared around him.
If D.I.D. has lots of faces, shapes, and norms, why couldn’t mine be one? I question whether I really hear voices of others or is it just my own voice. I guess D.I.D. has been going on so long I have failed to recognize just . . . I don’t know what I was going to say.
What am I? I just want to be sure I’m not lying or making a fool out of myself. Mostly it seems too much to believe. Bad things couldn’t have happened. I had a happy childhood. But, oh, how I hated Birth Parents. And it can’t be denied that at least on a superficial level there was some abuse and neglect. I own that.
Good God. *sigh* I think we want to see Therapist more than once a week. What bullshit. Some feel “close” to him and have a need for his attention, so they want to see him more often. Little children who want to feel special. Is that good or bad? Does that give Therapist too much power and make us even more vulnerable? Better yet, why need more attention now? Has their source of attention dried? Are they not receiving attention inside? I doubt Tina, in her crisis, is up to showering them with love and attention.
For some reason, this journal entry feels accurate. I think it’s because it feels like we’re communicating. It feels true to what is going on inside, and that is a cause for mourning: Mourning for the system that doesn’t feel like it used to feel, mourning for Tina who is not the same right now and is in crisis, mourning for those parts who require more attention and special feelings, mourning for those who aren’t getting their needs met by this ever-evolving system.
I can feel Tina seeping her way through this journal entry. I feel her sending her hate and anger to me, but that’s not all she’s sending. I sense from Tina some subtle undertones of helplessness and vulnerability. I sense great fear in her . . . and great sorrow. What a pity. I almost don’t recognize her at all.