16 posts tagged “memoirs”
Here is where the grand idea of reposting entries hits another roadblock. How do I decide what to keep and what to let go? How do I gently edit without glossing over things and how do I stay true to the desire to see the positive without sounding like I didn't/don't take it seriously?
For that matter, how do I look at my writing style in those first six months and not GAG? blech. This is why the previous attempt to go back and look ignored most of the first six months. It wasn't until November 2002 that I saw something of real value in the writing... more than a place to vent, it had become a place for support and education.
I have chosen, and most of the time am readily able, to accept myself as I am. Accepting myself as I was is truly not so easy... but it's still a choice. A choice I will continue to make.
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this ain't sybil |
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part of what makes my crew different is that we knew from about the age of 13. the problem tho was that few professionals believed in it and because most multiples have no clue about the others living within them, trying to be believed was a nightmare. we were often accused of lying or 'attention seeking' (i HATE that term!!!). the result of that is that we split more in the teen years than when the physical and sexual abuse was at it's worst. the agony of not being believed was almost more painful than what we'd lived thru til then. anyway, don't really know why i'm posting this entry. the real goal is to treat this diary as if no one will see it. if you're interested in learning about DID and it's causes or treatment you can check out this web site http://www.sidran.org/didbr.html the Crew |
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found the steri-strips |
06/17/2002 |
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thought daniel had played with them all. walmart didn't have them last nite. hid them when i organized the first aid stuff. thought it would make me feel better to have them but maybe not having them was my excuse for not cutting. i can't take it anymore. the shit is hitting the fan. amelia had a cow yesterday when she was playing with john. first time she's talked about the abuse in forever. can't believe she talked to charlie about it but i guess it's good cuz she knows that he's not gonna blame her or say the kinda shit mom used to say. she's scared tho cuz this stuff is getting triggered and she's scared as i am about having to actually talk about it. can't we just share the feelings and stuff with marisa and kinda deal with it that way? why do we all have to go thru this hell together? i know what lyn or dr c would say. we have to go back to it together so marisa can process it and so we can 'break the silence' and talk about all the shit that happened and so we can all merge. god i'm so scared tho. i feel like i'll die if i have to do this. it doesn't matter if we were fucked and used when we were little. the stuff we did when marisa was a teen was stuff we chose to do. well, except for what josh did , but no matter what anyone says, we shoulda known what he'd do. it's not like i'll do it or anything but god i wish i cld run away. just disappear somewhere and crumble and not have to care if anyone missed us. we can't and i won't. the kids and charlie mean too much. i really understand why marisa says he saved her life when he married her. i think we really would have died if he hadn't come along. and him and the kids. god, they really do love us. all of us as much as they can understand anyway. i feel bad cuz kris thinks i'm mad or something cuz i don't hang out with her anymore. how do i tell her that it's just so bad that if i try to hang out i'll wind up cutting and fucking everything up? least i can sorta hide right now. the only safe time is when charlie is home. he's taking tomorrow off work too so he'll be here when we get done with lyn. so we'll prolly just take a tranxene and go to bed. or just go ahead and freak, i dunno. none of this makes sense, but oh well. reese |
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damn headaches |
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we're switching more these days. it's not bad because the older girls are finally doing some writing again, and the younger ones are getting some time to just be, you know? but the headaches. these are the worst. it's hard to function and focus when the switching headache is bad. i could try doing some trance work but i'd probably fall asleep. with all the kids home and charlie at work, napping isn't wise. besides, i only got half the kitchen mopped and there's about 10 loads of laundry still waiting to be washed. i want to go back to the 3x5 card method of organizing the house but can't focus long enough to get it put back together and redone. read the other day that adults with ADD have the same problems with organization and getting things accomplished. at least we're not alone in this. some days i feel like a crappy wife and mother because there just doesn't seem to be time or energy enough to keep up with everything. reese, stephanie and i need to find a way to cooperate with the housework. reese is so meticulous, one room can take days and stephanie hates having the kids underfoot undoing everything as she works. maybe between the three of us we can divide up the work so that our strengths can pull together? see lyn on monday then she's going out of town for 10 days. dr c will be here but he's not been answering his pages so if we run into a crisis, i'm not sure how we'll handle it. the assignment from lyn is a bit of a concern. the timeline itself isn't too big a deal, tho we've always gotten stuck and triggered when we try to chronicle certain events. the big thing is that she wants both the bad and the good in hopes the good can ease the pain of the rest. well bad news lyn. there's barely enough good to remember from most years to be worth the effort, and the other years are still a blank. don't know if i even want to remember them just yet. we're damn near over our head in what we KNOW happened. don't want this diary to turn into repeated bitch and moan sessions but i have to admit that putting it here keeps it from leaking out on my loved ones. i've not been so easily overwhelmed the last few days, even with the stuff that's waiting to be dealt with in this head. now, do we have enough caffine in the house to help this headache some??? marisa |
Long before blogs and online diaries, there were email groups. For a little over a year I belonged to an email support group for people struggling with depression and self-injury. This was originally part of an email exchange with that group. It was reposted in response to a reader question.
The idosyncrasies in the spelling suggest it was something written by both reese and me.
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here's what you were looking for |
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she couldn't do any mortal damage. after several shots at a vein and realizing the glass wasn't sharp enough, we just started peeling skin off the left arm. that was the moment when it went from an attempt to get help to being the help. we sat there in the freezing cold mumbling the 'i'm a shit' mantra and just kept going until the glass was just too dull to do any more damage. the right hand was so cold and numb we almost couldn't put the glass down and the blood had more or less glued it to our skin. we had to scrape our hand across the tar paper on the roof to get the glass off.it was another year and a half before we stepped up from superficial cutting to needing the bloodloss as much as the cuts themselves. sadly, that started because our scars in comparison to a girl we'd met in hospital were, to our mind, inadequate. somehow there was the thought that if we could cut like she did, leaving the huge red keloid scars, someone would see the seriousness of our situation and help. (duh) again, instead of bringing help it became the help and bloodletting became like a drug.we've been able to stop the cutting for even years at a time, but it seems that in between there is always some other form of SI being used, so it's never really stopped. |
take care,
marisa (who's never told about it this way and wonders if she should print it out for the therapist...)
It's so odd to look back and see how much has changed in six years. We were at the point of communicating with each other and trying to work in cooperation. I was seeing both Lyn and Dr. C. each week. I was no longer focusing all my attention on the rejection/betrayal cycle from that year of the diagnosis. I was a mess but not as much as I have imagined.
It was a huge risk to jump into pouring things out online... without reservation... without holding back. Despite the initial issues with learning that people hiding behind anonymity can be nasty, it was a risk worth taking.
I remember Reese (it is so odd to capitalize her name... I think she prefers it with the small r) writing the poem in an effort to avoid reaching for the razor blades. It had been several months but the pressure was building inside again and she wanted relief. Therapy was touching on tough subjects and she was terrified. Self-injury was at that time, her most reliable tool for relieving the overwhelming emotions we had, as a collective, not yet learned to express.
The random, very nasty note suggesting I was ruining the lives of my children sent us into an instant tail spin. Because of the communication we had learned by that time, it was possible to simply choose to step back and let Stephanie do her thing. She ranted to Charlie... I think one of us ranted to Dr. C and of course, she ranted to the diary... in her inimitable style. As a result, we were able to move on.
Looking back, I can see the glimmers of health I couldn't see then. For all the chaos, the fight to heal, grow and be responsible was clearly being fought. There is still a journey being taken but even then, it was well under way.
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Stephanie |
06/14/2002 |
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Since it is obvious that people who have no fucking idea what they are talking about are reading this and making judgements, then I'll make an entry of my own. Unless you know what it is like to be mutilated and molested before you are even big enough to walk, don't make judgements about how unbefuckinglievabley hard it is to dredge up those things and talk about them.Unless you've been thrown across rooms and beaten black and blue so often you know nothing else, don't tell us to get over it. Unless you have been actively taught to believe that everything you do is wrong, that your existence is a mistake, and that anything that goes wrong in the family is your fault, then don't tell us how to recover from that. Unless you know what it is to heal from these things and have done so, unless you know what it is to live with many minds in one body and try to bring them together to heal, then back the fuck off and put your time into growing up yourself. To those who have not posted notes to us passing judgement on what kind of person or parent we must be, then ignore this. Those who have shown their small mindedness in vicious notes to a wounded soul, know who they are. Stephanie of the Crew (in response to an open diary comment on resse's entry from someone who said i was ruining the lives of my children) |
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Amelia |
06/14/2002 |
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thare makin the bad girl cry. shel tell secrits and get us in trubl. im a good girl an i dont do bad things. (amelia- six years old... written in the paper journal) |
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can't go there |
06/13/2002 |
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oh man, i can't talk about this stuff. i know that's what's coming next. dr c will want ME to tell about MY feelings and memories about this stuff and i can't. god i just can't. jeez i've hardly talked to him at all in what, like 2 years? and when i do he's so damn sympathetic and all 'it's not your fault and you've done a lot to help' i'm so sick of hearing that. i haven't done shit. how have i helped if i couldn't stop it from happening? thoughts and emotions suspended in time as water cascades pouring from my face all along my flesh washing away the filth of my existence the blade so shiny and new quickly and cleanly releasing the pain a river of warmth in cascades from my arm swirling in red and pink streams around and around the drain washing away the filth of my existence sinking to the floor as relief settles in and the fear and anguish the rage and despair subside for the moment washing away the filth of my existence reese |
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another long friggin' day |
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beginning to dread mondays and wednesdays. it's the right thing dragging up all this old crap and talking about stuff we've NEVER talked about before. but GOD does it have to leave us so utterly screwed up for the rest of the day? charlie called from upstairs earlier and didn't realize i was just below him. scared the crap out of me because he yelled so loud. so we go into panic mode and it pissed him off which of course just made it worse. so littles are crying, reese wants to cut, can't go for a cigarette because we'll wind up burning and all because we freak out over a loud voice. i mean, charlie appologized for getting mad. he knows it's a trigger but he got caught off guard just like i did. besides, it's got to be frustrating as hell feeling like you have to walk on eggshells around us because you never know when we might get scared over something tiny. he knows someone inside is scared of him but we don't know who, but even understanding as well as he does, i think it still hurts him. he's so gentle and to be feared makes him feel like his dad, which i won't even get into. reese, i know, wants to write since she's pretty much quit talking. i miss her input and fun... anyway, i'll scoot and give her space.marisa |
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