Thursday, July 21, 2011

Who is who?

This can get complicated. So put on your seatbelt, and let's take this journey.

The mother-Birthgiver, asshole extrordanaire.

The girl,I,We-This body. As I write I use whichever feels right at the time. Dissociative Depersonalization Disorder makes you feel unconnected to the body. It's like watching a movie that youre in. The memories come in foggy and unclear, if at all.

Father, Dad-My dad is amazing. It took him a while to learn how to be a dad, but he learned thanks to years of training by mom.

Mom-Dads current marriage. They married when I was in 6th grade, and she dealt with me through times of which i cannot remember. She is amazing and has helped the girl so very much.

4-My amazing daughter with my amazing husband.

8- Sister who is 8 years older than the girl.

13-Sister who is 13 years older than the girl. She is my safe place.

Pat-Step-father through some time. Disgusting piece of trash, who thankfully died in the 2000's sometimes.

Tuesday, July 19, 2011


I am unavailable today. I am in a never ending trance. I have no energy, and no will do to anything.

I am here as a shell today.

Insides are screaming and head is pounding, as usual.

She needs to smoke a cigarette and possibly take a Xanax. She cant tell if shes feeling frustration for some reason or not feeling anytyhing at all. When you numb yourself to emotions it is hard to figure out what is going on.

Did we take our medicine today/. Shit. I dont know.

Im not going to edit any of this. She can read it later and decide if its happening. I dont care

I hope youre not as confused as I am. Maybe you have insight. Maybe the dullness banging in our head is normal. It bangs and lacks feeling at the same time.

I am drained.


Monday, July 18, 2011

Too Complicated

At this point, we have chosen to jump ahead. Unfortunately, there are large spaces of time in which the girl does not remember, and it has not been shown to us. The girl is constantly frustrated with the not knowing. We may never know what goes on completely when the girl leaves.

One of the long term effects of the childhood trauma is the unwillingness to let people close. This is both physically and emotionally. The girl is constantly in fight or flight mode. Her heart races, she sweats, and adrenaline pumps at night. At night her mind races with all kinds of different thoughts. Actually, some of her best thoughts have come during this time. It seems to be when everyone comes together to bring new ideas and thoughts to the table. Creativity is also peaked at this time. This is also the time when the girl should be sleeping. The girl is constantly tired.

Living with dissociation is difficult for both the girl and her family that she has made. She is on her second marriage, and hoping her illness wont push him away. Little symptoms of the dissociation seem to compile quickly. The girl feels like she is constantly playing Tetris with her life. One more issue and the game is over. The most common misplacement becomes a crisis. Most people lose their keys sometimes, but typically, when they find them, they were some place logical. This is not necessarily the case with dissociation. The girl has left her phone in the fridge, mail in the laundry and the husbands things in 4's room. When these things happen everyday, multiple times, it is more than frustrating.

Then there are the other intimacy and space issues. The girl's severe mistrust of older men has caused her to miss the only grandparent type relationship she could have ever had. Her mistrust of men was a main cause of the destruction of her first marriage. Her need to keep to herself and keep private has almost been the end of her current marriage. The girl does not typically welcome hugs. She makes it a point to hug 4 often, but she herself is uncomfortable with hugs from others. 4 is absolutely perfect to the girl, and she is innocent. The husband is very good to the girl, but she is always concerned with pushing him too far, or expecting him to understand her.

You can not depend on the girl. She goes into hiding for weeks. She forgets what you asked her to do. She will not remember your birthday,. She doesn't know what day it is.The girl never knows where her things are. She spirals into deep depressions where she doesnt bathe. She is a poor housekeeper most of the time. She doesnt do anything right. She constantly fails.

She is at a crossroads again. One road involves her going into hiding again, and the other road has to have something different. She doesnt know what it would be, as she is barely functioning as it is, but it has to be better.

Sunday, July 17, 2011

The Girl Living

As a child the girl lived in government housing. They were little apartments, and the girl's other family members also lived here. She lived in these apartments until sometime before age 7. The girl has no recollection of her life at her own apartment. These times were lived by another person. The girl does remember life at her Aunt's apartment which was across the hallway.

The girl spent all the time she remembers there.  She ate there, played there, and slept there. The girl has no recollection of ever sitting down to a meal made by the mother, or even going somewhere to eat with the mother. Aunt would make the same breakfast everyday: scrambled eggs cooked until rubbery and dried on a towel, tiny biscuits and 2 pieces of greasy pork sausage. She made sure the girl got food. The girl and her family were living off of government food which was given out in paper sacks. She assumes they all have the same contents. Peanut butter, cheese, eggs and some Eidelmann's stale pastries. She drank RC cola. The apartment was tidy. The carpet was matted down and probably brown. The furniture most likely assembled from random thrift stores. On the wall there was a print of two children angels kissing. The walls are stained with nicotine; so much so that behind this picture the wall was white with yellow surrounding it.The dining room was modest, but meals were always served here. Uneaten food got served on a stove which was always on, because that is the only safe place from the cockroaches.

The roaches in these apartments were everywhere. They were not scared to come into the light. The girl remembers a day when she was drinking an RC and set it down on the carpet for a split second. When she returned to the drink, she took a great gulp, and a roach was inside her mouth. The girl now always keeps an eye on her drinks.

From those apartments the girl moved around frequently as the mother married. All of the places she doesn't remember, but they happened. She doesn't recall ever living with Pat the molesting step father. Thankfully, for the girl, someone else lived those days as well. At one point the girl was living and sleeping in a closet, whether this was by choice or not, the girl doesn't know. The closet feels like it was a safe place. She had her rock collections surrounding her, and that was all that mattered.

Then, one day, the mother dropped the girl off at her dads house, whom she did not know well. She said she'd be back at the end of the weekend to retrieve her, and never showed up to do so. The girl begins a new chapter of her life, and it started in second grade.

Saturday, July 16, 2011

It all started a long time ago...

She was a quiet girl, but filled with rage. She had been birthed by a woman with no feelings, no morals and a lack of maternal instincts. The mother also dated a certain type of man. Most women are attracted to a certain trait, and the mother of this girl was no different. The mother preferred pedophiles. She liked them so much, that to this day she still lives with one.

The girl lived in a haze. The mother would hit the girl with anything available. Sometimes this would mean the girl would be hit with shoes. Sometimes the girl was hit with flyswatters, but the girl was always hit. The girl longed for the mother in a way in which little girls do. The girl would crawl up in the mothers lap only to be told to get off. The girl was not hugged. She was not needed or wanted. Nothing in her life would ever change that.

The girl was very young when the mother brought strange men home. She slept with the mother at nights, and during the night she would lay in bed asleep and stick her leg out to feel for the warmth of the mother's skin. Most of the time it would not be found. This one particular habit would stay with her well into her adulthood.

The mother would always enjoy the company of men to the company of children, of which she had three. One 13 years older than the girl, and one 8 years older than the girl. Further proof the girl was a mistake. 8 took much joy in beating the dignity out of the girl. One of the stories that used to be told in an endearing way involved how 8 dumped the girl in the middle of a bust street to try to kill her. The girl was a baby at this point without any memory of the incident, but the laughter that went along with the story will never leave her.

The girl was taught to fend for herself. The mother taught the girl to make microwave eggs, and a few other microwave things so that the girl could eat when the mother was not around. The mother always had a reason she couldn't be around, but most of them involved men, and all of them involved selfishness. The girl struggled through life on her own, and tried to hide it the best she could.

It was not rare that the mother would take the girl to another man's house, as they got "married".While the girl would later not be able to recall most of these events, there was most likely someone present in her place to keep her safe. Someone in her mind that was strong enough to handle it. At this point, 13 and 8 were living with the girls dad. The men that the girl remembers were somehow important in how she came to be the way she is. One man, was at least 30 years the mother's senior and was a hoarder of milk crates. He took the mother and the girl to scary churches. These churches would wash your feet, and speak in tongues. While one part of the girl was frightened about this; another enjoyed the spectacle of it all. It was almost like the circus. This man's name was William, and he is surely dead at this point. This is all that the girl remembers about him.

Then, there was the one that the mother kept returning to. He is the one who always wore white tank undershirts and boxers. He smelled like filth, cigarettes and staleness. His white shirts permanently grayed and rusted looking. His slippers were black. He coughed a lot. The girl remembers getting burns by cigarettes from him. His name was Pat, and the girl knows he molested her. She also knows that if he were molesting her, that the mother would know. She had to, and she did not care.

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