Dragonheart's Multiple Insights

Parenting the Inner Kids

2010-06-05T13:16:00.000-07:00

It's a new and somewhat alien concept to me... I can provide the constructive parenting that my inner kids needed and never got from my mother. I've gotten so used to simply reacting to inner chaos and turmoil, and basically trying to tune the kids out. I'm now working on listening to their needs and wants, and finding constructive ways to accommodate them.

For now, crayons, coloring books and drawing pads seem to be doing the trick. The kids get an outlet that's constructive and soothing, rather than just reaching for food as the only soothing presence we'd ever known as a child. It's been frustrating, because "I" am determined to eat healthily. But my inner kids make choices that are NOT in that category, especially when they're not being listened to.

In a way, learning to acknowledge, understand and ultimately parent my inner kids will help me on several fronts. The obvious implications for therapy are huge, but it also impacts my goals for health and fitness. I'm learning... If I let the kids color or play with Legos, etc., I can avoid a lot of the compulsive eating that is done simply for soothing. It's a win-win situation.

A Spiritual Journey

2010-05-23T18:50:00.000-07:00

We were diagnosed with DID in 1991. Spent quite a few years in therapy, many of which were with a therapist who trained with Dr. Kluft (sp?), a pioneer in dissociative treatment. Stopped in 1997 when the money just wasn't there anymore. Continued to do powerful work on my/our own, and got to a place where things worked pretty smoothly most of the time. Information was shared between alters, and there was very little "lost" time.

Although we'd been told as early as 1991 that we wouldn't be able to continue working, and that we should file for disability, that didn't actually happen until 2002, after a series of powerful stressors. The final stressor caused the whole system, which had been weakened, to re-fragment and fracture. Life became horribly frightening and very chaotic.

Eventually, even in the midst of all of this, there was recognition of the gift in the middle of the rubble. Although our professional life was over (at least in the form we'd known it), that didn't mean our ENTIRE life was over. Far from it! We now had the luxury of time - a commodity in woefully short supply in years previous, especially when working 80+ hr weeks in high-tech. Jo realized that not only did she not have the answers in life, she no longer had the right QUESTIONS.

In-depth spiritual studies had called to us, particularly our inner sage, Wise One, for many years. Wise One has been with us as far back as anyone can remember. She's a Native American woman, roughly in her 60s. No doubt, at some point she'll chime in, perhaps clarifying the Native nation from which she originates, or her age. Then again, she's really rather timeless, so it probably doesn't mean that much.

We began studying Earth-based faith in 2000, something that Jo and others in the tribe had been fascinated by for nearly two decades. Self-study was intense, but appropriately solitary. Eventually, we enrolled in classes regarding Earth-based faith, and found a community of welcoming people who were delightfully eclectic, creative, and a bit outside-the-box. We quickly felt at home.

After a couple of years of classes, an opportunity presented itself - a yearlong Multi-Cultural Shamanic Apprenticeship. The decision was made to commit to this process, and a powerful transformation began. (The man who oversaw the apprenticeship is a deeply spiritual, gentle and caring person, still a beloved friend in our life - though we don't see him as often as we'd like to, because of the now roughly 150-mile round-trip to his location.)

During the year-long process, an enormous amount of insight was gained, and powerful healing techniques from most continents on the planet were learned. Much of the "core" work facing the shadows of the childhood abuse was done in this setting. Countless tears were shed, some in class and many more outside of class, but it was a cleansing, healing process.

One of the things I learned about life, and about myself(ves) is that spirituality is woven through every fiber of our daily lives. A moment of enlightenment is possible at any given instant - provided we are open to it. Each burden or challenge contains within it the seeds of an important gift. Learning to recognize such opportunities is the key.

My mother's recent death has been a very challenging experience for me. Especially in light of her ~begging~ me not to come down to see her for the last time - how could I not feel rejected? But I'm learning...

I'm learning that my mother's life (and death) can be a springboard for me. I'm going for what I call the Anti-Mom Action Plan (AMAP). The idea behind AMAP is to do things completely the opposite of what my mother did. I will not live my life in fear. I will not put off self-care and end up with Stage IV cancer that could have been fought if detected earlier. I will not make excuses about nutrition and exercise. I will not postpone my dream of writing, and I will make my voice heard. My life and my words will count for something.

This is not meant as disrespect for my mother. Rather, I am choosing to take her suffering and death and make it mean something. I/we can learn much from her example - on how NOT to go about living and dying.

Wherever you are, Mom - we miss you, despite everything.

Covered! The Good News and Bad News

2010-02-08T09:33:00.000-08:00

I am very fortunate to have full coverage for mental health (MH) services under my insurance(s). It is rare indeed to have 100% coverage for MH services, especially with no co-pay or deductible. Further, there are no limits on the number of times I can receive services within my lifetime or per year, etc. I am very grateful.

That being said, however, now that my psychologist has learned that I do indeed have coverage like this, that I wasn't just pulling her leg, I feel like the proverbial cash cow. I have office visits two, or sometimes three, times weekly. All in all, the care is good - the woman whom I see is professional, strong, and doesn't let me fall into a caretaker role with her. But I do feel as if I'm her dedicated revenue stream - perhaps she's purchasing a summer home? I don't begrudge professionals their income; the work they do is sometimes quite challenging, and it's worth compensating well. There's just a feeling of, I dunno, entitlement I guess. It bugs me. It's entirely possible that I'm just projecting, although projecting what, exactly, is beyond me.

On some level, I know that focusing on this issue is merely distracting me from the real, substantive work that awaits. I need a tighter focus, and an iron will to move through all of this. Courage is never lack of fear, for that is simply foolhardiness. Instead, courage is feeling the fear, but moving forward despite it. Onward!

Phasmatis intus Tribus (Ghost Within the Tribe)

2010-01-17T16:16:00.000-08:00

WARNING: This blog is written by a dissociative adult survivor of severe childhood abuse. It is entirely possible that this material may be uncomfortable for some readers. If you have any doubt as to whether this may “trigger” you or make you feel unsafe in any way, please STOP reading and click elsewhere. If, while reading this or at any other time, you find yourself feeling unsafe or contemplating hurting yourself, please IMMEDIATELY contact a crisis line or mental health professional. Please – be safe, and be well.

If you or anyone you know is having a crisis and feeling alone or potentially unsafe, please consider using one of these resources. You'll notice there are organizations around the globe, including LGBT-targeted groups like PFLAG, and groups for survivors of different kinds of violence.

Here's a link to a list of resources.

Please know that I care, and many people in your life care. It's a sign of true strength to reach out if you're hurting; people want to offer their support. You are NOT alone.

Wow. I knew that dissociative structures, mine included, could be wildly diverse and endlessly interesting. That being said, I thought I had a handle on what my structure looked like, pretty inclusively. I would think 18 years (or so) after my initial MPD/DID diagnosis, I should have ~some~ freaking clue. Well, this week proved that I can still be surprised. And this latest one is NOT particularly pleasant; at minimum, it's surreal and a bit creepy. And at worst? Well, let's not dwell on that.

Within the Tribe, I just learned there is a ghost, a vague translucent version of my younger self, before some of the worst atrocities happened. Apparently, the endless games of let's-strangle-her-until-she-passes-out-and-then-when-she-wakes-up-we'll-do-it-again took their toll. As I understand it, one of those times, I died - well, at least that younger, more innocent self did. Whom I had been prior to these events was left as a ghost, unseen even by me, and certainly not acknowledged by anyone else.

As the repressed memories of the worst atrocities begin to come to light, I am having to remind myself that I (we) have already survived the worst. Now, it's just processing the emotions and feelings surrounding these horrific events. Not allowed even to cry at the time, the pain, trauma and grief were all put into a sort of containment. That's really what dissociation is - containment. I had to be able to go to school and be the perfect little girl I was expected to be. If I'd retained knowledge of what happened at night, that would never have been possible.

Until I learned of my diagnosis, lo these many years ago, I had very little recall of my childhood at all. It's as if I appeared one day, after my step-father was finally gone, and I began to "be" at that point. Come to think of that's probably pretty accurate, interpreted literally.

Anyway, that's the latest. There's more to come. The floodgates have opened, and there is much work to be done as the waters rise. But I have confidence that, much like the Nile River Delta, there will be fertile ground left when all is said and done, and seeds planted will bloom beautifully, and eventually bear fruit.

Good Help is Hard to Find!

2009-11-14T13:13:00.000-08:00

First of all, let me express my gratitude for a few things. First and foremost, I am very grateful to have the blessing of primary and secondary insurance that will cover the cost of psychiatric services (therapy, meds management) IN FULL, with no deductible or co-pay. Also, I am unusually blessed to have no limits on the number of sessions I can have per week, per month, per year, or over a lifetime. The gift of this coverage is humbling, and I am very, very grateful.

So, the good news is that I have coverage to handle the services. Finding a care-provider who takes my insurance AND who is willing to deal with DID has been a challenge, to say the least. It's been 12 years since I was last in private therapy. I made use of public mental health services during the limbo period during which I waited for approval of my disability claim, roughly 2003-2006.

During this period I also trained as Peer Counselor, since it was thought that my experiences and insight would allow me to offer a very deep, real sense of empathy when supporting my peers. So, I have some training from the other side of the table. I understand what Transference and Counter-Transference are, and how they need to be managed. I have a deep appreciation for the work that goes into therapeutic "presence," and the ability to actively listen to a client.

So, with that background, I've approached my search for a new set of care providers with a sense of humor, patience, and a willingness to keep searching for the people who are right for MY situation. It took awhile to find an appropriate psychiatrist to manage medications. The first guy, affectionately known in this household as Dr. Asshat, totally chickened out after two sessions. That wouldn't have been too bad, but he initially offered to do therapy as well as meds management, so the process of telling our story had begun - and then the trust was destroyed. Thanks, Asshat!

We've since found a new psychiatrist, who seems to understand the intensity of the situation. Got set up on the anti-depressant that worked especially well previously, Wellbutrin. Also have a very limited supply of anti-anxiety medication, and some Ambien for horrific insomnia and night terrors. Okay, check. Those of you who've read my other blog postings understand that the meds need to be in place first, so that there is a safety structure built around the process of exploring therapeutic work.

After getting the new psychiatrist on-board, we moved on to calls regarding therapy with psychologists and therapists. We worked from the insurance list of providers, and got some feedback from the psychiatrist as to who might be especially helpful. Placed countless phone calls, many of which were just never returned. Rude, in my opinion, but at least I know they're not the provider for me.

One psychologist, who of course has a PhD, called back to say that I probably just needed to change my diet - without asking, of course, what my current diet was. She also said that my issues are likely caused by the fact that I'm approaching Menopause. Oh, thanks, doc. So, I just need to eat nuts and berries, and accept the fact that I'm ancient. Nice bedside manner there. I think we found Asshat version 2.0! I chose to thank the doctor, hang up, and then laugh hysterically...

Fortunately, I'm at a place in life where I trust my own inner knowingness MUCH more than I did when I was 30, or even 40. I'll be 48 next March, which while not YOUNG, exactly, is certainly not certified geezerhood.

I have since found a psychologist who seems like an excellent fit. A strong woman with substantive clinical experience and (it seems) a familiarity with what DID looks like, and how to deal with the many facets of treating someone with it. (Yes, pun intended.)

I know from all my previous therapy that it is I who do all the work. A good therapist can assist me, rather like a Sherpa guiding an explorer as they climb Mt. Everest. But ultimately, even with all the assistance and guidance, the climber herself must do the work to get to the summit. That's how I look at this process. It won't be brief; I'm in it for the long haul.

The work begins, and I know I am strong enough to see it through.

The Little Ones Speak

2009-11-09T20:10:00.000-08:00

This post was authored via the little ones dictating content to Elizabeth, the sometimes-Gatekeeper. All efforts have been made to strike a balance between the authentic voice of the children, and the standardized grammar and spelling requirements that adults observe. Apologies are offered if this seems difficult to read, either because of how it's written, or - more likely - the content herein.

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It's scary when big people are yelling. When we was still little on the outside, the big people around us would yell a lot. Them big people aren't here anymore, but we gots big peoples inside with us. Sometimes they get mad and yell, and is scares us. They not be yelling at us, but just yelling cuz they're mad at somebody else in the Tribe, or cuz Jo ain't listening.

We don't like the yelling... makes us sad and afraid that something bad gonna happen. Don't know when or even what it gonna be, but yelling always means somebody gonna do something bad. We don't like the "badness." Don't like big people getting mad, even if it's not at us. We hide when they yell.

Elizabeth says that it's okay, we don't have to hide all the time. She never lies to us, but hard to trust that it's okay to talk. We gonna see what happens. Big people in the Tribe are talking on the outside sometimes, and not always hiding no more. So we gonna see if they're safe before we gonna come out from the hiding place.

Want to get some time to play and not get in trouble for wasting time and being in the way cuz the big people got stuff to do. Don't wanna be crying all the time; it makes the head hurt really really bad.

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Within the Tribe, there is a wide spectrum of voices and experiences. Over time, we'll reveal more about the structure, most especially within the narrative of the book, but suffice it to say that it's a diverse group. A broad variety of perspectives can be both valuable and frustrating. Ultimately, each "part" has value either for its knowledge, abilities, access to memories, or because it is a core part of the original self.

A (not so) Lone Voice in the Wilderness

2009-11-05T20:02:00.000-08:00

Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID) is something that is portrayed as scary, bizarre, or something to simply be laughed at. Worse, and most horrifying of all, people with DID are portrayed as inevitably destined to re-enact the horrors of their past by abusing children or harming others in some way. Words cannot possibly express the sheer agony and grief that this widely held misperception causes.

I have known well over a dozen people who are dissociative, and have emailed and talked online with dozens more. None of them - not ONE - would ever consider doing anything to harm another human being, especially a child. In fact, you'd be surprised to learn how many people in the child welfare and care systems are dissociative or full-blown DID themselves.

However, for those of us living with it, it's a very real challenge - but also a very powerful blessing in many ways. These very extreme coping mechanisms are only developed in children who are the most intelligent and creative, at least according to a former therapist trained by a pioneer in dissociative treatment.

Pronouns are a big pain in the ASS when you live with DID. Using "I" when you really mean "we," or slipping and using "we," and then having people look at you funny - it gets old. No doubt, the narrative on this blog will switch (ahem, bad pun) from "we" to "I" and back again, somewhat randomly. Such is life with DID.

While it can be chaotic when things are fragmented and rather random, it's also kinda cool to know that within me are such knowledge or skills as advanced Trigonometry, four years of French, strong tech skills, including the time on Amazon's Site Development team, quilting, painting, apparel design and photography skills, powerful public speaking abilities, and other wonders.

Additionally, the very suffering that caused the DID allows me to have a deep empathy for others in pain. (Add to that the "psychic gene" that came down to me through my mom's side of the family, and you can understand why I try to avoid large unruly crowds...)

A diagnosis of Multiple Personality Disorder (MPD) - what they used to call the same thing as DID - was made in 1991. The strong suggestion to quit working and go on disability came shortly thereafter, and kept coming. As a mother with two children and a worthless husband, it didn't seem to be an option to simply not work anymore. Somehow, we carried on... for over another decade. Even managed to ditch the useless husband, and give up men altogether, and life was much happier for it.

The tech world was growing rapidly, and then imploding. I worked for several high-tech start-ups, and even Cisco Systems. I had at least two certifiably psychopathic bosses, including one who forced me to ~literally~ schedule a restroom sobbing time into every afternoon's schedule, just to cope with his unreasonable demands and a 16-hour workday. I was in a car wreck on the way to a second-round job interview, stopped at the end of a freeway off-ramp, yielding to traffic as required. A car coming off the same freeway rear-ended my vehicle HARD, at 40+ MPH, as estimated by the insurance company. (Even worse, someone else was hired for the job!)

These events culminated in a crescendo of chaos in early- to mid-2002, and at that point it was no longer an option to keep working. The Tribe had become fractured, further fragmented, and deeply wounded.   Life was a surreal, dark carnival ride, and every face or situation seemed potentially threatening.

The Universe craves balance, and out of this darkness came a gift - the opportunity to shift focus completely, and facilitate healing within ourselves, and potentially for others as well. The subject of this spiritual journey will be in an upcoming blog post...

Fast forward to Fall, 2008. After ending an unhealthy relationship that Summer, I was resigned to perhaps living alone the rest of my life. It would be better than living with an emotionally abusive pathological liar! However, to my wonder and surprise, I learned that a friend I'd known for nearly two years (and whom I very much liked) had deep feelings for me. When I looked within my heart, I could see the truth; I'd had similar feelings since we'd met. However, when we'd met, we'd each been with another person, so those initial feelings had gotten shelved.

I'd ended my previous relationship, and now my friend had also ended hers. Thus, a moment of opportunity... She took me in her arms, and we never looked back. We traveled to California late that October, and got married in the Old Orange County Courthouse on October 24, 2008, not long before the accursed Proposition 8 passed. Ours was one of approximately 18,000 marriages upheld by the California Supreme Court in the aftermath of Prop 8's passage.

In the last year, much has happened. Life is inevitably a mixture of good news and bad, pleasant and very UNpleasant surprises. We manage to laugh at most of it, pretty consistently. Still, some dark alchemy had occurred, a silent milestone reached, because I found myself increasingly anxious and uneasy as the Spring of 2009 bloomed. (I recently learned that the horrifically abusive step-father came into my life 40 years ago, almost to the day, as of this writing. No coincidence, I'm sure.)

Over the course of the Summer, I began once again to experience the initial edges of flashbacks - though, in most cases, I was able to block them. I simply did not want to know, refused to "go there." I'd done hard work on the subject of the childhood sexual abuse (CSA) and more that I'd endured as a child. It didn't feel fair to have to open up that can of worms once again - frankly, it still doesn't.

This time, though, I have an understanding that my refusing to deal with these memories and experiences leaves my inner wounded child alters holding the bag. They've been holding on to these experiences, these memories - the worst of the worst - for several decades. It's time to ease their burden. Children shouldn't have to carry the horrors while the adults turn a blind eye. It wasn't okay for my mother to do it, and it's not okay for me to do it within myself. Time to buck up, and step forward, "Once more, into the breech..."

I've never been someone who drinks much, and although I did some reefer in high school, I've never been a druggie of any kind. Especially after my training as a shaman, I believe in the power of laughter, Reiki, meditation, drumming, exercise, herbs, yoga, and attitudinal shifts - not necessarily in that order.   However, in this case, I realize that asking for short-term pharmacological assistance in this area is an example of good self-care.

The few times that the flashbacks have broken through, we've ended up curled up, screaming and crying, unable to speak, the body temperature and blood pressure rising dangerously. It's been a wonder we haven't stroked out, to be brutally honest. Thus, it was reluctantly agreed that having even just a minimal supply of anti-anxiety medication for the flashbacks and associated panic attacks would be a good idea, as well as Ambien for the industrial-strength night terrors.

Our regular GP doc is well aware of the DID diagnosis. He also knows what we've been currently facing - there have been, ahem, "multiple" visits. For over a year, a headache has been persistently present, ever-worsening. A trip to the ER in September yielded a clean CT scan, so the good news is that it's likely not a brain tumor. What this almost certainly represents is the pressure in the mind to "hold back" the repressed memories that are under enormous pressure, trying to escape. We went through this in the mid-1990s, but not nearly as severely.

Finally found a psychiatrist who would take us on. Seems like a good guy, and he's certainly better than Dr. Asshat - a psychiatrist who dared to give us hope, only to send it crashing to the ground after two sessions. Seems Dr. Asshat couldn't figure out HOW to bill our insurance, and so gave up. Informed us we'd need to find another provider. (Animal, our inner protector, says "He's just a chickenshit!" Animal's probably right.)

The new psychiatrist actually (gasp!) LISTENED to us when we were in for the initial visit.   Jo brought a lot of information in printed form, and provided extensive information verbally as well. The doc took copious notes, and didn't visibly flinch, not even once. Gold stars for managing his counter-transference!

Now we're in the process of finding a psychologist or therapist. The reason this comes LAST in the process is that the repressed memories which are trying to surface are under enormous pressure. Before we open the spigot and risk an explosive outflow that swamps everything and potentially puts us in the hospital, it's smart to have a full team of care providers already in place. The psychiatrist is affiliated with a large, well-respected hospital in the area. We hope never to learn about their psych ward first-hand, but it's nice to know it's there.

The process of filtering through the various psychologists and therapists available has begun. Countless phone calls have been placed, and in one case an email has been sent. One promising practioner gave her email address on her voice mail greeting, saying that's the best way to reach her. Well, as one might imagine, it's a challenge to convey our situation in a 90-second sound bite, and thus email is wonderful resource for sharing our situation for her to ponder. Whether she's brave enough to take us on, only time will tell.

(NOTE: There will be a darkly funny future blog posting about a psychologist who called back and had rather, um, simplistic suggestions for our situation.)

Jo has had years of therapy. And a couple of those years were in the public mental health system. In fact, Jo's trained as Peer Counselor through a local mental health agency, and also through META. But receiving services through the mental health agency meant getting a new intern every year, and then only for about 9 months. One of the interns we dealt with, Amy, was well-intentioned, but ultimately quite frustrating. She refused to deal with anybody except Jo, no exceptions.

Now, if one of the other Tribe members shows up for a therapy session, there's a damned good reason - there's usually important information to be shared. But Amy was adamant on this issue. The choice of taking this condition or getting no services at all wasn't really a tough call. It hurt, and was ultimately damaging, especially to the wounded little ones, but we lived with it. However, we now know enough to broach this subject up-front, and insist on the care-provider's willingness to deal with the alter structure. If they're not willing, we're not staying - it's that simple.

So, here I am; here we are. On the cusp of what promises to be gut-wrenching work, but ultimately worthwhile. Inevitably, the unending dread of something is worse than the thing itself. No matter how bad it is - and this is a soul-crushing level of horrifying - ultimately, shining a light upon it, and seeing its true dimensions and shape takes much of its power away.

I've heard that many 12-Step programs say something to the effect of, "You're only as sick as your deepest secret." That thought has been echoing for months. I had the experience of coming "out" as a lesbian a decade ago, and that was actually anti-climactic - because virtually everybody but me already knew. I've also had the experience of coming out as someone who follows a non-Judeo-Christian faith, and that's sometime been a challenge - mostly for other people. I have respect for every faith and spiritual practice, so long as it harms none.

This situation, me "coming out" as a WE... This is the big, scary risk. But on some very deep level, I know that it will also free me. And, I hold some small hope that perhaps a few people will take some courage from my story. Ultimately, though I am deeply challenged by these circumstances, I know I will transcend them.

Life is a journey, filled with discovery. Onward!