Sunday, May 31, 2015

Peg leg Pete

I wake up to make dinner for the son joins me on the bed as I am putting on my shoes and notices a single spider leg on the sheet.

 I'm left to ponder the there a mangled spider body in my fat rolls ....or is there a seven legged spider limping around the house...

Tuesday, May 26, 2015

(intermission) random weird thought

It just occurred to me this morning that, technically, I have witnessed a murder.

This happened years and years ago in my twenties.

A woman writhing in bed dying in hideous pain. She was screaming so loud the RN called the doctor and he came in and saw her in the middle of the night. She had a pain pump, oral meds and injectable meds but we could not get her pain under control.

He wrote and order and handed it to the nurse. As he did so, he said "I consider breathing movement."

She scanned it, paled, and thrust it back to him. "I can't do that."

Unaware I was just a medication aide, he passed it to me. "Can you?"

It was an order for a lethal dose of morphine with instructions to give every 5 min for "movement."

This was way back in the days before physician assisted suicide. Even before Dr Kevorkian was a common name.

Before I could answer him, the nurse snatched the order out of my hand and half shouted, "She can't either!" and stormed off the wing.

The doctor and I looked at each other and he said, "Will you give me a hand?"

I nodded and followed him into the room. He leaned over her and called her name. She began clawing at his arm pleading for help. "Do you know who I am?" he asked.

Through a spasm that wracked her entire body she called out his name and again begged for help.

He and I gently repositioned her and then she grabbed my hand. I let her hold it.

He took the key chuck and opened the IV pain box and reprogrammed it. Then spun the IV tubing stopper wide open, and the machine began purging the drug from its bag.

It took an incredible amount of the medication to stop the painful tortured cries. That was followed by a peaceful look of relief on her face. A few agonal gasps....and then she was gone.

Even though this has gone on since the beginning of time it was still a crime when this occurred. I hope I live long enough to see the stigma leave and dying people offered loving peaceful euthanasia options.

We are making strides with the passing of the physician assisted suicide bill, but there is still much more work to be done.

For the record I am D.N.R, I do not wish to be returned to life if I have died, no matter how I have died.

And should I ever become old and feeble and in hideous intractable pain....find me a doctor who will write me a script for:  a lethal dose of morphine with instructions to give every 5 min for "movement."

Because I too, consider breathing, movement.

Saturday, May 23, 2015

Self injury contract - triggery - (cont.)

I want to comment on this document.

I do not find non-self injury contracts a useful tool in therapy.

Things that are not helpful...

1. giving ultimatums You may not cut. I won't be your friend if you injure yourself.

2. "Stop it for me." "promise me you won't cut for me" - We need to stop for ourselves.

3. "just don't cut" - if it were that simple don't you think we would do it?

4. Non injuring contracts. SIV is a coping mechanism. It may very well be there ONLY coping skill. Until there is a new skill learned-practiced-implemented, the SIV will continue. (We don't ask babies to be born and get up and walk the same day. they learn to use there muscles first, roll over, crawl, stand, then walk. it is a slow gradual process.)

At that time (oh my gawd does that really say April 27, 1988???) I am 23 years old and Richard and I had made it past the initial MAJOR hurdle that sent me to therapy in the first place. (I had in place and set suicide plans for offing my self on/before my 23rd birthday.)

We are getting around to starting to find me and unravel me from my past. The SIV kicked up suddenly as we began to do so. Prompting him to write this and have me sign it.

The two us had no clue what would or would not work. SIV was just in the initial stages of being hinted at in the public eye. There was only small references to it in the psychology books available.

This contract helped me in a different way then it was intended too.

First let me point out that little scribble mark under my name...heh.

I may have signed it, but that is the TCOS insignia under it. Which is me basically saying: signing this to make you happy, but we don't yield to it.

Did I mention Richard had his hands full dealing with me? Which may explain why he later enlisted the help of the hypnotherapist's to work with me.

I found a note from 1989 where we were discussing MY image of HIS image of me.

I thought he saw me as a "Bizarre person."

He actually saw me as a: "Confused complex person."

Not only did that man save me....he saw me.

Since I was living in a very dissociated state back then, it was very easy for me to walk out of therapy and "loose that hour" in my mind. I would compartmentalize all our work and healthy coping strategies and slid right back into the ditch in my mind of numbing depression and self hatred.

Having tangible "proof" proved to be a valuable healing tool. It wasn't his business card that did was his handwriting.

I had that contract hung up in my trailer for years. I didn't look at "it", instead, I would find my self looking at his handwriting. Not a typed form letter...proof that an actual person wrote to ME and cared enough about me to want to extend a hand and help me.

Something to hold and touch was powerful. When my mind doubted his conviction to be on my side I could go look at the contract. Touch it.  Nope he was still in my corner. I had the proof right here in my hand.

I did get the courage to reach out to him eventually.

His note a small bridge between the darkness and the light.

So what would I suggest in lieu of a non-injuring contract?

I think those that live with SIV should have their therapists sign something like this instead:

I am not going to drop you as a client because you self injure. I will see an injury as a sign that there is more work to be done. I will understand that each injury is a message shouting silently for help. I will help you to understand your choice of coping skills and then help you to learn new ones. I will stand by you as you implement them and use them. I will NOT abandon you if you fall. I will be there to offer my hand to you.

The goal of our work together will be to:

1. Understand why SIV came to be your coping skill.
2. To work on those underlying issues.
3. To learn, practice, and implement healthy coping skills.
4. To continue the healing journey, and personal growth.

If you choose to add "stop self injury" to your personal therapy goals I will remind you that all the work we are doing right now is slowly and safely walking you to that goal. You will not make it there any quicker jumping through the hoops. You must carefully and slowly process through this. You are worth the work. You are worth the wait to accomplish this goal.

__________________ (signed and dated)

Thursday, May 21, 2015

Wednesday's Child (cont from yesterday)

I'm just gunna go ahead and toss up a *trigger warning*, cause I have told this story so many times now I can't tell if its triggering or not any more.

****EDIT - um, let me change that to an official * * * TRIGGER WARNING * * * GRAFFIC DRAWINGS OF SIV * * * That is saying something about how far I have come and changed...that I don't remember how triggering that time in my live was! wow!

My therapy appointment day was Wednesday's. It took a bit, but I learned to look forward to working with Richard. Most of my journal entries are too graphic/cryptically coded to share. I was not 100% comfortable sharing them with Richard so I took to condensing them into poems to give him. It was his job to decipher them and figure out what I was saying/needing to talk about.

That man earned his pay!

June 1988 - Wednesday's Child

You and I partners in this dance
Which of us yields the healing lance?
You on the outside eyeing the walls,
I on the inside pacing the halls.
Do I have enough trust,
to allow you to chip off the rust?
What do you see
when you look at me?
Do you see my scars?
They are my prison bars,
proof of all the sadness.
Can you see the twisted madness
that dwells in my eyes?
Can you hear my unspoken cries?
...all I ask of you
is to help me make it past twenty-two.

This story is long, I wonder if I should give you the condensed version or stretch this out and give it all to you?

Since I was at war with my body and couldn't nurture it as I needed to, Richard suggested I make a doll of my self. So I did. Little P was my size as a three year old. We did a lot of work with her. At that time my dissociative disorder was not an open issue and he had no idea just how important that doll ended up being in connecting the puzzle pieces.

October 29, 1988 - Silence

There are still days
I dwell in silence
I stubbornly refuse to listen to my soul.
Where did I learn that?
When did I loose control of my emotions?
Where did I hide them?
Will I ever find them?
When did I start hating my selves?
Remember back...why were you afraid to grow up?
Remember the pain and the shame
now look at you.
look at you.
you are alive, you survived.
Your in control now.
You man your own life.
No one has control of you
You did what you had to do to survive
slowly and cautiously
reverse al the things you did so long ago.
Find your hidden emotions.
Hang them out to freshen.
try them on.
use them, enjoy them
they are yours
they needn't be hidden ever again.

While I walked around numbed to the gill 99% of the time, there was one emotion I had no trouble identifying and using:


and the most targeted one with it was....

My self.

That is a self portrait that is almost 26 years old to the date. Done - May 24, 1989.

That seems so long ago. :( I am grateful I don't live in that head space any longer.
It was a dark, dark, scary as hell place.

Yeeeeaaah, Richard should get a medal for being able to reach and save me. I was not the most friendliest thing to work with. (interesting side note, I just noticed I am wearing "Alex's" Kill Me shirt.)

Now lets start disarming that manmade explosive before she hurts herself...further.


Wednesday, May 20, 2015

ah, no, stop that. **GRAFFIC SIV IMAGE TRIGGER**

I looked over what I was going to post and deleted all of them. The same issue that ground my "Healing journey" manuscript to a dead halt, STILL exists.

While I could give a hoot about my story being public, not everyone involved in my life thinks the same way.  I can't tell my story without telling part of theirs also.

The lady who wanted to financially back my book, suggested I publish it under and alias.

Not a chance in hell.

I didn't craw out from the darkness to hide.

I am standing in the light with my lantern in one hand and a fist in the other. I am here to fight for the respect and dignity of us all.

.....I also did some deep thinking about my sudden motivation to "go there" in my blog. I have consciously NOT gone there all this time for a reason.

Not liking my motivation.

basically it boils down to this:

I want to burn to my arm.

I am exactly a year and a half burn free.

It has almost finished fading. (left side bottom = new, right side and upper left side = ancient old ones)


Any time I have burned that large, I go through this. There is a viscous upswing in the urges to SIV again when the scar fades.

I wanted to post that stuff to push my self over that edge that would give me the perfect excuse to torch my arm. (and boy-howdy would it have sent me spinning...that crap hasn't been properly dealt with much work to do on it.) Sigh.

bad girl.

Just say no to triggering yourself on purpose.

I have a request to explain this picture further.

and since I have opened that door...

I will be glad to share that story with you all. THAT is well processed NO LONGER TRIGGERING stuff.

It all started with Richard my therapist asking me what emotion I felt the most.

I thought for a few moments then said: "I feel nothing."

"Don't you ever feel happy?"

"Not really sure what that feels like anymore. Everything feels hollow and empty."

The depression had at that time consumed me.

Richard gave me a list of emotions with there descriptions, and gave me the homework of recording all of the ones I experienced until our next session.

The following week I turned it in.

His brown eyes frowned as he read my list. (it was hate and nothingness.) He sighed deeply and looked up at me. "We need to find your emotions and reconnect you with them."

And that is exactly what we did.

(to be continued.)

Sunday, May 17, 2015

Before we go there....

why write about my pain?

Cause its mine. I can do anything I want with it. If hearing it will help another person who is struggling, then I'm going to share it.

why write about my pain?

Because every time I share, its a mighty whack at the dark chains that bind my soul. I will some day be free, and return to the surface.

why write about my pain?

Because, pain doesn't define you, you can learn to be at peace with it and still find pockets of peace in this life.

Why write about my past?

Because I am merely describing my psyche which isn't's all armored the fucked up, and ready to go to battle at a moments notice.

Why write about my past?

Because, I'm taking only one or two secrets to my grave. The rest I'm posting on the internet.

Next couple post will be highly triggering. Please use caution. I didn't become this messed up, living in a normal childhood.

For reference:

I was this old when I first fractured out.

I am seven years old and in second grade. All ready have one suicide attempt under my belt. I have already started self injuring. I hate my self. Already I am an island all to my self. Already the class weirdo...the freak.

That smile is because my teacher Mrs. Brown is standing next to the camera. She was a gift from the universe. Someone who saw me. I would have ran away and moved in with her if I could have. She was a lamppost in my past. A guardian with a lantern, who's light saved me.

Friday, May 15, 2015

Talked to my self yesterday * * * TRIGGER * * *

Sat across from a young man yesterday and had the interesting experience of hearing my own story spoken by another.

A new version of a life that was a current echo of my long ago lived one.

It was like talking to a younger version of me. The loneliness around him tangible.

A life not tempered by time and space. A soul raw with fresh wounds on it.

I want to write about living in that time.

But in order to do that I have to introduce you to some ones.

(Yes that is correct some ones, not someone.)

This was the last picture of them I drew in therapy.

That is a small collection of  The Children of Starr. Or as they are more commonly known: TCOS. They are ...for lack of a better term to get the point alters.

When I tell you I have the ability to dissociate. I'm not kidding. I was diagnosed with a Dissociative identity disorder in my 20's. I am not a true "multiple" in I do not meet the criteria for multiple personality disorder...(though dang close). It's more like my psyche fragmented out into parts that I used to hide in. None strong enough to stand alone and take over the whole.

Except this one.

I was 7 or 8 when he first surfaced in my mind. Without him I would have died. He is the reason I survived my childhood. My mind instinctively reach out and found a way to deal with the world I was in. I simply slipped out me and into him. No one would be looking for a blond boy. Boys were stronger, boys were able to take care of themselves.

His name has been shorted down over the years, and he is simple known as Ste now.

While I draw him beside me, he is inside of me, he is a part of me.

We look happy don't we?

It was not always so in the early years. These pictures are on the tail end of therapy. After much healing and growth.

Sadly the earlier years looked more like this....

I worked very hard to rescue that part of me.

It was a long journey. More complex then you could imaging. That is Alex with the knife above, he is yet another layer of fragment's with in Ste.

Before I could heal me, I had to heal Ste.

But he didn't want to heal.

...and we battled for a long time before there was peace.

The goal of therapy was never "integration". I was happy living as a fragmented person. Me and Richard accidently triggered spontaneous integration and once that door was opened the smaller parts fused to others and then as time went on those no longer needed fused to the core too. There are only a handful that I still feel rolling around with in me. Remnants of a ancient life that seems very distant now. Levels of my consciousness that enrich me as a whole. Dissociation/fracturing out a skill I can still call upon even today.

But if needed its a rich parachute that deploys and helps me cope and stay alive.

I don't make a habit of announcing that I have wanna-be-D.I.D. People have known me for years and met various parts of me and never known.  I hear occasionally "P is off to night." or "P must be tired she seems like someone else tonight." heh, more so then they might have guessed.

There is one childhood friend who never met me. She only knows Ste.

I needed to introduce you, because the next posted blog is one Ste wrote years ago. There is a reader among us who needs to hear it.

Sunday, May 3, 2015

New plant!


No we didn't have an Audrey II come to live with us, But my daughter and I did go see the local theater stage production and got to pose with Audrey II after the show.

So Stickrod-Stickie-Wickie-Pokey-Wokey-Oregon-Ash-Suck-it-Russell has officially survived the winter and has grown a bit since this picture....

He now looks like this, and those are his fellow pot-heads Spirit and Nirit (Baby pumpkin plants) in the next pot over.

Who that is that is growing IN his pot is a mystery. We didn't plant anything there. So it might just be an Audrey III....

We got a new plant last week. On the free table at my work a bunch of bamboo hostages showed up.

This one came home with me.

and....before you call CPS...that's not a real broken arm, its just a sling that is in the dress up clothes.

SO I know your dying to meet our new family member. This plant is also a boy. I have carefully untied all the zip ties on it so it can grow as it wants vs being a bondage-bamboo.

His name is:

Bambooganoogin Plant-Slasher Russell.

BWHAHAHAHAA! I can't wait to someday in the far far future meet my grandchildren...I can't wait to see what my children name them.

As we were tossing around names my husband says quietly, "I'm just going to call it 'Plant' ."

Which I found hysterical, because:
A. He never talks to our plants
B. He has always gave us plant namers/talkers wide space in our eccentric nuttiness.

BPSR will get replanted as soon as I have the energy to pick up my arms. I will also be planting a bazillion onions. I'm going to drive my husband crazy and name each one as they spout up. LOL.