Tuesday, June 30, 2015


Guess who just got subpoena'd....


now I have to find clothes for court....and shave my legs...AND act like a responsible grown up for a few hours....

As noted on my blog they DID get the spelling of my name correct...but they botched up my birthdate. They made me a few years younger.

So I guess this means their already prepping me for the witness relocation program.

Oh and I will get paid too!  $5.

Thursday, June 25, 2015

Got you

She unhooked the clip and shrugged off her parachute pack. Two zips and her jumpsuit fell away.

Leaving her seat she yanked open the plane door.

For a second her toes hung over the edge, before she stepped out into the sky.

 she plummeted downwards spread-eagle through the billowy white clouds.

The impact never comes.

His presence is her parachute.

Thursday, June 18, 2015

(continued) Shazam (end)


After I had caught my breath the hypnotherapist helped me relax back into the trance. (I'm not even sure that is the word I want to use, because the hypnotic state is not a "trance")

Relaxed but on guard, I opened my eyes to see him still there.

Alex's legs collapsed under him and he crumpled to the ground. His shoulders jerking as he sobbed deep chest sucking sobs.

I didn't know what to do. I had never seen this side of him. Was it real or a trap? I held firm in the rooted peaceful...calmness....control.

Frankly I was terrified.

But excited at the contact.

I felt the little part of me pull away and toddle over to him and sit next to him and hold his t-shirt. With things at a calm point we wrapped up the session and planned to continue the next week. I was given CLEAR orders I was not to go looking for the core of the anger alone.


Um, those instructions were lost on The Children of Starr. Richard once called me "the incredible self healing client" for my ability to pull off miraculous things between sessions.

This time was no different.

A day or two later I went back to visualize the event. Placed my self into a hypnotic state of deep meditation. I opened my eyes and stared at Alex. His pain and sorrow was genuine. I detected no threats from him. Standing before him, firmly grounded I wanted to reach out to him. But I needed my hands in my safe position to keep me safe.

My heart ached to comfort this lost child.

I felt my chest swell and split.

a bright light reached out to him from within me.

He reached up and took it.

If there is a thing as instant healing. This was as close to it that I ever got.

The change when I pulled my self out of the meditation was instant.

Like an anchor had been cut loose and I suddenly shot up to the surface.

Feeling peaceful still the next day I headed to the ocean and the redwoods. As I drove slowly through the rich shadowy redwoods I felt Alex stir in my mind.

His pale blue eyes met mine and he simply said.


I didn't understand what he meant.

I just accepted it, and mentioned it later in my therapy journal.

The next day rain clouds rolled into my head and Alex moved menacingly with them. The fear shot like lighting bolts through me. I redoubled my efforts to keep my self safe and grounded.

I kept my guard up.

I was driving down the highway miles from anywhere safe or close to a pay phone where I could call for help when the storm broke. It happened suddenly.

Alex surfaced in my mind like a breeching orca, his twisted teeth flashed as he smiled at me. Before I could even react to this sudden invasion in my mind. He smiled and looked skyward and exploded.

Sharp shards of glass shot outwards from within, embedding themselves in my skin.

I had to pull over.

Dizzy and off balance. I tried to reach a state of safety in my mind so I could figure out what just happened.


There was no answer. Just silence in my head.

I resumed my drive and as the miles past, the anger began to grow.

and grow.


holy shit.

It dawned on me what happened.

He had returned the anger to me.

That night, I spent laying on the floor of my trailer retching and sobbing as wave after wave of repressed memories flooded me. Landmind after landmind triggered and snapped shut. I was simply too exhausted by that point to harm my selves.

The glass shards in my soul were tiny daggers of anger. Anger at everything. I wondered what would happen if I removed one.  Cause you know, curiosity had the best of me at that point, and none of us were really sure what the next therapeutic step was at this junction.

Ste/I got focused and pulled one out.

The piece came out easily and as the blood oozed out I felt the wolf lunge out and snap at me. Ste jerked back visibly frightened.  I mentally remained very, very still. wondering what the heck was going to happen.

(Note that Ste/I share a shadow. I have never at any time considered any of my fragments to be complete autonomous entities. We are drawn separately to show what is going on in my mind, not what I perceive it to be.  When Richard noticed it and his reaction to seeing it, made me think he thought all along that I was having visual hallucinations and seeing people. This drawing reframed my diagnosis to him, and point it towards dissociative identity disorder.)

It translated into everyday life by me becoming easily agitated and angry over EVERYTHING.

I needed to find a way to calm the angry snarling internal wolf.

Back to the deep meditation exercises I went.

Offer the anger wolf food.


offer the wolf blood.


In desperation I tossed back my head and howled.

The wolf joined me.

Connected we "vented" together for about a week before I woke one day to find him gone. The glass shards eventually stopped being so sharp and faded away.

Alex and I achieved the first integrated status of Tcos.

As my healing journey rolled forward eventually other smaller fragment's of my head followed suit and integrated and my psyche smoothed over into a mostly whole image.

and that made my life much more peaceful.


Sunday, June 14, 2015

Danger, its a gray area

(Will get back to the continued story when I have a time. Still processing stuff and work has gotten nutty)

Side stepping a bit, from the (cont) blog story, this happened at the same time.

The hypnotherapist suggest I work 1:1 with a man called "Strongfield" (name changed/withheld for privacy), to try to unlock some of the deeply repressed memories.

I went to my next session with Richard and as we were talking I casually mentioned this.

Richard was the perfect mirror. What ever body position I had he reflected. If I was sprawled in the chair, so was he. His body language was never harsh or confrontational. He excelled in this area. He was a male working with a client with a history of sexual abuse. Had he in ANY way made ANY, EVEN REMOTELY harsh or off gestures, looks or easily misconstrued motions, it would have ended our therapeutic relationship instantly.

His voice was always calm and nothing seemed to ruffle his feathers. He could say the most intense things with such an easy tone that it was both powerfully intense and soothing at the same time.

We were both melted into the chairs when I dropped the name Strongfield, and I got to see a side of him I hadn't encounter in our years together.

His face changed instantly and he snapped up and leaned forward. "Have we talked about Strongfield before?"

"No. I think I want to work with..."

His shoulders flattened as he leaned forward and cut me off. "Be careful!" He stressed in a tone that he hadn't ever spoken in before, his voice rising beyond his quiet level. He went on to tell me he had several clients who had worked with him and none had anything nice to say about him.

Every time I tried to counter his argument his body got bigger and bigger till even the rebellious children rolling around with in me were all clear on the point he was making. DANGER.

He never said "don't work with him/stay away." He just stressed over an over, "Be careful."

This was the only time I ever saw this in him. He kept harping on it until I involuntarily flinched away from him as he leaned ever closer. When he saw me dissociate he melted back into his chair and instantly resumed neutral body posture.

It gave me a lot to think about.

I valued his opinion. I loved that he let me choose the healing path in our journey together. If he thought we needed to head another direction he would gently nudge me that way. It was never "do this period." Yet here he was standing up to me like a father talking to a rebellious daughter wanting a tattoo at 12 years old.

Was it okay for him to talk to me like this? To do everything but put his foot down and forbid me to work with Strongfield?

Oh you betcha.

This happened near the termination of therapy. It was the perfect slap in the face and return to reality. He couldn't have planned that any better if he tried. He was truly gifted in the art of healing. ooh that is hard to write..."was" :(

Being in therapy is a weird relationship. You are an open book and boundaries don't really apply. You are suppose to trust deeply and be open. You get used to talking casually about some really deep stuff. In a few short sentences he transitioned me from trust me tell me everything to hey this is reality, choose who you trust/open up to carefully there are predators out there.

I did meet Strongfield in a college day seminar a few months later and got to do some group work with him. Tcos were on high alert and Richard's  BE CAREFUL were sounding a massive alarm in my head.

His concern was valid.

I am grateful he cared enough about me to jeopardize our therapeutic relationship to protect me. Had he pulled that early in our work together I would have terminated on the spot. But after four years he had earned the unconditional trust of all of me. A feat no one has ever duplicated since.

Saturday, June 6, 2015

TRIGGER - dark thoughts in the latern light

An interesting glimpse into how my mind works.

News of Richards death had this effect on me....

It brought to mind a conversation we had. Where after exhausting effort on both our parts I was able to look him in the eyes and  promised him I would stay alive until I was 65.

Notice that no where in that statement do I promise never to kill my self.

Just that I promised to stay alive until I was 65.

After that the contract was up for negotiation again.

My suicidal soul that is damaged from the endless depression, had this to comment on the subject:

I am now released from our word bond.
I am no longer bound by that promise.
and the giddy part of me is thinking........oh the endless possibilities...

While the giddy part of me is thinking those thoughts....it will have its work cut out of it, as the words Richard put in my head/heart are still strong and powerful, and I will have a hard time ignoring them.

It's easy to visualize him shaking his head with that "nice try" look on his face.

I saw that look so often. A stop sign that he wasn't going to buy a ticket and get on my crazy thought train. After a year of so working together he didn't even have to say anything anymore, just smile and give me that look.

This burp in my mind will have to be dealt with while I am basking in the summer light and free of the darkdrag of the winter depression. I know I will see it again if I don't deal with it NOW.

In a way I'm a very grateful I didn't find out about his death until now. Had I learned this information in February during the full blown winter depression I would be sporting some new scars.

Safe in the summer light, I am able to process it better. Hopefully without feeling the need to memorialize him with a scar. He wouldn't want that for me.

I don't want that for me.

my mind is already coming up with the proper way to say goodbye.


Not a chance.

 If you are my friend, I keep you forever. You will live on in my writings forever.....

She woke to find herself in a dark menacing forest. Gingerly and carefully she sat up. The dried blood on her scratched up legs a tell tale sign that she had been out for sometime. The cold wind nipped at her skin and the ferns poked accusingly at her. Her eyes scanned the darkness and slide shut with a resigned sobbing.

Slowly she laid back down, wishing to die. Waiting for the damp earth to swallow her up.

But instead her head landed in a soft warm pile of leaves.

Startled she jerked up and away.

*scratch* a match lite the darkness.

The tree smiled gently at her.

"who are you?" she asked the tree.

The old tree twisted and leaned over and handed her a single piece of wire.

As she took it, it warmed in her hand and bent into a frown. She looked up and again asked, "who are you?"

"I am the lantern maker." Said the fox jumping down from the tree.

Friday, June 5, 2015

(continued) 3 - 2 - 1 contact


Need to stop and do a quick break down so you can see the progression of the fractures within.

Me, fragmented into Ste - who them himself  fractured out into a slew of parts, but we will only be concerned with his part called, Alex.

Alex is key in this story as he held all of my anger. Not just some of it...ALL of it.

I used to be frightened of the anger in me. It seemed to be such a uncontrollable thing that I pushed it far from me. So far in fact I pushed it into Ste, who in turn further pushed it into Alex to keep it locked up and me safe from it.

I was afraid that if I, a mere girl, was in charge of , it would get away from me and hurt someone.

well to be perfectly honest...a lot of someones.

Richard and I discussed that I had compartmentalized my emotions to leave me a calm lake on the surface, but a swirling deep pool of strong under currents.

That wasn't the only thing I compartmentalized. I had/have pockets of missing memories in my head.

That is what a landmind in my head looks like. Yeaah, you don't want to step on any of those, trust me.

Have a clear picture of how messed up I was?

I was a whole new level of fucked up.

Richard looked right past the layers of barbwire and razor wire and reached out his hand to me. I bit it every chance I got.

He knew that anger was the key to healing.  As crazy as that may sound to you, its true. For people to heal they need something to fuel the healing process. ANGER is an energy. A powerful fuel that can transform you.

Due to complete lack of privacy as a child I took to coding important things into my personal short hand to hide it. A practice continued into adulthood. The simple task of hunting for and finding my lost anger got boiled down to: ANGRISANNRG.

During the off days of therapy I would write that over and over again on what ever paperwork I was doing at the time. Pondering on the importance of it.

Wondering what would happen if I found the anger with me. What would I do with it?

We talked for weeks about it trying to track down the last time I truly felt anger.

The talk lead back into time and I stepped on what seemed like endless landminds in my head. I ended up bloody and bruised as we sorted thought them one by one. Each time we tore off a festering mental scab on my soul, and applied antibiotics to the wound and healed it, I would get more and more afraid. Each step brought me closer and closer to the anger.

I could feel it.

It felt dangerous and uncontrollable.

During this process the part of me I call Ste, stepped aside. He knew I was hunting Alex, as he held the anger.

When the hunt for the anger dead ended at Alex's feet, we still didn't realize I was dissociated to a point that I was fragmented. I had been living so long with a fragmented soul that I didn't realize that isn't the way one is suppose to be.

Richard and I went after reconnecting me with the anger.

He suggested visualizing the hidden emotions being sealed in jars on a fence post and when I was ready, to shoot them and set them free. I liked that imagery. We didn't really expect any sudden return of my emotions, just rather a tangible confirmation that I was ready for them to come back.

We were also working on this in hypnotherapy.

It was tag team therapy, where one session let up the other picked up. We went after Alex and the anger.

I visualized the healing journey as a climb out of a dark, deep pit. I climbed out and stood like a weak tree on the edge of the pit. I wouldn't have taken much to push me back in. So I visualized my feet becoming roots. An anchor to keep me from falling....AND jumping back into the darkness of the depression.

Alex kept climbing on my back and trying to get me to return to the pit. He was frightened that I might somehow heal him. I used all my healthy coping skills and  remained neutral and calm. He was always behind me, much like a heavy presence of impending danger.

See my roots...see my left hand? that is the finger position that says to me..."Peace...calmness...control."

The hypnotherapists didn't want me to confront Alex/seek to find the bottom of the anger/turn to face him without them being there. So when we were ready we had a session where the intent was to confront him.

Under hypnosis and safe in their office I uncurled my hands and turned and confronted Alex. I was ready to face him. I was in control and grounded and hell bent on doing this. I originally thought I would turn around and beat the crap out of him for scaring me.

He was standing there in jeans and his "KILL ME" t-shirt, holding his knife with his customary sneer on his tan face.

I raised my hand to strike him and fight him for my anger. I heard one of the hypnotherapist softly remind me to offer a non-combative suggestion to opening up conversations with him.

My hand froze in space. I reached up and crossed out the KILL on his shirt and wrote "help" under it.

I thought it would piss him off and make him throw the first blow.

To my surprise, he staggered back and gasped and dropped the knife and tears welled up in his eyes and he started bawling.

I will never forget the look on his face.

Because it was on my face as I jerked up and out of the hypnotic state and found my self looking at the mirror on the door.


Wednesday, June 3, 2015

(continued) news

I learned today that my old therapist Richard, the one I talk about so often on here, died this past February.

He was an incredible man.

A gifted healer.

There is an memorial this Sunday on what would have been his 71st birthday.

I feel very blessed to have been a miniscule part of his life.

Our last session together he told me that I was one of his more challenging clients, and working with me and seeing me grow reaffirmed to him why he chose to become a therapist.

It was an honor to work with him...and Ramsey (his collie at the time.)


I am working on the rest of the "(continued)" blogs today. I got a wee bit triggered last week by life  and had to stop and get grounded again. My daughter broke her arm and something about seeing it in a cast just sent me spinning. Gawd my head is a nut factory at times.

I think part of it was the sudden fear of CPS being called and the fear of being investigated and having my children removed. I wonder when that fear will go away? The accident happened at school for pete's sake.  I hope this underlying stress goes away once their both adults.

As I was getting a few drawings for the upcoming blogs I discovered two things.

dayum I was a good drawer back then. I wish I had drawn more in that head space.

And I totally wish I had the self confidence to have take 100's more of these type of shots...

But at that time...the 1990's I was still listening to all the nasty people out there who were calling me ugly, I hadn't yet learned to tune out their bullying slurs. There so deeply embedded in the subconscious mental chatter that I would look in the mirror and hear them.

At this time, there is only one voice in the sound track challenging them.


His quiet, from a neutral place, comment.

We had just looked at a bunch of my childhood pictures and he commented. "You were a pretty child."

I rocked back and bullied my self, "Yeah and I grew up to be ugly."

He continued, "Your still quite pretty."

I ran in my head at that point, dissociating out into multiple fragments, as this frightened me.

Later as I played the conversation over and over in my head, trying to detect any threats in his words, I realized his tone was one would use to talk about flowers.

His words stuck like a sticky bomb in my subconscious. As the years passed it spoke much louder then those who sought to tear me down.