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Archive for the ‘Dissociation’ Category

DID Is Horrid

Posted in children, depression, DID, Dissociation, Dissociative Identity Disorder, insight, Sadness, Spiderman, Triggers, tagged , , on August 18, 2012 | 18 Comments »

I stopped watching TV ages ago; I think it was as far back as 2010, I can never be sure. I stopped watching it as it did something to me, I wasn’t sure what and I couldn’t define it but I knew that TV made me mental. I covered it up for ages by saying the noise bothered me; this sounded “normally abnormal” and fitted with the experiences of other mentalists. Those involved in my ‘care’ at the time accepted this and understood.

When I was confident that my suspicions I had DID were correct and I decided to share my findings with my ‘care team’ one of the things I mentioned was television- I revealed to them that I had stopped watching television as it made me switch, TV was very triggering. Those involved in my ‘care’ at the time didn’t accept this and didn’t understand.

I used to love TV, all sorts of TV and I loved films, all sorts of films. In the time I have avoided the TV I have occasionally watched a film but anything I watched had to be something I’d seen before, was familiar with and therefore could identify any potential triggers. I had to have enough knowledge of a film to ensure I was watching it with the correct eyes- or at least not the wrong eyes.

For the past two years or so I have repeatedly watched Mulan, Heathers, The Breakfast Club, In The Loop, Spiderman, Monsters Inc. and Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. Whilst all of these are fantastic films, it does get a bit boring and I think I sometimes miss TV, watching TV is such a normal thing to do, it’s easy, entertaining and informative. Mostly I’d like to be able to watch TV as I feel inept that the TV still fills me with fear, I feel like I’m failing in some way.

I did once watch something I had never seen before- Disney’s Up and I’m still haunted by it. I don’t know why and I daresay it’ll all come out one day but that film was a horrific ordeal and now any reference to it- be it a picture or whatever is triggering, it is to my great sadness that my previous love of balloons has been replaced by fear as they now remind me of that film. I was retraumatised by Disney/Pixar, which sounds amusing and indeed would make a great t-shirt slogan but it was a further knock to my confidence that I’d ever obtain anything resembling stability.

Just over a week ago I decided once again to try and challenge my fear of TV and settled down to watch Curious George- a cartoon about a monkey, I love monkeys. I’m not sure what it was about and I’m not entirely sure what happened but I suspect that the episode of Curious George was not unconnected to the awful body memories and flashbacks I went on to experience a couple of days later. I don’t know what all of my triggers are, I can’t imagine I ever will but I have a vague idea of some of them. Some are obvious and probably common, some appear ridiculous (Party Ring biscuits) and some make no sense at all. One of my triggers is umbrellas; there were umbrellas in that episode of Curious George. So you see it makes perfect sense- if you’re mental.

So once again, I was avoiding the TV. TV is far too unpredictable when your summary of yourselves is “triggered by everything” it’s far too dangerous when you just don’t know what might come up and how it may affect you.

Last night I decided that it might be nice for the 7 year-old to have a movie night. I had ‘purchased’ the live-action Horrid Henry film from isohunt and we had obtained the necessary supplies from the Spar- popcorn, chocolate and crisps. I despise Horrid Henry; the animated series on TV is rubbish as are the books. I consider myself something of an expert on children’s fiction and children’s TV, the popularity of Horrid Henry confounds me to this day. I’ll spare you my critical analysis but suffice to say I find the stories of a child with some sort of oppositional defiant disorder with parents who display inconsistent parenting styles from one incident to the next, very dull indeed. I had therefore decided that the Horrid Henry movie was likely to do nothing more dangerous than bore me to death and add fuel to my hatred for Francesca Simon.

I was wrong.

I don’t really remember watching Horrid Henry- always a bad sign, but from the tweets I made during the film I can tell that several pairs of eyes watched it and it ultimately was a confusing ordeal. Not as traumatic as Up *shudders* but not something I’m keen to repeat.

I can, thanks to my virtual paper trail point to some things that made Horrid Henry quite so difficult- one being mixed cultural references, I have the same problem with Stuart Little (I have many problems with Stuart Little as I detailed here). The Horrid Henry film had outfits from times I couldn’t identify but they were anything from 1950- current day. Henry has an iPod shuffle- my poor little brain just could not compute.

Well-known faces in the film, whilst no doubt good for the box-office were also confusing for me- not least as I wonder what on earth Richard E. Grant was thinking being involved in such a pile of dross. Gavin from Gavin and Stacey was in Horrid Henry but he wasn’t Gavin. I think Jo Brand was in there too but I can’t be sure. I know Noel fielding was in the film as I tweeted about it and promptly lost my mind.

Last night I vowed never to watch a film again- ever.

I feel depressed today that something so fundamental still evades me and I feel hard done by that DID feels the need to constantly remind you of its pervasiveness and sneak into every corner of your life. I daresay that eventually, as therapy progresses I’ll gather the knowledge I need to be able to watch TV and films again, but I can’t help feeling angry that something that should be easy, even enjoyable is like planning a military operation.

As Horrid Henry would say IT’S JUST NOT FAIR!

Little shit…..

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Scottish Government, See Me After

Posted in activist, Dissociation, Dissociative Identity Disorder, equality, Multiple Personality Disorder, NHS, Nicola Sturgeon, politics, Stigma, tagged , , , , , on August 13, 2012 | 4 Comments »

The new Mental Health Strategy For Scotland 2012-2015 has been published, you can find the full text here.

I didn’t take part in the consultation process, I wanted to- my copy of the consultation document is still in the filing cabinet, with notes in the margins, Post-its and sections highlighted. Unfortunately at the time of the consultation my own particular set of skills were required to fight the bloody, protracted battle with NHS Fife for the correct diagnosis, care and treatment. I never got to collate my response and submit it.

It broke my heart that I once again found myself incapable of doing something I could do and do well due to mental ill health. I still feel robbed of what I had and I’m still incredibly angry with all those ‘professionals’ I had to deal with who in spite of being presented with someone who clearly knew what she was talking about, failed to believe her, failed to take appropriate action and watched her lose everything. There are many things I will never get back.

I may be here less often than I was but I’m still here and I’m still as passionate about all the things I was passionate about before mental illness took over. I care about people, society and equality and I’m prepared to fight for those who cannot fight for themselves. I’m happy to stand up and be counted, to say my piece to try and bring about change. I always have been people just stopped listening to me.

It’s very painful when you realise that no matter how well constructed your argument is however rational and informed you are and no matter how loudly you state your case- it doesn’t matter if no-one is listening. Not being heard for all that time has damaged me, there’s barely a day goes by where I don’t feel the pain of being ignored.

But enough about me, my grief and my new-found emotional fragility, I have a therapist to help with that. Let’s get down to business.

I have read the new mental health strategy; I could write many responses to it and indeed cannot rule-out many, different responses to it appearing here on the blog over the coming days. I was trying to be generous when I set-out to read it; I thought it was too ambitious to expect that dissociative disorders would be addressed at all. I was prepared to base my response around the proposals to address trauma disorders- PTSD, C-PTSD, DDNOS and DID.

I changed my mind and I have the Scottish Government to thank for this, for reminding me that stigma, even self-stigma is damaging.

Section 4 of the strategy addresses stigma-

4.  Extending the anti-stigma agenda forward to include further work on

discrimination

 

The work that has been taken forward in Scotland through see me is internationally recognised as establishing best practice and has been learnt from and adopted throughout the world

 

There is a need to build on this success by developing the work further to focus on the experience of discrimination and exclusion that many people with mental illness experience;

 

There is also the need to focus attention more directly on stigma and

discrimination in health and social care services, which is where service users often tell us they feel the most discriminated against.

 

And commitment 4 tells us what the Scottish Government intend to do-

Commitment 4: We will work with the management group for see me and the Scottish Association for Mental Health, who host see me, and other partners to develop the strategic direction for see me for the period from 2013 onwards.

 

I encourage anything that helps fight the stigma against mental illness and I’m pleased by the second point raised in the strategy that recognises that it is the mental health system that stigmatises us the most. What I’m less pleased about is the Government’s commitment to work with SAMH (Scottish Association for Mental Health) and see me- two organisations that both fail to acknowledge dissociative disorders in their publications. I’ve asked SAMH in the past why this is and they have failed to answer.

That is stigma. How am I and others like me going to be protected from stigma if the organisations who claim to help represent us and claim to help tackle stigma do not recognise we exist?

There is a section on trauma within the strategy-

Trauma

 

The relation between trauma and mental illness is complex. Across the lifespan trauma is a relatively common phenomenon and many people have experience of single life-threatening events, or longer-term traumatic circumstances, without suffering significant psychological harm. However, some do suffer harm and that harm, while rooted in the psychological trauma, may manifest in a variety of mental health problems including depression, addiction or physical symptoms.

 

While there is a growing recognition of the significance of trauma, clinicians and others may be reluctant to engage with it because of the concern of causing further harm, or of not being able to offer an appropriate response which meets the needs of the person. We need to address that deficit and improve the general service response to trauma.

 

The Rivers Centre in NHS Lothian has been commissioned to investigate the issue of staff awareness of trauma-related mental health disorders in primary care. The work will begin with engagement with a number of GP practices in NHS Lothian with different experience and circumstances. A consultation process will follow with the RoyalCollege of General Practitioners and with representatives of NHS Education for Scotland.

 

The objective of this work is to develop an approach designed to raise the awareness of primary care practitioners of post traumatic disorders, facilitate best practice management of post traumatic disorders and improve identification of available local resources and services for onward referral. This approach will be piloted in the same GP practices as are involved in the first stage study. The pilot data will be analysed, modifications to the training package will be made in consultation with the RoyalCollege and with NES, and, if appropriate, a wider rollout plan will be designed.

 

NHS NES will continue to develop and deliver a range of training courses to support staff working across the tiers of the stepped care system, including psychoeducation for complex trauma, trauma-focussed cognitive behavioural therapy and Working with Dissociation in Survivors of Trauma.

 

The Scottish Government is also supporting the UK Psychological Trauma Society to develop and support a national learning network for trauma practitioners and services working in Scotland.

 

It raises some good points. The link between trauma and mental illness is complex, clinicians are very reluctant to address trauma and an increased awareness of psychological trauma is essential for those working in mental health. I’m pleased to see that the focus on raising awareness in primary care of psychological trauma and its impact is a priority.

I’m less pleased with what the government propose to do, The Rivers Centre, commissioned to investigate the current situation deal with depression, anxiety and PTSD. Dissociation is a symptom of PTSD and indeed it even gets a mention- but only as a symptom of trauma disorders. Dissociative disorders are trauma disorders, they just happen to be at one end of the spectrum.

Similarly the UK Psychological Trauma Society deal exclusively with PTSD and address dissociation merely as a symptom.

I have no reason to be confident that any of these interventions will raise awareness of complex trauma disorders and dissociative disorders in primary care or anywhere else.

Commitment 18 therefore, whilst overall being welcome is largely meaningless to me and others like me.

Commitment 18: We will develop an approach to support the better identification and response to trauma in primary care settings and support the creation of a national learning network.

Dissociative disorders, contrary to popular belief aren’t rare, from the PODS website-

 

Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID) may affect as much as 1.5% of the population (Johnson et al, 2006). That’s just under 1 million people in the UK.  At least a further 3.5% of the population may suffer from another dissociative disorder, which equates to a further 2 million people

 

They are however rarely recognised, very rarely diagnosed and almost never treated correctly. Dissociative disorders are caused by trauma- severe, enduring trauma that begins in early childhood. Nowhere in this document is childhood trauma and its effects on adult mental health addressed. Had I developed my trauma disorder as a result of war, accident or natural disaster I may find some hope in this document. I lucked out; I peaked too soon and sustained my trauma from very early childhood.

There is one final section of the strategy where I hoped it would redeem itself and actually become relevant to me, the section entitled-

Health Improvement for People with Severe and Enduring Mental Illness

 

Dissociative identity disorder is both severe and enduring, however I know that I remain under ‘acute care’ with my LMHT (locality mental health team) as, and I quote “The severe and enduring team don’t do DID”. I didn’t even bother to read the section.

I’m not surprised but I am disappointed that once again dissociative disorders have been overlooked. By not addressing them in the strategy the Scottish Government has given carte blanche to the mental health profession to continue in their current vein of ignorance and the inequality will remain. It’s not that the information doesn’t exist or the experts don’t exist or the organisations don’t exist, it’s that to all intents and purposes we don’t exist.

I would like to see a cross-party group on complex trauma disorders and dissociative disorders established within the Parliament, I would like people and politicians to discuss dissociative disorders the same way other topics are discussed.

In the absence of NICE guidelines to offer guidance and protection for those of us with dissociative disorders, we need something statutory. We deserve to be taken care of the same way as everyone else.

So you see, I’m calm, rational, intelligent and have ideas to offer. I’m willing to speak-up, willing to fight and willing to say my piece.

But I am only one part, one member of a system of dissociated identities, according to the majority of the NHS mental health system and my Government (though I didn’t vote for this specific one) I technically don’t exist so who’s going to listen to me?

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Mental Arithmetic

Posted in Anxiety, children, communication, Dissociation, insomnia, Internal Communication, parenting, single-parent, sleep, tagged , , , , , on August 12, 2012 | 32 Comments »

To sum up the weekend-

60mins + 30 mins = 90 minutes

- how much sleep I got on Saturday night, when I woke and checked the clock at 11.30pm I was sorely tempted to smash it into my face repeatedly until I was unconscious. I wept pitifully for a while, lay in bed until 3am listening to the thoughts of many and feeling a little hard done-by then I got up. Obviously lack of sleep is nothing new to me but I had dared to hope that the days of almost no sleep were behind me.

5 fish – 5 fish = 0 fish

- the number of fish the 7 year-old caught on Saturday when I decided to introduce him to blood-sports and take him fishing. In spite of failing to land anything the 7 year-old seemed to enjoy the experience, he even managed to overcome his ‘sensitivities’ and handle bait. Given his extreme squeamishness I think it’s probably for the best he wasn’t lucky this time.

100bpm + 80bpm = 180bpm

- my average heart-rate during the hour I spent on the harbour with the 7 year-old, a child who embodies “perpetual motion” and occasionally “dyspraxia”. I think I may need to get him a life-jacket for future fishing trips- just in case that theory about a finite number of heartbeats is correct. Two more fishing trips and I’ll be dead.

12 arms – 11 arms = 1 arms

- the number of arms the 7 year-old claimed to have had broken by the 15 year-old. The children decided on Saturday that they hated each other and a day of bickering, shrieking and moderate violence ensued. I’m sure this was not unconnected to the fact that the 15 year-old was forced to wake some 6 hours earlier than her preferred time in order to attend her appointment with the hairdresser. I left them to it, they weren’t armed (though I considered giving them weapons at one point to bring matters to a speedy resolution) and there’s a hospital five minutes up the road.

1 arm – 1 arm = 0 arms

- the number of arms the 7 year-old actually had broken. I didn’t even bother to check when he initially made the claim, he came to find me some five minutes later, appearing jubilant, I suspect he won that particular round.

1 + 1 = 2

- the number of serious problems with the stupid car that I am now unable to ignore, it often fails to start at all and now 9 times out of 10 the key won’t even turn in the ignition. We have a skills gap, none of us are mechanics. I will simply have to break out the magic Barclaycard of power and send the stupid car to a garage.

25mg ÷ 5mg = 5mg

- the amount of Diazepam I took on Sunday in an attempt to get something resembling sleep. Old habits die hard, it’s been a while and it’s indicative of a general “things are a bit difficult” feeling at the moment but it did the job and for 2 hours I was oblivious.

1 x 12 = 12

- the number of teaspoons we own and coincidentally the number of teaspoons that were waiting to be washed. Teaspoons are a kind of benchmark for washing up in this house- when they run out it’s time to address the state of the kitchen. Having no clean teaspoons was not as problematic as you might think- there was so much washing up and general debris on the worktops that there was no room to make a cup of tea anyway. The dishes are now washed and the worktops clear, I’m considering buying some more teaspoons.

1 x ∞ = ∞

- the number of problems at the moment. It’s often the way, some are small, some are big and some are massive. It’s caused a kind of ‘stalling’ and almost a complete lack of internal communication as individual parts mull over their own problems and how they want to tackle them or indeed ignore them completely.

3mins + 40secs= 3mins 40secs

- the average length of a track on the new album by Two Door Cinema Club- Beacon. It’s not due for release until next month, I’ve listened to it and it’s ok but I’m glad I didn’t buy it. I’ve yet to give it the magical second listen so my views may change, I’ll be sure to keep you updated.

300 fucks – 300 fucks = 0 fucks

- the number of fucks I give right now, right this minute. There’s no lack of very obvious signs that something is very seriously wrong but thanks to my amazing powers of dissociation it needn’t be a problem, which is handy as I have much to do and no time to be mental.

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A Girl Worth Fighting For?

Posted in communication, crying, diagnosis, DID, Dissociation, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Fab Psychologist, Fantastic CPN, friends, hypervigilance, insight, NHS, social worker, support, Told you it wasn't like Stephen Fucking Fry, Triggers, Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , on August 4, 2012 | 3 Comments »

It’s been a dreadful week [again] thanks to my amazing ‘insight’ which I’ve actually decided isn’t insight at all, simply knowledge and knowledge I only have as the other people I share my mind/life/body with choose to share it with me, I know why.

Having thought about and discussed the events of the week I’m left in a quandary [again] as to what to do with my new found knowledge.

Thinking back to the social work assessment I mentioned briefly in my previous post- I know what went wrong.

One of the peculiar upsides of DID is the ability to recall events from a third- person perspective, it scares the shit out of you when you first realise that not everyone ‘remembers’ things this way but you soon learn to file it under ‘handy skills’ with the rest of the ‘mental but useful’ stuff- like always having someone available to paint the nails on your dominant hand. So I’ve replayed the tiny portion of ‘film’ I have from Wednesday and watched it multiple times.

The assessment began ok, the right set of skills were present but around 8 minutes in, when the questioning turned from “name, address, date of birth” to “so tell me about [redacted]” it all went horribly wrong. At that point I left the room- I think it was under the thinly veiled excuse of “going to ground myself” but this was a classic trauma response- fleeing, running-away. I wasn’t going to ground myself at all (for the most part this is something I’m still incapable of doing except in very controlled circumstances); I had switched and from that point on had totally lost control of the situation and my mind. The assessment should’ve ended there instead of continuing to compound the trauma and chaos. I’m torn between thinking it was my responsibility to call the assessment to a halt at that point and feeling horribly let-down that the Fantastic CPN failed to notice what had happened at a time where I was unable to see it.

I’m very selfves-sufficient, whether this is borne out of strength or a complete inability to trust or rely on anyone else is debatable. My pathology suggests the latter. Self-sufficiency morphs all too easily into taking responsibility for everything, which in turn just becomes guilt and cries of

“It’s all my own fault”

To be fair though, I have very little evidence that it’s safe to trust or rely on anyone else. Again, my pathology suggests this mindset is firmly rooted in my distant past but two years or so of being let-down and betrayed by the mental health profession is fresh in my mind- unlike the distant past.

It’s all become a bit cyclical.

So I know what happened, what I don’t know is what to do next. I am driven, compelled to educate anyone and everyone about DID. I do this obviously here on one of the best blogs on the internet when I discuss the details, I also do it here and elsewhere subversively just by being who I am and saying what I say. This I can cope with, in fact I enjoy it or I wouldn’t do it. If, by telling my story more people learn about DID then that’s a bonus. What I don’t enjoy is the continued fight to get those who should understand to understand.

I’m told the social worker responsible for the shambles that was Wednesday felt “really bad”- she phoned the Fantastic CPN to tell her this, adding helpfully “I felt like I’d abused her”, the Fantastic CPN in turn then told me this. On one hand I’m glad the social worker was able to recognise she’d made several grave errors but I could’ve done without having to accept the guilt of someone else, particularly someone who had caused a lot of damage. I’m also still waiting for her to contact me to apologise…….

I’ve pondered over whether there is any point sharing what I know with those who need to know it. Is there any point in me telling those who made mistakes what those mistakes were or do I just cut my losses, stick to those who do understand and keep myself safe?

Obviously if I share what I know I have the ability to prevent something similar happening to me again. Though as the social worker made it quite clear I was the wrong kind of ill for the support they had available then gave me some bullshit about how I wasn’t eligible for direct payments as I had no physical care needs, I doubt I’ll be seeing her again. If I share what I know then perhaps the next person like me won’t have to suffer in the same way? How will anything ever change if nobody tries to change it?

I don’t think I can change it. I don’t think I can make people who can’t or don’t want to understand, understand. If the social worker cared enough to try and get it right, she would’ve done some work beforehand, perhaps even contacted me, maybe emailed me the assessment form so I could’ve looked over it, and seen it was far too triggering and not bothered with the assessment? If after all this time the Fantastic CPN still thinks it’s ok to say “I know it was dreadful but you did ask for it” then either I’m explaining things badly or I’m wasting my time.

I suspect this is how people with DID end up with no support. When support becomes something that poses a potential risk, it’s safer for us to go without.

I’m tired of the fight; I’m tired of not fitting, not being what those who should be helping me need me to be. I can’t imagine if I had the kind of illness that presented in a more traditional way, if, for example I wept throughout the assessment on Wednesday that those two professionals would’ve carried on. The fact that I switched chaotically and constantly was probably missed by both of them- except that I do recall saying at one point around 20 minutes in “I don’t know; I’ve only just got here”. I’m aware a lot of my switches can be subtle but when I had verbally drawn attention to it, perhaps it was time for someone to step in and protect me when it was clear I was incapable of protecting myself?

I’m tired of the fight; I’m tired of having to fight by myself for myself. My complaint about NHS Fife is still with the SPBO, it came to light a couple of weeks ago that they didn’t have any of my notes from the Fantastic CPN- I had to contact them to tell them this. It came to light this week that they didn’t have my notes from the Fab Psychologist- I had to contact them to tell them this. I had to send copies of emails between myselves and the Fab psychologist to them as they didn’t have them either. I’m losing the fight, the process is too triggering and I know that the important bits, like the conversation between those in my ‘care’ team where they decided not to help me obtain the correct diagnosis as they believed it would be stigmatising for me, won’t be written in any of those notes anyway.

I’m tired of the fight; I’m tired of having to explain DID to people who I need to help me.

After the assessment on Wednesday I turned to friends for comfort, I relayed 3 of the questions I could remember and immediately friends replied “they should have known how triggering that would be for you” so again- friends get it. None of my friends are qualified experts in trauma and dissociation but they get it. I’m told by them, they get it because I explain it so well. I think it’s more to do with the fact they are willing to listen, accept, learn and care.

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Friends: The One Where Nothing Happened

Posted in blogging, children, communication, DID, Dissociation, Dissociative Identity Disorder, friends, Internal Communication, mother, MPD, Multiple Personality Disorder, parenting, single-parent, Skills, stress, therapist, therapy, Told you it wasn't like Stephen Fucking Fry, Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , on July 29, 2012 | 16 Comments »

Nothing happened yesterday so I’m still fine.

I’m still coping, it still looks good.

It’s as though, when the 7 year-old returned home, I faced a choice-

Parent

Or

Have DID

Obviously this wasn’t a choice I could make and as with all things for those of us with DID, the choice gets made for us. I can see what’s gone ‘wrong’ for want of a better word, what happened wasn’t a wilful mistake, it was a reaction. The way things are now is working; yesterday even included some fun activities, such as-

  • Very brief visit to a fruit farm
  • Watching Mama put petrol in the car
  • Playing Lego Star-Wars on the Wii
  • Grief counselling (he didn’t save his game)
  • Sibling rivalry- complete with screaming
  • Watching videos of Brown Recluse spiders on YouTube
  • Freaking out about sweetcorn

I can deal with all of this- and more, I can remain calm and appear normal the entire time, nothing gets the job done quite like dissociation. It works well for the children but It’s not sustainable.

I’m exhausted and that constant, low-grade pain that appears to have been gifted as some sort of bonus with DID that I’d usually be able to ignore completely has shifted up a notch. I’m horrified at how rapidly shitty “coping mechanisms” (why we call them that when they are invariably methods employed when we’re not coping is a mystery to me) used in the past have tried to creep back in and saddened by how difficult I’ve found this weekend so far.

I’ve been buoyed by the messages friends have continued to send, here and elsewhere, our resident comment moderator has been allowed to sneak out in the wee small hours to reply- that connection is vital and I’m grateful to those of you who recognised that even when we’re not allowed to talk, we’re allowed to read. You’re all very special and very missed, the internal pining-o-meter is off the scale

The silence is making me desperately unhappy and the external silence is no longer reflective of the state of things internally. I’ve never been so glad that you can’t tell by looking and again, I’m grateful for dissociation as this has allowed me to parent seemingly unhindered by the inner turmoil. I have a million thoughts but very few words, I miss my words.

If nothing else, this weekend has dragged me out of the creeping denial that was setting in again and that’s positive though painful.

I won’t deny that things are incredibly difficult at the moment but as ever my natural curiosity and love of learning has provided a distraction. I don’t always like what I’m learning but I do manage to pique my own interest often enough to make it all a bit less shitty for a little while. My low emotional tolerance and high distractibility have been assets this weekend.

I have an appointment with the <?> therapist tomorrow and I’m awfully glad I do. I’m confident that between us we can come up with some things that will help make the current situation not better, not even ok but just less de-stabilising. At the moment I’ll settle for regaining the courage and confidence in my skills to face coming home again after the session.

I have some new practical issues to face tomorrow. In order to get to therapy on time I have to leave the house at 7.30am, half an hour before the 7 year-olds holiday club thing opens. I’ve asked the 15 year-old to get up some 7 hours before her preferred rising time and mind her brother whilst I’m out. She’s agreed to do this but has yet to be persuaded to go to the extra effort of washing dressing and delivering the 7 year-old to his holiday club thing. So I am a little concerned that the current need to crash out on the bed for anything up to three hours in a switchy, drowsy, head-noisy haze after a therapy session will have to be ignored in favour of a return to coping.

So as ever, I don’t have my troubles to seek and the pace of life just feels relentless at the moment, there’s never a dull moment with DID.

I’d love some dull moments.

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Weakened

Posted in blogging, children, crying, DID, Dissociation, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Internal Communication, mother, parenting, single-parent, stress, tea, Told you it wasn't like Stephen Fucking Fry, Triggers, Twitter, tagged , , , , , , on July 28, 2012 | 10 Comments »

I don’t know if I’ve always hated weekends but I know I’ve always hated them since acute mentalism arrived. There are many reasons to hate weekends, that fluidity of time, lack of structure and routine leaves me even more bewildered than I usually am. Weekends bring with them an expectation that things will be different in some way, better in some way- everybody looks forward to the weekend.

You don’t get time off from being mental, we work 7 days a week and are just as likely to be mental on Saturday as we are any other day of the week.

Now that the 7 year-old is home the weekend looms before me  his expectations that it will be somehow different, somehow better have to be respected, he’s not mental. Though slightly better than I was, I’m still the world’s worst sleeper and the 7 year-old is 7 years old so long-lies and lazy days are ruled out. The days begin early and are long.

I’m still stuck in coping mode, it’s going well and things that need done are getting done. One of the dangers of being stuck in coping mode is that you start to feel like maybe you did make it all up; maybe you’re not mental anymore, maybe you were never mental in the first place. After a few days of coping one begins to feel somewhat invincible- in relative terms. So as I look at the weekend and all that time to fill, all that time to spend with the 7 year-old I start to think of all the answers to the question

“Mama, what are we going to do this weekend?”

I think of the things we used to do- trips to museums, swimming, days at the beach, trips the cinema, long walks and picnics in the forest, gardening, shopping and I think for a moment “we could do any of those” and then I remember.

We can’t.

I’m fine.

Fine until something happens.

I don’t always know what that something is or is going to be. I risk-assess every potential activity and rule them all out. I’m not being risk-averse, I’m not wrapping myself in cotton-wool, I’m accepting my limits. I’m laden with guilt that my limits become the children’s limits too but for now, I accept that it’s better for them not to be taken swimming rather than be taken swimming by someone who probably wouldn’t make it through a trip to the swimming pool without several public meltdowns.

Obviously entertaining children can be done at home too; the 7 year-old is content to play the Wii for extended periods of time. I’m not as happy to leave him being babysat by technology as he’d like me to be. I feel obliged to do something with him, to entertain him, educate him and engage him.

I’m rarely short of ideas for activities and never short of the required materials, we live in a house packed to the ceiling with art supplies, books, games and toys. I’m not bad at playing, in fact I suspect as 37 year-old women go I’m rather good at it. I’m very bad at allowing myself to play, playing doesn’t feel safe. My inclination is to direct or observe the 7 year-old at play, I can’t join in. The upside of multiplicity is that I can do this and do it well, the 7 year-old is none the wiser and enjoys my company and comments as he plays. Only I can hear the crying inside.

It’s 7.45am, Saturday morning, I have two days to fill and right now, I have no idea how to do it. I suspect I’ll switch to auto-pilot, continue coping and appearing well, entertain, educate and engage the 7 year-old and this weekend will be as weekends have been for some time- a complete gap in my memory.

Coping brings with it silence, there are no tweets, texts, emails or Facebook updates to track my days the blog is the only form of outside communication we have it is also the only form of internal communication we have. Silence weighs heavy, it feels safer but it’s an ominous safety- I am tip-toeing around inside my own head trying not to cause upset. I know there will come a point where I run out of cope, I’ve been awake most of the night wracking my brain, trying to think of ways to combine parenting with the mentals and so far have come up with nothing other than to continue relying on my amazing powers of dissociation and hope nothing happens.

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The Incredibly Poor Escape

Posted in children, communication, DID, Dissociation, Dissociative Identity Disorder, insight, Internal Communication, Skills, therapist, therapy, Told you it wasn't like Stephen Fucking Fry, Twitter, Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on July 27, 2012 | 12 Comments »

The 7 year-old has been at home since Tuesday evening, it’s now Friday morning. It’s going well, really well, too well. I’m coping- admirably.

Housework is done, shopping is done, meals are homemade, nutritious and served on plates instead of kitchen-roll, admin that’s been put off for months has been done, the TV is fixed. The 7 year-old has the new shoes, clothes and pyjamas he required (having him home has been much like adopting a refugee) I don’t remember completing any of these tasks but they’re done.

The children are well and happy, the 18 year-old is off to Dublin for a few days and called me this morning to let me know he’d arrived safely. The 15 year-old is in an extended huff with me as I had the audacity to tell her off for not coming home from the cinema until after midnight and going out without her phone. The 7 year-old is delivered daily to his holiday club thing, picked up in time for dinner, happy to come home, energetic and sleeping well.

Coping is not an ‘act’, I’m not ‘putting a brave face on’ most of the time I am genuinely absolutely fine and I feel fine. I’m so fine; I’ve even invented a new word to define my current phase-

Escoping

My favourite response to stress is always to escape, to run-away. Escaping takes many forms, I can run-away physically or to the bottom of a bottle of wine, I can escape for a while in a Diazepam-induced nap and of course there’s always the ultimate indulgence, the ultimate escape of suicide.

Coping is just another form of escape, it’s no less destructive than any of the other methods it just looks better. It’s not that I don’t want to cope but I have been propelled into coping. I initially thought that as the 7 year-old was out of the house between breakfast and dinner that I would have the peace to not cope for a little while and therefore do what was right for my mental health. I am stuck in high-functioning mode, I know it’s not helpful but I don’t know how to get un-stuck.

I look well, sound well and feel well. But I’m just not myself at the moment- a feeling that is nothing new to me. Those of you missing ‘me’ on twitter and Facebook, those of you I keep closest will know, I miss me too but I’m not allowed out to play.

In the past, the mental health professionals involved in my ‘care’ loved it when I was coping, I tried so hard to make them understand, to explain what was going on for me but they never got it. Now I have the right help, the <?> therapist I don’t have to worry that when she sees me on Monday, she’ll be relieved that I appear well, am coping and discharge me. I’m grateful for the selves-imposed rule that states someone must attend every therapy session unless it’s physically impossible to do so- even though I can’t rule out going to therapy on Monday and telling her I made a terrible mistake, I’m actually completely normal. This is not some flamboyant form of avoidance; it’s not that I don’t want to talk about it- I have nothing to talk about. I am ‘symptom’ free, able to do the things I need to do when they need done and my head is quiet.

The only thing worse than head-noise is head-silence.

I’m not better; I have merely turned my back on myselves in an attempt to cope with a stressful situation. I’ve stopped listening and stopped talking; I am the lid on the pressure cooker. Part of the admin that got done was renewing the insurance for the stupid car, this reminded me there was a blog post from around this time last year- it’s about my Weirdest Day Ever and talks a lot about coping.

Self-awareness can be a bitch.

I’ve re-read that post and this one too, I have so much insight I often wonder why I can’t heal myself. I suspect I am just too busy coping.

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According To Our Latest Findings- You’re Super

Posted in Anxiety, CBT, DID, Dissociation, Dissociative Identity Disorder, emotions, Fantastic CPN, hypervigilance, insight, Internal Communication, MPD, Multiple Personality Disorder, Spiderman, The Fear, The Smallest House in The World, Triggers, Twitter, Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , on July 26, 2012 | 20 Comments »

I don’t think  I’ve ever detailed my virulent hatred of CBT (cognitive behavioural therapy) on the blog, I talk about it a lot on twitter and as some of my poor victims will know, I used to practise it there.

In times of distress I was always available to offer therapy, mainly along the lines of-

WHY ARE YOU DEPRESSED? OTHER PEOPLE ARE FAR WORSE OFF; SOME HAVE DEAD PETS. JUST STOP IT!

And

YOU ARE EMPLOYING MAGICAL THINKING. JUST STOP IT!

And

YOU’RE NOT BEING PARANOID. PEOPLE DO HATE YOU- BECAUSE YOU’RE RUBBISH. JUST STOP IT!

I’m in semi-retirement from my CBT practise these days, though rest-assured, should I spot you indulging in a little black and white thinking, mind-reading or catasrophising then I will point it out and insist you desist.

It may surprise you to know that I’m not a trained CBT practitioner, but I am a quick learner and managed to pick-up quite a lot during my own very brief dalliance with the technique. I had three sessions of CBT before I was declared too mental; I don’t remember much, in fact all I remember is

“WHY WOULD YOU MAKE YOURSELF VOMIT? THAT’S JUST STUPID”

Which as you can imagine was enormously helpful for someone who at the time was attempting to ‘regulate their emotions’ by throwing-up every morsel of food she ate. I waited 9 months for some harridan in a maxi-dress (she may have been a psychologist) to berate me for being mental. I’ve never been so glad to be declared ‘un-helpable’ in my life, being discharged was a gift.

CBT was never going to help me; I’m quite capable of berating myself, I don’t deny I sometimes indulge in all the common cognitive distortions but I’m a multiple so I also know when I’m doing it, why and what to do about it. I can administer CBT to myself. It doesn’t make me any better or help at all in any way but I know I should keep doing it or everything will go completely wrong and end in disaster. Furthermore it will all be my fault; I know others will blame me for everything as they all think I’m rubbish anyway.

There is one psychotherapeutic technique with a cognitive basis I don’t despise completely- reframing. I love a good reframe. I often reframe my days in order to make myself feel better; I’m quite the Polyanna and on balance, probably wear my rose-tinted spectacles as often as I wear my shit-tinted ones. At this stage I probably would lose the will to live by 10am most days if I didn’t paint everything with rainbows-

Forget an entire day- it must’ve been rubbish anyway.

Got lost in Tesco- accidentally found the stationery aisle.

Haven’t been out of the house all week- didn’t run away to Paris/Newcastle.

Drank too much wine- didn’t mix with benzos.

It’s a useful technique but there is a danger that a reframe can become a wanky platitude. The two run very closely together, I’ve sketched a graph to illustrate.

I can also spot a reframe a mile away so often feel patronised and invalidated, sometimes this is justified. Back in the day of the frequent dissociative trips that ended in police involvement, MHAs, helicopters, trips to A&E and the bin etc the Fantastic CPN would always comment “but you came back and you’re ok”. I’m not sure what my response at the time was, these ‘trips’ left me confused, terrified and ashamed but the fact I was still alive was supposed to be enough to comfort me when it was quite clear I had completely lost control of my mind and my life. So reframing, whilst useful can also be a tricky balancing act.

The 7 year-old has returned home, earlier than I planned. I’m not entirely sure how this came about but I’m sure there’s a paper-trail somewhere. Today I finally have a man coming to fix the TV- you can’t have a 7 year-old child in the house with no working TV, well you can if you

a)     dislike children

and

b)     are happy to provide round-the-clock entertainment

I’ve mentioned before that this kind of situation, where I have to allow a stranger to enter the smallest house in the world is very challenging for me. I don’t imagine for a second that the TV man presents any real threat (other than to the bank balance) but I am crippled by hypervigilance.

I have extremely keen senses- all of them, they are my useless superpowers. I’m always on the lookout for signs of danger, be they real or imagined. I am permanently primed, ready to freeze, flee or have a complete meltdown at the first sign of peril. It’s not a good way to be, physically or emotionally- hypervigilance makes me mental, bonfire night in this house is probably similar in many ways to bonfire night in Battersea Dogs Home. I can’t just stop being hypervigilant and so, at times I hate myself for it.

I clearly needed some sort of reframe, so you can imagine my unbridled delight when I found this article that confirms that I am not only super-human but Spiderman. I have nothing to fear from the TV man, unless of course his name is Norman Osborn…….

click image to read article

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Personalisation(s) Of Services

Posted in communication, diagnosis, DID, Dissociation, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Fife, friends, insight, Internal Communication, laptop, mental illness, money, MPD, Multiple Personality Disorder, NHS, Nicola Sturgeon, parenting, Paris, single-parent, social worker, support, The Smallest House in The World, Told you it wasn't like Stephen Fucking Fry, Triggers, Twitter, tagged , , , , , , , , on July 22, 2012 | 7 Comments »

To quote from the Mind page on personalisation and to save me launching into a lengthy explanation of what it’s all about- The Government wants more people who use support services to have ‘choice and control’ in their lives. That is why they have introduced direct payments. I’ll leave the debate about Government, what it actually wants, what this means for mentalists in general to others.

I mentioned in a previous post that I had applied for an assessment of my needs from the local authority in order that I could apply for direct payments. This assessment is on Wednesday the 25th of July. This is not about me having more ‘choice and control’ this is about me actually getting some sort of service. Currently I’m deemed ‘too complex’ for exisiting services, indeed the reason it’s taken so long for a social worker to arrange to do the assessment is because I am ‘so complex’. Whilst I’m relieved that this isn’t because the social worker was too scared to come back after being met with the simmering ball of frustration and hatred I was last time which, in my defence I only was because NHS Fife were still refusing to recognise, diagnose and treat my illness and the last thing I wanted or needed was someone to help with the shopping, I need to say something about my perceived ‘complexity’.

DID is complex, I am not complex, I’m actually very straightforward, all you have to do is listen to me. If you look at me as a disorder then I’ve no doubt what you see can be quite challenging but what anyone tends to be met with is an individual, sure sometimes things go awry and you can be met with several individuals but all you have to do is listen to what they say. My ‘complexity’ is used as a stick to beat me and a reason to treat me differently, it creates barriers. Instead of all those referral letters that begin “Zoë is a very complex….” How about “Zoë is a lovely…..” or “Zoë is a very funny….” or “Congratulations, now you too can experience, first-hand the sheer awesomeness that is Zoë….” Unless perhaps it’s a referral to social services in which case and in the interests of honesty and transparency the letter should probably begin “I’m sorry, Zoë will probably despise you by virtue of your chosen profession, it’s nothing personal as I’m sure you’re lovely but she’s had some very bad experiences with your kind….”

So I’ve been thinking a lot about what my needs are, what kind of things would be helpful, would make life easier. It’s very tricky as I struggle to ask for or accept help, I feel undeserving of help and a lot of the time would deny I needed any. Coping is what we do best, those who have DID or know about DID will know that the perceived level of coping is actually inversely proportional to the mental health of the individual and I know, personally that ‘coping’ is one of my biggest danger-signs and is usually a precursor to crisis. I’m keen to avoid coping so I know I need some things in place to help make things easier, especially as I am soon to return to caring for two children full-time again.

I’ve considered the obvious things, practical support- help with housework and shopping- and ruled them out. Having to deal with people is problematic; bringing a person into my life introduces a whole new set of challenges. In a moment of insight the other night, whilst sitting in my local Chinese takeaway I figured out one of the main reasons people are so triggering, I briefly felt like a genius until I realised that reason was ‘because they move’ I then felt like a persuasive case for euthanasia. At the moment I simply couldn’t stand having someone come into the house to ‘help’ with anything, I’d be constantly on my guard to protect myself and besides they’d have had a quick run-down on DID, and they’d be waiting for me to “do a Sybil”. I’ve never read or watched Sybil so my frame of reference is lacking in detail but I know enough about it to know that for the most part, it’s a very poor portrayal of DID.

I’ve tried to look at my average day to get an idea about what my needs are, I don’t have average days. The only constant running through my days is that they will be fragmented, random and involve some chaos. Today for example involved an early-morning excursion to Tesco for milk. The trip to Tesco was derailed slightly as the store I usually go to and have well-mapped had had a slight re-modelling. I only know this as there is a ‘distress tweet’ from around 6.30am saying this, I’m very sensitive to changes in my surroundings so it may be that Tesco is much the same as it was last time, they may just have adjusted an onion or something. So I came home from Tesco with all the essentials- milk, bread, cat food and three boxes of Fuzzy-Felts (dinosaurs, under the sea and pirates for anyone interested). So I suppose I could argue that having someone to do the shopping would be helpful- but then how would I get Fuzzy-Felts?

You see my needs are unique and whilst I’m sure one box would have sufficed I can argue that Fuzzy-Felts, particularly the dinosaur ones are an essential part of my care. Similarly I could argue that I should be given black Converse free on prescription. Confusion is a major feature of DID, black Converse are the ultimate, dynamic, age-appropriate footwear- they are shoes for everyone. In situations where it’s likely switching can be rapid and chaotic, making sure everyone is wearing shoes that make them feel safe is essential. I could also make a good case for being given stationery on prescription. Post-its are an essential part of my selves-management; notes to selves are a mainstay of internal communication. The “whiteboard of madness” which hangs on the bedroom wall is crucial in ensuring that the days hang together in some way, important things don’t get forgotten and needs, wants, fears and desires can be communicated. So I could add whiteboard markers to that prescription. Some internal communication is done through drawing so colouring pencils, felt-tips, crayons and paper are also much-needed items. Now that I’m no longer unnecessarily drugged into a nice easy to-manage zombie-like state and have freed up 70% of NHS Fife’s budget by becoming a free-range mentalist, I’m considering approaching the GP with my prescription requests. After all 99% of the time I would claim not to exist in a physical sense, have no body and therefore never experience physical illness so I’m hardly a huge burden as patients go. This may or may not be related to the fact that the GP is still on the long list of “THINGS THAT ARE WAY TOO TRIGGERING”.

I’ve thought about my ‘social needs’ I do have them but again I’m constrained by my current, somewhat fragile state. I adore people but I fear them too and so, my social needs are best met in a virtual way and this suits me. In fact I suspect I spend more time with friends than most as I can do it in a way that’s comfortable, controlled and safe for me. So I could ask for help to pay for my broadband service? I can justify this request if necessary but I can’t see the local authority understanding. Similarly I could make a good case for having my mobile phone contract costs met by the local authority. The phone is essential in helping me keep track, avoiding confusion. Whether this be a photograph of a person/situation/place that later helps remind me where I’ve been, what’s happened and who with or a tweet that discloses my mood or location or a text to a friend to let them know I’ve been attacked by the ‘silencing mentals’ and not to worry as I’ll eventually be back,  the phone helps me communicate and more importantly, communicate in a way that leaves a written record so that it can be accessed again later. Since the Paris trip I’ve also undergone a comprehensive self-led training course in Google maps and navigation so having the phone with me is an extra guard against getting lost.

I’ve considered my recreational needs; I do have some as I have multiple hobbies. I enjoy the very occasional film though am still limited to watching films I’ve seen before and therefore have a fair idea of the potential triggers and can guard against them, those of you who know me elsewhere may remember the harrowing emotional rollercoaster that was my first and last viewing of Disney’s Up, I remain in two minds about balloons to this day they bring me right back to that film. I have a small team of film reviewers on twitter who have a good understanding of my needs but sadly, we’re still at the stage where the conclusion is usually “it was good but not for you yet” so I can’t go to the cinema and I don’t really need DVDs (DID and films/TV is another one of those book topics I mentioned in a previous post). I adore music, my tastes are ‘eclectic’ music is essential and again, DID and music is a potential book topic. I could argue that there is a need for my music supply costs to be met by the local authority but as I ‘purchase’ all my music from isoHunt I suspect I’d be fighting a losing battle.

So I’m a little stuck, I know I need something but I don’t know what that something is. On paper I’m an ideal candidate for self-directed care, I’m intelligent (another attribute used as a stick to beat me, MH services prefer their mentals to be stupid) I’m articulate, have a good understanding of my condition and am keen to make progress but in practise trying to define the support I need is just another cause of confusion for me and another thing that makes me feel different.

The other problem I have is that I am more than capable of doing everything myself. I have no doubt that eventually after a few weeks, maybe months this would cause complete de-stabilisation and a spiral into crisis but I can do it, I can do it all. I’m trying to convince myselves that just because we can do it, doesn’t mean we should or that we have to. It’s not easy. Self-sufficiency can be a very good thing but can also be incredibly self-defeating when it becomes more about control, lack of trust, fear and keeping everyone away than confidence, empowerment and choices.

So I’m still none the wiser as to what I should be asking this social worker for, I intend to give the matter my full attention over the next few day, in between playing with my new Fuzzy-Felts.

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Multiple Mama’s

Posted in children, co-sleeping, communication, DID, Dissociation, Dissociative Identity Disorder, emotions, hugs, insight, Internal Communication, mother, MPD, Multiple Personality Disorder, NHS, parenting, single-parent, Skills, stress, tea, therapy, Told you it wasn't like Stephen Fucking Fry, Triggers, tagged , , , , , , on July 20, 2012 | 16 Comments »

Today I have been a Mama for 18 years. That’s technically not true; I only became “Mama” around 6 and a half years ago when my youngest son decided that’s what he was going to call me, the older children followed his lead. Previous to that, I’m not sure what my title was but my job was the same.

I have three children- an 18 year old son, 15 year old daughter and a 7 year old son. The children are generally happy save for their own individual neuroses; they are intelligent and good-humoured, curious, energetic, polite, creative, sociable in their own unique way and very loving.

My parenting style is eclectic though at times, probably best described as “haphazard” I kind of make it up as I go along. Cereal (branded or generic) is a legitimate dinner at least once a week, baby wipes are an excellent substitute for a bath every other night, ketchup is a vegetable. 3 hours a day on the internet is “learning”, swearing is ok if it is grammatically correct and used appropriately. Discussion at the dinner table is actively encouraged even if it is about world hunger or decomposition- which as anyone with a 7 year-old son will know; it often is. Bedtimes can be fluid if I’m not craving peace; curfews are negotiable if the text messaged request is funny enough. Later-on drugs can be experimented with as long as they’re not chemical or addictive, getting drunk is ok as long as you stay safe and don’t get “fall down, piss yourself drunk”. A screwdriver is a legitimate toy, breaking things is “science”, woodlice are pets. Food colouring is for icing, mashed potatoes and baths. Beds are for sharing, books are important but can be annotated if desired, magnifying glasses are essential as are torches. School is crucial and should be approached with enthusiasm and the courage to question, further or higher education is optional. Individuality is cherished, love is unconditional.

In return for my eclectic parenting style I have 3 rather wonderful children, all popular with peers, all healthy, all able to come to me when necessary as far as I know- as far as any mother can know I suspect, after all you don’t know what they don’t tell you. I know I’m not an ogre- the 18 year old is able to discuss his sexuality with me, the 15 year old trusts me with her secrets and friends, the 7 year old still thinks I am a walking encyclopaedia even though I have led him to believe that the answer to many questions is “magic” (accompanied by appropriate hand-gestures and “woo” noises).

I’d be lying if I said my mental health hadn’t affected my children, particularly over the last year or so. They have had to go through things and witness things no child should ever have to be subjected to. The one thing I know I will never forgive the mental health system for is the effect their mistakes and negligence had on my children. I obviously feel guilty about my own contribution to what the children suffered but I know I couldn’t help it. I also know I repeatedly asked those who should have helped me to help- it’s not my fault they didn’t.

Even outwith times of crisis and given that the illness I have, dissociative identity disorder (DID) doesn’t just suddenly appear in adulthood but has been present in some way throughout my life, my mental health has affected my children and my relationships with them from the start.

Today, July 20th 2012, I can only remember one of the ‘starts’, I currently have no access to memories of my children prior to 2005, it’s as though I wasn’t there.

I wasn’t there.

I have a metaphorical book of facts; I can tell you birthweights, the ages at which developmental milestones were met and have the odd anecdote but beyond that- nothing. I have many photographs of the children, sometimes they can help access a memory of a time, place or event but it is to my eternal sadness that there are very few, if any photographs of me and the children. I’m terrified of having my photograph taken, in the few photos that do catch me, I look terrified. I have no proof that I was ever there and in the absence of feeling like I was there, this is difficult. The children don’t have DID, they do have memories and they often share them. Their accounts of me are usually positive so I take comfort from that. I also know that whilst I may not be able to access my memories of the children- they are there and I’m hopeful that, in time, they will become my memories too.

There’s no doubt that my mental health has had many negative impacts throughout the children’s lives but I’d argue the positives from having multiple Mama’s outweigh the negatives.

I am able to share my children’s interests- everything from the 18 year-old’s love of trains and foreign languages, to the 15 year-old’s love of reddit and shoes, to the 7 year-old’s love of Lego and Spiderman.

I am a very accepting person, anything goes. I have a moral compass that spins freely. Nothing my children do is unacceptable, certain situations may need a careful approach; some extra thought but nothing phases me. I’m slightly challenged by the 18 year-old’s support for Scottish nationalism (with a capital N) but there really is no-one better for him to discuss it with and I’m optimistic I can convince him otherwise but equally happy if I can’t. I frequently annoy the 15 year-old with my general ‘enthusiasm’ for things but she knows that it can be used to her advantage- be this in shoe or pancake form. The 7 year-old can vomit on demand at the dinner table should I stray from his desired diet of processed beaks and feet wrapped in batter, served with bastardised potato shaped into smiley faces, animals or letters but he knows I love those smiley faces, animals and letters as much as he does. I don’t stress over the little things, meeting the 5-a-day requirement in this house often includes the consumption of  “imagination salad”.

Thanks to my amazing powers of dissociation I am excellent in a crisis, should you back-flip into the corner of a table and sever a blood vessel there is no-one better to accompany you to A&E. I am a calm, reassuring presence even when faced with spurting blood and general distress.

I am fiercely protective of the children and attentive to their physical, emotional and environmental needs. This means I am happy to demand a same-day GP appointment in the face of cross-examination and insistence that such a thing is impossible from the receptionist. I am quick to challenge a school “behaviour policy” that uses shame to try and elicit compliance and should the children desire a mural on their bedroom wall or fairy lights in the kitchen than that’s ok too.

I am a good Mama.

So why today am I sitting here, worrying?

I’m worrying because tonight I have promised to take the now 18 year-old out for his first legal pint- out, to a pub. I don’t need to tell you just how challenging this is, I briefly began to consider all the known triggers and stopped when I got to double figures. I daren’t even think about the ones I don’t know about. I’m confident that I will appear well, it may be the quickest pint ever but I’m sure it’s something my son will remember forever and I’m honoured he chose me to share this moment with him. I’m pretty certain that the situation will be so stressful I’ll have no memory of it at all and I don’t doubt that it will cause some internal distress, but I’m going to do it- that’s what Mama’s do.

I’m worrying because on the 3rd of August my youngest son will return to my care full-time, having spent the last 9 months or so living with his father. I have stayed in contact with him throughout this period and it was always my intention to have him home when I felt well enough. The choice to wait until I was well enough wasn’t mine to make so he’s coming home a little earlier than I would’ve liked, I am in no doubt that this is the right thing to do. I accept it will be challenging and I accept that my progress, which to-date has been consistent and rapid will probably slow as I try to combine therapeutic work with caring full-time for two children again.

I’m worrying because although I know I’m a good Mama, I’ve lost a lot of confidence in my skills, I share the role with several others.  They all have something to bring and all have contributed in some way to the amazing creatures the children have become. I don’t expect it to be easy but I know, in time, I will get that confidence back. In spite of everything I have three securely attached, integrated little people to love and call my own.

Well I say little people- the 18 year-old is 6ft 2 with size 17 feet, I can only hypothesise that his father was a giant or a clown- perhaps a giant clown? I have no idea and I suspect, given my track record with men that some things are best left dissociated.

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