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-
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.