Scattered pieces

I came across the word “murmuration” today, and stumbled across this video.  I don’t know if it’s the music, the dance of the starlings, or both… but I found it calming, so thought I’d share it.

Thanks to Frank and the @postsecret team for the tweet that piqued my interest.

Late edit: If you hadn’t already tried it, it’s great to watch in full-screen :)

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I’m told that asking for help is one of the strongest things that a person can do.  There is a strength in the vulnerability that comes from admitting that you can’t do something by yourself.  It’s an indication that you’re not perfect… not the self-sufficient island of invincibility that you’d like to think you are.

It stinks.

It hurts.

It feels impossible.

Over the last few months, I’ve had the urge to cut off my hands during therapy.  I know that this is about wanting to reach out for help, and not being able to do so.  It’s about punishing those parts of myself who want to reach out.  It’s about not allowing weakness.

I learned early on in life that weakness was not acceptable, and made life difficult.  Any sign of weakness could be used against me.  If I was scared of something, then I could be taunted with it.  If something hurt, then it could be prodded.  I was confused by being hurt by people that, five minutes earlier, had been laughing and teasing me.  All of this meant that I saw my only option as being to draw inward, and showing no outward sign of vulnerability.  I was often called stuck-up while I was growing up, mainly because I did everything possible to keep myself separate from those around me.  I didn’t think that I was better than anyone else, I just didn’t trust anyone (including myself); so my only protection was to withdraw and project a veneer of invincibility.

That veneer of invincibility is now being threatened.  There’s a needy part of me wanting to reach out to others for help.  But that is being resisted.  I’m showing more signs of dysfunctional coping.  I’ve withdrawn any meaningful communication with everyone.  I’m having to take medication every morning, just to face the prospect of work.  I’ve withdrawn as much contact with people as is possible.  All I’m doing, is trying to fly under the radar.

This is the contradiction that I’m living with – needing to fly under the radar, which by definition, means being self-sufficient and invisible; and parts of me needing help.

One is seen by society as being strong; the other weak.

One has kept me alive for the last 30 odd years; the other is what led to so much pain in the past, that I don’t know if I can go there again.

Even if I wanted to ask for help, I don’t think that I know how to do so.  The stumbling efforts that I’ve made towards asking for help, have been a disaster.  I’ve sent emails which have been misread and caused more pain.  I’ve called crisis lines, and not been able to communicate how badly I’m coping, or ended up in the Police holding cells.  I’ve gone online to talk to friends, but ended up being unsafe instead.  So I obviously don’t know how to ask for, or accept, help.  I don’t know what positive help looks like, and I’ve lost all sense of safety.

But, I’m still turning up to work everyday.  I’m still playing the game.

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Now playing: Adele – Rolling In The Deep
via FoxyTunes

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The theme for this months Expressive Arts Carnival is:

Through drawing, painting, photography or any other visual means, create an image about mechanisms you have used to cope when you thought you could not.

I admit it, I have a love/hate relationship with coping mechanisms.  I’m often told by mental health professionals that I know plenty of coping mechanisms…  I’m often told by the crisis lines to “go do your coping techniques”…  Both of these statements have a tendency to annoy me.  While they’re both true, I also see them as a cop out.  So I know plenty of coping mechanisms, does that mean I can’t learn any more?  Yes, doing various coping techniques help me when I’m feeling overwhelmed; but by the time I’ve called the crisis lines, I’ve usually been doing them for at least 12 hours straight and need some support beyond what the coping mechanisms can provide.  So while I see the need for coping mechanisms, I sometimes approach them with a sense of dread.

Even after all of these years, I still label the activities “coping mechanisms”, which can sometimes cause an odd tension.  I know that I need to do them in order to help keep me present and safe; but because of the connotations surrounding their use, it feels as if they are assigned a label, and trotted out on special occasions.  This is even for the techniques I have managed to build into my life as part of my routine and attempts to enrich my life.  One week I may go out and take photos because I feel like it; but the next week, taking photos becomes a coping technique which must be carried out in order to keep the crazy at bay.  Same activity, but totally different meanings.

It can be challenging to use coping techniques.  They can act as a distraction from the emotions which threaten to overwhelm, but they also encourage you to sit with the emotions without “checking out” through the use of the old, less healthy means of coping (self-injury, etc).  It can also be challenging finding ones which work… something that works one day, might not work another.  Even realising that you are worthy of using a healthy coping mechanism, instead of self-injuring, can be difficult.  There are times when no matter what I try, I’m still swept along with the old ways of coping… but I’ve found that the more I get angry at myself for that, the more anxiety there is the next time I begin to get overwhelmed.  That’s not to say that I accept that the self-injury has happened, I don’t; instead I try to learn from it.  The more I can learn about the triggers and the motivations, the more likely I am to recognise the warning signs, and try different coping mechanisms before it’s too late.

My entry for this months carnival is an indication of my attempts to learn about new ways of coping.  Last year, I underwent a psychiatric assessment to determine my level of impairment.  I don’t react well to any assessment, but this one was particularly difficult.  I wrote a history of my abuse… something that I’d never done before, and it caused a great deal of turmoil and confusion.

I knew beforehand that I might react badly to the assessment, so I made plans to try and help myself cope with it all.  I arranged for some time off work, asked my mother to stay, and organised a trip by the sea as a reward for getting through the assessment.  On one level, these arrangements made sense… I was unlikely to be able to function at work, so arrange some time off work, etc.  But, on another level, they were also attempts at self care and utilising positive coping mechanisms.  Trying to understand my limits, and working within them.

Not everything went as planned, and there was some serious bumps along the way.  Probably the most challenging time was when I went away for the trip.  What should have been a restful time at the beach, turned into a messy contradiction in terms of coping and safety.  At times, I could go for a walk along the beach and feel the sense of peace; but at times, I was swept away by the emotions which were stirred by the assessment.  After one particularly bad night, I forced myself to pick up my camera and go for a walk.  I walked for hours… something that is rare for me, as I usually need a purpose when going out.  During that walk, I took the photo below.  It’s not my best photo, but it represents a time when I was struggling so desperately to stay present and safe.  If I’d been more present, I would have chosen a different angle, and camera settings… but as it is, the photo shows my attempts to connect to the environment around me. It’s not perfect, but it stills works… especially if you squint a bit, and tilt your head to the right.

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Now playing: Natalie Merchant – Wonder
via FoxyTunes

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Note: This entry may trigger due to issues around suicide being discussed.

I’ve been fairly open about my levels of suicidal ideation on this blog over time. But the last week or so, I’ve been dancing around the subject. The reason why… on the 2nd and 3rd of August I tried to commit suicide.

I’m still trying to make sense of the attempts, and the triggers which precipitated them.

The main things I remember about Monday, are that I didn’t work my usual late shift, and that I was very tired… very, very tired. So tired, that it made perfect sense to come home, empty a pill bottle into my hand and swallow them down with a caffeine drink.

I vividly remember looking at the pile of pills in my hand, and thinking… “This will help me sleep”.

This terminology is significant… “This will help me sleep”. Usually, my suicidal ideation and intent is termed “running away”, so I wonder if the change in phrasing was an indication that different ones were driving the attempt, or whether I was just really tired?

In the past, whenever there has been even a suicidal gesture, a protector has come forward and immediately called for help. But not this time. This time, I climbed into bed and waited for sleep. That was at about 6pm. The next thing I remember, is waking in a panic at 2.45. I wasn’t panicking about the pills that were now well absorbed into my system…  Oh no, I was panicking because I wasn’t sure if it was morning or night, and I was worried about missing work!

The details are fuzzy, but somehow we ended up in ER. ER’s always seem so bright… so well lit… super bright… I know this is a medical necessity, but it’s also about our fears. We hate hospitals. We feel ourselves get smaller, younger and more tongue-tied in hospitals… It’s hard to hear what people are asking of us, and we become more robotic.

As an indication that there was still come cognitive thinking happening, we’d remembered to bring our iPhone with us. Hours of playing Boost 3D, Euchre, Hell’s Kitchen… Anything to try to keep calm! Then the unspeakable happened, the iPhone battery ran out… This tipped the scales back to crazy.

• We removed the lure ourselves and went to the nurses station, asking to leave. They took us through to the observation lounge instead. Yay… power points for recharging the iPhone :)
• WPT came and visited us in the ER, and we brushed him off… told him we were fine and not to worry about us…
• When we were assessed by the psychiatric team… I say “assessed”, but to the system, it felt like a grilling.  They asked about family relationships, abuse history etc.
• By the end of the assessment, angry protectors were up front and they ripped up the discharge papers as we walked away from the nurses station.

Yes, we were released with no follow-up or safety options mentioned.

When we got home, there was still the need to sleep. I think one of us called the crisis team, but gave a fake name… I remember the crisis person yelling at us that they were sending the Police around. This was the wrong threat to make, as it gave the protectors hope that help was on the way. They became less vigilant…

We sat down at the table with enough pills for a fatal overdose. It was very mechanical and quick. Again, there was a need to have enough pills to “get some sleep”. Once these were consumed, we went to bed. Again, a panicked waking a few hours later and a ride in an ambulance.

This time it was serious… I knew that because of the number of nurses around. I remember looking over when they took my blood pressure, and saying how good it was (53/45). Usually my blood pressure goes through the roof in hospitals due to anxiety (the next day it was 195/146). I asked if I could go home, because my blood pressure was so good, and it was all just a silly mistake…

I remember the nurses being nice.
I remember them wheeling me down corridors to a ward.
I remember a nurse sitting in a chair at the end of my bed all night.

We called the mother, asking her to come up because we needed help. Our cat needed food…

We were kept in for a couple of days, and again had a psychiatric assessment, this one was much more gentle. They asked about safety and stressors. They gave us options – they suggested hospitalisation, or respite. But the psychiatric ward was fairly full, and the respite place would be different to the one I’ve been to previously. Instead, we were released to the mother (a former nurse) at home.

The thing that blew me away about the medical ward, was their compassion and understanding. I was there for an overdose, but they didn’t judge. They had almost no knowledge of mental health issues (I had to tell them how to spell “dissociative”), but they were respectful of me as an individual…

It’s now over a week since the attempts, and I’m still on shaky ground. Last night, R was very present. I know it was him, because I could clearly see what he wanted – to be wearing just jeans, standing in the middle of the road, in the pouring rain, arms up, yelling (in pain, release, anger???).

I’m very aware that I’m still walking along the cliff edge. One little push will send me over.

It’s times like this that I realise how amazing the people around me can be… WPT came to see me in hospital (twice); while my blog friends have been a steady, calm voice of reason when I needed it desperately… thank you!

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Now playing: The Freshman – The Verve Pipe
via FoxyTunes

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The last two days have been kind of rough.

Heading into Thursday, I was feeling good and had managed to pull myself onto some sort of steady ground.  That all fell apart late Thursday afternoon, when I got an email from the other team leader, calling into question the quality of my work.  That email sent me plunging back into self-doubt, self-hatred and all the other associated negative thinking.  My cynical friend told me to forget it; but it was such a back-stabbing insult that I couldn’t brush it off.  To make it worse, my own team leader wasn’t around to reality check the content of the email, and I didn’t want to run to the manager about it.  This spun me out to the point where I knew I wasn’t safe to drive home.  I stayed on at work for a couple of hours, before driving home and losing most of the evening to the dissociation.

Then, on Friday morning during my drive to work, we went past a “hurt” cat in the middle of the road.  I always dread this sort of thing; not only does it stir up the system because an innocent animal has been hurt, but it’s a trigger for some of the younger ones.  Like a deer caught in headlights, we can never look away… we started reciting “it’s just a jumper that fell out of a car”, hoping that this will change how we see the cat… it doesn’t.  This means we now have adult parts smarting from the insult to our work, and young ones upset that an innocent cat has been hurt.

So we’re now driving down the road reciting out loud “it’s just hurt, it’s ok, it’ll get up soon and the people who love it will come get it and take care of it”.  There was also a promise that we wouldn’t drive home that way, just in case it hadn’t been moved.

Work on Friday is mostly a blank… I know we had a morning tea for the two new people, and that the manager made a triple layer banana and pineapple cake (which did a rather spectacular topple over during the cutting process).  I also know I played around with the iPhone app kooaba, as we’re looking at new ways to try to deliver information through technology such as QR codes and visual recognition apps.  This was fun because we were going around the library, taking random photos of books, CDs and DVDs to see what information kooaba would return.

Then it came to the drive home… all the way up the street where we should have turned off to avoid going by the stretch of road where the cat had been hurt, we were consciously thinking of turning.  Then there was this little mind fit, and we were suddenly past the turn off.  I could hear the panic, but there was also this firm voice telling me to stop being so silly, that there will be nothing there, and it will all be fine.

Thankfully the cat was no longer there, but that didn’t matter, the panic had set in.  We were switching all over the place and I could feel our throat closing up.  Little Michelle came forward full force, meaning that we couldn’t really drive, talk and only barely functioned enough to get home in one piece.  Because we live in a high fenced section, no one saw us getting out of the car shaking like a leaf and stuttering about it hurting.

We got inside, fed Winnie, turned on all the lights, curled up in the corner of the lounge and tried to ease the shaking.  I had no real sense of what was happening, but there were obviously body memories.  The throat was closed off, and no matter how hard I tried, I could barely stutter.  I managed to take some anxiety medication and send the following email to Allison…

turn all the lights on an hide
turn all the lights on an hide
turn all the lights on an hide
turn all the lights on an hide
turn all the lights on an hide
turn all the lights on an hide
turn all the lights on an hide

hide got to hide
he’ll find us

I think we finally went to bed at about 8am (it was naturally light by then) and slept for a couple of hours.

Saturday had been good… we’d talked to a friend and took some pictures of the stuffed toy we got for the young ones as their reward for going through the divorce proceedings…

This made me think that tonight was going to be easier… the fear seemed to have eased.  But it’s now 1am Sunday and all the lights are on again.  Little Michelle is ok as long as all the lights are on.  We’re also ok as long as we don’t even think about going to bed.

One of the big problems with this scenario, is that it opens us up to further dissociation and self injury.  We’re so switchy and shaky…

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Now playing: Missy Higgins – Where I Stood
via FoxyTunes

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Yesterday during lunch at work, I had no idea who I was.  I had no idea what my name was, how old I was or where in the world I was.  There was a sense of detached wonder about being able to use the computer… “wow, I can use this thing”.  I had no memory of learning how to type, or even how to use my body to do basic things such as pick up my cup.   Everything seemed so big, scary, and yet wondrous at the same time.  It also seemed really bright… the artificial light in the office felt like I was looking directly into the Sun.

This is yet another sign that the dissociation is out of control… this was a young one from our internal Basement, in charge of the body, while at work.  That can’t happen again.  It’s not fair to the young one, or to the ones who usually attend work.

The problem is, what to do in order to get some sense of control back?  We’re actively doing all the coping mechanisms we can think of – breathing, taking breaks at work, distracting, grounding etc.  But I’m still a mess.  I’m constantly getting flashbacks of some sort… I’m seeing things out of the corner of my eye (psychosis or a lack of sleep?)…  It feels as if I’m constantly on the edge of switching – that spacey, free-falling feeling…

There’s also dread… I don’t WANT to know why I keep on seeing flashbacks of the changing rooms at the rugby club; I don’t WANT to know why L&P is suddenly a trigger; and I don’t WANT to know why I keep hearing certain phrases over and over in my head…  I’ve had enough…  Surely there can’t be more.

But, I also know that I need to listen and try to understand what’s happening internally. I know this is the way to healing… listening, understanding and easing the pain.  But, I don’t think I have the strength to do this anymore…

Below is a something that was created while at work earlier in the week.  I’m not good at art – I got a D for it in school.  So I’m unable to translate what is in my head into something that is recognisable in practice.  I keep trying to tell myself that art within a healing context is more about the feelings, than the technique… but I still can’t get past how bad it looks in comparison to what was wanted.  It’s so frustrating when I can’t find a way to express what is going on in my head…

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Now playing: Cat Stevens – Moonshadow
via FoxyTunes

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So, we have a new therapist… Let’s call her Allison.  We’ve had two therapeutic sessions with her, and one introductory session to see if there was a possibility that we could work together.  I’ve been studiously avoiding talking about her here, I think because I’m scared of jinxing the relationship.  Here’s a quick run-down of what’s happened so far…

Introductory session
We were switching like crazy, a revolving door of different ones checking her out and asking different things that we knew had been issues in the past.

M asked about what happens to her clients when she goes away – this I know is because we tend to (for want of a better term) “fall apart” over Christmas.  One previous therapist asked us to contact her if this should happen, and another had no provisions in place for a crisis over this time.  I don’t think either approach is helpful for us, as we feel like an imposition contacting a therapist out of hours – especially during their Christmas holidays; and the lack of support led to a downward spiral that ended up with us going into respite care.  Allison assured us that, if we wanted, she has another therapist who will see her clients while she is on holiday.

W asked about religion.  This is a huge issue for her, as she sees herself as inherently evil and gets very triggered by the concept of religion.  Allison was open about believing in living a spiritual life.  While this did raise flags for W, it wasn’t a show stopper.  What was interesting, is that Allison mentioned that those who are brought up within a strict religious environment, often exhibit significant signs of abuse.  This was mentioned in the context of my father, who was raised within a strict religious doctrine.  So, it was about putting life experiences into context, not meant as a comparison or justification.

The other big question was, “are you going to cope with us?”  There are huge trust issues with therapists.  I can honestly say that each of the therapists I’ve seen in the past have tried to help us, and wanted to see us live a full life, free of many of the debilitating symptoms we currently experience.  But for various reasons – their approach to DID, a lack of skills, or being out of their depth, it hasn’t worked out.  After the rupture from Liz, all the feelings of being too difficult, too much and being a trouble maker came up again.  Allison mentioned that she was one of the top therapists in our small city.  This rankled M a little, as she saw it as boasting.  But, I understand that Allison was trying to reassure us.

So, after much internal discussion, it was decided that we’d keep seeing Allison.

First session
This was mainly taken up with housekeeping type of information – brief talk about what symptoms we wanted to address first, what other support systems we have, and how we are coping.  It was a difficult session, where at one point, W was nearly sucked into a flashback.  What was interesting, was Allison’s reaction to the near flashback… she asked us to look at her in the face.  Now, we don’t look therapists in the face – yes, this may be considered rude by some people, but we can’t bring ourselves to raise our eyes above their boots.  During work, we can do eye contact no problem, so it’s just within the therapeutic relationship.  Allison kept on about us looking her in the face – to prove that our reaction to the near flashback didn’t upset her, or cause her any distress.  We had to switch to M in order for this to happen, but we managed it!  And yes, it did help.  She sat there very calmly and greeted M as if everything was fine.  Hmmm… so maybe she can cope with minor crazy… let’s see about major crazy…

At this session, we discussed having fortnightly sessions, due to monetary constraints.  Since then, we’ve realised that the crazy making between sessions is too much for us to cope with, so have gone back to weekly sessions.  Who needs money for food anyway :)

Second session
This was a really difficult session.  It came off the back of Mother’s Day (those of you with the password to the protected posts will see the two word feeling that some of us have towards the day), and our up-coming birthday.  It was predominantly Sophie and B throughout the session, until Mother’s Day came up.  Then woohoo… lets step on the crazy freight train.  The desire to self injure went through the roof… Allison was particularly interested in the ways the self-injury was manifesting and who was potentially holding the needs and desires to hurt.  She talked about the anger we hold as pertaining to the mother… and then “flick”, Aimee came forward.

Suddenly it was all bright and breezy, talking about the calender on the wall that hadn’t been flipped over for the new month, the old heater that was in the corner of the room and other diversionary tactics.  Allison welcomed Aimee, which was a huge relief (her type of diversion had been discouraged with some therapists).  They were chatting along nicely, until Allison, as part of the normal conversation, said the word “shadows”.  This meant an immediate hiding by Aimee… she is absolutely terrified by shadows.  Shadows within our internal house represent evil, danger and the angry ones.  So Allison’s innocent comment caused a trigger switch to a stuttering teen.  We hate it when we stutter.  It’s usually only in therapy, and it’s just awful.  Of course, the more we try not to, the worse it gets.  The stutterer explained what had happened, and assured Allison that in no way was she to blame – she had no idea that such an innocent word could have such devastating effects.

Overall, we’re not sure about Allison.  She is good with the silences… both allowing the silence, and bringing our attention to what is happening during the silence.  She’s good at slowing us down, and getting us to try and notice things.  But, we still think we’ll be too much for her.  This is not because we’re the “worst” case of DID or anything, it’s just a mix of the old messages from the childhood, being re-enforced by actions of therapists who were out of their depth.

So, we’re still fence sitting.  She has shown the most promise of the therapists we’ve seen so far…  But, it’s hard to judge things accurately because we are so dissociated from life.

If anyone has had the “joy” of a comment from us over the last week or so, it’s probably been bordering on rude, pompous or left field.  We really shouldn’t comment when we’re so dissociated.  We again had a comment not published on a therapists site, this time because of our side-ways hostility.  That’s a classic sign that we’re not communicating internally, and M is running parts of the show without input from the calming influences of B and Sophie.  I’m not sure what will get us back on track…

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When I was seeing Bob, she asked me to complete a list of 10 things that I enjoyed involving the senses or activities. This exercise was aimed at improving my body awareness and giving options for distraction or grounding when I am stressed. I’m really struggling at the moment, so I thought this would be a good time to share my homework and remind myself of the options available to me… It also will force me to try and expand my lists in the hopes of eventually reach 10 items for at least one of the senses.

Additions based on commenters suggestions in italics – Thank you :)

I added to each of the columns by writing it out here :) I can do this, can’t I?

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Now playing: Cat Stevens – Moonshadow
via FoxyTunes

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Yesterday the safety of the respite house came under question. We left to spend the day with the mother, mainly to test how well we are. It turns out we’re still not all that grounded or well…

When we returned we found that a new client had arrived at the respite house. This was fine, they are female and seemingly non-threatening. So we went down to our room to drop off some things, only to find that someone had been in and used our art supplies. The young ones were so upset about this boundary violation. Little Michelle came forward and looked around in tears. This may seem like an over-reaction considering nothing had been destroyed, but it was the young ones who had their things moved and used. M was prepared for our iPod to have been stolen, and it would have had less impact if that’s what had happened. The iPod is mainly for the teens and adults, we could have coped better than the invasion on the young ones things.

Then at night the new client went on a severe binging and purging cycle. It was awful for her, she’d felt so positive during the day. For us it was a huge trigger. We have food issues as well, not to the level of the new client, but her pain and acting out was enough to trigger us through the roof.

So our safe house doesn’t feel so safe anymore. We know it was the carers grandson who used our art things, we know the mother is trying and we know the new client is trying to work through their problems. But we feel so small and scared. We feel like we’ve taken a huge step backwards.

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I recently commented on an entry of Ivory’s, and included information from an article titled A failure of curiosity by Janet Migdow.  Unfortunately this article isn’t available freely, but I’ll describe the content here for those who are interested.  It’s an article that has stayed with me for many months, it offers an interesting insight into the therapeutic relationship between an intelligent woman diagnosed with DID and a therapist who is willing to examine their own processes and thoughts.

The first part of the article gives the therapists background – her drive to help people, her natural curiosity that was evident from childhood and her desire not to lose that curiosity.  She writes:

“I have always seen curiosity as the quintessential characteristic of a good clinician. I have never thought curiosity alone would make the consummate clinician. I simply think that, without a burning curiosity, becoming a therapist is a useless endeavor.”

(Migdow, 2008, p. 46).

Midgow describes the client as “Dr. B., a Caucasian, fifty-six-year-old, uppermiddle-class, professional woman of mild manners and distinguished bearing” (Migdow, 2008, p. 48), diagnosed with DID.  She had been a client for 6 years and over that time had stabilised to the point of becoming more aware of the parts and increasing her functioning.  Part way through their journey together, Dr. B. starting turning up late for sessions.  This lateness coincided with the topic of the sessions becoming more banal, with Dr. B. deflecting any attempts to probe deeper into the issues at hand.  Migdow describes this sort of deflecting as hypnotic - as a person who has done this sort of deflecting, I understand what she is talking about, it becomes hypnotic for the person doing the deflecting as well.

It was at this point, that Migdow recognised that she was bored.  She had gone from a place of deep respect for her client, to a place of boredom.  Migdow looked for issues within her own life to have brought her to this place, but identifies that the dissociative fragments encourage detachment from the issues.  This detachment allows Dr. B.’s skill with social chit-chat to maneuver the topic away from anything too deep (or scary).

After forcing Dr. B. to be aware of an incident where she is showing obvious signs of distress, it is revealed that it is the dissociative system is protecting both the client and the therapist from the events of the past.  The secrets were still being so carefully protected from everyone, with this chit-chat seen as the best method to continue all diversion from the truth.  Dr. B. had never realised that this was another of the systems defenses and had always associated it with there being “something wrong with my brain” (Migdow, 2008, p. 51).

Migdow (2008, p. 52) explains the sensation as:

“… you feel like a door cracks open in your mind, you experience yourself as noticing something familiar and then you forget not only what you noticed but the fact that you noticed anything at all. You feel frightened of what you glimpsed and frightened that your own mind seems elusive.”

The explanation for lulling both the therapist and client is found… she isn’t bored, or boring… she has an incredibly protective system that thought the secrets and safety of the host must be maintained in any way possible.  This became a turning point in the therapeutic relationship… one where the right road was found, but the telling was hard (butchered Dante quote).

This article has at times given me hope – it helps me to understand that some of the waffle that I do is possibly aimed at self-protection.  I often find myself losing getting lost in the twists and turns of a conversation within therapy, but I’ve always associated this with me being stupid and not being able to keep up.  The article also helps me when I’m in the denial, this could be another diversionary technique to stop me from delving too deep into the past.  I know that my self-injury could be seen as either a diversion or a scream for help…

So much of what we do is aimed at trying to uncover our truth, but that is a hard road that has been protected for many years.  This article shows how one therapist realised that the road was constantly being passed by and only with strength and knowledge can we go down it.

As a note, while this article particularly dealt with the relationship with a person with DID, I think that it could be translated to almost any therapeutic relationship.

Reference

Migdow, J. (2008). Failure of curiosity. Psychoanalytic Social Work, 15(1), 43-52. doi:10.1080/15228870802111781.

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