Scattered pieces

Floating high above the pain
Turn away…
Don’t see
Don’t hear… don’t feel

Come, let’s play
Let’s forget about what’s happening below
Look, how many flowers can you see in the wallpaper?
How loud can we sing?

Many days past, playing near the ceiling
Then a tipping point…
Uncle came along
With needs and acts depraved

Floating high above was no longer enough
Singing did little to hush the screams

Come into The Attic
I built it just for you
White and pure
No shadows, no pain

I will protect you
Hide you
Keep you safe
Forever

This partial poem was written by Carrie (the protector of The Attic), before today’s emergency therapy session with Allison.  It was meant to tell how, and why The Attic was created.  It told us that, and so much more…  It told us where the current suicidal ideation is coming from.

Carrie guided the innocents into a place of safety within The Attic; all the while seeing the acts causing the dissociation.  Carrie’s whole world revolves around keeping those within The Attic safe from abuse.  So, when The Basement started to become involved in the healing process, Carrie saw healing as a threat.  She stills sees the world as an evil place – self-injury, child abuse, inequity, intolerance and hate all still occur.  Therefore, it’s a world still unsafe for those in her care.  The only solution she sees… suicide.

This is what I took into Allison today.  Because of the new clarity surrounding the issues, it was a really productive session…

We talked about the poem and image created about The Basement/Vault, and what it meant.  She was curious as to why the image was so imbalanced – with the box being so much smaller than the image representing hopes and dreams.  At first, we thought we had the meaning behind this image sorted, but her questioning made us rethink it.  In an image that I considered to indicate hopelessness and a sense of fear, she managed to show us hope.

Then our familiar nemesis… ACC.  ACC contacted us yesterday to tell us the final results of our latest assessment.  Immediately, M was wanting to fight the decision.  But by the end of the night, she was rethinking the need to fight.  She stood back and looked at the toll our interactions with ACC have had on us over the years… two suicide attempts and countless instances of self-injury.  Was that fight worth it?  In some ways, it is.  The fight gives M something to focus on, and something to be here for.  We’re used to fighting…  there’s a comfort in fighting something external.  But, it’s not healthy.  Allison asked what would happen if we directed the energy expended on fighting ACC into something healing… how’s that for a dose of reality!

Finally, how to help Carrie.  This was difficult.  Carrie has only ever come forward once or twice in therapy, and that was about 3 years ago.  We didn’t really get any sense of having resolved the problem, or the reason for the suicidal ideation.  But, we acknowledged that Carrie’s fears are real and tangible.  Allison tried to show how there is beauty in the world too… I’m not sure if she succeeded or not, but when we were walking back to work, we saw the blue sky for the first time in what seems like forever…

I’m not naive enough to believe that I’m safe.  But, there is a spark of hope that’s been absent for a long time.

—————-
Now playing: Creedence Clearwater Revival – Have You Ever Seen The Rain?
via FoxyTunes

Note: this entry is about the formation of The Basement. It happened years ago.
The bird in the collage doesn’t represent the guardian.
The bird is a representation of our abusers.

It began slowly, gradually
… the building of the vault.
A place inside
… for feelings so hurt.
Each abuse and cross word
… adding to it’s strength.

As the vault grew in size
… more bars were added.
Strong and true
… to contain the rage.

A guardian stood watch
… ensuring nothing escaped.

Shadows formed
… spreading fear and mythology.
Others whispered
… about beings dirty and naked.
Unable to talk
… only capable of destruction.

Deeper and deeper
… in the mind.
The guardian buried
… the vault.

But not so deep
… that those within couldn’t perform.

Critical mass was reached
… one Winters evening.
The vault exploded
… sending debris flying.
Those within were free
… to destroy.

In a rush of rage and memories
… they came forth.
Ready to spew vengeance
… on a body already abused.

Sticking with what they knew
… peace was sought.

The guardian stood by
… watching the destruction.
Knowing it would be
… for naught.
They weren’t yet organised
… he’d made sure of it.

The rage was exhausted
… as quickly as it had sparked.
No longer beasts
… once again children.

He welcomed them back
… into The Basement.

In The Basement, there is no place for childhood dreams and wishes.
That hope was destroyed years ago.
Dreams and wishes are for the good children, not for them. Not for us.

—————-
Now playing: Emerson String Quartet – Streichquartett No. 4: Child Holding a Dove
via FoxyTunes

I’m not good with boundaries… I know this. When the dissociation and switching increases in frequency, my scant understanding of appropriate boundaries goes out the window. This was (yet again) evident earlier this week, when Matthew Branton asked (a perfectly legitimate question) about having a place within the blog where new readers could get an understanding of my background and the experiences that brought me to this place in my healing. This question, in conjunction with reading Matthew’s account of his past (Dissociative Identity Disorder and me), and Faith Allen’s series of posts about her past on Blooming Lotus; meant that a part of me took this question very literally… Suddenly there were over a 1000 words on a new page within the blog which described my family and what I have been told about my childhood up until I was a toddler. There was a real drive to write this history out, but that need came from a part of me that didn’t understand the implications for the rest of the system. They are a part of me that always obeys a suggestion or request without question. The ultimate people pleaser.

You’ll see that the page is no longer on the blog, I’ve hidden it. I realise that I do need to write out my history, but I need to write it out for Allison’s eyes only. It would be too easy to piece together my history, and find out who I am in real life from the detailed account that was being generated… that just can’t happen! I would risk losing my career and being labelled with all of the negative stereotypes that those with mental health issues carry. I hate the stereotypes and misinformation about those who deal with mental health issues every day, but I’m not in a strong enough place to fight it. Also, to be blunt, librarians are a bunch of close minded, gossiping old biddies… if they discovered that I have DID, I would never get another job within New Zealand.

After talking to a friend, I realised that I can still write a summary here about my past, but I don’t have to go into so much detail. This is where I need to learn about the appropriate boundary. How much do readers of this blog really need to know about me? Does it matter that I’m the youngest child? Does it matter that I have no memory of what any of my family looked like as I was growing up? These are the questions that I need to ask myself, and take my time answering. So, I will put up a new page that carries a summary of my experiences, but it will take me some time to come to an internal agreement as to what I can reveal safely.

The other boundary issue I’ve been facing this week, is the re-decorating of my rented house. I knew that the landlords were going to re-decorate the house sometime soon, but on Monday I got a call from a painter saying he’d be starting Tuesday; so, could I leave a key to the house under the mat to allow his team access to the house. Now, I know I should be grateful that the landlords are doing the work – the wallpaper was peeling. BUT, STRANGE MEN WERE GOING TO BE IN MY HOUSE WHILE I WASN’T THERE. They were going to be moving my stuff. They were going to be walking in my house… the house that I worked so hard to try and make feel safe. It caused havoc within the system.

On Tuesday when we came home, the wallpaper had been stripped from the walls, but the house wasn’t too messy. We could cope with a great amount of deep breathing and locking all the windows and doors – then re-checking them every hour or so. But on Wednesday when we came home, they had painted the woodwork, which caused a huge mess. They’d been careless with our possessions – our cats food and water bowl were spoiled with paint dust, there was paint on our wooden dresser and they’d carelessly knocked over our things in the bathroom. We’d also had to do some teaching that day, so it was all too much… What I’m really proud of though, is that we didn’t self injure! We were in a mess, but One remembered Paul’s oil pastel artwork, so found our old pastels and got us to draw instead of injure. This is what we drew…

Swirl

Black Red

I’m not really aware of what happened as we were drawing these, or even what they mean.  But, I know that there was a great deal of energy used on the second one.

We were hoping that they would be finished the redecorating on Friday, but it looks like they didn’t do any work at all that day. This, in combination with a rough day at work and being the anniversary of when Sophie and R were born due to an abusive event in the past; meant that last night there was a total loss of control. I only came back to any sort of awareness late Saturday morning.

What’s interesting about this latest event, is that I’m being told “You won’t tell that b@t@h Allison about this.” I’m not sure if this is a statement of fact, a challenge, or a derisive comment on my inability to talk about the tough issues in therapy. But I know that this time, I do need to tell Allison… I need to get outside help for the dangerous dysfunction. So, that’s what this weeks therapy is going to be about… wish me luck!

This latest round of confusion and self-injury, has made me aware of how little internal communication I now have. The dissociation has ramped up several notches, and my old skills have been lost (or maybe misplaced). Trust has gone, and it feels like I’m starting from scratch again…  For some reason I was reminded of this old Telecom ad… Maybe it’s the message about communication being the first step… and maybe about communication starting with the children/young ones…  Or, as is now being suggested internally, maybe I’m just a sap :)

Friends

Oh, and on a positive note… I’m the lucky “god-fearing” person chosen by Miss Linda to help her money launder retrieve $22 million from her fathers estate. The poor man was poisoned by his business colleagues (nasty men), and her only hope to get the money out of the Ivory Coast, is through me. I’ll be the lucky recipient of 15% of this sum, so it’s all good… my money worries are over! This is also a much better offer than last weeks one from Mr Philip, a lawyer from England… Strange how a lawyer would track me down as a long lost relative, when I never use my real name in any of my email addresses… but then, he’s a lawyer with wicked mad skills apparently ;)

—————-
Now playing: Cat Stevens – Where Do The Children Play?
via FoxyTunes

Do you ever sit in therapy with the words that need to be spoken swirling around in your head, but experience a total inability to be able to say them?  It can be because the ideas are too scary to raise, there are too many conflicting ideas about what to say, not sure how to say it or you’re too  scared of what the therapists reaction will be.  We experienced this to an extreme level yesterday with Liz.  We wanted to talk about her views on dissociation and diagnostic labels, but couldn’t verbalise it.  This triggered the entrance of the hand scratcher…

I have no idea who the hand scratcher is, but I think “it’s” a mature male who is a protector.  I know it’s not One, as he is incredibly calm and can look people in the eye.  The hand scratcher comes across as being angry as the voice becomes very terse, but he’s very quick to assure Liz that he’s not “getting at her”.  He doesn’t seem to get angry at individuals and is prepared to listen to Liz and what she has to say, but seems continually annoyed or angry.  He also takes away with him all that he has talked about, so we lose the time he is present.  Yesterday he left us with the knowledge that he’d talked to Liz about the diagnosis, but that’s all.  I’m aware of his voice, but not him.  I’ve no idea where he fits into the system, but I’m beginning to wonder if he’s on Ellie’s floor, or even if he has replaced Ellie as the main protector for that floor.  It’s all very confusing and a great way to mess me around – not that I’m a control freak or anything.

What makes me think that he has something to do with Ellie’s floor, is that soon after he left, S talked to Liz.  S is also on Ellie’s floor, so it would sort of fit that they go together in some way.  It was S that caused the amazement.  She swore, was scornful of the father, told about some of the things that the sister used to do to her and Liz took it all in her stride.  Liz could obviously tell when there was going to be the switch from S to B and quickly said that she’d enjoyed talking to S…  Yes, she said she’d enjoyed talking to S.  I was amazed.  One of our greatest fears has been S talking to a therapist, but it went really well.  Admittedly S didn’t talk about anything of a sexual nature, but the fact that she talked to someone and we all survived the experience was amazing.  I knew the world wouldn’t end if she talked to someone, but I was so terrified of rejection, scorn or disgust as a consequence.  Instead I got greeted by a Liz with a smile in her voice and a sense of her having just had fun.  Maybe that will learn me about letting fear get the better of me…  It won’t, but it’s worth a try.

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Now playing: The Feelers – The Fear
via FoxyTunes