Death in the Garden

This is a recent painting that I did, and I actually like it. The best art I create takes the shortest amount of time, but I have to be "in the zone" to get there. This painting started with a feeling I had of something huge crushing down and tearing me apart. It took about 20 minutes to complete. That's true of my best collages and poetry. I'm convinced that my "inside people" (aka "alters") work out what they want to paint or what they want to say, and use me as a vehicle towards expression. Sometimes, I can write a three page poem in 20 minutes, and won't have an idea of what it means until I read it over when it's completed. Surprisingly, it has many characteristics of well planned verse. Well, I say surprisingly, but it really isn't.




This is a recent collage. I hope you can see some of the detail, pictures, print, etc. Since I was diagnosed DID/MPD, collage has been one of the most effective methods for trying to understand what's going on "inside". As in the painting above, I do the work, and the story unfolds. (Click on the image for a closer look.)

Being Multiple

“Multiple Personality Disorder” (MPD) is the outdated term for the currently accepted term “Dissociative Identity Disorder” (DID). I use these acronyms interchangeably. I usually refer to myself as “multiple”, so I’ll stick with that.

Trying to write about my multiplicity is no easy task. How many people find it interesting? Who finds it interesting? What do they think is interesting about it?

For entertainment value, there are lots of good jokes about multiples. For example:

How many alters does it take to change a light bulb?

As many as will: one to change the bulb, one to change it back, three to argue over whether they want it light or dark, one to throw the light bulb against the wall to hear it crash, one to clean up the mess, four to go shopping for new bulbs and come home with stockings, licorice, Disney movies, popcorn and masking tape, one who insists it "IS" the light bulb and doesn't understand why everyone always wants it to change and can't it just be itself???? etc....

How many alters does it take to screw in a light bulb?

“4” --- 1 to screw in the light bulb, 1 to watch the screwing in of the light bulb, 1 to deny the screwing in of the light bulb ever happened, and 1 to repress the memory.

A difficult thing about living multiple is that many of my friends cannot understand when I am having a hard time. For friends who knew me “before diagnosis,” it is particularly confusing. In fact, it might be as difficult for them to accept my multiplicity as it was for me when first diagnosed. It’s a “concept” that is just difficult to “get your head around.”

It is also hard for friends to understand my need for solitude and quiet. Due to the extra activity in my brain, I become over-stimulated quickly. I can only tolerate being around anyone for more than 2-3 hours at a time… to say nothing of the many times I need to be alone. How can I expect a friend to understand that I have “someone” crying “inside” causing me to be sad or anxious?

It is also difficult for an “SPD” (singular personality disorder – ha ha) to understand my concept of time. I guess that “concept” would best be described as “variable.” For example, a couple of months might feel like a couple of weeks to me. I’ll try to explain more later. I don’t want you getting bored!

Hugs, Judi (et al)

My Lumpy Dog

Sammy went to the vet this morning for surgery. They are going to remove two lumps from his hind leg and send them to be biopsied. One of the lumps has been there for quite a while, but the other is fairly new and harder. Lumps are fairly common on dogs (as people), but there are evil ones that must be watched. I'm a wreck and I cried when I left the vet's office. Sammy was a trouper until I started to leave, then he got a bit anxious. A friend of mine from the dog park works at this vet and will be working today. I'm glad that Sammy will have Nicky around - someone he knows. Nicky volunteers doing pet therapy by going to rest homes and visiting the elderly with her dog, BJ. I am convinced that BJ is a horse wearing a dog costume - he's huge. But the old folks love him. There is a funny photo I have showing Sammy and BJ together at the park. It might not be in the best taste, but it shows Sammy's optimistic spirit and BJ's calm nature.


On other matters....
The poem that I posted yesterday might be a bit too obtuse for general understanding. It's actually obtuse for me too. Instead of another poem right away, I'm going to post one of the many collages I've done (with inside help). Unless you zoom in, it will be difficult to capture some of the finer features of the art, but I hope you can appreciate them regardless of the limitations of the image. I believe this would be referred to as black art, so please don't expect a lovely, calming landscape.





I have many more collages, but these are two of my most recent works. I'll post some of the others later. My earlier collages are quite different to these.

Apologies for the somber tone of today's post - but I'm a bit down. Feel free to comment on anything you see or read on our blog. We only have two regular commenters, and we love to hear from them.







Oh, I forgot to mention. We had a black turkey right outside our bedroom door this morning. Tim heard flapping noises during the night, but had no idea what was causing the commotion. I'm not sure why he chose to visit us - perhaps he heard we don't eat meat or poultry!

Peace and hugs,
Judi

PS: We'll find out in a few hours how Sammy is doing. Send him healing thoughts please. :)

Poetry and Inside Cheerleaders

Tim asked me why I haven’t blogged yet, and I think it’s because I have so much to say, I don’t know where to start. I want to talk about mental health issues so we can all get them out of the closet (rather than hiding them as the dirty secret). I hardly know anyone who is not taking antidepressant medication. So, it stands to reason that at least a few people have mental health “issues.” This is one reason why I want to write about my DID/MPD. People need encouragement to talk about their personal problems and challenges. If more of us open up, perhaps that can happen.

Isn’t it fascinating? The human mind is amazing. At one point in my therapy, we identified 60 +/- “alters” – my inside people. I have male alters, women alters, child alters, partial alters, a cussing teenage girl alter, I’m sure I have a dog alter... I have one alter who has poor hearing and my eyesight varies as to “who” is seeing at the time. It is now possible for scientists to watch a person’s “switching” happening on a brain-scanning machine. Incredible!


Not long after my diagnosis in the 1990’s, I would have alters write poetry for (and to) me. I would do the physical act of writing, but it was as though I was channeling someone else’s words. I could write a five-page poem with complex metaphors, etc. in under 20 minutes. During the writing process, I would think, “this doesn’t make sense.” But at the final reading, I was always amazed how everything came together. I would like to show you some of my/our poetry. Some of it is simple, some of it is complex, sometimes it’s a little too sing-songy, but it’s always interesting. I will cut some parts out due to triggering images or if the content is too “sensitive,” but here’s a sample:

March 8, 2000 - Untitled

Pushing petals in the snow
Flowing waters whilst I go
In whose heart I barely tread
This I know I must be led.

To the point of my dismay
After which down I lay
On to heaven I will soar
Seeking justice ever more.

For the truth is hard to see
But it’s she that beckons me
Only I will rejoice for it
After which I’ll wearily sit.

Kindness grabs at my right hand
Scratching figures in the sand
Dismay will catch me this I know
But truth from heart will surely flow.

Kindness dupes the ones who hide
Pushing forth those who lied
Send me on to those poor souls
Drop me down through heaven’s holes.

Catch me now for I do sink
Buffeting winds force me to think
Cautious watchdogs we sit back
Waiting waiting for the attack

All I know and this I pray
Wonder will come to me this day
Hoping hoping for all to rise
Struggling not from those despised.

So, this I tell you as we sit
Truth unravels bit by bit
Push ahead and trounce the wall
Waiting waiting we heed the call.

I am Christopher hear me out
I’m a gentle soul and not a lout
Embrace me with your arm so tight
And hold me close with all your might.

And when I hide, you beckon me
You cannot wait and let me be.
You call me forth and make me talk
From your request I cannot walk.

But treat me kindly this you shall
And I’ll remain your sainted pal.
Kindness works of this I know
So step along and forward we go.

I bid adieu to you and yours
And go ahead and do your chores
I will work on what you ask
Preparing for the tedious task.

I won’t leave you don’t worry now
In your honor, this I vow
We’ll step ahead and get to know
From our hearts, knowledge will flow.

The rest of the poem I will omit due to the sensitive content and triggering images. Christopher, who is an older and wise “part” of me, writes the poem. I’m sure it’s not written by the “traditional me,” because I don’t use words like “whilst.” He understands that I want to know what happened to me (the trauma to make me DID). It seems he has help writing the poem. In the section I cut out, he gives me some of the information.

The final two stanzas are:

She is strong she knows such sorrow
From other moons some souls she’ll borrow
We came forth to walk the road
The seeds we planted, never sowed.

I will end this sad sad tale
Sometime soon, we’ll need to wail
But til then we’ll suffer strong
And peace I know will come along.

Blog written by Judi

Being dissociative or "MY DID"

Sheesh, what to say now? Ever since we started this blog, I have wanted to talk about my DID…. Now that I can… I’ve got BLOGFRIGHT!!!!!

The real problem is that I have too much I want to say. I want to tell you about my DID, but I also want you to know more about DID in general (i.e., How does it start, how long does it last, is it curable, how many people have DID, etc.) I remember when I was diagnosed in 1997, well, some things I remember. For example, I remember not being able to comprehend that I had +/- 60 different parts/alters in my head. I remember going to work and wondering if anyone could see how fragmented I was. I used to be so secretive about the DID – (in little, backward Socorro, NM) that I was convinced if people found out, they would burn me at the stake as if I was a witch.

Most people would not ever know when I was “switched” (i.e., someone else). A lot of my “alters” were regular people who did specialized jobs for when I could not. Stephanie was the professional worker (mostly the Human Resource Manager). I also have various “professional” drivers, so that I am probably a better and more consistent driver than most people on the road (I think I had one parking ticket, but I’m not sure). There are others. You probably recognize some of these “people-types” – you probably have your own set. The difference is one of degree and level of dissociation. Common dissociation is spacing out as you drive down the freeway. Not so common dissociation is spacing out so much that someone else comes out to deal with life, while you’re perhaps hiding in a corner of your own mind.

I hope you are as impressed with my husband as I am. How many men could sit and talk to their 40-something wife (after recent marriage), and still sit and talk to that woman when her seven year old alter comes out. Think about it. Actually, I was probably more freaked out than he was. Tim has been incredible during this entire ordeal. Since he met Patricia, he has chatted with numerous alters of different ages and temperaments. Surely, I would never have made it without his support over the last ten years. As difficult and challenging as it has been, he still has fun watching me (and my little folk) watch “kid” movies. When I was watching the movie, Alaska, about two kids looking for their father in cold country (the father had crashed his plane on a mountain). The kids were adopted by (and adopted) “Cubby” the polar bear cub. Of course, these children got into all sorts of frightening and dangerous situations, during which my little one, “Tanya,” would holler out, “Cubby, save boy!!!” or “Cubby, where girl, go find girl!!” I have to say I’m incredibly cute as a kid.

There’s so much more to say, but I have time.
Judi, et al