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Magical Thinking

     Magical thinking is the belief that ones' actions can change events logically unrelated to it.  It is commonly seen in children after a great loss or tragedy, but adults have perhaps a more complex or at least less discussed version.  In her book The Year of Magical Thinking Joan Didion refuses to give away her dead husbands' shoes because he will need them when he gets back.  It is almost as if by giving away his shoes, she would be ensuring that he cannot come back, accepting and sealing his death.  After Heath Ledgers' death, his girlfriend Michelle Williams' described her grief in her own "year of magical thinking" in an interview with ABC Nightline; "In a strange way I miss that year because all those possibilities that existed then are gone. It didn’t seem unlikely to   me that he could walk through a door or appear behind a bush. It was a year of magical thinking. And in a way I’m sad to be moving further and further away from that."

     Since being diagnosed with Dissociative Identity Disorder, life has been full of this kind of magical thinking. When dissociation or amnesia start to lift, a new reality starts to emerge slowly, layer by layer, as if coming out of the fog.  The mind only reveals what it can handle as it heals.  For me magical thinking has been necessary in the transition between amnesia and dissociation to and awareness and integration.  It wraps the mind in sort of a cocoon, one that's thinner than total amnesia but allows the mind to slowly accustom to having less and less shielding from awareness until it can handle having none at all.

     Life is full of irrational hopes- not things I admit to anyone else.  Because it is embarrassing to put them out there where every one's analytical brain can see their shy shameful nature and my analytical brain is forced to admit that the chances of their fulfillment are unlikely.  But I hold onto them tightly and quietly anyway because I need them.  I paint a fairy tale life- which is not unattainable for me, but not without dealing with some very harsh and gruesome things first.  I cut out the harsh and gruesome.  In my fairy tale world, everything is automatically perfect, and I never acknowledge that bad things exist when I'm there.  I escape to it whenever I need a mental break.  The perfect love story, the perfect life, safety and happiness.  Poof.  There you go.  I have it all planned out.  That in itself is not so bad, the part I am embarrassed to admit is that I actually believe this fairy tale world will show up and save me some day soon, automatically and with no effort, even though rationally I know it is not possible.  That I will not share with my therapist or detail here, because I'm afraid it will show how far off the deep end I really am.  I have started to be able to let go of this a bit so far in integration, and like Michelle Williams in her grieving process I am sad to see it go.  Even though I am starting to believe less and less that it is real, that it will just happen, I still hang onto it because it was a beautiful dream and I miss how it made me feel when I was there.

     There is even a point of integration when I recognize that I am holding on to illusions to ward off trauma, I recognize them as such and hold on to them anyway because of the comfort they bring.  I become transfixed with inane ordinary things- a stranger's Facebook page, a reclusive T.V. show, the front news page, some random subject for me to research and show fascination with.  Total distraction.  I was raped, I was programmed.  My dad threatened to kill me.  Wow, what a pretty scarf!  Does that come in green?  What is the fabric count?  What do I care about fabric count, fashion, or scarfs?  You know what, I'll look it up anyway.  When I'm so exhausted my eye is twitching, and alters are scurrying around in my head and knotting my muscles with tension from things we need to but don't want to deal with, I'm frantically looking up my cousin's friend's dog's name at four a.m.  because IT'S IMPORTANT!                   

     Life is also full of irrational beliefs.  My therapist spent months trying to convince me that my current living situation was unstable; "You are not safe there."  "Yes, I am."  No amount of fact checking could convince me otherwise.  In fact, I tended to black out a bit whenever those facts came up and I automatically was drawn to feelings of security and safety exactly where I was.  Some of that is due to alters that deliberately caused switching, amnesia, and blackouts because their job was to guard their secrets- guard from reality, which I would need to make safer life choices.  For me alter sabotage was intertwined with the need to make a safe transition into full awareness.  Like a little girl snuggling up on the train tracks with her blanket and the train whistle blowing in the distance.  I did not see the truth because I could not afford to, mentally, emotionally, or financially.

     As often happens in DID patients, my inner needs came into strong conflict with my outer ones, and my alters' priorities clashed in complete opposition.  Survival vs. Silence.  (I should point out that my alters, and most peoples' alters in general who sabotage or mutilate usually do so for what is, from their perspective, a very good reason.  Especially if they have been programmed, which by definition alters one's perception of reality.  They have been taught a lie and are reacting the best they can within that.)  Finally hearing that train whistle was a huge shock.  Another layer fell away and solidified, so when I looked back at the picture of my life it was now completely different than anything I had seen before, and now there was no reaching back to see it as I once had.  It's sad, but I think maybe I can handle it now, in gradual bits.  I think we are strong enough to be aware now.

A Story of My Friendship with a Clerk

     One thing I do with great regularity every week is go grocery shopping.  I know most people do, but for me, it is an essential yet soothing ritual.  I go into a little trance walking the aisles and examining food, putting food in my basket fulfills my "gatherer" DNA and makes me feel that all is right with the world.  Because of many food allergies, I can't make many things from a box or preserved to last a long time, or eat out, so there is no backup if I run out of food.  It must be bought every week.  As a result I have become very connected to the whole process of shopping, cooking, and eating.  OK I'm obsessed.  Because of this I meet and chat with the store clerks on a regular basis, and if we don't know each other by name, we do know where the other is from, their hobbies, favorite foods, etc..  I LOVE food and many great conversations are started by asking what exactly I plan to do with that kale or eggplant.

     One such clerk worked at our local Safeway.   I may have learned her name, but I don't remember it.  I'll call her Karen.  Karen looked to be a lovely middle aged woman with long dark hair.  She had children that she liked to make healthy smoothies for.  I know this because she told me during a conversation about the fruit smoothies I was making at home, during which she told me that collard greens are excellent to add to them.  She shared her "insider" knowledge on produce discounts and deals, which, in my world, is like, BIG.  She remembered me every time I came by, to the point where we made eye contact and brightened until we got close enough for a conversation.  Perhaps I brightened the most; I loved being noticed and remembered, and anyone enthusiastic about food conversations earned my long lasting loyalty.

     After perhaps half a year of knowing Karen, I made a quick grocery run to her store with my sister.  The reason my sister came with me was because I was out of it.  I was losing focus, had a headache, and could feel myself losing control.  The only reason we went at all was because I was nearly out of food, but we both knew it had to be fast.  My sister was there in case I needed help collecting items or running my card.  At the counter our clerk was Karen, but by this time I didn't know it was Karen.

     One of my male alters was in front.  He stands tall in my 5'9 build and tends to look just about as intimidating as any older teen or young man, with a bit of scowl and defiance.  He wears my mens' black farmers coat with his fists jammed in the pockets and his shoulders somehow hunched while at the same time thrown back and taking up as much space as possible.  He wasn't rude, exactly.  But he stared at Karen with a blank expression and, no doubt, a scowl.  I remember peering out from behind him with the edges of my blurry vision gone black, wondering, or perhaps jointly wondering with him, "Who is this person and why is she talking to me as if she knows me?"  I dimly noted Karens' faltering smile, her conversation turning confused and dropping off as this person stared at her with no recognition or response.  Perhaps she looked down and hurriedly stuffed my groceries into bags, I don't know.  I don't know what he did- perhaps he nodded and smiled to the weird stranger, perhaps he made some noncommittal noise, or perhaps he just gathered his things and walked out.

      It wasn't until later when I was fully back with clear thoughts and full, bright vision that I remembered some fragment of what happened.  I was puzzled for awhile and then it hit me -"Hey!  I know that woman!  Wasn't that Karen?!  We talk about food and stuff."  I felt a bit sad that I hadn't recognized her but shrugged it off and forgot about it.  There was nothing I could do now.

     Some time later I saw Karen just after I entered the store in the frozen veggies aisle.  She stood next to a cart as she restocked the shelves.  I brightened, as usual, and walked towards her with a smile forming on my face and thinking of some way to greet her.  She caught sight of me and in a second emotions flew across her face: recognition, surprise, and hurt.  She jerked to face away from me and turned her face down, burying herself in busywork with the cart.  My smile faded, I slowed and stopped.  She obviously did not want to be bothered.  And why not?  Last time she'd seen me I'd treated her like a low level lackey.  I remembered now, I connected the dots as to why she was hurt, and that our budding friendship was no longer there.

     I had hurt her, I couldn't think of a way to explain myself.  Walk up to her and say, "I'm really sorry about last time, you see I have multiple personalities and I didn't know it was you"?  Make some lame excuse about, um, me being a jerk?  I didn't think of her as just a person to bag my groceries, I liked her and admired her.  Whether or not I had been in control I had hurt her feelings.  I walked past her looking at the floor.  From then on I was careful not to check out at her counter.  I have never been one to think of things as set in stone, particularly relationships with people, but all I knew to do with her was respect her as I could by giving her a wide berth.

     I'm sad that we're not friends anymore, and sad that it is a fairly regular occurrence for me when I do make friends.  I do make a point now, when I can, of making eye contact and conversation with acquaintances to send the message "I remember you!  I know you!" to maybe hold us over when I don't.

Communication

     It's challenging, isn't it?  For everyone, I imagine.  And yet communication is one of the most fascinating aspects of life; interaction, observing expression, a light in the eyes, a pull of the mouth, body language, words- how we string them together and let them spill out of our mouths.

   Expression is a wonderful new freedom for me, one that I am gradually growing into.  I always knew how to explain and articulate well, but never to express from the heart.  To say what is REALLY going on.  One aspect in some individuals with DID who have been severely abused or programmed is what is called "cement mouth".  An occasional physical inability to speak.  One of my alters is mute, but silence on certain subjects has been the rule for all.  For some, the rule "don't speak" is very literal, and so writing or drawing is an acceptable way to get around it.  Because of this in our house we have created a 'safe zone' of messaging via computer, so that we can still discuss things that are problematic or stressful.  It is a designated area where anyone in the house can feel free to bring up any problem without fear of retaliation or judgment, where everyone will listen and think before writing a reply, and everyone will work towards a solution benefiting everybody.

     With all communication I have used a 'cheat sheet' I found on a DID support site.  Even the most basic steps like "listen," "pay attention to your feelings," "be honest," "be respectful," are new steps to me.  As basic as they are they don't seem to be commonly used.  Communication is vital to a multiple system, but invaluable outside of it also.  The biggest block I have seen to effective communication inside and outside of a multiple system is fear.  In fact working with my multiple system has provided a good model for insight into the rest of the world: 

     No one feels free to speak freely if they do not feel safe.  One does not feel safe sometimes from misconceptions, but more commonly from an unconscious awareness of danger or limitations one is living under.  Effective communication must always go hand in hand with an awareness of self and the environment, the responsibility (ability to react) to create and maintain boundaries, and the safety that comes as a result from having them.

     Effective communication is always based on equality.  No one in a power based relationship can communicate openly because the power balance is lopsided, and therefore one holds fear over the other.  To attempt to communicate openly in this situation would challenge the power balance and either push it to become equal or break apart.  Power relationships always require silence to last, and the one with the lesser power to choose between denial or misery.
    
     Communication in relationships of equality needs to be constant.  Unlike power relationships with established rules, relationships with equal members takes effort from all members.  Without continual communication, equal relationships will either fall apart or slide into a power based one.

     Since this is Martin Luther King day here in the U.S., this post is sort of my shout out to free speech, liberty, social justice, etc.  Communication is huge part of that, both changing power based relationships into equal ones, from a personal and national level, to allowing full expression and fulfillment inside them.  And sort of like the saying "Freedom is not free," good communication takes WORK, and guts.  It can give you freedoms, but it requires you to step up.

 
     

Perceptions of Mental Illness After Mass Shootings

     I (we) have been watching with growing concern the increase in mass shootings around the country and the ideas it is forming and bringing out in people concerning the mentally ill.  In my own personal studies of humanity in crime (see Supernova posts), I have noticed that whenever atrocious crimes are committed people instantly try to distance their identity from the perpetrator.  Perhaps the incredulity of what one person in their identity group has done leads to a nagging fear in the back of their minds of what they themselves are capable of.  In any case, distancing oneself from the person who has committed immoral, shameful, or misunderstood acts seems to be the first gut reaction when the deed is made public. "They cannot really be human" people exclaim in astonishment.  Or they find reassurance in pointing to a group they do not associate with as the cause for such terrible actions.  I have been alarmed at the reassurance people seem to find in automatically assuming that mass shooters are mentally ill, or in cases of confirmed mental illness, that they believe the mental illness to be the root cause of such extreme violence.

     While some people who believe mental illness to be the cause of mass shootings are pushing for better mental health care in the US, which is desperately needed, I am concerned about the serious detrimental consequences such a belief will have to the community of people living with mental illness.  First off, we share in the shock and grief of the national and universal community we are also a part of when we hear about such crimes.  Secondly it is an unfair affront to automatically lump us together with criminals simply because of a condition which is completely out of our control. Mental illness does not a criminal make.  Being mentally ill does not make a person dangerous.

      Not to mention it is unjust (I won't say unfair) to the perpetrators in assuming they must be mentally deranged to be capable of committing such a violent act.  Or that mental illness is the only reason they would commit such a thing.  Such an act is beyond asking for help, but it is a scream that is MEANT to be heard worldwide.  I ache for them as I do for the victims they have taken.  I can see that some mental illness may make them more predisposed to act on such rage and despair, but rage and despair are things not belonging solely to mental illness, but rather to the human condition.  It is impossible for any human to point to these lost souls and be able to honestly say "They are not one of us!".  The pain and emotion that beat in them is a pain and emotion that beats in all of us; the numbness that blinds them to a sacred reverence for life we have all proven ourselves capable of in lesser degrees.  PAIN is what causes people to kill.  Not guns.  Not mental illness.  Trying to control guns and mental illness may help curb mass destruction but will not address the root cause; ignoring it will only cause that root issue to grow.  I firmly believe that disowning these men will only widen the rift inside ourselves and between each other, and turn a blind eye towards further destruction in the future.

     Another worry about the growing animosity towards mental illness is that most people who live with it will not be in a position to speak out and defend themselves.  Either their mental illness prevents them from organizing and expressing coherent thought, or the stigma against mental health shames them from admitting to anyone that they have a disorder.  The perception of mental illness is already so poorly understood that most people try to deal with it quietly with as few people in their lives knowing about it as possible.  It is easy to pile a stigma on the brand of mental health when no one can speak against it without blowing their cover or making themselves a target.

     I believe the point we are at now in history can be a good turning point if we can learn to truly communicate and listen to each other, not just with our ears and minds, but our whole being.  We need to share ourselves, to express ourselves with each other.  Something needs to be done, not just on a legal level, or a national level, but on a heart level, individually and as a community.

                         

That Question

     Today we had a dentist appointment at 9a.m..  Since for various reasons we have been a night owl for the last few months, we decided the only way to pull this off was to yank our schedule down a bit this week and then pull an all night-er the night before.  Yeah, won't be doing THAT again any time soon. 
     So while we were sitting in the dentist chair (the awesome one that silently glides up and down so I feel like I'm on a mini roller coaster), wearing the sun glasses she gave me to shade against the overhead glare (awesome sun glasses that made me feel like a rock star), two things happened worth mentioning.  First, it occurred to me that while I was happy not to be freaking out at the dentist as I had feared, I was enjoying this way too much.  I nearly shared my glee with the dental hygienist about the rising chair and the rock star shades but rather unsuccessfully covered it up.  I began to ponder that we seriously need to get out more. 
     Then we began that awkward attempt at a two way conversation while one person is holding sharp objects and electric powered tools in the others' mouth.  That's usually the worst part of a dentist trip for many abuse survivors.  I don't have it too bad, but it makes some alters very nervous or frightened.  But the hygienist was very careful and cheerful, giving me plenty of breaks in which I was able to actually reply enough for us to hold a real conversation, which I felt rather proud of.  Good distraction.  The not so good part of the good distraction was my ability as an unemployed person who has suffered severe trauma and is now mentally incapacitated for the time being, to have good answers for the most basic polite conversation starters. 

     "So what do you do?" 

     I live off the goodwill of others while I take an excruciating long time to heal from brainwashing, sexual assault, and torture.       *cricket chirps*
     "Um, I don't work.  I do stuff at home."

     "What are you doing for the rest of the day/weekend?"

     Oh yeah, people actually plan stuff like this.  How would I know what I'll be doing in four hours?
     "I . . .  stay so busy planning for stuff during the week I don't plan for the weekend, I just crash."

     "Oh, that's too bad."

    Nothing like giving a fake answer to avoid eliciting pity only to elicit pity anyway because you're fake answer was just so lame.  So as I learned today, if there are things in your life you can't discuss with strangers and the most basic social questions throw you off guard, you need an alibi.  An alias, if you will.  Prepare for these kinds of questions beforehand and practice them.  You don't have to lie, but know in advance what you are comfortable sharing and what you are not.  Be prepared to share at least something or deflect the question in a way that leaves both you and the other person comfortable.

MPD Frasier Quotes

      I know I have not posted in awhile, here is a bit of Multiple Personality humor from one of my favorite TV shows;



"I really have to go. I'm conducting a seminar on multiple personality disorders, and it takes me forever to fill out the name tags."  -Niles Crane



http://www.popscreen.com/p/MTQwMjI3Mjcx/Free-desktop-backgrounds-with-frasier-october-wallpaper-300882


"Oh, I'm sorry. I meant to, but I had a crisis with a patient. One of my multiples had a new personality emerge - a one-hundred-and-ten-year-old Frenchwoman. It would have been too risky to put off his therapy. Plus I would have missed out on a wonderful recipe for bouillabaisse." - Niles Crane


"Oh yes, I had the same trouble with some of my multiple personality patients; one would always claim that the other one sent the check." Frasier Crane