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Thursday, 04 December 2008

F-A-T

I am so tired of hearing people bitch about fat people. I have heard some of the most ridiculous excuses as to why these people deserve to be shit on. My favorite? "Fat people just don't respect themselves, and I can't respect somebody that can't respect themselves."
.....You're kidding me right? Who REALLY respects themselves THAT much? Self respect is a great thing, but everyone in the world falls short sometimes. Smokers must not deserve respect either. Neither does anybody who does drugs. Or gets drunk from time to time. Or stays up late when they know they have to get up early for work. Even the health nut can take things too far and harm their own body or mental health. ALL of these things take a tole on your health. ALL of these things are denying what your body really needs. ALL of these things are disrespectful.
So should we disrespect every person in the world that disrespects themselves? Even when we're at fault as well. Hmm... I smell hypocrite. Where would the progress in that point of view be? Everybody turn against everybody else because of their lifestyle that hurts no one but themselves. Sounds productive.
Fat people are treated like they're these diseased creatures stuck in a lower level of evolution these days. Some people really don't give a shit, but there are a few select groups that feel like they have the right to abuse bigger people. Yes, ABUSE. Why you'd attack people twice your size is beyond me... But why do people do it? Let me guess. They're lazy. They're pathetic slobs that should hide from public until they stop stuffing themselves? What is this? 9th grade all over again?
You know what's interesting? Anorexia is the most well known eating disorder. People starve themselves, mostly because of the state of their own mental health, but sometimes because they just want to fit in. But let me educate you people that are so obsessed with respect about another eating disorder that is skyrocketing.
Binge eating disorder. It's bulimia without the purging. When some people feel out of control in their environment or because of their emotions, they binge. Typically afterwards the binge is followed by feelings of guilt and depressions. Sometimes they're so severe they bring up fantasies of suicide. But the cycle starts over when the feelings become too much, they binge, they feel terrible, they binge, they feel terrible, they binge.......
Many people with this eating disorder were sexually, physically, or sometimes just emotionally abused as children. This brought about feelings of powerlessness. They were hurt because they were small, helpless children. This can actually bring about a true phobia of feeling small again. In these cases, these people binge TO gain weight. They do it to protect themselves from further abuse. Skinny = small = helpless. God, it must feel fantastic, you know, attacking somebody for being overweight because they were raped when they were four years old. Congratulations. Your parents must be so proud of the fucking idiot they raised.
I hate to be such a bitch, but damn. That's just rude and cruel and people don't even think about it. THAT's what pisses me off most about this generation. Nobody asks why anymore. WHY would somebody be morbidly obese? WHY haven't they changed it, and if they can't, shouldn't that be their business and their personal recovery journey? WHY do people hate them so much for being fat? WHY does it threaten people so much? WHY do people feel that they have the right to make others hate themselves? WHY does a number on a scale equal somebody's worth? Just... why? And why aren't people asking any questions?
So people can talk about self respect all they want. Being obese may not be the perfect image of self respect, but neither is starving yourself and working your ass of at an unhealthy rate to lose weight. Neither is losing more than two pounds a week on average, in fact, simply because it's bad for your body. Self respect isn't depriving your body and mind of what it needs by eating 500 calories a day, or puking after every meal. Or running 10 miles a day to stay slim. And self respect is certainly not obsessing over your weight. All of that is just as unhealthy as being overweight.
Self respect is caring about yourself unconditionally. It's tuning into your body and mind's needs and working to get them at your own pace. It's forgiveness for your mistakes, not punishment. And truthfully, it's not giving a damn about what other people have to say about you, your weight, your appearance, point of view, opinions, or anything else. It's being who you are, and not letting people change you because they are so insecure themselves that they can't approve of you.
I'm a big woman, but I would much rather work through my own issues and eventually slim down when I'm ready rather than despising myself for "just not adding up" and being in a continual war with myself. I'm a very smart and strong woman, and truthfully I'm content with where I am right now. I wear what I want, go where I want, do what I want, have sex when I want, and be around whoever I want despite my weight. WHY should it hold me back? When people get their nose in your business and start pointing out your flaws, REALLY listen, because honestly, they're really just telling you their own personal insecurities.
When I'm being myself, my weight is the last damn thing on my mind. And I wish I could show other people that trying to starve yourself isn't the answer. And on the other side, I wish I could show people that many fat people actually respect and care for themselves very much so, and all do when the time is right. I know that I certainly respect and take care of myself. But at the end of the day, I am who I am. I'm not a fat person. I'm just a chick who happens to be fat, and I deserve the same amount of respect that a chick who happens to be skinny deserves.

Monday, 27 October 2008

It's the good old fasioned love story.

Girl meets boy. He seems strong and sexy and even mysterious. Girl falls for boy. Boy goes fucking insane and becomes a total control freak.
Okay, I am the first to try to help a woman stuck in domestic violence. I'm the first to help ANYBODY that can't take care of themselves for whatever reason. But it gets so damn frustrating. I've helped many women and a few men get out of abusive relationships. I've even crossed some important boundaries and did everything I could to protect them. And for what? People never change because they don't want to. There is safety in the abuse. It's the same. It's the same overly jealous prick. The same house. The same routine. The same everything. It's easier to stay in the familiar that to go off on your own. I understand that. I understand loving somebody unconditionally. I understand.
However, it infuriates me at this point. Okay, I DO understand. And I don't want anybody to think that I'm a soulless bitch. I do want to help these people. I want to counsel them and help them find their power again. But that can be some really frustrating work.
It really pisses me off to see anybody take control over another person, but it also really gets to me to let people allow themselves to be taken over. There's no fighting anymore. There is no passion. Okay, maybe I have some bad anger issues, but every time I see a man smack a woman in the back of the head and mutter his completely narcissistic and quite frankly asshole infested statements, I want to grab him by the fucking head and rip his balls off. I'm not gonna lie. But every time I see the woman look down at her feet and just take it I want to grab her by the shoulders and shake her. I want to scream at her. I want her to stand up, I want her to do something. I want her to do ANYTHING, even if it just means walking away. I want her to come to life again. And it pisses me off when they don't. It makes me crazy angry that he does it, but it makes me mad that she takes it.
My mother used to take all the bullshit from my dad and my brother. The smack on the back of the head, the criticizing. Oh, god forbid the food tastes a little off. The "you'll do as I say. You'll suffer because I say so. You'll take me hitting you because I've got a dick and you don't." And I was groomed to be that woman. I was groomed to take and take and take the abuse. To let anybody step over me. To let anybody violate me. Hit me, beat me, belittle me, touch me. Just look down and take it. Laugh about it cause you certainly can't cry. They abused me and raised me to be abused. And they did a good job. Countless people have taken advantage of me because I let them. I've got the scars, mainly physical, some emotional, to prove it.
I've been taking my power back though. If any man hits me, you bet your ass I'll hit them back. If any man violates me, well, he'll meet my new best friend - Mr. Pepper Spray. I am not going to be afraid. Why should I be simply because I've got boobs? It doesn't seem to make much since.
We need to raise our daughters to be strong. Not to be the damsel in distress, but to find a way out of that damn tower themselves. Not to be the princess, but the gentle warrior. My daughters will know that they are precious and special. They will know that they have the right to say no. That they have the right to go through life unafraid. They will know how to emotionally and physically take care of themselves and protect themselves. My sons will know how special they are as well. And how they should never, ever hurt other people in that way, or ever let anybody hurt them in that way. My children will be kind and strong because I'll show them their power. If someone had shown me at that age, I could have changed my world, and the worlds around me. The cycle of abuse stops with me. My children will be protected and loved.

Friday, 17 October 2008

So... what's it really like?

You know, I've had countless people come up to me asking what it's like to be a multiple. Not by choice, no. You tell the wrong person something in this town and by the end of the weeks, everybody's grandmother is curious.
I suppose the most insulting time that it has ever happened was when a vindictive, selfish bitch wanted the job I was closing in on. So, she ran and told the woman that I was crazy. The job involved young children, so of course the woman wouldn't even take her chances. Something I respect, but at the same time, lets not be fucking stupid about it. I wanted to explain. Like I say time and time again, DID is not as crazy as movies make it out to be. You would never even suspect it if we came in contact. But hey, people always believe whatever they want. I wanted to at least clean up the mess this other crazy bitch caused. If somebody's going to know my business, they're going to know the truth and not what somebody who had whatever problem with me has to say about it. I tried to explain, and was mocked and ridiculed out of the place. How very adult, no?
The truth is the one word that sums up what it's like to be a multiple is confusion.
The interesting thing is when I was very little, I could feel it developing, I just didn't know what it was. I remember something traumatic happening and walking away a "different" little girl. Or sometimes I just walked away as a little boy because I thought that maybe if I was a boy, nobody would sexually abuse me. I thought "Pssh.. that stuff doesn't happen to boys." Obviously it does, but you know. Whatever gets you through it. I remember feeling so torn. When my brother, who was much older than me, beat the shit out of me, my mother would say "Well, you shouldn't have done ______. Now you know." Even if it was very obviously not my fault. I'd walk away dead inside because it was like fire works in my mind. All the emotions broke off and went into different corners of my mind. The experience, the memories as well, so I wouldn't have to remember unless I wanted to.
I remember specifically being oh, well, I guess about 10 years old? I'm not sure, my time is all kinds of fucked up. But I was playing in the floor with the dog. My mother and father were arguing as always and he threw his dinner plate towards me. It banged against the wall and even scared the shit out of the dog. I started crying and crying. He basically called me a pussy and started bitching at me. Yeah, like it's unnatural for a kid to cry when somebody's throwing kitchenware at them. So I decided that that little girl was bad. Everybody said she was, and that crying was wrong, so they had to be right. I decided that she was somebody else. I was the tough girl now. I didn't cry over anything. I completely split from her though, including the memories. And it doesn't take long to forget why anything happens. So you stop asking why. It just... is.
Even when I was very little I remember having my little "friends." I could hear them, but never when I could get into trouble for it. They'd talk me through the bad times. When I was about five I told the school about the abuse but only the stuff at home. I guess they didn't think too much of it because they didn't do shit. I guess they figured I was lying because I was completely emotionless about it. But I lost hope after that. I prayed and prayed to god to take me away, to just let them kill me, and nothing happened. But after a while the stronger voices started talking me through things. I wanted to kill myself by the time I was six and they'd say "no, no, baby. You're okay, you're with me. We have to keep going and one day we'll be free." I called the main one Angel. Even today she guides me, but now in my healing. I guess she's a higher state of mind in me.
How it started with me, I'll probably never know. My earliest memories are of sexual abuse around two or three years of age. In the memory I hear the screaming of some of my guys ("alternate personalities" - whatever you want to call them.) Some of them are talking and yelling to one another. There's quite a few though, so it probably started before that. It's so weird to think about that though. I'm still in therapy myself. I'm still very split off, and in those memories, they're different little girls to me. One day they'll be me, but I'm not ready for that yet.
But dealing with this as a daily thing is quite interesting, I must admit. I was only diagnosed two years ago, so in no way am I an expert. And everybody's DID experience is very different. But it's not like I'm some crazy chick that stays in my closet all day just talking to nobody. I do talk to them. That's the goal in therapy, open communication and learn to work together to that one day, if it's right for the group, integrate. Yeah, I talk to them. But it's not like I've lost my sense of reality. I know they're different aspects of myself.
When my selves begin to have more control than I do, it's not frightening like movies make you want to believe. In reality it's just like an extreme mood change. You would see a mood change like you see in everyone. But what I'm feeling inside on average is just... stillness. It's like looking at a foggy world through my own eyes, but only as an observer. However, there's trust in it now. My other selves react to different things in their own way, but in safe ways. Not psycho killer ways like that movie with the chick from Emily Rose where her alter is killing people for a hobby.
This is going to be a truly shitty example but it's the best I've got. One time, way before I was ever diagnosed, I was just in a good mood having a good time with a bunch of friends. My guard was totally down, I was just happy, you know? And this guy came over threatening me. He put his hands on me and I told him to leave me alone. The moment he touched me, I felt something change in my mind. It felt like I started slipping backwards in my mind. Fog started rolling in and I was watching this guy put his hands on me through glass, it seemed. I felt powerless and began to panic. But I watched myself get more aggressive with him. I verbally snapped on him as my friend's mouths dropped. Normally I'm the kindest person, believe it or not. He didn't back away and I completely lost control and this other completely took over. This surge of power went over my body and pushed the guy off of me, against the wall across the room. The person that was doing this was not me, and they were very ready for physical confrontation. I felt huge. My body felt strong and powerful. I didn't feel like a girl anymore. I felt like I could truly take care of myself if this prick started putting his hands on me again. And it frightened the guy and he walked away. Once he turned and walked away, I melted. I felt so so so small. All I wanted to do was crawl under the desk and cry. I began to shake as I started coming back into focus and the fog cleared. Everybody said "What the fuck was that?"
I didn't know then, but I've learned. That was one of my male protectors. I didn't know then that I had been sexually abused and people touching me triggered me. I fell back into my mind as he came forward to take care of the situation, because emotionally, I wasn't strong enough and would have let this guy do whatever. Then when I began to feel very small, it was one of my hurt children alters coming through.
Somebody might say "oh, this is bullshit, how could that ever happen?" Well, maybe when I was little I felt like little girls were powerless, and boys and men reigned supreme. So maybe I imagined that a part of me was male to protect me. You never know.
But people always ask me "Isn't that how regular people are? We're all 'different people' in different situations." Yes, your work you is different from your you that hangs out with your friends. You react differently, typically. You generally just feel differently. But your work you and fun you are still connected. You still have the same memories, the same views on important issues, the same feeling towards your loved ones, etc.. Many aspects of myself are not like that.
Ugh. I've failed to give justice to this topic. I'll have to continue later.

Thursday, 09 October 2008

What is DID?

Okay, there are unlimited articles, books, blogs, etc., that will tell you exactly what they think DID is. Chances are only about 15% of them are really onto something.
American Psychiatric Association's Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders state that for a diagnosis to be made there must be two or more distinct personalities/identities each with their own pattern of perceiving and interacting with the environment present. They must routinely take control of the person's behavior. The individual must also have periods of forgetfulness that's beyond the normal range (as long as substance abuse isn't the cause.)
Now where does this whole thing start? That's still up in the air with some people, but a lot of people have pretty much accepted that it comes from repeated traumatic abuse at a young age. That's still a little hard for people to comprehend so I'll explain a bit further.
If you were raped right now, it would shake your entire world. Everything would be distorted. You'd relive it, see it in your nightmares, be triggered by people that look like the person that assaulted you. Chances are you'd experience a range of sexual dysfunctions. Sometimes people develop eating disorders, irrational phobias, agoraphobia, etc.. It reaches every aspect of one's life. Without therapy, the after effects of rape can literally destroy lives. And this is with a fully developed adult.
Now imagine being four years old and having the same experience. Maybe it's the person that's supposed to take care of you. Maybe it's brother, maybe it's dad, or even mom. Maybe the neighborhood sicko. Whoever it is, it becomes a daily/weekly thing. You can't say anything, they said you'd be in trouble. Or maybe they even threatened you. There's no escape. What does a child do when there's absolutely no escape? Sometimes, not always, but sometimes, they imagine it's happening to somebody else. A different little girl or boy. And that's how it starts.
You can't go to school and learn and play without feeling all that pain that builds up night after night after night, but you can't tell either. So maybe the little school boy or girl has no recollection of it. But what happens to the pain? It doesn't just go away. What happens to the little one that's hurt over and over again? They don't just disappear. They still stay there and take the pain and memories so that the little school boy or girl can still function. So that they can still survive. But what about the anger? The hopelessness? These things don't just disappear either. So they become different things, different people, not like the good little school boy or girl. They take the feelings and the experiences so that the school children can still live a "normal" life. Does this mean they're literally different people? No, they're still a part of that hurt little girl or boy. It's still the same child, just fragmented, split, dissociated. The child that "didn't experience" the abuse may not even know about the parts of her that did. Or she may play with them like the average child plays with her imaginary friends.
That's the interesting thing about DID. It's so personalized. There aren't two multiples in this entire world that are exactly alike. I mean, it's like okay, with depression, you're depressed. Everybody's symptoms are the same. With eating disorders, you have disordered eating. No shit, eh? But with multiplicity, it's all whatever the original child imagines. My therapist always says "It's literally only limited by one's imagination." So freakin' true.
But goddamnit, it pisses me off when therapists say that DID isn't real. Hate to be the mommy type, but they should be ashamed. I'm working on getting my degree so I can be a therapist, and personally, I want to do my job, which is what, people? HELP PEOPLE THAT NEED HELP! Jesus freakin' Christ. It's like shit. These people have already been through hell and back. Then when they finally reach out, people deny them. God, it pisses me off. But, as much as I respect therapists, there will always be those few in every profession that just sit on there asses when things get tough. It can't be easy - treating someone with DID. There's the abuse, the bickering selves, the PTSD, the irrational fears. Ugh. Lazy therapists are bastards. End of story.
With that said.... This blog isn't about me just whining about my abuse or whatever to anybody and everybody that'll listen. It'll come up. After all, this blog is about what it's like to be DID. That's a big fucking part of DID unfortunately. But I'm not a victim. No, no, no, honey. There are so many other survivors, it's unbelievable. Shit, you know somebody like me. You passed somebody like me on the train, subway, sidewalk, whatever today. Somebody like me went into your local fucking McDonalds today. Someone like me ate those same exact cookies with the big chunks that you love so much, and they're worrying about their ass getting big just like you do. Hate to say it, but the numbers just keep getting higher and higher. I'm not worried though. Survivors are beautiful people, scars and all.

Quote of the day: Do I contradict myself? Very well then I contradict myself. I am large, I contain multitudes.
If you can guess who said that without using fucking google, I'll bake you some yummy cookies.

Friday, 26 September 2008

And so it begins.

What can I say about a disorder that even some professionals will tell you it's complete bullshit. Attention seeking bullshit. It's a conspiracy, don't you know? Therapists all over the world are planting these crazy ideas into their patients head so that they can get rich and famous while sadistically feeding their clients with made up memories of abuse, rape, and unimaginable forms of torture. There is no doubt in my mind that some crazy assholes have tried to do that with their clients before. What can I say? People are fucking nuts. But when people say that all cases of DID (dissociative identity disorder/multiple personalities) are just therapists trying to further their career, I think of the classic evil Disney witches with huge warts just sitting in the corner, wringing their hands, laughing manically saying, "yess..... yeessssss.. it is almost complete!!!"
The truth? Dissociative Identity Disorder is very real. I was diagnosed a few years ago. But you know the crazy thing? I knew before I even started therapy. I didn't know the name of what was happening to me, but I knew exactly what was going on. I knew that I felt like different people all the time. I knew that nothing could explain the time lapses I experienced ever so often. Even today, even now that I'm starting to get a handle on this crazy time thing, strangers still come up to me expecting me to know them. Asking me about the boyfriend, about college, about all this random shit and I'm still sitting there like "uh.. who are you again?" I've become the master of lying in that sense though. Now I just "know" everybody I come across. Now OTHER people are still sitting there thinking "Damn... where the hell did I know her from???" Ha-HA!
But I guess my therapist had to have bribed all these random strangers to run up to me and start a conversation about things in my life they shouldn't even have the slightest idea about. I guess that she was stalking me when I was younger, leaving random drawings and notes to myself around the house, drugging me so that I'd lose time and have extreme mood swings, putting these loud "voices"(more like loud thoughts) in my head years before I even met her. Wait... *gasp* I didn't find her years ago..... she found me!! Dun dun duuunnnnn!
It's all so clear to me now. All these people are in on it. All these therapists are just sitting up in their little towers, plotting against me, right? They've just been sending small, invisible people to come to my house and reek havoc. Sending letters, notes, journals, pictures in different handwriting. Sending subliminal messages, trying to brainwash me into thinking I was abused ever so subtly. My therapist must be the fucking ring leader.
Or - a much less interesting suggestion - the diagnosis is right. I know. Bummer, eh? Maybe it means we have to actually accept all the bullshit in the world. Maybe that's why people have such a hard time accepting this disorder, I don't know.
Or maybe they just have the wrong idea from all the crazy fucking movies out about it that don't even begin to portray what it's like to live as a true multiple. Believe it or not, I don't have a violent and angry alter (alternate personality) that kills people at night. My little ones don't pop out in the middle of my psych. classes just to say hi - though that'd be funny as hell. I don't lead double, or even triple lives - though I'm sure that happens with even "normal" people. I don't have anybody inside that beats the boyfriend, kills animals for fun, and runs screaming naked down the street at midnight. Truth be told, my life just isn't that fucking interesting.
If you ran into me at your favorite store, you wouldn't even begin to suspect that I hold hundreds of selves. I wouldn't attack you, scream at you, try to hurt you, get little and ask you to hold me cause "Ima so scurred.." or even ask you to call me by a different name. I'm pretty "normal" believe it or not - whatever the fuck that means. Maybe if people knew what it was like to live as a real multiple, it wouldn't be so unbelievable. But who knows? People will always believe only what they want to believe.

Coming soon: "What exactly is DID?" just in case you don't know and were too lazy to google.