Suicide Cloud

When I look to the sky it can seem sunny and blue, and then without me noticing the change, the next time I look up the sky is gray and cloudy. I wonder to myself how long it has been that way and I just didn't notice the change. I am present, and then gone, and then eventually back again and the sky is not the same.

Today, I moved from one Airbnb to another in sunny California. The new home is much nicer. There is more light coming into the unit, it is in a great walkable neighborhood only 10 minutes from the beach, and it actually has a view.

When I arrived here, I felt as though I could breathe better than the last place, as the first place was like living in a box and had one view of a literal concrete wall, and another view of an overcrowded apartment complex. I felt anxious outside that apartment, so the safety of this place in this location has reduced my anxiety some, which is always a plus.

But, just as I wasn't watching the blue sky turn to gray because I was somewhere else in my head, I didn't understand the drastic change in my mood.

I went from happy to suicidal without really knowing why or how it happened. I panicked and started looking for therapists online who meet with people on Saturdays (apparently, that's a common thing here in California). I didn't end up connecting with one, so just did my best to pass the time to put this day behind me.

But for the brief moments when the distraction didn't work, I could imagine myself hanging dead in this new beatific apartment. Or, I would look at all the pills I have with me and realize I have enough to kill myself.

This is my life with Dissociative Identity Disorder.

I have no one to turn to. I know better than to call the treatment center I am currently enrolled in Monday-Friday. Even though they have someone on call for after hours, I couldn't bother them or put myself in the position of being too suicidal or just too much for this treatment program also.

Just tough it out my insiders say. Do what you are good at. We don't need anyone. People suck and they just hurt us over and over.

These changes in mood, especially the severity of the changes when I have no idea what is happening is so maddening. Maybe if I stayed more present more of the time this wouldn't happen, or at least I would understand why.

Who am I kidding. Staying present sucks most of the time. I have been missing in action my whole life, so why would I want to change it now.

My life is mostly total shit. Why would anyone want to show up and be present for that?

I realize this attitude doesn't help my recovery journey, but it is authentic for where I am in my life today.

Knifes in your soul

I have come to realize this past year that even though I was for an extended time extremely high functioning and stable, that I am actually among the most severely injured from a childhood filled with abuse and other horrific things.

It is not cool to be in this club of the severely injured because with these injuries comes damage, lots of it. And I have found that the mental health system doesn't like messy, severely damaged people.

I am complicated. The affects of my abuse have left behind a complicated and difficult set of symptoms. As a result, my soul has been repeatedly ripped out this year by people rejecting me or my symptoms or my diagnosis of Dissociative Identity Disorder.

It seems no one who knows how to treat this disorder and my symptoms in a way that would be effective wants to help me.

Rejection. Rejection. Rejection.

Laughingly, I am not supposed to take it personally, or believe there is anything inherently wrong with me.

I am wished good luck in my future treatment and sent on my way knowing there is no future treatment to be had. I fear I have looked under every stone and have run out of options.

But don't give up. Stay alive. It doesn't matter how miserable your life is. This I am told over and over by those who reject me.

The injuries to my soul have been brutal. Especially since it is over and over. To be rejected your whole life, even by the so-called angels who are supposed to help those of us with these injuries.

It is hard for me not to believe that God is punishing me. I haven't had this kind of knife into my soul so much until this last year. I try to find hope, but then I get the knife in my soul again.

How many knifes to your soul can happen before it is completely dead?

But I am not supposed to give up. I am to keep fighting as if that has ever really gotten me anywhere. Big deal, I'm alive.

I would be better off dead, which is a hard sentiment to swallow knowing I have children I should live for.

It is a double bind. Live in torture or harm my children by leaving them.

Oh, but I am supposed to get better by some miracle that hasn't come for 50 years now……

Giving up?

Lately, I have been struggling more than usual with suicidal thinking, time loss, confusion, severe amnesia, thinking people want me to kill myself, and generally trying to keep my mind in shut-down mode so I don’t become totally hopeless. 

If I do become totally hopeless, I am worried I will do something I don’t want to do to my kids, which would be to kill myself. 

It is such a hard place to be in. On the one hand, I really want to give up and put an end to my life. On the other hand, I want to be there for my children and make sure they are ok.

I know killing myself will mess up my kids, but when your mind gets sicker and sicker, it is hard to stay strongly rational so you can ignore those impulses.

And even though my wife says she supports me and loves me if I go to a psych hospital, the truth is there is only so much a person can take in a relationship, and what am I doing to my kids by being gone and missing so much of their childhood (even when I am here.)

Psych hospitals suck, even the best of them, and there is never any guarantee that they will help at all. Sometimes they do, sometimes they don’t. 

Giving up is so much easier and pleasant sounding at the moment, but then if I can hold on to thinking about my kids it is not an option. Unless I get too sick to hold onto that thought.

I am just whining today. Mental illness sucks. At least I have a comfortable bed and two puppies to keep me company at home. I don’t much need food any more.

Ambivalence. Confusion. Hopelessness.

Life sucks today.

The mistaken survival of the soul-less child

 

681b5a8aa699a740d4474eb363281471I have walked through my entire life a fraud. A nonexistent soul using the mortal body of no one. I am a fraud because from time-to-time, I would use this body to pretend as if I was a normal human being. Though, I always return to my place of nothingness. The place where those without souls return.

As a child I tried my best to be as invisible as possible. I tried being very still and quiet. I do not want to be noticed because I know I do not belong to this world. This world is confusing and cruel and scary. I don’t like it, so I am happy to not really belong to it. Yet, somehow, I got stuck with this mortal body that always seems to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

There is no making sense of the life this mortal body was given. The people who come in and out of it. The constant desire for it to die.

To be human is to claw your way through everything to survive. This soul-less being does not wish to survive this cruel human world.

This body does not know love, comfort, happiness, safety, or anything that would be good or pleasurable. This body knows darkness, sadness, hatred, pain, evil, death, anger, and a strong desire to turn out the lights on this mortal body.

Without hope, there is death.

This soul-less body was created from birth with lies, pain, shame, fear, and brutality. It was programed to be obedient, to never disobey, and to serve the greater human species to which it did not belong.

How can an entire species be so cruel, even to the soul-less body who was never one of them? But it is true, and that is the way it is.

A wrecked soul-less child body who mistakenly survived. It was never supposed to survive. There is not upside for this being. There is no better. No nothing. Especially a real life on the human planet.

It is so confusing to figure out what to do with this fraud of a soul-less body. Oh children, why did you survive? I suppose some instinct, or maybe they made you with their confusing lies. I don’t blame you. I promise I hold no anger toward you. You were only babies and toddlers and youngsters doing what you thought you were supposed to do.

Now we have this fraudulent body built through evil lies, and there is nothing for it to do but to lay in bed until it dies. Oh wise one, you are correct in that we could take it from this earth sooner by our own hands. But, they say it will ruin the human children in this new family.

I know we don’t belong. But there is a speck of dust, maybe love, in this soul-less body that makes me think how sad it would be for these human children to be ruined by our actions.

We may know we never belonged, and wouldn’t have ever wanted to belong to this world, but now we have somehow become connected to these two children who look to us to keep behaving in a fraudulent way because they need us to.

Why, with no soul inside, do we have to always be the good guys? Why?

Because that’s the way it is.

 

silent agony

IMG_3328

I am at such a wtf am I going to do moment. I can’t get out of bed, except sometimes to take care of my kids in my house and to go to therapy appointments. This has been going on for bloody 17 months.

I am not getting better. Sometimes I desperately want to get better, other times I hear inside that staying in bed is better and I shouldn’t try to change it.

I hate that my wife is so confused about what to do. Sometimes I think she wants to leave me, and I don’t blame her. Sometimes I want her to leave me so I do not have to be judged and can just stay in bed with no one trying to change me or feel bad for me.

But then I remember my kids. Shit, I just can’t abandon them. They need me. I wish they didn’t so I could leave this planet. I love them so much, but I lay in pain so much too.

It is a cruel joke that I have survived in life. I am definitely not living. I am holding on to parenting my kids mostly from inside my bedroom or the house.

No one understands how hard it is for me to get up and shower and eat dinner with them.

I know this is some kind of anxiety. I M probably terrified people are going to hurt me outside the house. I have a lot of recent experience with that.

My mind tells my body to get up and take a shower and do something normal. My body just ignores me and lays in my bed.

I am literally wasting away in this bed. I am getting older and don’t have much life yet, so I don’t understand why I am doing this. Oh, an insider says I am punishing  myself for the therapist who abandoned me.

So many reasons. Not sure it even matters anymore now. I hate for my children to see me in bed, and wonder what they think of me.

My pain is raw. Yet I am also numb. This is why my suicide switch keeps flickering. The answer is there, but the insiders won’t agree so we languish in silent agony.

A Decade Lost


I never had a true suicidal thought until I was 21. Sure, in my teens I did plenty of things that looked like they were unconscious, wreck less suicidal behaviors, butnit really wasn’t conscious.

I’ll never forget when I first started having true suicidal thoughts and feelings. My life up to then was always extremely busy, and I was not the type of person who stopped to smell the roses. Then one day, it was Spring of my Senior year in college and my life came to a screeching halt. 

I suddenly found myself sitting on the benches of my beautiful undergraduate college and just staring at the trees and watching all the happy people walk by.

I had no idea what was happening, but I turned into someone else overnight, and my first response was to hide it from my closest friends. None of them knew I was circling the drain moreso as each day went by.

I was so confused. I had everything going for me and I was overwhelmed with sadness, depression, anxiety, and a desire to die. Where was this coming from? What was happening?

I went to college prior to the internet, so I had nowhere to turn to to learn I was having a Major Depressive episode. 

Though I don’t remember how, I did manage to find help through a wonderful therapist and psychiatrist who provided me with great care and concern.

The irony was I was living next to a private psychiatric hospital, and used to watch the patienrs down the hill as I walked my dog on the path of my apartment complex. Maybe I knew I would be one of them one day.

I was thrust from never having a suicidal thought to having them everyday. It’s a big change in your brain to make that switch.

Fortunately for me, I found help, and this was pre-managed care, so the hospital kept me for about six months until I was kind of better.

True to my frequent Identity shifts, I left that hospital and went back to the major city I was supposed to live in post college, and moved into my condominium I had purchased just before things went South for me. Oddly, I walked right over to the private psychiatric hospital in town with the best reputation and got a job there much to everyone’s puzzlement. I already had a contract signed with a major corporation for a job I accepted pre-breakdown.

It turned out what I had learned for my myself in the hospital all that time turned me into a great mental health clinician, who could truly empathize with the patients I worked with.

I was good at that job, and loved working with the patients and co-workers. It felt like home to me. 

Unfortunately, as time went by and I continued in therapy, my life slowly started to unravel in the most curious way. I started realizing I lost time, couldn’t remember my childhood, had a fake relationship with my family, and had voices in my head frequently talking to me, and eventually taking control of my body.

I was privileged to be in the right place at the right time, so I didn’t have to wait the typical 7 years to get correctly diagnosed. I went to a reputable DID specialist who worked at the same hospital to find out what I suspected, I had DID.

The revelation of the DID seemed to cause my life to unravel even quicker. Sadly, I eventually became a patient at the dissociative disorder unit at the hospital I was working at. And from there, a decade of my life was lost to the mental health system. A decade I can never get back, and is mostly lost to dissociative amnesia.

The indifferent therapist who ruined me


There is a woman who lives just about a mile from my house who I have so far allowed to ruin my life.
She is not a lover, or anything so exciting as that. She was my first therapist after my 13 year hiatus from the mental health community.

From the first moment I spoke to her on the phone about a possible appointment with her, she touched my mommy transference button. Not because she was so nice, but because she was indifferent as to whether I came for help or not.

I came in to meet this woman for a ridiculous fee, and she told me I wouldn’t succeed with the first therapist I picked because my DID was too much of a problem. When we talked about me possibly seeing her, she was again indifferent. My mommy transference was triggered again.

I ended up coming to see this woman as my therapist, and it was the craziest, most emotionally dysregulating relationship in my adult life. She saw her indifference as empowering me. It destroyed me instead.

I had always been a person who didn’t need anyone. I can go to the movies or dinner alone and it doesn’t bother me in the slightest. I love being alone. But she was different.

Her indifference throughout our relationship of whether I was dead or alive propelled me so far into transference land that I couldn’t let go. I needed to do this “mom do-over” correctly, so that she would care about me, or at the very least care whether I lived or died.

As each day passed on, our relationship became more destabilizing to the both of us, though she probably wouldn’t admit that.

She has a need to be the perfect, expert DID therapist in town, so she would never want anyone to think she was less than perfect. Neat, orderly, perfect, and sometimes cold as ice.

I was still obsessed with making this relationship work, even though I started going to an anonymous bar after every therapy appointment with her. I felt suicidal most days over feelings I had toward her, or perceived feelings she had toward me.

I became obsessed with her abandoning me. Sometimes paralyzed by it. We spent endless hours talking about the subject, so I became very clear about her rules of when she would abandon me. She said she would have to abandon me if I ever tried to kill myself, which is kind of a ridiculous rule to have for someone who is DID, but I agreed to it.  She promised that she would never abruptly abandon me, and that if it ever needed to happen, I would know far in advance and it would be a slow, gradual transition to a new therapist.

My protector parts had much more insight than me and my younger parts because we were so attached to her. They listened to exactly what she revealed about herself as her weaknesses, and acted on them.

We were suicidal and we told her we needed to go inpatient. She told us she would help, and she didn’t. The next session we told her again, and begged her to call the admissions coordinator, and she didn’t. This was interpreted by us that she wanted us to kill herself, and we couldn’t bare the callousness of her not caring. What other rational explanation could there be.

That evening when we had given up all hope that she was going to help us, we went to a bar and had two beers. We spoke to her on the phone and refused to tell her where we were because we didn’t want the police to show up in our small town. I offered to walk home since I wasn’t far from it and live in a fairly safe area. She wouldn’t allow it. I ended up driving because I was really ok to do so, and couldn’t leave my car in the parking lot.

She had told us before that she had no tolerance for people who were drinking, and people who were seriously suicidal. The therapist became triggered.

I flew out that night on my own, from my own decision, to a treatment center for people with DID, and spoke with her the next morning. I asked her if she was going to leave me over this, and she promised she wasn’t and that “it is nowhere on my radar screen.”

After entering the treatment center and more and more time was going by and I hadn’t heard from her, I knew she had lied. I knew she wanted out. She didn’t have the courage to tell me this herself. She finally came up with this long list of nonsense that were new requirements to continue treatment with her. She knew my protectors would never go for the list as it was just too ridiculous.

At first my protectors rightfully said no thank you. Then I panicked in a huge way and begged her to stay, and agreed to all her conditions, and she wouldn’t allow it. She told me I needed to listen to my protectors. She gave us three referrals and that was it. Only one of the referrals agreed to see me when I got back into to town, but after she spoke with this previous therapist, she literally backed out of agreeing to see me.

I must have interviewed 20 therapists who said they treated DID. At least half were nut jobs, and the other half were either not good fits or nice people who were extremely inexperienced.

I received in the mail a certified letter from the therapist containing all the SuperBills from the year before that I had requested the year before, and the 3 useless referrals. In other words, she was trying to cover her ass.

I called her and wrote her and begged her to either talk to me or help me find a therapist. She never talked to me again. She left me for dead, which is actually meant to be literal. She is no different than my biological mom.

In my entire life, I never begged someone to act like a human being and just help me by doing something as simple as calling me so I could understand what happened.

That was 17 months ago. And even though I did find a good therapist, and realized my relationship with the first was extremely bad for me for various reasons (primarily because we were triggering each other nonstop, though she would never admit that), I haven’t been able to leave my bed other than to go to an appointment for 17 months now, and there doesn’t seem to be any end in sight. I have also developed several health problems over this 17 months.

Today, we do see her across a parking lot from time to time. Depending on the day, sometimes I think of running her down, other days I realize she is just another imperfect human being and care nothing about her. My little ones inside still want her to be their mother, even though we try to explain why she wouldn’t be a good mother for us.

Some days we still cry over the loss of her, and more often, for what she did to us. In the end, we didn’t mean anything to her, and she didn’t care if we lived or died as long as she was clear of any potential law suits. She truly had become my mother in many ways, but when you are mental health provider you have all the power to ruin someone by simply saying they are borderline and extremely difficult. Doesn’t matter if that has any basis in reality. It enables her to protect her do-gooder image, no matter if it destroys me.

I don’t know when, if ever, we will be functional enough to get out of bed and live our lives again.

We know we shouldn’t let this severely less than perfect person wreck our lives, but we truly feel ruined and have no insight on how to move out of this condition. It is so hard to forgive someone who betrays your trust on this level, and then makes it your fault. Narcissism.

I am all for therapists taking care of themselves, and if she needed out, she needed to get out. But, this should have been balanced with my welfare, my chance at survival, and maybe an explanation for what was happening. I am actually a fairly reasonable and forgiving person to those who know me. I don’t know that I will ever forgive her, not that she cares.

So, this has left me bedridden and missing out on my life. I am sad about this tonight, but I haven’t been able to figure out what to do to make it any better. I guess my horrible luck in life continues on.

There are days when I want to kill her, but those are rare and I choose to think of killing myself instead. Either way, without a doubt, she has killed an important part of me already with no remorse. Yet, another very difficult fact to accept into my life.

It is scary to think sometimes the helpers are sicker than the patients. Ah, but to admit so would be bad for the profession, so no one will be admitting that here. The helper is always right, no matter how much baggage she secretly carries.

Please pray that one day I will find my way out of what has become a very imperfect life for me. I deeply appreciate the stranger therapists, who were in the business for the right reason, and tried their best to help me because they cared about human life.

Still alive 

My brain keeps going back to being angry with myself. My ongoing struggle is with suicide as the only way out. 

I would never want to leave my kids via suicide. Today I am struggling to think they would be better off.

I am really having a hard time accepting new information about myself. There is no magic wand to fix it, you just have to accept it and try to move on with your life. Sounds easy. Hasn’t been.

Before anyone rushes to “suicide is never the answer,” please know I don’t agree with that philosophy. That is not to say I believe people should kill themselves, it just means no one knows the pain and agony another goes through without walking in their shoes, and that is not humanly possible. So, suicide might be right for some people, but probably not most people.

I don’t want to hurt my children, but I also don’t want my children to be hurt by learning something horrific I learned about myself—something no “normal person” would be able to understand. I do know there are others in my shoes who do know something about what I am saying.

I am not really saying much, just rambling. My head is confused. Sorry. To be caught off guard with such brutality hasn’t been easy.

So, I will sign off, still struggling, but still alive for better or worse.

Uncovering the truth about myself sucks


My life with Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID) has made it so I don’t really know who the hell I am. I say that with anger, because I am bloody mad about it at the moment.

Others may not like who they are, but at least they know. Don’t take that for granted because there are others of us who get taken by surprise when we learn who we are.

My life is filled with amnesia. I can’t remember huge periods of time and important events in my childhood, and on an almost daily basis, I can’t remember if I have eaten lunch or what I even did for most of the day. I have to actually work to remember if I had lunch and what it was. Most of the time I can’t remember what I said 3 sentences back.

Yeah, I guess I sound a bit whiney tonight.

This week started with me suddenly experiencing a new memory about my childhood 30 minutes before my therapy session. I have no idea where it came from. It just entered my consciousness while I was getting dressed.

For those of you who aren’t versed in DID Land, a new memory is up there with an atomic bomb going off in your head. Other parts of ourselves typically hold these memories from our consciousness to protect us.

These memories stay hidden from consciousness because they are awful. They are unimaginable. They bring tears to your f-ing therapist’s face. They bring anger and suicidality and sadness to me.

People don’t just get DID. They go through bloody hell to get this “fascinating disorder.” I always knew I would find out things about myself that I didn’t know and didn’t want to know, but Jesus, some things are just too horrific to accept. And I can’t even say “well maybe this isn’t true” on this one because there is no way I could know what is in the memory without seeing it. They don’t even have this on tv or wherever one goes to see horrific things.

I am mad, really f-ing mad. This memory is not me, but it is. I don’t want it in my history, but it is. I can’t tell my children, but what if they find out.

This memory makes me a monster. It makes me one of them. And the BS that people shovel at you to say “but you were just a kid” is NOT what I want to hear. 

Some things are just unacceptable, which is why I have been teetering on the suicidal edge this week. I mean, how can I live with myself. My own children would disown me if they knew who I really am. 

My whole adult life I have tried to live a life that I wouldn’t be ashamed or horrified by my actions. Don’t do what you can’t publicly own. Ha! How ironic for me.

This week has been shitty and a good reminder that this world can be an awful place sometimes. The only thing that has kept me alive is the beauty and innocence I see in my children.

I fear my future. I fear this is the beginning of an avalanche. The choice is mine. I can try to stuff it down and live a clueless, empty life, or I can continue figuring out just who the hell I am and hope I can live with it and be authentic.

Don’t take it for granted if you know who you are. There are those of us who are existing just one step above robots. It is a terrible way to go threw life, even if you have what looks like a normal, successful life.

Pray that the truth sets me free one day. I don’t think there is anything else that can be done.

Back into a corner again

Suicide is an unfortunate part of having DID. For me, the feelings, thoughts, and plans come on a regular basis.

Yesterday I had a new memory that I cannot deny or talk myself into believing it isn’t real. There is no other way to have this memory except to have experienced it. It is not anything one’s mind could make up, or that you would see on tv.

I am having an unbelievably hard time accepting my role in this memory. It is not okay, no matter how much you try to manipulate your mind with some bull shit explanation. It just isn’t acceptable.

I believe I should not be allowed to live on this planet with this experience. 

I think what would my children think if they knew this about me. It is not something they could ever know. No one could ever know. It is something unbelievable, so maybe people would just think I am crazy instead. Still, I would never want my children to contemplate this. They wouldn’t understand. Rightfully so.

If I can’t understand it, why would they?

I am backed in a corner once again.