Rage

This is some middle of the night art and writing. Please note, if you are a relative of mine and know it, this information is not to be passed among family members. You are welcome to comment or email me any questions you may have.

Red, Blue, and Yellow Yarn

There's a book I have in my picture book collection (title above) about a little boy whose Bubby has come to visit. Bubby has lots of rules, and he doesn't like them. Bubby is staying in his room, and he's not supposed to go in, but he does anyway, to get a car he forgot on his bed. While he's there, he sees his Bubby's balls of yarn, all perfect in a basket, and it's so tempting to juggle them...but he's not very good at it, and every time one drops and rolls away, he just grabs another. By the time he is caught, the entire room is a giant, colorful web of yarn.

I just finished reading an autobiography of a woman who had DID, and successfully integrated her 24 personalities. Unlike Sybil, her book is written from her own perspective, with her therapist's notes included.

Here's a brilliant quote from her book (which I highly recommend) that I really think describes what's going on inside me right now:

"...Yet the flock seemed worse, with personalities further apart an acting out more vigorously now than we had been before beginning therapy. Lynn had said that therapy was like separating the strands in a tangled web of yarn. It made sense that things would keep getting more separate for a while so that we eventually came back together in a more organized way."

I have a beautiful life to knit. I just need to untangle all the red, blue, yellow (and other colors!) balls of yarn so I can put them back together and create the wonderful person I am supposed to be.

(quote from The Flock, by Joan France's Casey with Lynn Wilson)

CYS Day

Was today. I spent it crying in bed. Joy.

I'm so strong! Yay!

Celebrate Your Strength Day

A few years ago, a therapist suggested that I use the day I told my parents as a special day, rather than a dreaded one. The past few years, I've been painting and going out for ice cream to celebrate my strength.

This year, I'm not feeling it. I know I should do something anyway, but I can't seem to think of anything that excites me or even interests me.

Tomorrow is Celebrate Your Strength Day, but I don't know if I have any strength to celebrate.

Deception

The deception of my online friends is easy. People here only know about Little Sheep what Little Sheep tells them.

So if the last thing I posted was that I'm doing well, out of my parents' house, and done with therapy, why shouldn't anyone--everyone--believe me?

You should believe me, because you don't know any better.

I tried to not tell you. I told myself there's no reason so many people need to know of my struggles, that it's best kept among a select few of my real life friends, that I'd do better keeping this more private.

There's a problem with that. You see, I have come to depend on the support of my online friends. My real life friends shouldn't have to carry the burden of being my support without the help of the people who supported me in the past-because this is bigger.

If I needed this support when I was just a run-of-the-mill PTSD sufferer, I need it all the more so now. I love my real life friends-they do a lot for me. But I need the support of the online community, because there are so many more of you. Because no one in my real life world seems to really be struggling with the same issues as me anymore, and I feel so alone.

So, so alone.

So no more hiding for me. I refuse to cower behind the masks anymore. I am not okay. I am not okay. I am NOT okay.

I am suffering immensely. In the past year, I have been kicked out of a home, I have been forced by said home to leave a therapist who was quite helpful to me, I moved back into my parents home for lack of anywhere else to live. I lost my faith in people, and worked hard to start gaining it back again. I returned to the therapist I liked, was hospitalized, and gained not one but two new mental health diagnosis, one medical diagnosis, and had to leave my therapist again.

I am back.
And I'm not leaving anytime soon.