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It’s disappointing I can’t force this healing to go any faster. I can however, get the fuck out my own way and let things happen to heal. My brain is doing it anyway, always rewiring, reprogramming my brain, constantly working on the answers, make it better, form new connections. Neuroplasticity is fascinating. I can’t force the healing, but I can look it from another side. I can make the path smoother like that weird game in the Olympics with the big rocks sliding around on ice and the players sweep the area in front of it so it can slide farther.
Pieces of me, the modes/sides/parts. I already wrote this a few times. I keep writing the same things repeatedly. I think my subconscious keeps repeating to get me to go that direction. That’s the path I need to take. It’s a broken record until I grow into the next step of healing. I’m going to get in touch and try to describe how I see the different modes, parts of me. Some of them work as a team or blend together too to do things. It is very scary to talk about this. I have deleted and thrown away a lot of notes and paper journals expressing this very thing. Today I am not going to do that. I am going to move forward. This might really suck for me but here it goes. I got this. I’m strong enough to explore and share this now. This might only make sense to me right now.
I can’t access all the pieces/parts but here’s what I do know and can identify:
Gorilla in the cage(my anger)- I’m afraid of it. Terrified to let the gorilla out. He’s a hulk smashing fit of destruction and will break all the things.
Wrath: more anger but with revenge, vengeance, a yearning for justice I never received. She is 14 year old me. She desires vengeance and seeing the abusive people punished. Unfortunately, she kind of acts like an abuser too and wants to cause pain. She is a sadist. I do not let her be in charge but she does talk a lot and make suggestions. She will sacrifice it all for vengeance. She is also mischievously funny and harsh. She also like to get in other people’s faces and encourage shitty behavior in others whether they are my other modes or other people outside of me. She like to test people and then go “see, people are shit”. She wants to be part of the resistance with a fist and break shit. Rebel and just keep rebelling because that’s what she does. She will tear it all down to get what she wants.
Inner counselor- You can talk to me anytime. I’m always here for you and accept you. That’s the inner counselor. I love her. She loves me. I created her from my need for compassion for myself. She is made from my compassion for others turned inward. She’s kind inside out, HA! Ew, ok, not really, that’s gruesome. Who’s making fun? That makes her step back. Dammit, Wrath. Anyway, she comes to the surface when I need someone to talk to and someone to be kind to me. I think I have parts of her from other people like my grandma and other wise strong women in my life. She is motherly and does not punish. She is a caretaker, teacher, mentor, and helps to guide me.
Little Ones- Yes, plural little ones. They don’t have names other than little ones. There are many. In my minds eye they are different ages. I’m in touch with my playful child self a lot. She’s more easily accessible because I remember her the most. The traumas are not locked away with her. She comes forward around other children, animals, and people I like/trust. There is one that is afraid but wants to reach out and make friends. She is very easy to spook though. One just holds her head and screams (I hear her scream a lot). Some are catatonic. Some of them are dead.
Whoa, this made me dissociate big time. I zoned out just then. Not sure how long. Then I distracted myself with some twitter. It’s the biggest damn distraction but I can use it as a tool to shake myself out of dissociation. I feel like this means I’m going in the right direction. I ran smack into some FEELS and to protect myself my brain goes, nope, we can’t handle what the little ones know yet.
Moving on before I lose myself and can’t write anymore-Learning to skirt the edges and surf the waves a little better instead of being consumed with the waves.
The Boy- My tomboyish self- I have this very masculine part of me. It’s a young boy, 12 or 13. He has crushes on ALL the women. YES, ALL WOMEN! They are the sweet kind of crush. Not acted upon but admiring women from afar. He gets very shy. He loves to climb trees, build things.
Cold Logic: Not always the right answer but the one that cuts through the feelings or doesn’t really factor them in when making a judgement. No heart or feelings. When I think of this part I see a guillotine Swift. Over. Done. Final. This part cuts people out of my life. It comes out when I disassociate into The Nothing I think this part intends to protect but it’s very harsh. Not cruel either in meaning, just harsh logical.
The Nothing: Just what it says. The nothing is nothing. It is still something because I’m still something, I just feel like nothing. I blank. This is dissociation in which I have periods of amnesia. I can’t connect with who I am, most of my memory is inaccessible.
There is also a stage/mode past the nothing and I black out when this happens. I lose complete control and go into some autopilot mode that I can’t even remember what I did. This doesn’t mean that I pass out but it’s like an alcohol blackout because I “wake up” or become aware and don’t remember anything. I have clues that this has happened because I’ll blink and 3 hours will be gone or it’s suddenly the next day. Afterward I am terrified. I am terrified of this happening. It happened while I was on a certain medication and I write a note saying that I would hurt myself if that made me whole again. Like tear myself completely down but it was sinister. I think Wrath gets let out when this occurs. She wants to tear it all down, sometimes me included.
I’m really freaked out about sharing that last bit. It feels like I’m showing people how ill or sick I really am and well, that’s scary but part of me now is trying to figure out why instead of run away. If I go to far too fast, I’ll fuck it all up. I want people to trust me but if they see how sick I really am, then I’ll be shunned. There it is. People won’t have trust, faith in me, or believe me if they see how truly sick I am. Inner critic, I hear you buddy. This comes up a lot around my new business, too.
The inner critic- This was a carbon copy of the abusive people in my life. It is word for word all the cruel things said to me. I can feed it if I am reading my dm’s, emails, messages, or other abusive communication. It’s culmination of decades of emotional abuse. Correction, the people that WERE in my life, I ejected the toxic people or have minimal contact with them but they are still there in my head. I used to hate this part but now I do not. This part can warn me of danger. I don’t think the intent it to harm me now. The intent is to work like an alarm system and remind me of how others might respond to me or fears. I’m starting to separate it into 2 parts now. One that can let me know about danger in a more productive way.
The Abyss-The other more toxic inner critic: BLEH, I see it now. That fucker latched onto the inner critic and has been riding him around. I have jokes about that but now is not the time! (humor fear response) This is the black tar mess, the wet blanket, the toxic stress, the infection that abuse is. It wants to spread and hurt others. I still hate this part of me. One day, I hope I will love it and can help heal it too. I do not let this part of me be in charge. It does creep up though and then I work very hard to not act on whatever the abyss wants. This part can let me know the shittiest most abusive and damaging/destructive way to do something.
This is making me physically uncomfortable to write about and I’m itchy. A chorus of NO! It’s almost deafening in my mind. When I get close to some things the alarm bells go off and I want to run. I’m scared. Trying to force myself to stay here, present, writing. I tried to curl up into a ball, my legs went numb. I’m getting a headache and sounds are amplified. I’m in hypervigilance. I’ve triggering myself by writing and getting close to scary things in my head. Parts of me that hold memories of trauma. I must go easy now or I’ll be lost again. I’ll lose more days. By lost I mean that I’ll be dissociated and not really living or functioning. I think that is all I can share right now or work on. This doesn’t feel like a lot (not enough? Ugh, stop that!) but it totally is. It will be overwhelming to some. It is overwhelming to me all the time. Yes, this is a good place to stop. There are more parts of me of course but I’ll have to write about them another time.
In the attempts at soothing myself I have done fucked it up(this is a good thing, keep reading). I made a doll to represent my child self. I wrote as the “points of view” and I’m remembering more of myself now, not just the parts. I have contacted some of the parts of myself that I had previously not allowed to be in the forefront of my mind. I feel guilty about that now and accepting I was doing what I thought best to survive. I feel strong enough to move forward in integrating myself more and living more as a whole me. Those parts that were held back aren’t happy about it. I get it.
I didn’t remember what happened to me until I was 10 years old. I locked away the memories of abuse so that I could go on. Parts of me did go on. Parts of me died. Parts of me became hidden. There are many parts of me. I’m remembering more of my life now. Modes, perspectives, that joke I always made about me and my 13 personalities, people sitting in a room discussing how to proceed and what to say. Mixed feelings, opinions, simultaneous feelings that contradict each other. Almost constant conversations in my head but not all with words, with pictures, mini movie reels, emotions, body language. Sometimes, it’s quiet and there is just pain. Sometimes there is just nothing. I call this the nothing.
I’m really in a lot of confusion and no fucking wonder I need so much rest with all that going on! It’s not that I can’t multitask, it’s that I am ALREADY multitasking. That’s why I can’t focus. I’m dealing with so much plus I’m really freaked out about things I’m remembering. Writing in a journal as my different parts. The handwriting changes. Que the ANXIETY! Write, delete, write, delete. Stop that! UGH! I do this with twitter tweets a lot. Sometimes, I almost share the conversation in my head, especially if it made me laugh.
What am I afraid will happen if I accept this about myself. Mental institution? Irrationally yes, realistically no. I’m more afraid of myself and getting in touch with more pain. I’m afraid of the parts of myself that I locked away because of what they carry. I’m afraid of who I might be if I let myself be more fully myself and not very carefully moderated, held back. You know what though, fuck it. It hasn’t killed me yet. I just have to go slow and honor/protect/love those other parts of myself. I relate to DID (Dissociative identity disorder) a lot but I don’t think that is what I have. I don’t have 2+ distinct personalities as in people in my head. They are all me. ALL THE ME’s! Talking about it in this way helps me to make sense of it.
I’m afraid of who I am when I take antidepressants. I stop feeling empathy. That part of me shuts down. Mostly for other people but coldly for myself as I’m more willing to sacrifice myself. Not for my animals and family but everyone and everything else goes to the guillotine to cut the ties, the threads, the connections that link from my heart. Off with their heads! I lost time. I wrote notes about having to destroy myself and tear myself down that I don’t remember writing. I do things that are not in my best interest but in the interest of revenge. I started trying to figure out how to get away with murdering people that had hurt me. That was no happy pill. There are over 120 antidepressant medications and a doctor would have me keep trying them all until I shut up or die. The reality is worse. The reality is that I could hurt other people. there’s a good reason I locked that part of me away. I’m in touch with that part now but I still chose my actions. With the medication, I couldn’t do that.
I’m afraid really all the damn time. I live in the brain chemicals of CPTSD. It is painful but I’m working on it. I’m integrating. I’ll make it through this too. I’m scared but I’m doing the damn thing anyway because fuck it, the alternative is death.
I’d like a clean break from one career to the other but that just isn’t possible.I have not been wasting time though. I have been working really hard on myself and studying marketing. I’m now creating a new business. I was afraid to use my real name for fear that assholes will come from my stalker/adult world and try to fuck with things for me. Fuck it, let them come and lose an eye or worse.It’s not like I was ever able to hide anyway. They don’t get to hold me back anymore. Yes, it’s scary. Fuck it, do it anyway. Live anyway. prosper ANYWAY. For myself and for spite! HA!
Banks may be shutting down bank accounts for adult entertainers if the new “end banking for traffickers” bill passes and most likely, it will. Most of my income comes from adult income streams. Talk about a big glaring wake up call. I don’t regret anything I did in adult entertainment but more now than ever, it will be difficult to move onto another job. I didn’t plan on leaving adult entertainment but I don’t have the energy or the interest anymore. I have to focus on myself and healing. Extra energy isn’t in the cards for me. I’m really done with the threats from men in my inbox on every message system out there because I won’t give them my time or answer them at 3am. It’s time for me to go. Now I get to deal with folks thinking they can just touch and fuck me because of my previous job. I’ll enjoy face-barking them. Boundaries, bitch, welcome to 2018.
If people try to infiltrate and fuck with things, I’ll fuck up their shit back then. Let others be aware of toxic humans that have nothing better to do that try to seek some sort of revenge because I won’t put up with their abuse, want to fuck them, or share MY time. They can all fuck off. I have to go my own way. That way is mine and serious and silly. Fuck other people’s opinions. Time to build this on my own and for the 1st time in my life there is no dumbshit in my way. Just me and my fears. I will get through and past them though. It’s self doubt. This is normal for entrepreneurs. Very normal.
I deleted my PTSD Video Blog on Youtube. It is not gone forever though. I will be re-posting the videos here on the blog for you to watch. It seems like every month or so there is another change that makes it more difficult for smaller creators over there. They are also not very supportive of mental health videos. I’m tired of censoring myself when what I have to say is also important even if I throw in a few expletives or share about some really difficult subjects. I need the freedom to express myself not be held back. This is only temporary but it may take me some time to change the video hosting over. In the meantime, I hope to be feeling well enough enough to continue to share via my written blog for now.
UPDATE: Problem solved! I have the solution for the video hosting issue and and I will be restoring the videos as soon as I am able.
I could tell you about my suicide attempts, the thoughts of wanting it to end, and the events that led me to want to die. I have a lot to live for though and that is more exciting. Yes, I suffer, but whatever, I’m a human. I’ve been through a lot of terrible things but I am still here. For much of my life I didn’t want to live. I did it anyway. I carried on. Four years ago I crashed hard. I made it through. Changes were made. I moved twice and I’m moving on again to another career field. I am making my life livable again and it’s exciting! I still fight every single day.
With the recent celebrity suicides in the news I realized that I WANT TO LIVE! I am not feeling suicidal or scared that I will hurt myself lately. I feel like I am on my own side and will get through whatever CPTSD throws at me while I’m healing. It’s all healing, even the shitty things like memories of abuse, nightmares, flashbacks, disassociation all part of processing trauma. I know I will get a but choked up with emotion and gratitude but here it goes…
What have to live for(in no particular order):
Pets – Have you seen my good rescue Doggos? Lily and Buster are amazing and help me so much by just loving me. They were also abused in their pasts but we all have a good life now. The good doggo life with lots of love, cuddles, hugs, play, FOOD, and peace.
Family- They love me unconditionally. I feel the same. It’s a fierce love that doesn’t seek to control but support and allow me to be me, whoever that is or what I’m going through. I know hurting myself would also hurt them and fuck that. I am the joking silly one. I want to make them laugh as much as possible with my silliness and love themselves as much as I love them.
Books to read- Since many were held back by bullshit discrimination, I’m excited to read new authors that are not the traditionally published. Dumbass humans that can’t figure out that other humans come in different colors, shapes, sizes and genders, sexuality, preferences, and it takes all kinds of people for the world to work. Anyway, there are blogs and books from people I would have never been able to learn from before producing content that I am excited to pure into my brain!
Books to write- I have a story. It will be healing to tell it. Maybe my life can help someone else.
Positive contributions to make like- Yes, I have an agenda if I am going to stay. My aspirations in life have to do with helping others to heal, sharing info, teaching healthy coping methods. I have a lot to learn still but that’s also another exciting part of life for me.
Art to create- I’m a sculptor at heart and I am making my ceramics studio happening. I’m also painting more and enjoying the chaos of watercolor. I have notebooks of sketches and ideas.
ME! – I am still figuring out who I am underneath all the dissociation, coping, and other CPTSD symptoms. Who I am is nothing like the abusive people told me I was. I don’t need anyone to tell me who I am anyway. Now that I love myself a little I want to go shout it to the damn rooftops! I LOVE ME! I’m already a loving person but I feel like my heart had grown even larger. That also means I’m more protective of myself and my own well being.
Future- Who knows what opportunities will arise? I plan to be here for it.
People(YES,REALLY? I KNOW,WTF!?) Yes, people. There are amazing people out there. We focus on the jerks but there are also people that are just well, flat out fucking amazing human beings. They inspire me to learn, grow and love. They inspire me to live. Some of those people are reading this post right this very moment! Thank you to everyone that comments and shares my posts as well as their own experience.
There is more but that’s the short version. This could be a book all in itself.
I miss touch. I don’t trust touch, but I miss it. I’m afraid of kindness and nice touches. I’m tensed up for the worst, the pain, the coldness and the searing pain. I am armored against it. I am afraid of touch. My sense of safe touch is not accurate. Like language, abusers used soft touch to lure trust and cultivate the want for safe loving touch only to take advantage of that trust. That is grooming. How can I tell who is grooming me? I realize my solution was to go extremely slow in connecting with someone and allowing closeness. I’m doing that, but I don’t think it is intentional, I’m realizing I’m doing it. Anyone frustrated with my pace can go find someone who is more compatible with what they want/need. This left me confused. Abusers gaslighted me further. Society reinforced it. Society gaslights me. All the mixed messages and bullshit and excuses for abuse.
My feelings about being a human: (This is disassociating.)
I don’t like it. I don’t feel good in this form, in this shape, with these horrible thoughts. I feel like an imposter human that must fake it, but I can’t fake it any longer. There is all the pressure to be this or that or achieve, change, grow, heal when I can barely remember my life some days.
All this pressure, all these expectations, how can one keep track. So many conflicting messages and demands and judgments that conform or die mentality. Make it stop. I can’t make the thoughts stop. The run in my mind like rabid angry squirrels fighting for territory. They shriek, and they scratch. I scream inside but no one can hear me but me.
I’m cut off from remembering much of my life. I can’t remember names of common things, not names, and…what was I talking about. Some shit anyway.
I realized lately, AGAIN, that I seem to lose connection. Like lose connection with people I care about. Like it is just gone sometimes, or fuzzy if my brain is trying to determine if they are dangerous. It is awful. I must rebuild connections a lot to keep them. It embarrasses me. I feel like people won’t understand. Some people seem to act so familiar to me and that freaks me out too. Like already assuming friendship and closeness before much discussion. Fuck that, people that try to decide how close I am to them get cut out. Cut. Connection lost. At least there is a reason there. This happens to myself. I lose connection with loving myself.
CRS…can’t remember shit. More disassociation. I just kind of freaked out about what I wrote. I write and can see how someone could take it wrong, misinterpret, see some malicious intent in my words but there really isn’t. It’s difficult to be close to me, even for myself.
How can I feel bad about what I wrote when I’m basically leaving everyone alone and not hurting anyone just trying to live a peaceful quiet life? Let me count the ways. Wait, those words in my head about how I can feel bad aren’t even my words. I’m not even saying them. It’s an echo from another time. Who said it? Who cares, it’s fucked, and I will not accept that negative talk as the truth. This is a symptom of my CPTSD. What is real? What is a symptom and what is just part of what everyone else feels that doesn’t have cptsd? Do I really need to parse that out? Nahhhh.
I think I am fractured. I feel many ways, not just the binary 2 extremes, but all sorts of ways. The different perspectives talk in my head and discuss things. They interrupt each other too. They are good at problem solving. Many times, I get overwhelmed and confused. Then I disassociate more and feel like I am the nothing. My mind spins and the thought and emotions are spinning too fast for me to keep up. This paragraph was scary to write. Post it anyway! Fuck it!
Just tried to go back and fix what I wrote so it wouldn’t piss anyone off to make some shitpost troll comment or discouragement. I’m vulnerable. I can’t tell criticism from people being assholes. I added more to the 1st paragraph but I didn’t go read what triggered the bad feeling about myself. This is honest and my feelings right now. I don’t have to edit them for anyone. If someone hates me now well then good, that means I’m still alive to piss someone off by being myself. Spits venom that I just figuratively coughed up instead of chewing on it.
May 28,2018- I hesitated about posting this but fuck it, I’m just going to share. It is mine. It is what it is. I don’t feel like the writing above today but there are a lot of days that I do feel like that. Writing it down helps to get it out of my head and can sometimes quiet it down a little. Like a release of the pent up whatever that shit is. I don’t like it, I don’t even like writing about it but it’s part of how I’m healing myself. I write a lot and don’t share much of it. Reading what I wrote on the days I’m suffering more helps me to be more compassionate. I can step aside and see myself as a person suffering. It is still very difficult for me to be compassionate in the moment but I am working on it.