True to my blog, I must post this, like it or not. However, (and I’m amused here) – I realize it’s been a few days since I posted. Not that I’ve been ‘unaware’ of time trotting along; it’s just sometimes ‘me’ (the adult ‘alter’, M3) . . . well, you just gotta go along with the system, and “we’ve” been having some problems for some time . . . (meaning mostly it’s been “13” and our little Michael/aka Mikie – with ‘me’, the adult alter – running the show).
Okay – if you aren’t DID you probably aren’t going to follow this blog entry; if you are . . . well, you know . . . but I’m hoping it helps some other folks out some, or perhaps just gives more insight into the “DID mind” – or mine – or someone’s down the way . . .
The other day my wife came home and wanted to go to the home improvement store to look at some tile we were going to buy. Now I’ve been kinda making a list in my head of what we need: things for the yard, flowers I’ve wanted to buy . . .
So my spouse and I go to leave the house, but we’re delayed because I keep wandering around looking around for something, though I’m not certain what it is. You know that feeling that you are forgetting something, right? Well, for a certain part of me (or several parts, I don’t know) – I get this deep rooted sense of panic sometimes when something ‘gets lost’. I don’t know what I feel that thing; just that it “is”. I can only suppose it came from losing too many things during my childhood and/or getting violently and/or severely punished for that (and that, I hear a little voice saying, ‘is true’.) So . . . despite a lack of memory or reason for that feeling, I’m feeling it anyway, over something I felt I’d “lost” but not knowing – but not knowing what it is! It goes like that sometimes – this panicked sense of anxiety arising from nothing at all – but it’s about something; I just can’t figure out what it is.
But . . . don’t get upset cuz’ “I” don’t get upset – I mean it’s like it’s not even ‘mine’; this anxiety or something; et all, what all – whatever. I just kinda ‘hold it off’ and examine it . . . after all, I’m used to this: oddball emotions suddenly arriving without notice or any discernible outside – or inside! – trigger.
So I’m feeling this growing anxiety as we get in the car; I’m distracted as I drive down the road; I’m letting “one” part of my mind do the driving (the Marine) – while “I’m” querying all my ‘known’ personalities, ghosts and sides looking for ‘who’ is doing this. About halfway to the store I get that it’s “13”; a rather hard yet somewhat logical kid who’s been hurt alot – and in ‘his arms’ (meaning he feels responsible for ‘him’) is our young ‘son’; our former self and host from our childhood (little Michael, who has projected a ‘part’ of himself so long it took on a life of it’s own and is known as “little Mikie”). Go figure: one is the ‘real’ child; the one in myself – and another is a ‘creation’ of his (little Mikie) who is what he wanted to be (in some ways – and in some ways NOT an appropriate child since this is the one who would go to bed with you – or anyone else if that person asked and he kinda liked him) . . .
Because I’ve been paying attention more to ‘what in the heck is going on? I learned a bit more how things work for ME: it’s a kind of tier based system right now; going by groups and ages (and ‘things’ – meaning I’m not really quite sure). Little Michael is control by ‘the other one’ (who would be “13”), who is in turn ‘controlled’ (albeit somewhat; just the behaviors and not his – 13’s – own emotions) – by the teenager in me, who was the host for so long (13-18 years old? Until “21” appeared).
But . . . getting back to the story. I make this decision NOT to buy some flowers and potting soil (which it turns out we NEED the latter, LOL!) – and immediately I find myself “switching” – going from “me, the Marine, and my teen” to “me, 13, and our ‘inner child’, little Michael – and I’m socked with this feeling of anguish and grief – depression, in other words – and again, sort of out of the blue. . . .
That’s okay; we leave, I’m feeling this kind of anxiety and stuff – no big problem, I’m keeping it inside and the smile for the wife – “faking it” in other words; keeping my mouth closed – a bit too closed and she knows somethings come over me (but she doesn’t ask; she never does; and I can’t force myself to volunteer) . . . . get in the car and “the Marine” – who is an excellent driver, by the way, is driving while I “feel up” (LOL) my self and inner ones, trying to find the source of this thing – and along comes ’13’ inside with all his issues – complaining about this little child who wanted something from the store . . . but I can’t figure out what it is.
Kinda goes like that sometimes. I go in the store; we ALL look at some tile; make some decisions and selections – and I walk outta there without buying nuthin’ for myself, I kinda reneged on my agreement with myself and selves and ‘I’ . . .
Now I won’t lie to you: i know what he wanted; he wanted some “little flowers” (actually some fairly big ones – Gerber Daisies were in his mind) to go into a corner (pocket) garden of mine – but that garden is too shadowy for daisies. So I don’t buy them; nor do I buy the potting soil I had thought I wanted for the front gardens but actually needed to do some transplanting with . . .
So I get home.
Okay, lets skip back some.
Right there in the store I’m walking along – we’ve made our decision not to buy anything (in the gardening section at least) – and ‘wham!’ – it hits me. Like a squalling child; like a severely depressed one – affecting my mood and ‘things’ all over. Suddenly I go from a ‘bright happy go-lucky’ kinda attitude to doom, gloom, and depression. Now I’m fighting it, of course – but ‘that part’ of me isn’t going to settle down . . .
It’s been a few days now. I’m feeling a little bit better; albeit the emphasis is on ‘little’. I’ve ‘reassured’ my child somewhat that planting gardens are a good idea; ‘we’ just can’t use the kind of plant I want . . . or ‘he’ wants
I’ve been admiring the flowers outside we have planted; liking them, looking at all the pretty colors . . . that helps some.
I wish the dogs hadn’t destroyed so many of my gardens outside; they destroyed everything.
The sunflowers are still surviving, but it won’t be long before this summer heat gets them.
And I’ve gotten back to writing again, albeit just a bit.
And the wife has enjoyed all the attention it brings (‘we’, my inner child and I, along with “13” have been hanging around her for a few days; she comforts them some (without knowing) but I rather suspect she suspects something of my ‘younger ones’ is out and about with her doing things . . .
So it’s not “all bad” and it’s not “all good” and we’re getting the part of the kitchen tiled this weekend, LOL . . .