DID Detectives: Factions vs. Groups

Socrates supposedly said: “”The unexamined life is not worth living”.

How many minds question themselves? Many do; however, not in depth, and certainly not to the depth the mentally ‘abused’, bent, tortured, or led astray have to, nor ask the questions “why?” of every impulse, stray thought, emotion, or just that general ‘discomfort’ that DID folks sometimes feel, as though there was something awry in their life (or ‘lives’, if you prefer, for that’s the way it seems to us).

Digging into the “discomfort” in our own personal psyche we’ve come to suspect it revolves around what we have put off and never done. We think there is a disconnect between the wild variety of our “past lives” and what we “are now” – married 3 decades, with 1 biological child and plenty of steps to boot, plus we’re into grandchildren now – great-grands if you want to count some of the off-shoots. We are not “the druggie”, but we do miss previous families, and our tale is wild. That’s what everyone tells me. (That and we should write a book, but like us, time-wise it’s so fractured . . .)

But the BIG KEY question is: How and where did our fugue come about that cost us some old friends, a lot of money, and some damage to our house.

Factions and Groups in Dissociative Identity Disorder

Clipart by Mike

It appears that a large part of our problem is the way our system runs: in groups and, at times, “factions”. The “groups” can be like “a little”group of kids” – usually with our teenage personality, Matthew, taking over on the adult functions. We have a group of a few women; this helps create in us ‘maternal’ instinct and caring for babies and infants. Our paternal “side” is actually an excellent blend of 3 surprising characters: our Marine (and Soldier, which comes from our childhood – much more vicious), Matthew again, and our “adult side” – M3 as we call him in our blog. There are only 2 teen alters I am aware of; however, other alters were created during their period. In those we find factions. The reason was simple: too much exposure to multiple opposing cultures, “ways I have to be” kind of thing. So we developed personalities to fit each one. And some are 180 degrees diametrically opposed; some are larger than others.

It is that opposition in views, morals, emotional contexts, ethics, modes of behavior, things to say and do which causes a lot of our problems, and it is usually within our own factions that we “feel” or get this – which DOES lead to a lot of inappropriate jokes, sentences, thoughts, views, et cetra. People say I’m brilliant, cut to the chase, and come up with good, quick, cheap, and unusually unique solutions to all kinds of problems.

I also say the wrong thing, am too blunt with the truth, and can be crude and/or coarse in person.

These are side-effects of DID, and the battle of factions, impulse control, and a failure to “behave” in all the situations I am in. (But I’ve been told I’m a fun guy – “a hoot!” – in person.)

But when it comes to that fugue, and some of our more errant behavior – it’s not the groups that are the problem so much. THEY tend to get along.

But Factions?

Factions are much more dangerous!

“Groups”tend to be groups of compatible personalities and personality “sub-systems, and they are rarely in disagreement with the majority. We “run” on a “majority rules” system, by the way; however, a democracy it is NOT sometimes!

In a group – say our “scientists heads” (we’re trained in various fields, being seriously addicted to learning – over 12 years of college to boot!) – and our “little kids” get together to do some teaching with either the “Main Adult” alter (a combination of M3’s ethics system – and Matthew, a primary teenage alter). This mixture is probably what will be present around kids.

For adult teaching/tutoring we we substitute ‘Matthew’ with M2 and his ability to “clone” systems – for the rednecks we were teaching, or the Marines, and various peoples we met while we were in advanced (beyond H.S.) training – college and such. Heck, we were so good with AutoCAD we were teaching it before we got out to the rest of the class. The instructor had to go get trained. LOL

Factions, on the other hand, usually consist of groups with differing ethics, moral, and most importantly, BEHAVIORAL systems.

Their belief systems may run absolutely counter to each other. Some run counter to social rules. Some run counter to human nature, period. They are allies, groomed for an event that never happened (From birth on I had decades of training for World War III and the apocalyptic aftermath by the U.S. military). Some personalities can’t be let out unless in real battle. “We” – and by that I mean some of my child selves, as well as the teen – love the military, and being in ‘the field’. Parts were trained to be hard, blood-thirsty, totally unreasoning – just anger, pure cold rage.
As a young child we were taught and brought up killing love by killing the things we loved, and losing things, including people. Not that we loved killing, but some adult or event would require us being ordered to do it, or lose something. Part of being a military child means you move a lot, and we did. And we loved and lost so often that by the time we turned 13 years old we swore off of love, or any kind of emotion – ever again! That training still hurts some of our adult parts, but not so much the disturbed child. Children have very few moralities beyond their own desires, and that which they have learned to love and desire.

Our majority rules system keeps things fairly stable – in short, the majority overruling factions – which helps me in relationships, etc – so there’s a good thing. There are atheistic parts, but previous fugue states have convinced us we’re a religious majority, not that we practice any organized religion’s beliefs and practices. Our religion is based on years of studying physics, astronomy, and quantum mechanics, plus many theories, what we’ve learned as humans. Indeed, science brought ‘me’ back to religion after my father’s misuse of it. But some parts of “me” are still atheists, set against any such idea.

That’s the danger of factions: they can cause emotional angst, depression, pain, et cetra – even at a good event! They will and do throw out what is called “intrusive thoughts” which disrupt, or change ‘my’ view mid-step. What was right is wrong; wrong – okay. “I”, and some of the other adult alters always have to be on alert. Apparently we were not during our fugue.

Ditto love, hope, et cetra. Apathy can be a wonderful thing, but it solves nothing, and “I” still feel this deep down ‘disturbance’. Nothing matters much, in a way. Fortunately, “Doing good”, “doing the right thing (mostly)” and “helping others” still are pretty strong, in general, since we were trained to do that as a child. But there are parts that in general struggle with apathy, no reason to “be”, but still are – but also seem to be missing at the same time.

Being DID I know I am not feeling things . . . right, or as deep as I should, or did in my pre-fugue state, and I have problems sustaining emotions, or even incurring them in my post-fugue self. No real anger, and no real in depth love (though it’s there if I set my mind to it). Flat, yet not burnt out. I truly keep it to one goal now when I’m around people:

Be compatible and “the person they know” – e.g. polite and friendly, or more “my old pre-fugue self”, while maintaining my own special relationships (what few are left), and engaging in appropriate cultural and social behavior according to the people I am around, or in, while maintaining the values I’ve been taught – but overruling that at times in order to “play the game” with them.

Now what that game is, I have not a clue.

Often it seems I am doing, or tend to do, is to bend their culture to suit “our” (the United States of America and humane), though my view of American culture is pretty much dominated by its legal rules, and not the views and attitudes of citizens, groups, and/or cultures within it.

In short I can ‘blend in” or “insert” myself into a crowd – get along with total strangers (indeed, am known for approaching them & making friends sometimes, definitely information, and sometimes cool perks) – and if I am around a culture – say a different country or a bunch of rednecks – I tend to pick up their ways quick.

Once I went to Germany for 2 weeks and came back with a German accent, much to my wife’s dismay. After a few weeks Southern drawl came back. That certainly made her happy. She didn’t care for the “ya!”, hard “g’s” and “r’s”.

But it looks as though I’m going to have to go through those past lives – I’m missing some time, a 4 year hunk from during the mid-20’s.

And while I know it doesn’t deal with the “effect” – I think my wife might just get her wish. I’ve got some stories that I may need to get out – probably in our “Lost Journals“). But those stories are not the effect, and I have some grave doubts as to how much healing will be done by attacking them.

After all: it’s the effect that counts, not the cause, and the cause – I think! – was a sudden shift in lifestyle . . . maybe.

Posted in child abuse survivor, DID, DID Detective, dissociative identity disorder, mental health, psycho-analysis | Tagged , , , , | Leave a comment

When You’re Stuck, Move Forward – But Where?

We’ve been what psychologists and counselors would call “stuck” ever since our fugue. Stuck as to where to explore in our psyche for those alters that went rogue and ran away with “our system”.

THAT resulted in the loss of several long time friends (which speaks a lot about “friends” in general in a lot of “our” opinions), cost a pile of money, and I’ve still not sorted out the destruction in my home ‘office’ (an all purpose general room – crafts, art, household maintenance, plus a weight machine I somehow moved).

Most of the memories are like glimpses through a fog. “I”, an adult alter was there, but being controlled by other parts, and delusions, hallucinations, the works. There’s just enough to keep us wondering what was real, and what wasn’t, and the psychotic hallucinations looked – and seemed real.

That’s one thing about “losing your mind” – everything still seems to have truth and logic; you believe your own delusions. Then the cops come and cart you off for “observation“. Being DID – I’ve “got a personality for that” and always come out with pretty much flying colors. We’re quite good at getting along with a diverse crowd.

But there’s no fixing the past, nor will there be “fixing” the damage caused by this last fugue. So there’s no going back, which leaves two options: Either stay put, which is dangerous, physically, mentally, socially, et all since “we” still aren’t sure how or “who” caused this “attack”. So ‘staying put’ really isn’t a good option. High on our priority is avoiding another “fugue attack”. However, a fugue is just a symptom, not the cause of something deeper in our subconscious. It’s not a comfortable feeling to know you’ve got what seems a very active subconscious mind which can control you, seize “your” personality and replace it with some others – though I must grant “them” their right to exist as well (that, too, may tie into our problem – not enough creative outlet to amuse those souls).

So given there is some kind of vague, undefined ‘problem’ in, or with one, or, I suspect, a group of “my personas” or alters which did, allow “them” this foray into the real world is more than a little disturbing. It could cost “me” (us, our) our life. Schizophrenics get killed quite often, usually by law enforcement officers who are scared and don’t understand what is going on with their victim. It can be dangerous to ‘us’, though I think to no one else. We have quite a few binders and prohibitions about killing and violence. But given the wrong ideas coupled with massive hallucinations? Not a good thing, for us, or anyone around.

So given we can’t “stay put”, not safely, we have but one choice: go “forward” – by going backward! Because we think that’s where the problem lays: in past times and personalities. We have to explore the problem. This means no more rehashing of things before we were 10, 13 or so. Those we’ve covered pretty well in “The Little Shop of Horrors“.

I think we’re going to have to dig into Matthew’s experiences and how they affected “him”. He’s a strong personality, with a bit of the Marine, who shelters our “13” and some of our younger alters. I can’t help but wonder if 13 is still trapped in “the Machine” he built and made us. “13” rejected emotions – all of them – and scorned love. In that, perhaps, is part of our conflict, for “21” discovered the value (or some perceived value, because it can be questioned) – in, and of love.

21 lived with with two other families before “I” made my own. (I’m about 28, but physically 59 – the year ‘I’ this adult alter ‘built’ this family I’m with, woman I married.) “Matthew” is helping. (We always have a couple side-alters ‘going’; our 7th grader types.)

This is where “I” have fell down a bit as an adult alter, I reckon. That period where we went from “party hearty” and a big drug life, vs. now – they are completely different. We feel some conflict perhaps exists between those two disparate times and the goals which existed at those times. Times of adventure and exploration vs. stability, a home, family, and career. We feel there is some kind of disconnect between those two systems, the lifestyles (though we remain pretty creative). It’s a break, a boundary of emotions; a twist, and review of a very hard time (21’s time).

And so, moving forward, we must explore what we have NOT explored very much, nor indepth, and have not wanted to. This would be the period where we lived with several families (not ours), got into some sh**, got into drugs, joined the Marine Corps.

This would also be “Matthew’s Period” when he – or rather ‘us’ – were abandoned by our parents when we were 17 and told to take care of a boarding house while working two jobs and putting ourselves through pre-med college – while living and making it on our own.

From Matthew’s perspective they took off to Europe and left him – and all our other alters – alone. Our brother was gone (he’d joined the Marine Corps which led to even more problems later on), and we were alone to handle things.

Even for a kid raised like I was in the 1977 – they had handed us quite a handful.

Then there’s the problem of “21”, another alternate personality that took over when our kid’s system (the Machine, et all) broke down. We were really miserable then, and it took living with those other families that “21” discovered 13’s “mistake” (of trying to have no emotions) – and it took a couple of years for him & us to work it out – what we had needed, wanted, all that.

It boiled down to one thing, actually.

We just wanted – or “21” discovered the goal was easy and simple:
Learn to be happy or just stop living.

Achieving it was much harder, and I think – I am almost certain – we are not quite done.

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“Tom-Tom” Long Toms (A Young Marine’s Prayer)

I found this in the “Drafts” section of the Lost Journals today. That blog was created for “younger” selves, mostly teens and early 20’s (apparently). “This” post, written in 2011 and never published, caught my eye and attention like a magnet to steel . . .

It was originally titled “Tom Toms” and is a very real prayer said by a young Marine crouching in the rocks in the desert – one of my inner selves. It still calls to “me” emotionally on many levels, for I remember those old cannon – “Long Toms” – which as a little kid I took as “Tom-Toms” because of the drumming sound a battery could make, and then later, as a Marine underneath an overhead barrage – it “calls” to me with emotional contexts and impacts because we did lose guys despite this being in training. Once we had over 250 casualties over in ‘the Corridor’ located near 29 Palms, CA, all within about an hour. No mention in the news that I know of. I do know one thing about the Marine Corps, or at least the one from the late 70’s: we trained “for real”, and people got hurt or killed on every exercise. I still have a few scars from high velocity rocks thrown by a short round, though that’s not why I grieve, or “feel” these weird and diffuse feelings I should investigate – a type of nostalgia, longing, and regret, all mixed, plus the military WAS my childhood: I was born in it, and to it.

That, too, is a lifelong problem: I fit in great due to my DID giving me chameleon like skills when it comes to societies, persons, and cultures, yet I don’t fit in at ALL – except in the field (war games). In those I excel as I was trained to as a young child, then teen – warrior – military, Marine . . . So yes, the military plays a big role in my life, from my parents who gave me birth to me in it, to the soldiers that helped train, to those I worked with and around, and made friends with – now long lost due to time and the military’s insistance on keeping people moving around.

At any rate, given people’s renewed approval of most things military nowdays I figured it makes a good read. So instead of providing a link, I copied it from here)

Long-Toms drum in the darkness of the desert air,
their thunder rolling through the darkness
far to the rear:
Boom-ba-da-boom-ba-da-boom! Boom! Boom!

And there’s a soft swishing in the air
far above me in the night sky sprinkled with flowers
of evening stars.
In the night sky high above the shells are aloft.
I pray for no short rounds.
They softly swish over me.
like fifty-five gallon drums
tumbling through the sky.
Messengers of death and destruction
invisible to the eye:

And again I pray:
No short rounds.

The rocks surround me in the hard comfort,
their forms indistinct
as the shells swish from behind me,
my rifle crowds my chest.
I peer downrange through the darkness where stars glitter and shine
as the night sky above me glitters and glows
with a darkness of its own,
and stars sternly stare down.

No short rounds, I pray, looking down the valley in the further darkness there at the end,
until the valley erupts in silent flame and a fiery commotion.

Flares go up: star shells parachute back down,
their swinging lanterns glowing, lighting up desert for miles around.

The shells have arrived.
The thunder shakes my ears
and the ground under my thighs.

No short rounds.

I breath a sigh of relief, ears still cocked for that sound,
that swish-swish in the night
of a short round.

There are none.

Posted in Alters, Art, creative writing, Marine Corps, Military, The Lost Journals, war | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment

DID Detectives: Knowing When Something is “Off” In the ‘System’

I should have been paying attention to this – and need to repost it as a reminder because we definitely have something “off”, and have noticed some gaps and holes in our memory (e.g. missing the years between about 21 and 24) – signs that our alters are unhappy, or in trouble. :/ What can I say? Dissociative Identity Disorder (NOS & Otherwise) can be both a blessing and a curse.

A Song of Life: Being DID

How To Know Something is Wrong in a D.I.D. System

How Do You Know Something is “Wrong”?

To put it simply: you experience intrusive and/or inappropriate thoughts and/or emotions for a prolonged period.  IF you are D.I.D. and are suffering from inexplicable angers, emotions like sadness or depression, or thoughts of self-harm – even though there is nothing really WRONG with your life, et all – it might be an “alter” or a part of you is having a problem, and this is an issue you can determine yourself, perhaps.

To give you an example, let use “13”*, an alter which appears to be giving ‘us’ trouble.

From A Host’s Perspective (M3):
A few weeks ago – almost a month, my patience seemed to start to get thinner and thinner.  I found myself making snide & hurtful remarks, or unthoughtful ones sometimes towards, or about, friends & family, including “myself”…

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DID Fun: Who Did This, Why An I Finding It NOW, and What Does It Mean – If Anything?

DID folks have to ask themselves a lot of questions sometimes, and sometimes on a daily basis. “Who did THIS?” “Where did THAT come from?” “What does it MEAN, if anything?” “Which part of ‘me’ is did THAT?” and often, “Do ‘I’, the adult personality have to GO through it, too? Sometimes I find these things upsetting!”

And sometimes, as in this case, you find stuff “you’ve hidden from YOU”. Yes, it is not only entirely possible, it’s a trick you can learn. I’ve found over the years “some part of me” hiding something kind of useful, like when you need money and suddenly “remember” where you put some cash – or in many cases just finding yourself going somewhere in your house and ‘discovering’ a stash laying there. For us, and I guess other DID folks it’s the same as happened yesterday: You’ll just be going about your daily life and you’ll find something “odd” or strange. In our case it’s often something we – or rather, some part of us wrote and wonder – unlike ‘normal’ people have to do:
“Why has this come up – surfaced – NOW? What does it mean – if anything? Should I regard it as something important to me NOW – or was it something some other part of me was – or still is? – going through?”

If you want to take a cruise down what apparently is one, or several of my younger alter’s (13 year old teenager, maybe some more) personal rage against aging parents, which “I”, myself, don’t really share, click on the link on the end of this long, rambling intro.

Personally (I’m an alternate personality, too – “M3” – one of the grown up ones) don’t get anything out of it. I feel no real rage or anger towards those old folks anymore. They wrote their fate, and yes, I feel a bit of responsibility for them, but not much at all. If anything I wish they would just be happy, but my mom never will. Sure, they were stupid and abusive beyond measure, or anything other parents around us were doing (as best I can find out for that day and age) – and my mom, being psychotic (she’d also been sorely abused as a child, mostly through hard work and unfairness) didn’t help. She “lost it” with us kids being an oft times alone Army mother of two boys, and together with my oft times abusive dad (he was kind of a closet sadist when he paid any attention at all) – they pretty much mucked both their kids up emotionally and socially.

We (my brother & I) can fit in, but don’t fit in, anywhere we are, having “come from nothing and nowhere” as a child. It doesn’t matter – CEO’s and heads of major corporations (I was a factory designer for pharma) or some hillbilly hick sitting around a campfire and drinking with parts of “me” standing apart inside, aside & looking on, disagreeing, or criticizing; the scientist “me’s” looking at stars or observing plasma flows in a fire; the “little kid” wanting to go “camping” or make a midnight tour of some mountain . . .

Yeah, managing that kind of divisive and various herd in your mind is part of what DID is about, and something most ‘normal’ people apparently don’t have to go through.

Officially the post the link below leads to my “teenager’s” journals. It’s on WordPress as the “The Lost Journals“. The article we stumbled across that spawned this link is from April 2011, and this was/is another case of “who did what?” and “should ‘I’, a core adult alter, be concerned now?”. It apparently was written by teenage alters. I stumbled across it rambling in some old web archives I’ve got “laying around” – or did “I”, and if so, why now? I am beginning to suspect this is a hint that I need to focus on early to mid-teen years – something which I have not covered. There’s a lot of pain during that period. And I wonder: does this involve “21”, an alter that evolved after 13’s “Machine” went dead? I hope not, but perhaps I need to document/focus on up to my early 20’s and look at some very hard stuff that was happening “inside” then. Fortunately for me “21” was a very good journaler and we kept the notes he wrote. (Now finding them? That’s going to be either hard or easy, depending upon the cooperation of my inside selves.).

This, too, is an issue people with DID/NOS and/or DID/MPD/BPD (Multiple Personality / Borderline Personality Disorders) have to cover and deal with: being a detective about yourself, your past, and trying to sort out what happened, and the effect(s) it might have had on you and your various “persons” or personas. And though I dread it, I feel a “pull”, push, or drive; yet I am shying away from it. I don’t WANT to look – but I do. It’s like discovering one’s own personal train wreck and slowly – oh so slowly – reliving it as you do. Why look now in old archives now?  That’s one of the mysteries of dissociative identity: Puzzling out “Who did what? Or did that? Wrote this? And what is the meaning?” – and then trying to decipher the “why’s” . . . and I’m still doing it. 

With all that said . . .

Let’s get on with “13’s” story and “our” griping about our parents . . . and why “we” think having DID is a blessing from time to time . . .

It’s Good To Have a Multiple Personality 😀

Posted in 13, Alters, child abuse survivor, DID, DID Detective, dissociative identity disorder, Matthew, MPD, The Lost Journals | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment

Asking Yourself “WHY DO I FEEL THIS?” and Life Lessons

(Note: I found this among on my Desktop. Apparently it’s something I wrote back in March, but I didn’t feel compelled to click on the nagging little icon until a few moments ago. Then I realized this might have some value to some members of our audience on the internet.)

I’ve been ‘pushed’ by internal forces I don’t even pretend to understand. To do some good in this universe; lend a helping hand, at least to this species I’ve discovered myself living in.

Here’s the deal.

I am still “discovering” emotions.  Not the way you think. I feel everything you do: grief, pain, anger, depression (the Pits), laughter, some tears, and more. Disgust upon seeing or hearing certain things, which seems strongly tied to our biology of being human, since that’s where most of our emotions arise.  A “Fight or Flight (fear)” emotion is a good example of this.

No, I am into discovering them in a different way. And to the people who know me, you know what I’d say: Hey, you know me. I say that with wink and a shout-out out there among you humans in the word, of which I’m one, trying to figure this feces-synonym deleted rambling synopsis of mind. And that means “all of you” out there, as well. Trying to figure out why you’re doin’ what you’re doing, and trying to understand: “Why?”

I’m rather good at asking those questions, “Why this?”, and then “Why that?”, then immediately switching and summoning my attention and focus on something different, or something else. I prefer “different” in all the meanings of that word, for it implies ‘outstanding’ or ‘should be famous’ but when people use it about me it means “weird” or “not like us”.  Albeit in the last example I often leave much unsaid, because no one I know, knows quite how I think, nor are they willing to talk about it though I am a talkative and oft gregarious person, something I trained myself to be by changing myself by changing my mind and outlooks.  I used to be an introvert. Don’t believe it? Ask anyone who knew me in High School. They used to know, yet they knew me when I wasn’t so . . . different myself because unlike so many others, I’ve never stopped evolving, or working on my own thought patterns, mind, and outlooks. I’m definitely weird that way. (It comes from DID, just so you understand it.)

But what can I say but I’ve grown since then, both outside and internally, and changing my mind a lot in the process.  Really working on the thing, babying it along like the crippled thing we all are, and come from, getting started.  (and it doesn’t matter the reasons why, and it happened for very good reasons to you for a reason, and its up to YOU to discover in yourself, “WHY?” – that question I keep asking myself, and have been for the last 45 years or so.  (Ever since I was about 13, come to think about it. I’ve been working on this stuff steady all along, making my own internal realizations from 1000’s of sources, if not more, across the lands and globe.

And I discovered something about myself – I wanted to be happy – and my only choice was to do it myself, and if I kept looking I would find it, and it was about a decade later (actually only 9 years) that I figured out that only by looking in myself could I achieve my homemade goal.  Because nobody told me about this, this “happiness” thing we all glom on and desire. We all want it but don’t know what to do, looking outside yourself, thinking you are all right all the time.  Even if some of you seem to be suffering from some internally deep and sad depression inside, which stems from the fears you feel, and a whole lot of other crap.

So it goes with the military, which I worked in and for, for about 28 years. I volunteered by being born in them, or else you get in through enlistment and assignment (which I also did, going Marine Corps instead of the Army I’d been born in) or you “married in”, finding in your husband or wife something charming about highly polished shoes and brass on a uniform, and fell in love with him or her. 

At any rate, I kept on going, plugging away.  I wrote many journals, keeping track of everything and asking myself “Why?” to everything I thought and felt.  And I mean everything!  Each iota and nuance of emotion; all the combinations thereof, and meanwhile questioning through the repeated – over and over again, in some cases a thousand times, if not a hundred times a hundred thousand more.

And yet I keep on asking that same, by now grown tiresome, but habitual by now, question of mine, finding out how someone or something “was ticking” – “Looking under the hood,” as I sometimes put it, lifting the skull off someone’s brain – including mine! more often than not, sometimes surprised, disappointed, or horrified by the things I’d found lurking in there, in that dark chasm we all call the “human soul”.  There were lights down there, too, flickers of emotion, and I keep on following them down, chasing them down until I found myself in a pit of darkness, helplessly looking around – lost, just like some of you people, and down, afraid I’d take my own life.

Yes, I’ve been there a time or two or three.

It was a way of discovering that emotion, and many others beyond, and tracing them to the root source in me, which of course, was myself all along.  A typical human being on a voyage of exploration; however, like most folks I’d come to the conclusion that happiness lay in “self-focus” determining who I am, why I “was” (feeling this and that, in a manner of speaking, though spiritualism of course entered the equation, then an old friend told me something while I was going through something else and we were talking religion and he said:

“It doesn’t matter what you believe as long as you believe in something.” – as further psychology studies were to confirm in the future when I read them, for indeed there seemed to be something to it, as they reported these people were happier with it than without it, in general, and in a majority of the populations studied, researched, and talked about with such enthusiasm that I started to wonder if I should “believe” myself.

So I went on chasing that long-winded and lost puppy of mine, and, it seems, have eventually arrived at some happiness, but I want to go further along.

I wanted to dig down deeper, revealing these secrets I’d learned the magic words for, which really, if you think about it was the same thing:  My continued desire to know why this thing, or that thing, including my “feelings, thoughts, and actions – (you learn the latter is based on the former, by the way. I did.) – happened, or why someone was feeling or acting or talking (or in this day, typing) something that I’d seen, heard, sensed, of felt. 

Every bit of it went into my data crunching machine; enormous amounts of human data, as well as the more mundane tasks of “learning to be human” because I was not raised like most, it seems.  For instance my mom tells me I immediately disappeared after birth, and was gone a week, no one could find me (and my wife commented that they didn’t even talk, or seem interested in trying to find me, which I tend to believe due to other aspects of their conversation, and other things my mom told me.

For all I know I could be an alien, or the Changeling I sometimes jokingly claim to be. But not in front of my mother, for she would be sure to believe it then, and then using it as an excuse to prevent my past behavior, she’d have “them” try to exorcise me.

I’d better get moving on.  I might not have much time left here if news of me gets out to her and she decided to go through with it.  Being a witch she might just be able to do it too! And that’s for real. In her youth she used to claim she was a bonafide witch and practice witchcraft, and teach her sons things like casting a hex, and using and making voodoo dolls. 

I think it worked a couple of times, that “throwing of the hex” thing she had showed me – and THAT was a little, little kid.  How to form one’s hands, summon the emotions of fear and anger, and CAST them out there, mucking someone’s life up, or at least some emotions, as they saw this little kid throwing hexes there, staring right at them with hard eyes.

And a grin, I’ll sometimes admit. 

Anyway, I “put the hex” on one guy, and his trunk broke right away, right there in front of his eyes and mine.  I had told him about it, not joking, but  he left with joking eyes. I was about 7 years old at the time.

“Your mistake,” I remember thinking, staring out the window of the backseat at him (he had parked right next to us); I could see him grinning, and it appeared to me he mocking my uncle for HIS trouble – an auto wreck on the road involving a motorcycle, and something about a guy laying there. I was worried about my most favorite relative in all of Wyoming. But it wasn’t him, it was someone he hit – or they hit him, it took a while for my young mind to figure it out – and meanwhile I’m staring at this reporter’s car.

And he’s still grinning.

Feeling my hate rise within, I raise my hand, making the hand motion, and his grin just gets wider as he puts something in his car.  He goes around to the trunk, slips the key in, unlocks it, puts something in, drops the lid down – giving it a shove because those old trunk lids needed help in closing . . .

and still the damn thing wouldn’t close.

I could almost hear him cursing as I grinned, watching him take his long tie loose from his shirt, and unknotting it, using it to tie the car trunk lid down.

“I cursed your car,” I said as he, now nervous and shooting darting edgewise glances towards our car.  I had specifically rolled down (this was in the time of “crank handles”, you young children with your life of leisure and buttons to do what you command.  Maybe YOU are a god in someones mind, sometime, somewhere, somewhen.  You never know about these things.

Yeah, my feet were a tad bit sore after that long walk out of the mountains down to the airport in P.R.

Another guy I hexed in Puerto Rico and his mother, a perfectly healthy but older woman died in his arms a few hours later. Needless to say he blamed me and I had to beat a hasty retreat, escaping the island on foot, wandering as IF in a fugue in order to avoid some rather bad nasty guys who, apparently, had slipped some PCP in on me in an attempt to harness some of my military grade talents, as well as a few others. (I am, or have been, an internet hacker for awhile – white hat involved!)

I’d studied a lot of psychology by now, from starting when I was thirteen years old or thereabouts; we’d come home from near Eastern German, and this was just around Cold War times. Not as cold as it’d BEEN, nor as cold as it was going to be for some Russians and citizens of the U.S.S.R. later on, when our nation punished their nation by the wheat and tennis shoe and “blue jeans” embargo which denied their kind anyting from our land.

And they wanted blue jeans, those crazy SOB Russians, and I love them for who they are (won’t go into it here, thank god – you’ve been reading long enough, haven’t you, but I promise you some fun and (some? self? Mine?) discoveries ahead, but if you make any, remember:

You’re doing it on your own and through your own free choice system – and how THAT works is up to you, which is a free choice as well – no matter what anyone tells you! – the, choice is always a left to you. 

For as I discovered early on in my studies: in order to change how you FEEL about the world and the things in it you have to change how you THINK about the world and the things in it, which required changing how you VIEW the world and all that happens here. 21, our alternate and often transient alter who “survived” until we were 24 – and during all those long years in-between, certainly made a lot of discoveries in the “whys” of ourself and our feelings and behavior – still hard! hard as heck sometimes! – and sometimes coming as easy as pie, these “hard concepts” some people seem to have trouble grasping, like how they are responsible for their own emotions – and why.

I kept on asking that question “Why this? Why that?” all along, have been, and will continue on doing it the rest of my life, and if there’s an afterlife at all, I’m going to keep on going from person to person – or I reckon that’d be for me to do some soulful song singing of course, strumming my lyre by the fires of the pits of Heaven, and wondering what was in-between.

I wonder like that when I get confused and the truth doesn’t make sense to me (see cognitive dissonance. It will tell you a lot and I am continually refining and fact-checking the views in me, along with those feelings of guilt I’ve felt, and in some cases still feel. I haven’t taken that emotion apart yet, exploring all it’s nuances and “why’s” all along all the threads to their very beginning.  I’ve already discovered its a complex emotion, made up of several of them.

“Bartender! Mix me up some guilt based on some self-sacrifice I convinced myself to make killing a loved one or ruining a dear thing to me – dearer than life, I’m feeling!” – and so in some cases that emotion leads to killing themselves and taking someone else’s life along for the ride, if not a couple more.

I kinda hate that emotion, and emotions like that. They are complex emotions; put them in a blender and look out when you look in at it, trying to discover hidden sources in the peas soup and fogs that have formed.  Some are trickier than hell AND heck put together; put some salt on it because it’s somewhat bitter, and too much can ruin your life, taking you in hand and convincing in someway, convince you to end it.  Maybe by taking you over there and throwing you off a cliff, making you go insane and do it, and doing to you what are are doing to yourself by not going over it, and examining in detail, like I did, taking each one apart into all it’s component pieces and sub pieces and assemblies and keep on going and loosening some more screws.

No wonder people keep saying I’m loosing my screws and there’s a few loose in my head.  I think I’m onto something, and they’re on to the truth: there may be something there I can find of value, so I keep on loosening with my infernal unending question and force of desire to understand these things in all their nuances and glory, from high to low, the breath – sweet as a baby’s breath or an emotion that comes ruining your life, running like a hurricane over your heart and soul.

Those kind of things suck; internal disasters, too, and I’ve had a few in myself.

I think all us humans do.

Maybe it’s part of “teaching us a lesson”.

Maybe its because we so often refuse to – to do the work inside, working and tinkering and adjusting all of those things ranging from views at birth, and questioning “why this when not that? and keep on using the question I use.

Find the gosh-danged “why” of these things inside you which are pushing you into behaviors you’d rather not do, don’t want to do, and anything like that.

And that work counts too.

Posted in Anger, child abuse survivor, depression, Education, Happiness, Life, mental health, psycho-analysis, Psychology, therapy | Leave a comment

Flying Through the Cuckoo’s Nest: Being DID In the Loony Bin

This last fugue I went on ended pretty much like my previous one – with a trip to the loony bin for observation. As usual and by being DID-NOS (“Not Otherwise Specified”, which means ‘a mystery’ in shrink parlance sense) — I have a plan. (wink!) And if you’re DID you’ll understand, and probably get a good laugh. For not only do I “have a plan” when I get involuntarily committed –

I’ve got a number of personalities to choose from to “deal with it” and “them”: the patients, staff, cops and whatnot, plus some good professionals (inside – ‘lawyers’, psychologist & such – lots of resources, plus my own professional careers out in real life) –

and so I simply switch off and let “them” – whoever it “needs to be” be “on top” at the moment to deal with whoever it is I am dealing with at the time.

One of the BIG problems I run across at these types of facilities, especially when I am first brought in, is misdiagnosis. They always want to label you “BPD” – Bi-Polar” – but you are not. You’re DID, and DID is NOT Bipolar, though it might appear so to “them”. It depends which alters are up and running amok, which is how you get carted of to one of those mental mausoleums.

Who takes first? Who takes second? Mix & Match to Suit the Situation & People

And that’s where I’ve not only got a “plan”, but have “sets” of personalities for handling that kind of crowd – the patients, staff, and psychiatrists.

As SOON as they and/or I calmed me down and returned to rationality (THIS time they had to use a LOT of shots and I bent a cop’s car door frame when they confined me (with my bare hands – they came by a few days later to – what? Admire me? Wonder how I did it?) But yeah, get me mad – and I sorely dislike being confined in small hot spaces like cop cars in the sun – and I get a bit ornery.

But I ‘slip & shift’ a lot on the inside in order to get along with “the system”, whether it be doctors or patients, and “we” all do it well. After all we all know the object of the game is to remain on the very best of behavior, yet “we” all also buck the systems somewhat – turning a meeting on it’s head so they’re listening to me rather than the other way around, leading classes (group therapy in some spots) and cutting through the sh** quick; getting at the truth.

Sometimes I shift like slipping on a hat, paying different levels of attention to the clothes, attitudes, and intelligence – and then meeting & greeting ‘whoever’ on, or above their level. I’m pretty good at it. Folks always say I can be easy to get along with, very tolerant, with a relaxed laid back attitude toward well, whatever! – depending on a lot of things. Due to my many jobs, talents, and education I talk casually, hillbilly, Southern, or as a top notch CEO professional and engineer. I can also be a REAL asshole. And do when I see patients’ rights getting trod on.

The logically calculating “scientists” and “shrink” mental hats & attitudes are helpful, but I rely on my younger selves in dealing with the patients, and because they can be courteous towards the professionals, but I’m always looking over their shoulder as well as several other parts “like” me (an adult protector). You can’t really get me to show anger if I choose not to. But when I do, it’s with razor sharp logic, exposing the root of people’s problems sometimes, exposing their hidden (or so they thought) sadness’s, depressions, and/or failures. With State run doctors it’s not hard. After all – I”m not nicknamed Son of Satan for nothing by those who know me and some of the really harsh cruel things I’ve done, or been forced to do by one of my alternative selves. But the truth is: in a mental institution you hardly ever see the doctors. Most of your days will be spent with interns and staff, along with the patients that they’ve decided are roughly “in your class” of insanity and in terms of danger to selves and others.

The problem I have with State doctors is they are usually the bad ones: the ones who couldn’t get hired at any clinic, or got fired from some, and couldn’t afford to go in with someone to open one of their own – that just kinda smells bad – means they can’t, or didn’t make many friends while they were in school, or shows no sense of ambition, which means no “do it yourself” in terms of keeping up with advancements in the field.

Usually the doctors I have problems with are the ones on power trips and behave like assholes, which some do. The ones I’ve found usually have a crowd of students following them around and the teacher’s job is to find something wrong with you. They usually get red-faced with embarrassment when I call them out – especially among their students and/or peers – because I am very professional and sane with them. (Not the patients, though – them I help, make good ‘trades’.)

And sometimes I help other people take their straight Jackets off . . .

Things you are missing if you go to one of these Mental Mausoleums / Museums: a lack of the basic ability to do hygiene. Non-emergency medical needs – meaning you aren’t bleeding out right there – aren’t met, and your physical needs ignored. For example – it took me 5 days to get some Tylenol for my 24/7 back pain. In one of the ‘groups’ I noticed a woman with a wispy chin beard going on – some of the hairs were two or three inches. I grew one myself. I stayed there 13 days and never got a shower, nor a shave. Not one of us did. Some patients are crazy and violent, and you have no real rights yourself.

I call most mental institutions “Mental Museums” or “A Mental Mausoleum” because they’re a bit of both. Some patients are like Museum pieces, ones the psychologists can’t figure out and keep on studying – IF they have time. Most don’t. I am one of those. Just my background “scared the shit” out of a State owned Army psychiatrist when he found out what I’d been through (the MKULTRA kind of thing). He quit dealing with me right then and there. None of the doctors – the REAL ones – really have any time to do their job. A 15 minute interview is about all I’ve ever got.

At this last State loony bin patient’s rights were ignored and outright broken, and patients tend to be universally disrespected. It’s like “They’re crazy after all, it doesn’t matter; they won’t remember this, I can do what I want with them,” type of attitude by most staff members.

Keep your eyes on the angry & silent patients . . . cuz’ you never know, and the staff is always too late.

The real threat of bodily violence exists and comes from other patients. Despite my general ‘easy to get along with’ attitude I got sucker punched from behind this last time by a known-to-be-violent patient, knocked to the floor a hammer blow to the top of my spine. It pays to be aware and don’t become distracted by the television like I was.

I can be a either a blessing or a pain in the staff’s ass, and I try to help the patients. Due to my bad back and multiple personality I don’t sleep much in those institutions and therefore spend my time in the wee hours of the morning practicing Tai Chi and chatting with the staff. I learned early on how to pry people with questions and get what I’m after – in terms of information at least, sometimes.

The other term, “Mausoleums” are the really bad ones where they keep some, if not all, patients forever. There is no “study” – nor rights, nor care, not physically, nor mentally. “You are crazy,” the guards rationalize. Most are psychology interns doing their studies, but they don’t know what they are doing. They’re just there to record behavior patterns if they ever bother noticing them, and to try to prevents fights or violence, and to resolve issues – whatever they are – among the patients. More permanent staff, if employed by the government – well, most are bottom of the barrel last choice individuals who were unable to be be picked up by a private practice clinic, or set one up for themselves. Then there are the “volunteers” I call them: older folks who are ‘stuck’ in a position because no one else would hire them and the State had a position to fill.

So you have all these untrained State employees, as well as disheartened or demoralized ones, lousy ones, cutups and younger generation college level 20-somethings running the show, and over them the power hungry doctors and higher level physicians who are supposed to be teachers, but it’s more about them stroking their ego in front of a crowd, and it is they who make the demands and run the show.

“Treat Time” is a special time in these mental institutions, and happen quite often – usually twice between meals. They are there to serve as a distraction, and welcomed by all they are! They’re usually the only distraction you have. If you’re lucky there might be a TV on which the staff, depending on their mood might play old scratched up, often bootleg DVDs. Sometimes they’ll take a ‘vote’, but many subjects are “off limits”; however, that doesn’t prevent them from running whatever videos they want – which is still good. It’s one way the staff uses to entertain their audience as well as feed their own desires to be free of paperwork and boredom that any mental institution has in overabundance. (As well as a lot of other things.)

The food is always highly processed and unpredictable. Sometimes our trays would come in rather skimpy with their high processed food stuffs, instant dessert, and meals. At one State institution I was in the food was delivered a good 2 hours after it left on a truck from the contractor’s location to the hospital – nice and cold as hell eggs and grits like a loaf of bread. Eating fast is recommended. At least that’s one way to avoid tasting some of that crap any longer than you have to.

The best thing to do if you find yourself institutionalized?

Make friends among the patient and staff. That way you can trade for better or more desired snacks, or as in my case, gather a little “group” or “following” who will emotionally support and stand up for you against the staff, give you the inside “scoop” on things you don’t know about, and stay up on the information: schedules, who does what, who is a good rat and who is not . . . because in the end it’s kind of what you feel like under the doctor’s eyes: a field rat that’s been brought in to kind of test it’s behavior – making sure it gets along with all the other little rats, as well as “them”, the doctors, and a certain amount of obedience to “staff” is to be expected. You can buck ’em as well on certain issues by pointing out unfairness or issues of favoritism towards one particular individual or another.

Because yes, it does happen: the staff develop and sometimes illustrate their likes and dislikes towards any particular person – unprofessional, yes, and they’re told not to, but sometimes they are unaware of it; at others, just being a bit foolish, or “human” so I’ve been told.

But that is part of the trick to it and keeping your trip short if you want to get out. Act like a responsible person, take any insult or injury with a smile unless it regards patients’ rights and/or your wants (assuming they’re within ‘reason’ – or sometimes just ‘for this reason’ – I’ve gotten by with some pretty outrageous behavior in some ways, like taking over a class (that’s what “group therapy” at most of these venues are) – it can get pretty boring if you don’t step up and exercise your mind, and your options regarding “playing” with people when it seems an award is due.

Be like the Patient Fly . . . sometimes Buzzing, sometimes Listening but biding your time . . .

Most of all, it’s biding your time, and me? I don’t walk in without looking for ways out. (It’s in my nature.) Instead I make it fun, slipping on a new personality that can “get along” and “take it” (a mix of the shrink & the Marine mostly) – while chaffing and itching to get out – and realizing “how” I gotta play the game. I can’t help but plot an escape, but I know – and you should, too: if you leave prematurely (escape) they WILL come looking for you, and probably will find you no matter what you do.

So! – IF you are DID and suddenly find yourself being involuntarily incarcerated for your mental state of being: “slip off” those clothes of personality you’ve been wearing and put another on – one more capable of remaining cool and level, and looking for any advantage you can over “them” (the patients, staff, doctors, and hospital) – while not ignoring them. Indeed, engaging makes it engaging, and a little bit of talk – especially when you keep your ears wide open – can make for a lot of conversation during which you can nod and gather more information on what it’s going to take to get you “on outta here”.

And if you don’t have a “person”, try to make or use several so you can handle it if it comes: long confinement against your wishes in a place you don’t like or want to be (or in my case, didn’t even ask for or volunteer my way in – but I had long confinements as a child, too). This takes “training” a mind with a DID system; unfortunately you’ll probably have to do it on your own, but you can, once you’re “in there” – by adapting the same skills that kept you semi-insane but logical & okay as a child, and despite it giving “you” and “all yours” problems from time to time.

Survival, Evasion And Escape

It is, after all, a survival system and it can work real well if you want it to, practice, and try with it.

I know I do, and that’s how I flew out of the Cuckoo’s nest 13 days after being involuntarily dragged in: Judged “not quite normal” and “with DID and something else” – but it got me a foothold in the VA, finally, after 8 years of trying . . .

Funny how they are looking at mental issues instead of the physical real ones – but that’s a tale for another day.

Posted in child abuse survivor, DID, DID Advantages, dissociative identity disorder, mental health, Mental Health Professionals | Tagged , | Leave a comment