Sweet Child O’ Mine: My Inner Child Parts #Blogtober20

Welcome to another day! The next prompt in #Blogtober20 is “Sweet Child O’ Mine”. I don’t have children and never will. However, I do have inner child parts and am pretty childlike at times, for better or for worse.

As regular readers of my blog will know, I have some dissociative symptoms. Particularly, I experience identity confusion and identity alteration. The latter of those is more commonly known as having multiple personalities. They each have their own names and ages too.

For example, Milou is a cheerful eight-year-old. She loves to learn independence skills like cooking, where appropriate to her age, of course. She is also quite the adventurer.

Suzanne, on the other hand, is quite emotionally disturbed. She is seven-years-old and feels the burden of having to grow up too fast. She often regresses into an emotionally much younger state.

There are many young parts inside of my head. It goes too far to talk about them all here. I mean, it’d probably confuse all of you, as it does me sometimes (hence the identity confusion).

Also, of late, I’m not feeling them that much. Yes, I do feel childlike, but it’s more like I can own the feelings myself. That’s considered a sign of healing. It might be temporary though, as it often is.

Dissociative symptoms such as multiple personality are usually the result of trauma. I, indeed, endured quite a few adverse childhood experiences. I also experience a large gap between my intellectual ability and my emotional functioning. In fact, when being assessed on a scale for emotional development, I was said to function at a level similar to an eighteen-month-old child. On some subscales, I even function at a level similar to a baby. This distinction may be one reason I tend to disconnect from myself.

Of course, everyone has an inner child. Or maybe more than one. However, for me, I often cannot function like an adult would when I’m in inner child mode. For example, when a child part is prominently present in my body, I cannot usually talk like an adult would.

Right now, like I said, I am able to retain both my childlike wonder and my adult functioning for the most part. Like I said though, this may be a temporary experience. I’m not sure and only time will tell.

#Blogtober20

We’re In Pain

So we’ve had a mouth ulcer for some days now and as of today, it really hurts. Our staff called the GP, since we can’t go to the dentist now due to our facility’s COVID-19 restrictions and also since they already knew it was a mouth ulcer. The medical assistant couldn’t decide what to do right away so she talked to the doctor herself. Our staff called back some time later. At first, the doctor said to just take paracetamol, but our staff nagged a bit, so now we’ll get some lidocaine gel. This will probably arrive tomorrow.

We somehow misunderstood the doctor’s telling our staff to just give us paracetamol as her thinking we weren’t in significant pain or that we were overreacting. This caused some of us a lot of upset. Over dinner, we were feeling really overwhelmed by the pain and also other clients’ noise. We somehow couldn’t speak until after we’d had a full-on meltdown. Then we got to express our pain and our staff fetched us some paracetamol. That did help some. We’re still in pain, but it’s manageable.

We generally feel very triggered of late. We’re currently reading a foster care memoir by Maggie Hartley called Who Will Love Me Now?. It’s about Kirsty, a ten-year-old being rejected by her first foster carers after they took her in from a neglectful biological mother as a baby. Understandably, Kirsty feels that no-one loves her now and is acting out a lot to prove this point.

I feel a lot of the more disturbed younger parts can relate to this. Thankfully, our parents never abandoned us, but they did threaten to institutionalize us a lot. Age ten was around the time this started.

I also showed a lot of the behaviors Kirsty shows. I mean, I would also often tell my parents that they didn’t love me. Though I didn’t experience the early abandonment Kirsty did, I do most likely suffer with some attachment issues. I can only speculate as to why this might be.

As we’re now in a place where at least so far the staff are saying we can stay, I notice we act out a bit out of a need to “prove” our point. Which is what, really? That no-one wants us, I guess. I’m not 100% sure how to let go of this feeling.

I did journal a lot in my Day One journals over the past few days. It feels good to let out my thoughts. I’m trying to make this a daily habit and hope my blog won’t suffer because of it.

#WeekendCoffeeShare (July 26, 2020)

Hi all on this summerly late Sunday evening – or should I say early night, as it’s actually past my bedtime right now? I’m still wide awake though, so thought I’d join in with #WeekendCoffeeShare. It’s too late for me to grab a coffee, but if you’d like one, I can make you one.

If we were having coffee, I would share that we were supposed to get heavy rain here today. We got some light rain in the morning and did get rain at night, but overall, it’s been a pretty rain-free day. I got to take an evening walk at 9PM. That suited the staff, as most other clients are in bed by then.

If we were having coffee, of course I’d share that I got approved for a higher care profile last Thursday. This means that the facility gets more money for me and they might be able to get some extra staff hours in. I found the letter detailing the decision in my government inbox on Friday. It was a bit hard to read how challenging my behavior really is. This care profile is called “living with very intensive support and very intensive care” and is the highest care profile for people with visual impairment.

If we were having coffee, I would tell you I made another keychain, this one for my husband. I like this one more than I do the one I did for my sister-in-law. My staff got the heart-shaped keyrings at a budget store.

If we were having coffee, I would tell you that after Tuesday’s appt with my nurse practitioner, I’ve been feeling at the same time more out of sorts and more feisty than ever. I do know there’s a great risk that, if I get assessed for trauma-related symptoms, the assessor will deny I have them because I’m too open about my trauma. However, a lot of people in dissociative disorder groups have been validating my experience. Of course, I’ll need a diagnosis of at least (C-)PTSD to get treatment and the prejudices among professionals suck in this respect. However, I’m feeling more and more that I may’ve found a community I belong to and find that I can access support from them.

If we were having coffee, I would tell you that I’m feeling similarly about my body and food. I mean, I at once feel very disorganized and disordered, and at the same time I’m trying to do something about it. Not that it’s any more than just trying at this point. I mean, I just noticed how my jeans fit a little better around my waistline, and that’s not a good thing, as they were rather loose. This upsets me, but it’s quite a challenge getting all of me to agree on how to change it.

If we were having coffee, lastly I would share that this week-end wasn’t quite the healthy food week-end. On Friday, we had French fries and snacks and ice cream for dessert. I also ate a whole bag of sweet liquorice between Thursday and Saturday. That though is a win, in that I’d normally have eaten it all in one sitting. I guess I’ll need to dialogue with myselves to get us on the same page re healthier living.

How have you been?

Thankful Thursday (July 23, 2020): My Care Team

Hi everyone! How are you all doing on this warm Thursday evening? I’m doing a lot better than I was earlier this week. I could actually do an early gratitude list, as there’s more than one thing I’m grateful for. A simple list wouldn’t do justice to how huge these gratefuls are though. Let me share. I’m joining in with Thankful Thursday.

First, I still need to update you all on my appt with my nurse practitioner and CPN on Tuesday. It went better than I expected. The outcome is that my nurse practitioner is going to talk to the psychiatrist and see if he can find us a psychologist to do trauma therapy and work on our emotion regulation issues. I don’t remember all the details of the meeting, but at one point, I/someone in me blurted out that we’re in Facebook groups for dissociative disorders. I quickly added that really that’s none of my nurse practitioner’s business, but still we feel a lot of shame surrounding this.

Then on Tuesday evening, a discussion erupted on Twitter about the ISST-D’s guidelines for diagnosing and treating people with dissociative disorders. There’s this article from 2001 that’s still being used to weed out alleged fakers. It uses such things as being open about your DID or trauma to people other than a few close confidants, showing no obvious shame when talking about your trauma, being in support groups for DID, etc., as apparent proof that you’re fake. Now I must say I’m still conflicted about going the actual trauma/DID assessment route, but this did trigger us. However, my support staff are on my side.

We were still recovering from the shame about all this when we heard the main good news I was planning to share here. I got a higher care profile allocated to me by the long-term care funding authority. I still can’t quite believe it, but I’m so happy. The application hadn’t gone out till last week, but this afternoon, my staff got a call that it’d been approved. I’m still waiting on the letter in my government inbox confirming it, but this is really good news. I now have the highest care profile for blind people in the long-term care system.

I was feeling a bit disconnected when I heard the news. Like I said, I still can’t quite believe it, but it’s such amazing news. I’m so glad my staff were so perseverant that they actually applied for this.

Looking forward to hearing what you all are grateful for today.

Yet Another Night-Time Crisis

Honestly, I don’t know why I want to share this. It’s late Monday evening here and I’m feeling okay’ish. Tomorrow, I’ll have another meeting with my CPN and nurse practitioner to discuss my treatment. This got us worrying a lot last night, so much so that we ended up in crisis.

As I probably said a few weeks ago, my nurse practitioner wants me to try acceptance and commitment therapy. This wasn’t what we’d expected at all and honestly I still don’t understand how he thinks it’s a good fit for my issues. I mean, it’s evidence-based for depression, anxiety and OCD, none of which we deal with to a significant degree.

He was also pretty dismissive of my trauma-related symptoms. Obviously he doesn’t believe we’re plural. Fine by me, though not by some of the others. But somehhow he seemed not to believe I suffer with any type of trauma-related condition at all. At least, he didn’t feel that trauma treatment could or should help us.

This got us worrying last night, as we really have no idea how to advocate for ourself without coming across like a malingerer. It got so bad that we ended up impulsively leaving our room.

After our last case of elopement, the staff decided to lock the door to our home, so I couldn’t go outside. The night staff though hadn’t come to my room to check on me yet. It was 11:10PM. The night shift normally starts at 10:30. Eventually, a substitute night staff came by, saying he had to do one-on-one with another client, that the real night staff was delayed and he was really busy so could I please go back to my room? That upset us greatly, so even though we went back to our room as requested, some of us started self-harming.

About twenty minutes later, the real night staff came to check on us. We were upset, so told her to leave. She left and we cried and self-harmed some more because we were still very upset. Our signaling plan says staff are to stay with us if we’re upset even if we tell them to leave, but I don’t know whether the night staff have access to this plan.

Finally, we left our room again and waited, still panicked, for the night staff to be alerted and to come check on us. She was distraught at seeing us so upset. It makes me feel shame and guilt for making her feel this way. She got us a PRN lorazepam, which calmed us slightly. Still, we didn’t sleep till 2AM.

Now I’m feeling okay again, but I’m still not sure what to do with tomorrow’s appt. I mean, after each crisis, my mental health team say I somehow managed to get out of it. They probably mean it as a compliment, but it doesn’t feel that way. Today, I didn’t even care to call the mental health team. I’m still shifting between wanting to give up mental health treatment altogether and demanding trauma therapy. After all, the reason the appt upset me so much is that it triggered my feelings of being unseen, unheard, unsupported. Then again, maybe we’re not worth being seen, heard or supported.

#WeekendCoffeeShare (July 5, 2020)

Hello all and a happy Sunday evening! Today I’m joining in with #WeekendCoffeeShare. I honestly crave a cup of strong coffee right now, as I’ve only had one cup so far today and it’s past 6PM. Unfortunately, I think all I can get now is decaf. Anyway, how have you been? Grab a cup of decaf, tea or your favorite type of soda and let’s catch up.

If we were having coffee, I would rant about the meeting I had with my nurse practitioner and community psychiatric nurse last Friday. I was very worried about this meeting beforehand. It didn’t go as I expected at all, but that wasn’t a good thing.

The reason we had the meeting was to decide whether I can get trauma treatment, such as EMDR. I voiced my fear that, if I tried EMDR or the like, my parts would come forward and sabotage the therapy. Instead of reassuring me or even asking further questions, my nurse practitioner said he doesn’t believe I have alters because he’s to his knowledge always seen Astrid. He added that everyone has different sides to themself.

For whatever reason, the whole EMDR/trauma therapy thing went out the window too. He wants me to do acceptance and commitment therapy (ACT). He recently trained in this and it seems this is more of a reason for him to want a guinea pig than that he genuinely thinks it’d suit my symptoms. My husband joked that it’s almost like, if I go to the hospital with a broken leg and the orthopedic surgeon isn’t on call, they’d send an oncologist to give me chemo.

If we were having coffee, I would tell you that after the meeting, my staff and I went to get fries at a snackbar. We also drove by a store to get me a large bag of sweets. I had originally intended to get cold tea too. Oh, I forgot to offer you all some of that. It’s basically herbal tea that you put into cold water and then let sit for ten minutes. It’s good.

If we were having coffee, I would also tell you that I spent a night at my husband’s yesterday. It was good. We had roti delivered for dinner.

If we were having coffee, I would tell you that despite the not-so-great weather, I did go for a walk today once I got back to the care facility. There’s a new staff who’s being trained to work on my unit and she took me for a walk. Unfortunately, it seems as though my Fitbit battery won’t charge. Maybe it’s time for a new one.

How have you been?

Not Quite a (Traumagenic) System?

I feel so awful right now. The visit from my parents went so well and this is actually confusing me. I mean, I consider some of my childhood experiences traumatic. Quite a few, in fact. How can this be the case if I have such loving parents? I mean, yes, they’re still a bit odd. My father just talked about the birds and butterflies and flowers we encountered. He didn’t ask me any questions or share anything about himself. That doesn’t make him a CPTSD-engendering parent though.

I had a dream yesterday about me needing to take the SCID-D assessment for dissociative disorders and it came back showing that I don’t have a dissociative disorder. It was probably triggered by my having read a message in a DID support group about how plurality is now something anyone can claim because of endogenic (born multiple) systems etc. We’re not an endogenic system, but can we claim to be traumagenic? Can we even claim to be a system at all?

I mean, other than online and to a few specific people who know us closely, we don’t share our names. It could just be that I gave names to different emotions or aspects of myself that I find hard to understand. This is what my community psychiatric nurse said on our last appointment. She said the consultant recommending EMDR for my traumatic experiences hadn’t recommended any type of “deep-digging” therapy. Not that I want that, but on some deep level (no pun intended), her claim that my parts are feelings, made me feel invalidated.

I told my CPN that, whichever treatment approach I try, my parts always show up and disrupt the process. She countered that we hadn’t tried EMDR yet. I know, but this approach is known to cause worsening of dissociation in those with dissociative disorders. Can it get me to “split” even more, even if I’m not a genuine multiple in the first place?

When I shared my doubts/denial on an E-mail list for DID, someone replied that I sign my E-mails with lots of different names. Well, that’s as easy as typing on a keyboard. No-one needs to have any special characteristics to be able to do this. It doesn’t prove my multiplicity. Besides, I know there are parts and they have names, but are these parts truly differentiated enough?

In a sense, it doesn’t matter. I’m not planning on seeking a DID/OSDD diagnosis anytime soon and by the time I might have overcome my fear of psychological evaluations, I guess DID has been removed from the DSM. Either that or Onno van der Hart and other scandalous therapists have given it such a bad name that no-one in the whole country will support me. And that’s even assuming that said assessment would show some type of dissociative disorder. Then again, if I’m claiming plurality for the sake of it, am I not contributing to the stigma surrounding DID myself?

In addition to the dream I had yesterday, I have recurring dreams about my parents finding out I’m in childhood trauma survivor support groups. They always confront me and my husband always sides with them. I guess I should leave those groups in case it really happens. I mean, I’m not an adult child of normal parents, maybe, but then again who is?

#WeekendCoffeeShare (June 27, 2020)

Happy late Saturday evening everyone! Welcome to another edition of the #WeekendCoffeeShare. Today is my birthday. I think I still have tompouces in the fridge, so grab a cup of coffee, tea or your favorite cold drink and let’s catch up.

If we were having coffee, I would share that I was stressed out all week about my parents visiting yesterday. As regular readers of my blog may know, my parents are big on independence and in denial of most of my disabilities. They don’t think I should be in a care facility. Like I said yesterday though, they weren’t overly judgmental. My father made a rather bad pun on the facility’s name and my mother asked whether no-one had taught my nonspeaking fellow clients to talk, but that was about it.

If we were having coffee, I would tell you about all the lovely presents I got for my birthday. My parents gave me a drinking bottle with fruit infusion filter. I’d had it on my wishlist for years and am now loving making fruit-infused water. They also gave me a spiky or hedgehog ball. My father said it looked like a virus and my husband joked that they’d gifted me corona. Lastly, they gave me some punches, which I can use in cardmaking or other craft projects. They got these as well as the spiky ball at the thrift store.

My husband gave me a sturdy bookcase for my iPhone. It’s supposed to protect your phone against dropping from 2 meters. I’d rather not try it out though.

Lastly, my mother-in-law gifted me this giant teddy bear! It’s 1.60m tall, which is even taller than I am. I love it!

Giant Bear

I’m still not sure what to call it. I initially called it just Giant Bear, because my big panda was called Big Bear and my not even that little bear stuffy was called Little Bear. Or something. I can’t remember, honestly. Then I figured I should be calling it Joenie, which is my nickname for my husband. My husband said to call it Baloo after the bear in Jungle Book. I guess I’ll call it whatever strikes my fancy at that moment. Rainbow/Sofie, the unicorn, also has two names, after all.

If we were having coffee, I would tell you I ate some delicious Domino’s pizza this evening. My husband and I had it delivered to the care facility. I had the spicy chicken pizza and so did he, as my husband usually ends up liking my pizza more if we each order something different. I loved it! Then I had some ice cream for dessert. I got a nice present from the care facility too: a Domino’s gift voucher. I already have a reputation for eating lots of yummy food, even though today was the first time I’d ordered Domino’s since coming to the care facility last September.

If we were having coffee, I would tell you that next week, I have a meeting with my community psychiatric nurse and nurse practitioner from mental health. We’re going to discuss my possibly getting EMDR treatment for some of my traumatic experiences. Now that my visit with my parents went well, I feel slightly guilty about considering some of my experiences with them traumatic, but well.

If we were having coffee, I would report on my steps as usual. This week so far, I reached just over 60K. I managed 69K last week and am doubtful I’ll reach that this week, as I’m probably going to have a lazy Sunday tomorrow.

How are you all doing?

Listening to My Inner Voice(s)

The day two prompt in The Goddess Journaling Workbook is about listening to your inner voice. This is incredibly hard. Not just because I have multiple inner voices, but because a lot of them carry shame.

Today I found out Onno van der Hart, one of the world-s top experts on dissociation, had his psychotherapy license revoked indefinitely for violating a patient’s boundaries. He was the main proponent of the structural dissociation theory. This theory is controversial in its own right, as it dehumanizes alters. For example, therapists are supposed to only talk to the host or apparently normal part, who is then supposed to relay messages from the other alters or emotional parts. One of the main problems with this is shame. The host often feels uncomfortable sharing the other alters’ thoughts because they are painful.

So, as an act of radical rebellion, I am going to now let each alter who’s willing to speak on this issue share their thoughts.

I knew this. DID is bullshit. It’s not real, at least in my case. I’m so happy I am not diagnosed, as this Onno van der Hart, a so-called expert, took twenty years therapying with a client only to make her dependent and then dump her like a pile of poo.

I’m scared. I wish I still had the diagnosis so I could get trauma therapy. I want my therapist to comfort me. I don’t want to integrate, but I do want to process stuff. I’m not sure. I’m scared that no-one will believe me now that the Netherlands’ top expert on DID lost his license.

I don’t want no fucking therapy. I don’t want to be forced to be anything I’m not. I just want to be me and be myself and be accepted.

Fuck. I’m manipulative. The whole trauma thing is made up.

Well, I realize I’m not really even capable of letting each of us share their honest thoughts. I still find that I was going to redact out the four-letter words. I feel tons of shame surrounding this whole controversy and the DID thing as well.

As a side note, Onno van der Hart wasn’t sued for his theory of structural dissociation. I think it will continue to guide psychotherapists and the multidisciplinary guideline for treating DID. Van der Hart lost his license for boundary-violation, including unloading his own personal problems onto the patient, sending her unsolicited, emotionally laden E-mails, etc. My husband said he was just trying to cash on her and if no-one saw it, something’s wrong with psychotherapists in general. I’m not sure how I feel about that.

When I Was Five

This week it’s 29 years ago that I spent a week in the children’s hospital with a collapsed trachea. It closed up on the night of April 28, 1991, the night after we’d celebrated my mother’s birthday, two months before my own fifth birthday. I was unquiet all night or so I’m told, getting up to go to the bathroom a dozen times. Eventually, my parents discovered what was going on and I was rushed to the hospital.

Thankfully, my trachea opened again within a day or two. I don’t know whether I had to be on a ventilator. In fact, I remember very little of these first few days. Then, on May 3, I had surgery to take out my tonsils and adenoids. That surgery had been scheduled for May 21 at another hospital anyway, but the children’s hospital could fit me in earlier now that I was there anyway.

After surgery, I had to stay in the hospital for another few days because I had a breathing tube inserted. That is, I’m not 100% sure the breathing tube was before or after surgery. I remember trying to talk through my tube, which was pretty much impossible.

This was probably also the time in hospital that my parents brought me their supermarket’s brand of peanut butter to eat, as I wouldn’t eat the premium brand the hospital had. Can you tell I was spoiled or autistic or both?

Finally, I got home on May 7. I was already a calendar freak, so I actually remember this without having been told.

As I write this, my inner five-year-old is trying to speak up, but she can’t. I don’t know whether this hospital stay was particularly traumatic for me, even though the going to the bathroom compulsively became a habit of mine in my teens. I may have made Lisel (that’s my inner five-year-old) up, because after all I remember this particular hospital stay so well.

I do think falling ill in early 1992, was more of an adverse childhood experience for Lisel (or me, if you think Lisel is made up). I remember I had some form of the flu, but in my own memory, it wasn’t entirely medically explained. My parents will probably say I’m trying to find clues that aren’t there so am making them up. I mean, they never talked about this experience when, in my teens, I was trying to remember when my negative mood started. They claim, as did I at the time, that it started when I was seven and having to learn Braille. In other words, I was going blind and I knew it but refused to accept it, so was becoming defiant to show a middle finger to the world. It’s easy to say it doesn’t matter. In a way, it doesn’t, but too often, I feel my parents are hiding the truth from me as a way of denying that I had significant mental health issues before the all-important age of seven. I mean, if my problems started at seven, I cannot possibly be autistic or have a dissociative disorder or anything originating in early childhood, right? Besides, I could have been old enough to be manipulative.

Am I being manipulative indeed? Or am I an early childhood trauma survivor? I don’t know and I’m not sure Lisel knows the answer.

Joining in with V.J.’s Weekly Challenge.