Response to a Loving Mother

A reader left a comment asking how she can better relate to her adult daughter who has DID. I am happy to answer for myself, but I know that every person who has DID has a system unique to them. I would appreciate any of my readers who have DID to respond to her questions in the comments section if you are comfortable doing so.

Q 1: How can people best relate to you?

A 1: I like to be treated the same way I was before I told my family members that I have DID. I don’t like people to bring DID up in casual conversation. I have alters who are not comfortable discussing DID. They don’t want to talk about it and get annoyed when it is brought up because they like to think that they are hidden. When they are asked about it, they can feel betrayed (by me). I am okay with those who know my diagnosis asking, “I have a question about DID; is it okay if I ask?” At that point if I feel safe, I can have an alter come forward who can talk about it. Sometimes it is scary to talk about it because I became DID as a defense mechanism. Talking about it can sometimes make me feel vulnerable - not always though - so just ask if you can ask.

Q 2: If we are talking – who am I really talking to especially when we are involved in a difficult or heated conversation?
A 2: My mother asked me this question once; she asked, “So who am I talking to right now?” I really hate this question because you are always talking to me. ‘Me’ being however is out. I don’t always think about who is out – the alter who is out is usually the one who needs to be out. Some people who are really close to me can tell who is out, but they don’t bring it to my attention. I only share traits of my alters with those I really trust. If they are observant, they can usually figure out who they are talking to.

I am curious about how others with DID feel about this question. Does it bug you to be asked who is out? It really bugs me.

Q 3: How can I protect you? How can I have your best interest when there may be multiple personalities?
A 3: I wish my mother would ask this question, but I haven’t shared my blog with her because I don’t always feel safe with her. You can’t really protect us, but you can do things to make yourself a safe person for your daughter. I need my mother to be honest with me, but she is not. I need my mother to stand up for what she professes to believe in, but she does not. I need my mother to not be a hypocrite, but she is a hypocrite.

My husband protects me by realizing when I am at my emotional limit. He knows when I need to rest. He knows when he needs to give me space. He makes me feel safe because he is honest, trustworthy, dependable, loving, gentle, and kind. He never makes me feel threatened. He doesn’t like to talk about my DID, but I am okay with that. He said, “It doesn’t really matter to me because I love all of you.” He does get confused at times when an alter is out who he is not as familiar with. He will say, “You are off today, aren’t you.” When he says that, it makes me smile all the way to my toes because it lets me know that he recognizes differences, but he loves me anyway.

I also think it is very important to honor your daughter’s wishes to not share her diagnosis with anyone. My mother told someone in front of me about my diagnosis; I was not happy with her because it was one more violation of trust. It upsets me because there is such a stigma associated with DID. I don’t want to lose my job or have people judge me unfairly. My brain created my alters to keep me safe and functioning. I function well in life, but I would never want people waiting for me to crack like a Hollywood portrayal of DID. I am quite stable.

Dear Reader,
Thank you for asking these questions. I can see that your heart is in the right place. You love your daughter and want to be there for her and to help her. Allow her to talk with you as she needs to, but remember she is still your daughter; she just has a brain that has created other parts to help her deal with emotional and physical pain. She is not her diagnosis – please remember that. She is your daughter who happens to have DID.

This diagnosis is very scary at first. At this point in my healing, I am okay with it. There are times when it is an annoyance, and there are times when it is scary, but it can even be helpful at times (like a superpower). J

Please feel free to ask any questions you have, 

Sunshine

Christmas Aftermath

For years after my parents divorced, I struggled through my birthday and Christmas. We (a general we, not just me and my system) are brought up with Hollywood's idea of the Christmas/Birthday miracle. You know the one where the main character struggles through some horrible problem - death, abuse, homelessness, hunger, poverty, etc.  - but on the birthday or on Christmas day, the miracle happens and the problem is overcome.  Abusive parents become humble and loving. Alcoholic parents or caretakers finally see the light and love the child enough to change. Unemployed parents find the golden job that will change the lives of the entire family. The homeless parent will find a story book home in a story book neighborhood, and all will be well. I approached each birthday and Christmas with hope springing eternal, only to have that hope slapped down good and proper by the end of the day.

On each birthday, I longed for my father to call and say, "Happy Birthday." Of course if he had remembered to call, he would have called me unspeakable names and forgotten it was actually my birthday, but at least he would have called. I could have pretended that some part of his sub-conscious mind knew it was indeed my day. But he never called, and by the time I was 12, I hated my birthday with a passion.

The year I turned 13, I thought for sure he would call. I was now a teenager, he had to remember. Right? The day wore on and no call came. I had friends over, and we went to the high school to play Dare Base. By the time we began walking home, I was in tears. Why couldn't he remember my birthday? I was so sad. My friends asked me what was wrong, but I couldn't put it into words for them. I was just sad, so we sang, "It's My Party and I'll Cry if I want to," all the way home - which helped. :)

Christmas came a few months later with all those same feelings. Certainly Dad would grow up this year. He would see how much he loved us. We would matter, and he would clean up his act and come see us. But Christmas came without any sign of a decent father - or even any sign of my indecent one. :) This went on year after year until one year I met a man who healed my birthday and Christmas issues.

Although I didn't end up marrying this man, he was sent to help in my healing process. When my birthday rolled around, he wanted to make a big deal of it. I told him, "No, I don't like my birthday." I went to class that night, so that he couldn't do anything for my birthday. If I didn’t have any expectations, I couldn't be disappointed. Halfway through class, he showed up with a double layer full sheet cake ablaze with 100 candles. Oh my word, I could hardly believe it. When I told him I was not 100, he said, "Yes, but didn't it look so cool with all those candles?" He showed me how to enjoy the moment with little things like 100 flaming birthday candles. Plus, I knew what he did, he did for me. He made me feel like I mattered.

He did the same type of things for Christmas, and I made a decision right then and there that from now on, I was reclaiming my birthday and Christmas. I would enjoy the small joys of each day and no longer allow my father to ruin them. I can say that for the last 14 years, I have enjoyed both days.

Christmas this year was peaceful and joyful. I am thankful for the people that Heavenly Father brings into my life to help with my healing process. I pray that all of you who read my blog had a very Merry Christmas!

I Discovered Pinterest - and it is Fun!

I wondered what all the hype was about Pinterest. Now I know. Pinterest is fun. Pinterest helps a person organize the coolness that is the internet. If I like something, I can find it again.

For a person with DID or multiples, it also can be used as a place to organize alters and all the stuff that interests them. Being able to find pictures of what my alters enjoy, brings me peace. It allows me to take what I see in my head and say, "This is what I was thinking. Now my family and friends (those who know I have DID) can get to know all of me a little bit better.

I don't know if all of my alters will play on Pinterest, but a few have already found things to share.

Sunshine's Pinterest: http://pinterest.com/sunshineshadows/

Never Still Applies

Today I want to respond to a comment that was left on this post. I certainly do not want to upset the visitor who left this comment because I appreciate comments, so I almost didn’t respond, but after thinking about this for several days, I decided that I need to (for own healing) address this comment. To my vistor in question, "I'm sorry if I misread your comment."

The comment: “I do want to argue against some of your post. You know better than I, probably, that 'never' and 'always' only work halfway with multis. And with someone who is multiple because of sexual abuse as a child, yes, a child alter shouldn't, in most cases, be allowed to have sex.

But sex is a healing activity, as well. Sometimes a child alter can find that sex is a fun game and not scary, and this is healing - if approached with a partner that is careful and caring.”

I agree that the word “never” and “always” only work halfway with those of us with DID; however, I stand by my original post that a child, even when that child resides in the body of an adult, should never be subjected to sex. Sex is not a fun game for a child and it is scary.

Many victims of child sexual abuse were abused by family members or trusted family friends.  Fathers, brothers, uncles, mothers, sisters, aunts, grandfathers, grandmothers, etc. – were the very ones who perpetrated the abuse. These trusted people used the love of a child to gain access to the child – to groom the child into silence. A father said, “I do this because I love you so much.”

A trusted family friend said, “This is our special secret,” or “You’re my favorite,” or "Do you want to play a fun game?"

And these words create confusion in the child. Sometimes the child’s body responds to the abuse in a way that makes the child feel pleasure which further confuses the child and make the child feel guilty for the actions of the perpetrator.

These so called “partners” of the abused child are "careful and caring" (in their own minds), yet the abuse is still there, it is still going on, and the damage to the child is still there – even if the perpetrator left no physical bruises or scars. The emotional damage will always be there. The child may heal after years of therapy, but often a trigger can bring it all to the surface again making them feel that there is no safe person they can trust.

I agree that sex can be a healing activity when approached with a caring, gentle partner. But the sex must be between two consenting adults.

I have seen the destruction in a person who as an adult was subjected to sex while a child alter was out. Any person who is in a sexual relationship with an adult survivor of child sexual abuse, should bloody well be adult enough to back off when a child alter is out. Otherwise we head down that slippery slope that perpetraters love so much. Their views on sex allow them to justify the abuse. They can say, "She wanted it. She came on to me," when all the child in question did was give them an innocent hug or sit on their lap. I really hate perpetraters, and I could seriously put a bullet in their heads (all of them) and feel no remorse.

I stand by my statement that children should never be subjected to sex – even when the child in question resides in an adult body.

Sonar

Last night, I went in to check on my little boy before I went to bed. I do this every night because I am paranoid like that. I never turn a light on because I can maneuver in the dark quite well. I always check to make sure he is breathing and not wheezing, he is covered, and if he is covered, I check to make sure he is not too hot. You too can do this by touching your child’s neck. If they are sweating, they are too hot. 

After I was assured that he was indeed breathing and comfortable, I turned and walked straight into the wall. I hit so hard that my head nearly made contact with the wall. As it was, I was able to stop the forward momentum of my head just an instant before it would have cracked against the wall. My chest and shoulder hurt, and my neck really hurt from the jarring of keeping my large head uninjured.

My child awoke with a start because when an adult slams into the wall, it is noisy. He said, “Mom, what are you doing?”

“Just checking on you,” I said as I walked back over to give him another kiss goodnight.

Normally, I do really well in the dark. I like the dark. It doesn’t scare me, but I do have alters that cannot walk around in the dark. When they are out, I am really careful, so that I don’t run into walls or fall down stairs, but this time the switch must have been as soon as I turned away from my child.

It reminded me of another time I literally bit it when walking in the dark. Many years ago – before I even I knew I had others, I turned off the lights and tried to head up the stairs to bed. Imagine my surprise when my face met the corner of the wall with my body going full speed ahead. I hit my teeth so hard they hurt, and worse, I had a piece of something that felt like a broken front tooth in my mouth. I hurried into the bathroom to check out the damage and had to laugh when I realized the “tooth” was really a piece plaster that I had eaten. The next day the dentist took an x-ray to make sure I hadn’t damaged the roots, and I walked around with a fat lip for week, but all was well – except for the corner of the wall.

Last night after slamming into the wall, I refused to turn on any lights even when I went in to wash my face and brush my teeth. I had to prove to myself that I could indeed maneuver in the dark. I did fine, no bumps, no bruises, and no using Desitin instead of toothpaste (I’ve done that in the daylight before – it is really yucky).  I still have sonar abilities – at least parts of me do.

Goodbye Uncle Lee

My uncle, who I wrote about here, died this week. Although I haven’t seen him for several years, I will always appreciate the tender kindnesses he showed us when we were little. One time when we had been without food for a while, he came into town to see us. He brought a jar of peaches with him, and we practically inhaled it.

He asked, “Are you hungry?”

“I don’t know,” I replied. I didn’t want to appear greedy, but of course I was hungry. He took us all out and bought us hamburgers. He believed that if a child was being naughty, the child needed sleep, food, or attention.  If you gave the child what he/she needed, the child would be content.

Thank you, Uncle Lee, for your gentle kindness.

Thank you to a dear teacher. . .

Before Ientered my favorite teacher’s fifth grade classroom, I was afraid of her. I’d heard from other students that she was strict and scary. I prayed I wouldn’t be assigned to her room, but when class lists came out, my name was near the top of her list. I was scared.

On the first day of school, I went in expecting the worst, but I discovered that while she didn’t put up with any nonsense, she was fair. I knew what to expect in her classroom. She didn’t play favorites – everyone was expected to do their best and to treat others kindly.
           
 This was the hardest year of my school life. Because of my family background, I became a target for the mean girls. Recess became a nightmare of teasing and taunting. However, as I entered her room, the teasing stopped because she wouldn’t have tolerated it. I felt safe. She didn’t judge me based on who my parents were. She loved me. I knew she loved me, and knowing this made each day a little more bearable. Recess was a time of extreme sadness, loneliness, and depression, but the days in her room were pleasant. I don’t remember what I learned that year, but I remember that she made me feel important.

I often wonder what she thought when I took the herbal supplements mom sent with me at lunch time. Now that I am teacher, I wonder what she thought about my home life. I wonder if she prayed for me. I bet she did. I bet she prayed I would find friendship. I bet she prayed that other children would be kind to me. It was hard having my one good friend in a different classroom that year. But part way through the year, another girl with a crazy home life moved in, so of course we became friends and the taunting at recess was easier to take.

She couldn’t have known how truly troubled I was. She didn’t know that I wished for death during recess or that I wished for the courage to drown myself in the creek that flowed next to our school. She probably just tried to help me as best she could. I wish I could tell her that her best was enough.

I didn’t see her for many years after I left that school. I went to her viewing after she died. She still looked the same – beautiful. Teachers often don’t know the impact they make on a child. I am thankful God blessed me with this great teacher. I am glad he said, “No,” to my prayer and put me on her list. She blessed my life in ways she will never know.

Morningside

I found a Neil Diamond CD at a yard sale a few weeks ago - double set - for only 50 cents. One of the songs on the CD made me kind of sad. It is called Morningside. It is a song he wrote after his grandparents died - alone.

Lyrics: The words in red are my thoughts.
Written by: Neil Diamond

Morningside
The old man died
And no one cried
They simply turned away
I know this is what will happen when my father dies, and while I am not sad that he will die, I do think it is sad for anyone to die alone - even if that is what they have earned by how they have treated those around them.

And when he died
He left a table made of nails and pride
And with his hands he carved these words inside
"for my children"
My father has filled our lives with nails of one type or another - they symbolize all the pain he has inflicted on his children. He is proud, too proud to admit he has done anything wrong. Everything is always someone else's fault. And yet, I think of the things he built with his hands: a desk, a dollhouse, planes (that terrorized his little girls), and all the other things he repaired. The man can fix anything because he is brilliant.

Morning light
Morning bright
I spent the night
With dreams that make you weep
Morning time
Wash away the sadness from these eyes of mine
For I recall the words the old man signed
"for my children"
The dreams of those of us who carry the burden of abuse, would truly make you weep. They are dreams that sometimes make us feel like we are coming up for air when we awake shaking and sweating. I am thankful that I haven't had a truly bad dream for quite a while. It was nice when I could confront my father in my dreams and tell him that he could no longer hurt me. I held him by the throat and said, "No, you cannot call me because you don't respect boundaries!"

I am always thankful when the morning is able to dispell the hurt and depression of the day or sometimes days and weeks of sorrow that have come before it.

In times past, Dad was proud of my accomplishments, but after I testified against him, he no longer considered me his daughter. I am okay with that because it means the phone calls laden with guilt also stopped. He could no longer attempt to manipulate me.

And the legs were shaped with his hands
And the top made of oaken wood
And the children sat around this table
Touched with their laughter
Ah, and that was good
By his hand and his choices, he created the pain that all of his children carry, yet we are strong, and let me tell you, we laugh. The bond that was created by his abuse is strong. We (my sisters and I) survived a path that made us who we are, and while sometimes the pain overwhelms us, our love and connection is amazing. We survived and thrived!

Morningside
An old man died
And no one cried
He surely died alone
And truth is sad
For not a child would claim the gift he had
The words he carved became his epitaph
"for my children"
My father's children have chosen to turn away from the gift he gave because his gift was not good. We have chosen to be good parents, productive members of society, and loving people. We found our own gift because his gift would have doomed us.

I still wish I could have a good father instead of a rabid father. At times, my heart aches for the little boy my grandmother so loved. I wish he could have made choices that would have helped us all. However, I know my Heavenly Father loves me. I have amazing siblings that have seen me though so much. I also have my own children and husband who enrich my life, so I choose the gifts of love they bring to my life and gladly accept them all.

Sleeping Like a Baby

I discovered a great way to get to sleep last night. Usually when I go to bed at night, I think about what I still need to do at school and how I can help all my students. I think about my kids and my husband. I think about all the things I need to do at home, and as I think of all of these things, the clock marching into the early morning hours. But last night I was thinking about one of my alters – Joy. I was wondering what kind of symbol would represent her because for me that is a normal thing. Doesn't everyone do that at night - think about symbols? I thought I'd visit with her, but she was asleep as most babies are at midnight (if they are low maintenance babies). 

Joy is a toddler, and as her name implies, she is a happy little thing. I could see her sleeping – peacefully sleeping and having pleasant dreams if she was dreaming at all because that is what Joy does – enjoys every aspect of life. She looked so peaceful and angelic with her sparse, silky blond hair falling across her forehead. She was the picture of relaxation with her little hands folded up against her chubby cheek.

So, I tuned right into Joy, let her come forward, and fell asleep before I knew it. I slept better than I have for a long time. I awoke early, refreshed, and ready to face the day. Sleeping like a baby (one who sleeps through the night – not one of those high maintenance babies that wake up all night to eat) is a wonderful experience.

I think I’ll have Joy come out every night – unless the spouse is feeling snuggly because that would just be wrong on every level.

Worry #1,201

My latest worry now that I am getting older is: How does dementia interact with DID?

If at some point I get Alzheimer’s, senility, or dementia as I age, how will it manifest?

Will those close to me blame my forgetfulness on DID? Will I blame my forgetfulness on DID?

If my mind regresses, will the littles be out all the time? Will they remember what happened to us, or will they be in a state of denial? If they remember everything, I really don’t want to be there. I remember enough to know it was bad. I don’t need to know everything.

If I get dementia, will I still have DID, or will I just no longer care that I have DID? Will I leave little piles of diced cheddar cheese all over the house like my sweet elderly neighbor use to? I wonder why she did that. Maybe she had little mice friends. All I know is that she wouldn’t let me clean it up when I would go over to help her. She would replace the diced cheese piles on a regular basis, so they never got too nasty. It was kind of sweet to think of little borrowers finding food treasure throughout her house – or maybe that was my littles way of thinking at the time. I thought it was rather charming, so when I get older if I get dementia, please don’t move my cheese.

Has any research been done on this issue? I think I better find out.  My grandfather struggled with senility. One time when I hugged him, he looked so scared. He didn't have any idea who I was. I felt so bad because I had been so close to him. I was sad that he was locked in his mind and unable to process who I was.

I really hope that someday soon (although I know it won’t be) doctors will understand the human brain enough to prevent or cure Alzheimer’s, senility, and dementia. Until then, this will remain worry number 1,201.

Is it DID or is it Normal?

At times I wonder if what I experience is a symptom of DID or if it is just part of the human experience. For example: over the summer, I wrote some lesson plans, but now that I am back in school and using those lesson plans, there is content in them that I can’t for the life of me figure out how it connects or the reasoning behind it. Luckily, they are Word files, so I alter them to work.

I struggle with depression this time of year; not as much as I used to, but I still struggle. I feel overwhelmed by everything I need to do as a teacher. I am behind on my grading because other parts are fighting for face time – or is this just part of the human experience in the world of a teacher? Do other teachers fight to keep a balance or do they just let teaching take over during the school year?

I am back in teacher mode, and that isn’t necessarily a good thing for my family life. For now, I’ve been able to slip out of teacher mode on the weekends – not entirely, but more so than last year. I know my husband doesn’t really like it when I am in teacher mode, and I don’t blame him because the alter that handles teaching doesn’t really want a husband. I find myself struggling to get to know my students this year because I will go to all the effort of building relationships with them, and they will leave in June. Next August, I’ll have to get to know 210 new students again. Is that a normal feeling for a teacher without DID – or am I having attachment issues? Please don’t feel that I won’t get to know my students – it is impossible not to get attached to them. So far this year, the students have been really great – even the ones that are a bit difficult have cute personalities.

I really like being a teacher when I am in the classroom, but when I am home, I feel resentful of the time it takes to do the job right. I still want to play, cook, garden, scrapbook, read, and spend time with my children, grandchildren, and husband. I need to be alone and recharge at times, and nine months seems like a long time before I can have that balance again. My system functions best when I am able to accommodate everyone inside – during the school year it seems impossible for that to happen. Sometimes I feel that I am doing a juggling act; unfortunately, I'm not very good at juggling.

Back to School

School has started. I am happy and a bit sad to be back in school. When my husband said, “You are back in teacher mode,” it made me sad because I know there are other parts of me that he likes so much better. I also feel sad for the alters whose time in front will now be limited. Last night before I fell asleep, I thought, “I have to get as much done at school as possible, so I can still have time for the others when I get home, yet as I left school today, I knew that I had too much work to do at home tonight for anyone else but the teacher to be out. I like getting to know my students. So far, I think I have a pretty good group of students – all 205 of them – a few less than last year.

The last month has been a bit crazy. I learned that no one should have to bury a child, and that an accident can only be made light of if all the participants are able to walk away from the crash. When no one walks away, the results are beyond devastating. I learned that next summer I need to plan my funeral so that my family doesn’t have to do so when they are in the middle of their grief. I learned more than I even want to know about planning a funeral. I learned that there are angels around us who are willing to reach out and help a neighbor/friend in their time of need. I love that part.

I learned that some people will do everything in their power to hold onto pain and bitterness, and they will strike out at whoever is handy – even if that isn’t the person they are really mad at. I learned that some people hurt others to avoid having to take responsibility for their own actions. I learned that it is pretty pointless to poison (with bitterness) yourself in hopes that it will hurt someone else.

I learned that seeing a child marry the person of their dreams is a wonderful thing. I love seeing hope and joy brought back into my child’s life by an amazing person. I am thankful that my child was married and not buried, but I am sad for my friend whose child was buried.

I learned that I still really like all of my children. They are pretty awesome people. I love my children, but it is even better to like who they are.

I learned that I can’t fix everything or everyone, but I can give it to God, and he will pick up the slack and bring peace to my heart and soul.

Life is good even if it is a bit chaotic.

Twenty Four Days and Life in General

In twenty four days, I will be back on the clock at school. Our district gives us three paid days to set up our classroom and get everything ready for the new school year. Three days. It isn’t enough time, but it is better than nothing. Today for the first time since school got out, I am excited at the thought of a new school year. Today, I glanced at the apple bell I found at a yard sale a few weeks ago, and I felt excited.

Right now it is raining – a beautiful summer rain with thunder and lightning. I enjoy the view from my window as the rain washes the dust off the windows and the flowers. I love the power in a summer storm.

Today, my husband I watched “Chopped” on Food Network. One of the judges said to one contestant, “This dish is so polished, it is like someone else cooked it compared to what you made in the first round” (or something to that effect).

I looked at my husband and said, “Maybe it was someone else; maybe he has DID.” My husband always looks at me really oddly when I bring up DID. I think he likes to pretend that I am normal, and that he pretends it so well that he forgets I have DID. That or I have a system that functions really well. I think he forgets what it can be like when school starts. He did after all say at the end of the year, “As soon as the year ends, you need to change back to wife and mother mode” (or something to that effect).

I still struggle with alters who come out at night. Because the body is sleeping, they can’t really do much. It makes me feel like I have dementia. The alters struggle to think and do, and they can’t really do either with a sleeping body. They just need to make sure to come out in the day because sleep is necessary.

After two months off of school, I am feeling quite balanced. I hope to get enough done before the year begins to keep that balance after school starts. I also hope I get a student aid to help with the work load. I had one second semester, and it was very helpful.

I had a brief loss of time last week. I was driving home and couldn’t for the life of me place where I was. I knew I was headed home, but for a brief moment no landmarks looked familiar. I took a breath, told myself to focus, and looked for a street sign. Reading the street sign meant nothing to me. I still couldn’t place where I was, but then I was back and knew where I was. I was still on my way home. I hadn’t deviated from my path at all; I just had a different alter come out who wasn’t there when the drive home began.

All in all, life with DID is okay. It is what I have to work with. Some days I love it, and other days it scares me a bit, but in the grand scheme, I’ll take what I’m used to and continue to make progress with co-consciousness. I don’t want any of my parts to go away. I love them all for helping me survive a dangerous childhood with my sanity intact. Some may say that having DID means my sanity isn’t intact, but I disagree. I will continue to believe that it is a way of using more of my brain now that I have access to everyone.

The Color of Paint

Paint Colors

Ask me what my favorite color is and the answer will depend on who is out at the time. I usually answer that I like all colors. I say that it would be like choosing a favorite child or a favorite book. When pressed, I will say green or red – again it depends on who is out.

My husband and I struggle to agree on paint colors. He would like the entire house to be the same color throughout. I, on the other hand, would like to decorate each room to please the alter who is present most often in that room.

He doesn’t understand this. He thinks having each room a different color makes the house look cheap. I said, “Remember, you are dealing with someone who is not always the same person.” He still doesn’t get it, but I love him anyway.

I painted the guest room a couple of years ago – a lovely gold color. He didn’t like it at first but it grew on him. When we moved the office into the bedroom next door to the guest room, he painted the office the same color only one shade lighter. While I like the color in the guest room because it looks rich, I hate in the office because Laura – the writer – the alter who is out when I am in the office doesn’t like it. She would like this room to be a lovely shade of robin egg blue. I know he is not going to go for that. I may have to paint it when he is out of town and ask for forgiveness when he gets back.

I love the paint in the toy room. It is called pecan. It is tan with a hint of red. I think it is warm and cozy, and it makes me feel safe. My husband hates it – with a passion. He wants to paint over it. I am holding out because it appeals to Cat – her safe place is a house in a tree with all the colors of nature. My 3D children also love the color, so for now it will stay.

Our 3D child who still lives at home has his room painted his favorite color. I let him choose because I think that is the right thing to do. My husband said, “Every room is a different color; we can’t keep doing this.” So we picked a color we can agree on for the rest of the house. I went to the paint store and found several lighter colors (he likes light colors) that I could live with. He chose the one that is the same color as the toy room only about four or five shades lighter. I don’t like it as much as the toy room, but I can live with it, he can live with it, and it matches the toy room, so we may not have to paint over it.

However, I still want to repaint the office robin egg blue. I also want my scrap room to be peach – the color of a peach that is bright and warm from the sun and drips juice when you bite into it. I want the accents in the room to be a deep blue. My husband may strangle me for making the house look cheap. Certainly if he accepts the fact that he married a person with alters, he can accept the fact that each alter has her own favorite color - or not.

Chicken Fajitas and Rhubarb Pie

Chicken Fajitas and Rhubarb Pie

I don’t know that these two things go together, but it is what we had for dinner. They both taste pretty awesome.

Chicken Fajitas

Marinade
1 tablespoon corn starch
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon paprika
1 teaspoon sugar
1 teaspoon chicken soup mix (bullion)
1/4 teaspoon cumin
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
1 clove minced garlic
1/3 cup water
2 tablespoons lemon juice

4 boneless, skinless chicken breast - cut into thin strips.

Combine all the dry ingredients for the marinade in a large zip-lock bag.

Add the wet ingredients and mix well.

Cut the chicken:

 Put the chicken in  bag. Pour marinade over the chicken. Refrigerate for several hours.

Filling
Marinated chicken breast strips
2 green or red bell peppers - cut into thin strips
1 large onion - cut into thin strips


For cooking:
2 tablespoons olive or grape seed oil
Heat the oil in frying pan. Add chicken, and cook for 5 minutes - stirring constantly.

Add the marinade, the onion and the peppers. Cook until vegetables are crisp, yet tender.


6 to 12 flour tortillas - any size
Salsa - fresh is best but canned will do
Sour Cream

Remove from heat and spoon into tortillas. Top with sour cream and salsa, roll and serve.

I didn't get pictures of the finished product because I forgot to do so before dinner, and our dinner guests practically inhaled the finished product - there was nothing left.

Rhubarb Pie

2 crust pastry for a nine inch pie
1 ½ cups sugar
2 tablespoons tapioca
6 tablespoons flour
1/4 teaspoon salt
5 cups rhubarb, cut into small pieces
2 tablespoons butter

Preheat oven to 350
Wash and cut the rhubarb:

Put into a large bowl.

Mix sugar, tapioca, flour, and salt and stir into the rhubarb.

Spread mixture onto pastry in pie tin. Dot with butter.

Top with pastry. Crimp edges. Cut vents in top dough for steam to escape.

Bake for 55 minutes (or more – crust will be golden and the filling will bubble when it is done). Serve warm – with vanilla ice cream.

I Finished My First Year!

I survived my first year of teaching school. It has been a hard yet rewarding experience. I learned a lot about teaching, about students, and about myself.

I learned how to design assignments that take less time to grade but that more fully measure the objective I want the students to grasp.

I learned that I have to find ways to keep my system balanced. I have to make time on the weekends for other alters to have time on the outside.

I learned that while I can manage my classroom well, I struggle if I am in the halls during passing time, and being in a dance with over 1,000 students is beyond my limits – there is simply too much information for my system to handle with that many students.

I learned that the copy room is usually really busy the first thing Monday morning, but if I get there early enough, I can still get my copies made before the bell rings.

I learned that IEP meetings and questionnaires take a lot of time, but they help me understand my students better.

I learned that my system can handle teaching. I am thankful for a system that works well together. I am thankful we have become more and more co-conscious as time goes by.

One of our teachers had a melt-down this year – in front of a class full of students. The teacher was fired because of this mental break. It makes me sad that the medical community has not yet learned enough about the human brain to understand the mechanism behind mental illnesses and conditions. Someday I hope the brain will be better understood so that instead of being fired, people with mental illnesses can be treated and get well in a world that doesn’t brand them as crazy. I understand why this teacher was let go. I understand that this teacher could not be trusted in a room of students again. I wouldn’t want my child to be in a room with this teacher in his/her state of mind, but it still makes me sad because I know that there but for the grace of God go I. I am thankful for a system that functions well. They do their job so that I always appear “normal”. It is too bad this teacher didn’t have alters – sometimes I feel like it is a super power.

Disconnected

There are times when I feel disconnected from my body - my brain is still thinking, but it is doing so separately from what my body is doing. I image it is much like my computer when I am running the virus checker - the computer is busy doing its thing, so it can't really do anything else very fast.

I'm sure my kids hate when they call me and my brain is off and wandering. I feel the thought process slows way down when I try to focus and concentrate on the conversation that is happening in the here and now.

I even feel this way sometimes when I am sleeping - the body is sleeping but the brain is off and running. It is just weird.

Does anyone else with DID ever feel this way?

Scrapbooking – the Key to Unlocking Emotions and Memories

Yesterday as I was scrapbooking, I came across a picture of two of my sisters and I that was taken at my aunt’s house. Christmas is depicted by a tree dressed in red and silver balls and an assortment of other ornaments. A Santa lounges either near or on the tree, his white beard in sharp contrast to his red suit. On the hearth of the fireplace rest poinsettias and two large red dolls that could be angels or carolers. My sisters and my cousins sit with me on the hearth – with me in smack dab in the middle. I have a cousin on each side me and one of my sisters sit beside them.

Five girls who all look happy, well fed, well groomed (which for us didn’t happen often), and well dressed. I am between the ages of eight and ten. Our little sisters were not with us on this visit. They may not have been deemed worthy to keep the truth from our aunt. Perhaps Mom was worried they would tell about a new or impending baby.

I remember the conflict of emotions I felt when we visited our aunt. I loved her house; it seemed regal in cleanliness and décor, but at the same time, I felt anxious that I wouldn’t fit in there – that I wouldn’t be clean enough to be there, or maybe my hair wouldn’t be styled appropriately for Aunt’s house. I knew we were outclassed with every breath of my tattered esteem.

Of course we were warned before we left our home to keep the secrets of the cult. I spent the majority of the visit in a state of anxiety, worried I may slip and say something that would land us in a dreaded foster home. Foster homes were a constant threat. Horrible things happened to children in foster homes (or so we were told). The outside world couldn’t understand the cult. We were so far above the outside world living our higher laws that they couldn’t possibly understand – instead they would judge us and our mother would end up in jail. We had to keep the secrets of the cult.

I looked for proof of what my mother had told us about our aunt during our visit. The nice furniture was surely a sign that she loved money more than children. The fact that she only had two children was proof that she was selfish and cared more about parties and fun than being with her children. When we told Mom about Aunt’s nice car, we were told, “Which one of your sisters or brothers would you give up to have a car like that? Aren’t your siblings worth more than a car?” Of course this made me feel incredibly selfish and self-centered. I certainly didn’t want to be the kind of person who cared more about material things than spiritual things. All of this led to an emotional distance from my aunt. During our visit, although she was always kind and loving, I didn’t trust her because I truly believed she was selfish.

After our visit, during the ride home, I would run everything that happened though my head. “Did I say too much? Did I say anything that would hurt the cult? Am I going to cause something bad to happen to someone I love because of anything I said?” The other things that worried me were, “Did she notice my shoes were scratched up? Did she see the stain on my shirt? I should have worn the nicer underwear to Aunt’s house.” Not that she could see my underwear, but I worried that she could just sense when everything wasn’t perfect.

This picture makes me angry because it reminds me of the dysfunction of our life. We were made to distrust a perfectly good, kind woman. We were taught that she was shallow and selfish. We didn’t see her devotion to her children and husband because we rarely saw them. We were led to believe that having a nice home and possessions was despised by God and that somehow our polygamist lifestyle full of want and need was far better than her lifestyle of security, cleanliness, and safety.

Instead of distancing me from my aunt, Mom succeeded in causing a chasm in my relationship with her. I don’t trust my mother. I don’t trust her to be honest with me or to protect me. There are many things I am thankful for about my mom, but the chasm is there. I don’t know if she can feel it, but I feel it every day. I wish it wasn’t there, but the damage was done - damage that happened in order to protect a cult that I despise.

I am close to my aunt now and have been for many, many years. I am thankful for her positive example of how to parent and take care of a home. I am thankful for her example of what a strong woman looks like. I am saddened that the little girls in the picture were denied a close relationship with their cousins and family who lived outside of the cult. We needed them.

As I scrap this picture, I am torn with what I should title it - what should I say in the journaling? Do I make it a happy layout and vent here on my blog, or do I write the truth on the layout? I think I will make it a happy layout, print out this blog entry, and put it behind the layout. I can have it all. :)

New Recipe - well sort of - but not really

In my quest to find the perfect frozen meal, my family has been subjected to many, many dinners that when we are lucky, taste okay. Since I have been working full time, I am often too tired to cook. Some days when I do cook, I find that whoever is out, doesn't know how to cook. One day after attempting to cook something that I can usually cook, my poor husband asked, "Did you forget how to cook?"  He has been a good sport and will often (meaning most of the time) buy dinners that look easy to prepare.

I swear that most frozen meals have an ingredient called "bottom of the ice tray flavoring" because I can taste it. Often the first bite of a frozen dinner tastes good, but the after taste is definitely bottom of the ice tray along with some flavor that reminds me of plastic coated chemicals.

I bought a frozen meal a few months ago, but I have been too scared to try it. In my attempt to clean out the freezer, I made it a few nights ago. It smelled really good while it was cooking. The vegetables and the noodles were a bit freezer burned from being in the freezer so long, so I was doubtful it would taste as good as it smelled. When my son and husband smelled it, they both said, "What smells so good."

We blessed it (is it an abomination to bless frozen meals?) and sat down to eat. This dinner tasted like something from a restaurant - freezer burn and all. I went to the store the next day and bought two more of this meal and two of another (all by the same company). When I cooked the freshly bought meal that had no freezer burn, it tasted even better. I now crave this stuff. The vegetables look like they are fresh from the garden. The shrimp was divine. The noodles and the sauce were heaven.

What is this company that fails to flavor their frozen dinners like the norm? It is Contessa. The two meals I have tried are Shrimp Primavera (my favorite) and Sesame Chicken. They don't use MSG in their meals which is wonderful because MSG gives me migraines. The food looks beautiful and goes from the freezer to the table in eight minutes - eight minutes - I can't even check Facebook that quickly!

I don't get money from companies to sell their products because my blog is anonymous, but if you buy this product, it will hopefully keep Contessa in business which means I get to satisfy my craving for Shrimp Primavera whenever I want to. It takes less time and effort to cook this stuff than it does to drive to Wendy's and go to the drive through, plus it tastes a whole lot better.

My last bag had $3 worth of coupons; I think I need to go get some more.

Book Reports = IT

Every quarter without fail, at least two or three of my students will write their book report about Dave Pelzer's book, A Child Called It. Most teachers wouldn't mind reading about his book, but I simply can not. I used to have his books in my "to read" stack, but I couldn't bring myself to read them. I gave them away.

I think that anytime a survivor of childhood abuse writes about their abuse and exposes their abusers, it is a positive step in their healing, but I can't bear to read about the details. I know first hand that abuse hurts and that it damages the soul and the body. I   don't need to read the details of the abuse of another person to know this.

That being said, I wouldn't want anyone to think that these types of books should not be published. There is tremendous value in abuse memoirs. Books like Pelzer's help educate the public to be more aware of the possibility of abuse. He helps us help children who do not have a voice.

As a teacher, I don't tell my students they can't do reports on Pelzer's books, but I can't read those reports. I asked my husband if he wanted to grade them for me, but he declined, so instead I grade based on the first paragraph and call it done. Maybe next year, I'll ask my students not to write about Pelzer's books - or maybe I won't say a word. I don't want to discourage them from reading his work.

Happy Independence Day to my Daughter

In honor of my daughter's courage, I want to wish her a happy Independence/St. Patrick's Day.
http://sunshineandshadowslifewithdid.blogspot.com/2010/07/st-patricks-day-independence-day-for-my.html
I love you sweetie! I am proud of you for taking back this day, getting a cake to celebrate, and realizing how much power you have. You are a warrior daughter!

Lowest Ebb

As we approach the end of the school year, I find myself questioning if I want to be a full time teacher. I enjoy teaching. For the most part, I like my students. I enjoy the staff, administration, and other faculty members at our school. I even enjoy coming up with creative and fun ways to present information to my students. I don’t like the bureaucracy or the time a teacher must spend outside of school in order to do a good job as a teacher.


My students are pretty good kids. I have a few that no matter what I do to inspire them, they refuse to do their work. I wish I could inspire them. I keep trying, but they don’t want to take the time to work. They are capable, they do okay on their testing, but they don’t want to do the day to day work, so they fail. I had dreams as a new teacher of making sure every one of my students passed, but I can’t do their work for them. I have one or two students per class who just don’t want to do the work. I have a couple of students who work really hard and still don’t get it. Those students are being tested to see how we can better meet their needs.

I work with a stellar group of teachers at my school. For the most part, our teachers really care about the students. They spend countless hours on their own dime to help our students succeed. Our administration is helpful and supportive. I don’t think I could work in a better school. However, I am burned out. I am in dire need of summer to get here. I am sick of our state leaders passing new education laws each February without waiting to see if the laws they passed last year even worked. I am tired of state leaders who add in testing that doesn’t pertain to our core. This means I have to take time away from what my students will see on their CRT tests to teach them a skill that they aren’t yet ready to master. I am tired of bureaucracy interrupting my classroom. I say, “Just leave us and alone, so we can commence learning.” Many of the new laws are demoralizing to teachers. I wish they would come spend three months in a classroom and sit through parent teacher conferences before they could pass laws that dictate which hoops we need to jump through.

The other issue I have with being a full time teacher is that my alters, who are not present during school hours, have taken over in the evenings and on weekends. It is not possible to do everything a teacher needs to do during the school day, but my alters want nothing to do with anything school related after hours. I have to fight all weekend to get things done that need to be done. I also have a problem with alters being out at night after I go to bed. I can feel them, and my sleep is not restful.

I’ve been told that next year will be better, but next year we get a new core which means I need to realign all my lesson plans and create new lesson plans. I know that this is the point of the year when teachers are at their lowest ebb, so I hope things will get better. If any of you are teachers, please tell me I’ll get through this. I’ve been told by administration that I am a good teacher. I know I reach students. I generally love being the classroom, but damn, I am tired.

The Great Escape

I watched a show today about Esther Reed, a woman who spent ten years living under the identities of other people. One of her motivations was the desire to get away from the pain of her own life. She simply became someone else.


I understand this motivation. At times, I too think about leaving my life behind and starting over somewhere else. Somewhere far away – somewhere no one knows me. Of course I don’t think about the logistics of doing such a thing beyond driving until the car runs out of gas because it is something I would never do. I just have the desire to leave the painful things in my memory behind. Unfortunately, our memories go with us, so running away from the pain would only mean I leave behind all the people in my life who I love.

What would be even better than running away and starting over, would be if our minds were more like computers. I could just delete the memories I no longer wish to remember.

Since I can’t delete memories or run away from them, I will just entertain the fantasy of being someone entirely different – a new face in a new town. I mentally reinvent a new story, and then when the logistics of escaping my life (things like needing a driver’s license, a social security card, and a birth certificate) surface, I’ll snap out of it and carry on with the life I truly love – my life and my wonderful children, husband, family, and friends.