Last week when I walked into my psychiatrist’s office I was suicidal and broken, I had left feeling even worse than I started which was only fueled by a parting comment by my psych about eating cake which I wrote/whined about here, anyway, she had somehow managed to fit me into her intensely busy schedule again this week. I was vaguely trying to ascertain whether this was because she is lovely or just because she was worried about a possible law suit if I offed myself; or worse, that she needed the cash to buy a new Mercedes.
I somehow survived that night, and woke up different. Separated from it all, I actually felt good – it felt like that day and the weeks preceding had belonged to someone else.
Something had happened though, I’ve mentioned this in passing before – it’s hard to talk about because it confuses the living fuck out of me and I don’t understand it. I felt the demon’s presence again. No, not the red dude with the horns and pitchfork, it was Bel. The entity that has been absent since around October and who I stupidly thought I’d managed to get rid of was back, lurking, silently but definitely.
The cake thing was the week’s second “Bloody Mary” and I was one spin away from her returning with fire and fury. Emotionally speaking, I am significantly less stable than a certain president right now and frankly, full time co conscious Bel would about be the end of me.
Oh, I could write for days about Bel. One day I am sure I will. Long story short for those that haven’t been following me for long, I’m kinda split, emotionally speaking. I am able to relate to some people I know on here with Dissociative Identity Disorder because of it, don’t get me wrong, that is not my diagnosis and this isn’t anywhere near as severe as that – I don’t have complete changes in my personality, nor do I have total amnesia surrounding the switches.
Anywho, basically I feel a handful of different “me’s” inside me, they have different names/ages/opinions/strengths & weakness’s but feel like ‘parts’ of me and while they do kind of take turns at being in ‘control’ it’s generally to help me cope with a situation that I am losing it in. We all answer to Kate and know everybody in my life, usually nobody else can even tell that it’s happening – I remember a conversation has happened if I wasn’t ‘leading it’ so to speak but I may forget the substance of it.
I might get asked why I’m acting ‘weird’, my husband sometimes notices. I can’t communicate properly with all of my ‘parts’ yet, one of them seems to though, but I can’t really communicate with her. No, I don’t understand it either. There are also two Outsiders, Bel is one of these and there is a older man too, I originally thought he was just a hallucination but now I don’t know, I just know that he is scary on a whole new level. Okay, all caught up? Good. No? Wait, don’t leave, yeah – I know, I’m weird, sorry, it’s supremely frustrating on my end too, which is why I don’t tend to talk about it (self stigma) and (until yesterday) have avoided the subject with my psychiatrist.
When I arrived at 12:30 yesterday the waiting room was empty – the waiting room there is NEVER empty, they have a stack of on-site psychologists plus my psychiatrist and I think all of their books are closed. I deduced rather quickly that she had given up her lunch hour for me *cue guilt trip*. As she’s booked out literally 12months in advance and receiving a cool $350 per session – I decided money wasn’t her main motivator for cramming me in over her lunch break and I had already promised her nobody would ever sue her if I did knock myself off after she had released me from one of our sessions rather than having me carted off in a straight jacket, I guess she was just being nice. I’m rambling. Sorry.
The session was amazing, I had been umming & ahhing about telling her how the cake comment made me feel, (confrontation is scarier than cake) you guys said “Do it!” and I was going to until I got there and felt guilty. I swear there was a war in my head for the first two minutes over this and then the part of me that is apparently able to stand up for herself got some rare floor time and told her. She was of course, awesome about it, she apologised and suddenly I saw myself from a distance explaining that I was terrified of summoning the demon back.
“Tell me about the demon…”
Whoa. I didn’t agree to this, WTF? But I was powerless. Words flowed – okay stammered – from my mouth but I didn’t say them and honestly, I don’t remember exactly what was said, but we/they told her everything, all of it, Bel, Him, us, all the things I couldn’t say, the things that terrify me, all the things that will make her think I am crazy (okay, that ship probably sailed a while ago).
She didn’t kick me out of her office, she was amazing, supportive, didn’t call me crazy, in fact she didn’t bat an eyelid. She heard me, validated me, said that we can make this easier, work on finding out which part of me my protector is, I remember saying I didn’t know, but my protector was the one doing the talking… She said we can work on opening the communication up between us all, and being able to ask for help from the ‘protector’ on demand rather than relying on her appearing involuntarily at the last second.
I could breathe again, someone knew my terrible secret and the world didn’t collapse. We then went on to talk about some experiences of my wayward youth that were recently triggered and she gently informed me that a ‘something happened but I don’t know if it counts’ moment was in fact sexual assault. I think I knew that deep down, but it’s harder to admit to than I would have thought.
It was a bloody big session, but I felt so much better walking out of there this time, with that weight lifted from my shoulders I felt free, I felt like just maybe, I have a chance.
The titillations, tribulations, vicissitudes, and oxymoronic cogitations of a very lucky and unfortunate Neuroscientist with Bipolar Disorder
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Creative Writing. Book Reviews. Adult Humour.
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Shattering the Magic Mirror