Latex Gloves

My name is Cristina Johnson.

Had a doctor's appointment today that I'd forgotten about. Thankfully I put it on my phone in my calendar. I'd be lost without my phone.

I'm always nervous when I go to see a doctor. Gary used to say I shrank down as if I were a child - especially when going to see a counselor and especially going to see a pdoc (mental health lingo for psychiatrist). Oh I always feel out of control. Probably because I'm completely at their mercy.

I had a bad night last night...really bad. I had an enormous and painful "fight" with my son, Tony, over texts. He was drunk and saying horrible things about me and about Bill and just being generally nasty and disrespectful. This, after he came to my house, spent the night up in my office, left it in a disgusting state and drank every beer in the fridge.

I woke up this morning hoping he made it to court okay. I was supposed to give him a ride, but I told him to find someone else and not to message me again until he got his facts straight. I'm sure he heard a bunch of bullshit from Leah when he went to get his hair cut by her (yeah, I gave him a ride there, too, despite the fact that I want nothing to do with her).

Anyway, so I get to the doctor's office today just on time (as usual - I'm rather picky about being on time). I sat in the waiting room, my purse bouncing on my lap because my legs were bouncing uncontrollably. Nervous.

When the nurse called me back, we went into a different room than usual which was fine.....

It was small and I started to feel that feeling - the nervous feeling you get just before a panic attack. You know it's coming and you don't know why but all the sudden I was trembling and crying and stuttering. I kept looking around...trying to find what triggered it.

I kept looking at the ugliest 3-D art I've ever seen. "Life is a bowl of cherries" it said, with a hideous rendition of fake cherries in a bowl, protruding from a hot pink frame, dotted with spots of orange. It was distracting me, but not in a good way.

The nurse went about her business, checking my vitals, my weight (lost 20 lbs, btw) and then handed me a tissue.

"The doctor wanted to do a [breathing test] on you, but we're going to wait okay?" she said gently.

I nodded. Wiped my eyes with a trembling hand and a wet, wadded up kleenex.

For a moment I was left alone, waiting for the doctor to come and that's when I realized what the trigger was:

On the wall there was a rack and in the rack, three boxes of gloves. Latex gloves.

The middle box had the blue gloves. The kind that police use and airport security uses and other unpleasant memories.

The two on the side held the white latex gloves.

I was immediately aware that was the trigger because when I looked at them again, I flashed back to being put in juvenile detention and the horrid things they do to you when you're sent there.

There's a required pap smear done, as well as anal and they spray you down with some kind of chemical to make sure to kill anything that might be on you. They make you bend over and order you to pull your buttocks apart....

Never realizing that you're crying inside - sure as hell can't cry outwardly - that you feel so violated, so horrified, so ...like your body is not your body.

My body has never been my body. That was taken long ago. I have trouble even to this day, showering or taking a bath.

This is part of my journey.....reclaiming my body, learning about it, despite my contempt for it as of now. Contempt because if I didn't have this body, maybe I would never have been molested or raped. It's illogical, I know, but it's beyond my mental control.

On another note, talked to Bill last night. He finished reading The Sum of My Parts by Olga Trujillo. It is by far the best book I've read as far as what I've gone through and what I'm experiencing. He asked me some questions about it and he got a much better understanding of what I am going through. I highly recommend this book to anyone who's been diagnosed DID, plus their partners.

It touched me that he read it. I asked Gary to, but he never did. Bill says Gary never wanted to understand PTSD or DID. I cried because he's right. Gary has no comprehension of how far back he set me on this healing journey. No concept, no clue. He would have, if he'd just wanted to know. Instead, he listened to everyone except me and now I'm still having nightmares about him and I can't see a truck or van like his without jolting inside as if firecrackers are going off in my blood cells. God...the powerful trigger he became is mind-blowing.

So good stuff going on, and bad stuff too. No therapy for two weeks is gonna kill me. The doctor didn't want me to leave the office without talking to Michelle (my therapist) but I told him she is not available. Once I figured out what the trigger was, I just let it run its course...let the memories flow...put myself back in the room with the gruesome bowl of cherries and breathed.

Good news is, I suppose, I'm no less healthy physically than last time. :)