Mixed Up

I don't even know how to start this blog. I've been through the wringer the past three months and it's just so tiring and exhaustive. I mean, when does it stop?

In May, when I was at my lowest possible point (which one would have to be, to attempt suicide), I was abandoned by the one person who swore they would always be there. I was having flashbacks and panic attacks daily. I was having black-outs and I was in therapy, working so hard to figure out how my past was affecting my present.

As anyone with any knowledge of or experience in PTSD knows, a perceived threat, elicits a strong response that is rooted in the pain or fear of the past. It's lightning quick. It's processed through the amygdala in the brain as a threat and the PTSD sufferer responds accordingly. For me, the responses varied usually either rage or pain but always rooted in fear.

After I was gossiped about and people were told my private business I was so humiliated and I became terrified to go anywhere. Even to the store. Even to the mailbox. And I needed a friend so bad. Ironically, I kept turning to him and he kept triggering, knowing he was doing it...knowing it was killing me.

In a PTSD crisis, every emotion is amplified and I begged and begged for compassion, but got none. I have PTSD mostly as a result of abuse from men - many men - and he quickly became an enormous trigger for me because he would say or do something nice, but then he would say or do something cruel - the same mixed messages my father gave me when he would vacillate between beatings and punishments, and molestation. I tried explaining this to him in an effort to - again - beg him to stop, but to no avail.

I got to the point where I was gagging every time I heard his footsteps, because I was so triggered. Eventually it escalated to vomiting, just from the overwhelm. At that time, I had nobody. Nobody I trusted. The only person who said she was my friend, was going out with him so I had no reason to trust her. And none of "our friends" ever once called or messaged me to see if  I was okay. Yesterday, I deleted most of them from my friend's list, trying to feel safe, trying to eliminate any connection to this person who hurt me so badly.

People come and go in your life - I know many have in mine - and this is my story and when people come and go in my life, they become a part of my story. When they inject themselves - in either good or bad ways - they are a part of my story.

For the past month, I have been blessed to have my best friend in the world - Bill - come help me. Although I have others - Cindy, Hannah, Howie, Ron (in the background) - who help as much as they can, Bill came and nursed me through some pretty horrific breakdowns. This is what I needed from the beginning - from "him" - someone who would help me and genuinely care about what I was going through. Someone willing to hold my hair when I vomited from sheer nerves. Someone who would wipe my tears or give me kleenex; someone who would take me places - anywhere - just randomly, to get me out of the house; someone who truly cared.

Bill has been a God send and has proven to be my absolute best friend, my right arm, my shoulder to cry on. He's been awakened in the middle of the night by crying and gagging and never once complained. Just asked if I was okay, turned on the light, lit me a cigarette and rubbed my back while I went through my painful attacks. Not a single time when I trembled went by, that he didn't hold me until the trembling subsided.

All of these symptoms have been exacerbated by the cruelty of others. And I am not claiming to be an angel, but I will say I tried my best - tried to make people understand, only to be misunderstood and judged. I'm not surprised by this.

Anyway, Bill left today........

He left for Illinois. This on top of a very difficult evening wherein I was forced to contact the police over all the BS going on.

Last night was supposed to be a sort of farewell party for Bill - although it certainly was no picnic. I cried a lot, shook a lot, plus had an anxiety attack in the middle of it all over other things going on. Couldn't eat the food we made. Just couldn't stomach it.

The thought of losing my best friend, the thought of not having someone here to help me through my attacks, frightens the shit out of me and I can't see what the future looks like.

One thing I have learned, though, is that Bill was always my best friend. Even through my relationship with "him" Bill was there - always. And when he got here, it was as if no time had passed at all. Same old Bill. Genuine, authentic, loving, giving, caring. He gave more to me in this past month, than I've gotten in the past five years from everyone I met and knew for the past five years, combined. In one month, he showed me more attention, affection, compassion and concern than anyone, ever.

I believe some people are simply incapable of that kind of depth. I've met them. I've lived among them. In a way, I suppose it's good that I had my own ...call it judgment, ratified. I learned that all the things I feared about the "thems" in the world, are true. And then some.

And I also learned who and what a true friend is. Anyone who knows him, is fortunate. He is the epitome of a good man, good friend, and good human being.

We both sobbed as he left today, even though eventually he'll be back. But one thing I know is this: Bill will always be my best friend. I miss him terribly.

Please Don't Leave!

My Name Is Cristina Johnson

When I was five and six years old (the earliest my memories begin), I lived in Pensacola with my father, step-mother, step-sister and step-brother. At the time, my father was molesting me, my younger brother, and me and my brother simultaneously.

He was also very violent - very unpredictable, like huge violent waves crashing on the shore; you never knew what he was going to hit or when, just knew it would be destructive. He also had a very strong, powerful voice - very loud and frightening, especially to children.

But when he was molesting us, he was tender, kind, benevolent. It was the only time he was ever gentle.

Then, one day, without notice or warning or even knowing what was going on, I and my brother sat on our knees in the living room on the couch, staring out the window and I remember crying (can't remember if my brother was) and screaming as if he could hear me through the glass, "Please daddy!! Don't go!! Where are you going?? Please, Daddy! Don't go!!" as he threw one after another of huge black garbage bags into the burgundy Chevy van we had. To this day, I'll never be able to see a van and not think of it. Later that night, without explanation, my brother and I were put on an airplane to go back to St. Louis and live with our grandparents (his parents).

I say all of this because I experienced a severe panic attack this morning, and it brought back that feeling -  that horrible abandonment.

Yesterday, a friend came over and brought some beer. We (he, Bill and I) all had a pretty good afternoon, chatting and I cooked a great dinner for everyone. This friend - H - has PTSD and DID like me so we share a lot of commonalities and it's just nice to have someone to talk to who "gets it" - like, truly gets it.

Anyway, long story short, last night I was not myself. After H left, I did some things that weren't my nature and awoke this morning not remembering any of it, although I did remember that Bill promised the night before to go get cigarettes first thing in the morning and I would brew the coffee. So my memory of last night was splotchy with blank, black spots.

As Bill left to go get the cigarettes, memories came flooding back of last night and I freaked out - completely panicked - and began to shake. I was terrified.

And this is where the memory of my father leaving comes in:

It was taking Bill too long to go to the store and the story in my mind was, "You're bad. You're a bad girl!" and that Bill was leaving me...just like Daddy did 35 years ago.

"Please don't leave, Daddy!"

I panicked - ran all around the apartment, looking out the door and the windows, scared like a child. I was a child, but I was the child that Daddy used for sexual pleasure and then just left. The dirty child the unwanted child. The bad child. And Bill was leaving me because of it!

The truth was out and Bill knew it, now, and he was leaving!

"He's taking too long. He shouldn't be taking this long. Where is he? Oh my God he's leaving! It's all my fault!"

Please don't leave, Daddy!

Then I heard the rumble, after far too long, of his old Ford pickup truck pulling into the drive and I was overwhelmed with fear and confusion and shame.


He came in and I tried to tell him, tried to communicate but it wasn't coming out right (I was stuttering again) and he gently said, "Take your time. It's okay."

I explained that I didn't remember anything about last night and I was afraid and then I did remember some things (I was talking a mile a minute) and now I feel ......I couldn't say it.

"It's okay," he assured. "It'll be okay...everything will be okay...." he kept repeating as I sat on the bed rocking and shaking and crying.

"That's not what the story is in my head," I admitted to him cautiously, fearfully.

"What is the story in your head," he asked.

"D-D-Dir..." I couldn't speak it and he just kept stroking my hand and my shoulder and saying, "Take your time."

"Dirty!" I finally blurted out. "DIRTY! DIRTY! DIRTY!" came my rather loud, shameful confession. In my head, it was the voice of a child whose father used his perversions to show her "love" but left.

So there I was, stuck in 1976, staring out the front pane window as my father inexplicably left my brother and I to wonder, "Did we not do enough? Did I do something wrong? I must just be really bad and dirty."

At this point, I got a text from Gary. He had some of my stuff and wanted to bring it by. Oh great. Just what I needed. I was being thrown back to age six and at the same time being expected to handle things like the 41-year-old woman that I am today....which included facing one of the biggest triggers in my life: Gary.

He showed up. I didn't want him in the house. I was not well. I started to feel it in my stomach. I saw him and my skin was aflame almost instantly. The feelings come flooding back and mingle with my already disturbing feelings of being "bad" and "dirty" and here's this man who has proven, again and again, that I am bad and dirty and has told everyone about it! So now everyone knows I'm bad and dirty! Everyone knows! Oh God, get him out of here!

I began to tremble uncontrollably, tried to say "leave - just go" but couldn't get it out....finally managed and he left. Still as I know him - no difference. I know him. And he knows way too much about me. I walked away and didn't even watch him leave, because it was killing me - for the second time this morning.

I went inside and within minutes was vomiting.

Over the course of about three hours, Bill was there trying to comfort me, rubbing my back, holding my hand, telling me it'll all be okay, hugging me when I trembled, telling me to stop apologizing (I was dreadfully embarrassed and always am when I "lose control" like that)...just being a friend. "I won't leave you," he kept telling me, over and over. "I'm never going to leave you," he kept assuring.

So there are people who say to move on, get past it, get over it, stop looking for government handouts, etc. etc....

To those people, I say this is no picnic. My body is exhausted right now, and my mind is swimming in dark thoughts of self-loathing, self-blame and fear of being seen. Oh God how I don't want to live this life - some days it's all I can do to just get out of bed because I can't know if or when I'll be triggered; if or when I'll panic. I have so much to do - so many things to take care of - and it's like looking at life cross-eyed. Everything gets jumbled and mixed up. Even trying to read my bills, my vision blurs and I can't focus on it and I get confused by it.

I am fortunate that I have Bill (and a couple of other people) who understand what I am going through - they know this is torture and torment for me - and they also know how hard I am working to overcome it. I am so grateful.


Since I began posting my blog on my FB page, I have had people come out and share with me and show true compassion (a sorely lacking commodity in these small towns), understanding, empathy and encouragement. People I never expected to care, are showing they do.

I am grateful for this.

Double Whammy

My name is Cristina Johnson.

After posting yesterday, my DID kicked in, although I didn't know it at the time. I didn't know it until today, when I woke up and the entire day - yesterday - was a complete fog. Then, I got hit with a major panic attack this afternoon, just before therapy: got overwhelmed.

Panic attacks are horrible feelings. It feels like you're on fire and you can't breathe - like someone has a vise around your chest - and you can't stop shaking. For me, my mind goes absolutely berserk and thoughts just race and race, like a movie in fast-forward that I can't stop. Jumping from one spot to another.

This attack hit me as I was preparing to leave for therapy. Fortunately, my therapist was there - saw my panic - and helped me through it.

"Just breathe, and remember you're safe now. You're safe here," she gently reminded.

I started talking a mile a minute - started trying to iterate the things that had triggered the attack - but she reminded me to calm down first. I was stuttering - something I've never done in my life, but over the past few months, I've begun stuttering out of the blue when stressed.(She later pointed this out to me).

Anyway, got through the crisis and talked about what happened.

Coming Out was written and posted on my FB and I publicly admitted to many of the things I've kept secret for most of my life, with very few exceptions. I recall bits and pieces of yesterday but I was in-and-out: a consequence of DID. I described it to her as looking through a frosted window. You know stuff is back there, but you can't see it. So I spent most of today, recalling bits and pieces of yesterday and I completely blacked out last night - lost three hours, apparently - which is beyond my control.

There's nothing more frightening than this. My therapist asked me why.

"Because there's no control and I don't know what I did or said. Did I do anything inappropriate? Did I act in some way that isn't me?" (It wouldn't be the first time).

I had a bunch of things hit me all at once and the overwhelm kicked in - the panic sets in. Small things add up, on top of big things and it becomes unmanageable. I had a second attack after going to the grocery store. It's been a tough day.

We talked a lot in therapy about how I have (what I called) a habitual tendency to do whatever anyone wants, just to make sure they don't leave me.

I did it today and was immediately aware of it.

"I wouldn't call it habitual," she said. "I would call it instinctive."

I agree. It's instinctive for me.

I had a very short conversation via text and immediately felt like I was losing someone so I told them I loved them out of sheer panic.Again, doing all I can to keep from being abandoned.

And this led to a discussion about Bill - this need I have to do whatever I have to do to make sure he doesn't leave me. I am that way with everyone.

Ironically, when I am afraid someone will leave, I also will sabotage it - I won't let them leave me, I'll leave first.

I have a different kind of trust in Bill, though, because of the nature of our friendship and how long we've known one another. He's a very altruistic person....much more than any other person I've ever known.

It hurts so much to go through this process. To face so many demons, all at once, and also to feel so alone, even if I do have a handful of people who are here supporting me. Bill says I protect people from myself. He says I tend to hold people at bay because I don't want them to see what's inside of me. There's a lot of truth to that.

But, when I say "alone," I mean the loss of so many "compassionate friends" (as Gary referred to them), who haven't once asked me how I am, if I'm okay, how I'm doing or if I need any help. I am terrified to go out - terrified because of the things he's said about me to so many people - things he had no right to say.

So I feel isolated and shunned; ostracized and judged and so ultimately betrayed and abandoned.

These are shameful feelings - shame, shame, shame. That word keeps coming up. It's like I've lived my whole life afraid of people seeing the "ugly" inside of me - the reality of what I've experienced - but I've hidden it pretty well, only to have it exposed without discretion or regard. So unfair; so cruel.

But I have plans - aspirations - and they're built on this foundation of pain that I've endured (and continue to endure) and will learn from and teach from. I will give it purpose, and make a difference.

I just have a long way to go and it hurts to know that this tangled mess of barbed wire inside of me - this mess that keeps shredding me from the inside out - is not my fault.

And for those who say "get over it" or "stop living in the past" or "move on" (and I know a few of those), I say this: That's what I'm doing. Healing from the past - a brutal past that you don't just "get over and move on" because that, my friend, is what I've always done. Stoically looked at my past as someone else's story, ignored it's effects and pretended it didn't happen.

Now I'm taking the real, authentic, true steps to heal and move beyond this place where my past and my demons invade my mind and my dreams and my life.

Compassion would suggest an understanding that we can't cover up our wounds - we must heal them - and it's important  to understand how horribly invalidating it is to tell someone "get over it" (or any form thereof), and very painful. It's hard enough to take the time I need to take to go through this journey, never mind being judged for "living in the past."

Trust me. This ain't no picnic.