Where Did the Time Go?

My name is Cristina D. Johnson.

It's been a really tough few weeks. It's actually been a rough two months but the last couple weeks have been particularly hard, despite some help I have received and am grateful for.

Still, I cannot control how my (using the word "my" loosely) mind will respond to these things. At least, so it seems.

Session today. I know I saw Michelle last week.

I couldn't tell you when, if I didn't know our sessions are regularly on Mondays and Thursdays. I don't remember the last time I saw her. Today was an anomaly because of a scheduling conflict she had which happens sometimes. Not often, but sometimes.

I almost cancelled today's appointment because I am completely disconnected from everything which means, nothing is wrong. This sounds contrary to what I mentioned in the opening of this entry, but the thing is I have shut down and nothing is emotionally affecting me so I need no therapy. I told her I almost cancelled because I didn't want to waste her time. I literally had nothing to complain or talk about.

I mean, I had updates and told her things I've done because I needed to see them get done, but Michelle even admittedly had a hard time navigating this session. She didn't know "who" she was talking to. She was trying to determine what was going on and I was at a loss, until she started telling me things.

Apparently last week I had a very emotional session wherein I told Michelle I didn't know if I could continue therapy and dealing with these emotions.

I don't remember this. I only vaguely remember a little bit about a very intense session not long ago, but I don't know when it was. When she said "well, last week we had a pretty tough session," I stared up at the ceiling, stared out the window, very disconnected, tried so hard to remember, and that's when I realized I didn't remember anything. This is truly an earth-rattling thing. So I really wracked my brain, trying...trying... Oh God I can't remember...what happened last week? What do I remember about last week?

This led me to the realization that it wasn't just the sessions last week that I don't recall, but the entire week last week. I don't remember anything. Thinking back, the first thing I remember is Saturday and pieces since then but nothing last week. Not one single moment.

This is where my DID diagnosis makes me angry, makes me hurt. Because I hate it and I deny it because I judge it and I don't want it yet it's there slapping me, laughing at me, daring me to challenge it.

It wasn't observably troubling today as we discussed it in session, really. Not until the end, when I realized I was feeling alarmed because I didn't remember last week.

As the session came to a close, Michelle told me the emotion part of healing is going  to be very difficult for me because of my experiences with emotions. I know this to be true. It makes logical sense. It is cognitive; measurable. I can make logical sense of it so I can intellectually accept it.

Even if I feel nothing.

Which is what I did today, until a tiny little bolt of lightning struck me and I began to feel that fiery sense of alarm. That remembrance that - no matter how much I hold myself or pull myself together - I am still in need of healing, and a lot of it, and I cannot pretend my way through it. I cannot ignore it and make it disappear.

As I was leaving, Michelle suggested to me that I try meditating and mindfulness - both of which I am very familiar with and have studied and/or practiced at length. I talked with her very matter-of-factly about it, told her I was familiar with it, etc. I felt a bit shaken, but very much in control.

But then I watched her drive away and stood waiting for my cab and things started to pile on. My brain went into overdrive. I started thinking, "I don't understand this. How can I not remember? This is crazy. You are crazy!" and then I was thinking about emotions and I was thinking I need to write...

And that led me to thinking, as I stood there staring at a bitterly cold outside through a six-pane window, that I was going to write about emotions. No. No I am going to write about what I think about emotions.

Then I thought, no maybe I should write about what I feel about thinking.

This made sense to me. Logical sense. Intellectual sense. Perhaps, by writing about how I feel about thinking, I can touch emotions somehow.

So...

How do I feel about thinking?

I feel safe, thinking. I feel in control, thinking. I feel secure, thinking. I feel confident, thinking.

Because nobody can mess with my thinking.

This is quite ambiguous, isn't it?

Here's what I suppose I mean:

My intellect and street smarts are hard-earned and concrete. If I do not know it, I can and will learn it (if I need to). I watch everything and everyone closely. I seldom miss much because of what is called "hypervigilance," a label I consider to sound negative but which I embrace as "normal" and even a gift.

I don't know that I would still be breathing if not for my "hypervigilance."

There is control and, thus, security and safety in thinking. There is control in having no emotions. How's that for an oxymoron? Or, do control, security and safety count as emotions?

I am over-thinking, aren't I?

And I, myself - whoever "I, myself" happen to be today - am messing with my thinking and this is not a good thing.

There is nothing concrete or stable in having my thinking disrupted by something as alarming as DID and the analysis of such.

I am going to have a beer.

Untitled

Beyond mortified over the events of the other night, I spent yesterday feeling miserable on SO many levels and last night was unable to go to sleep, ended up on the couch.

However, I was proactive in getting our phones back. It didn't really occur to me until this morning. At least I accomplished something, despite my deep fear, although I wasn't able to speak to the Trooper (in person) without breaking down and stuttering.

Talking with the Trooper last night, we were informed that the location our phones were stolen from has had numerous complaints and is known as a trouble spot. Obviously we did not know this before we went, although we did know it could be a bit low-brow and certainly not the nicest place. Thankfully we know it now.

Today I awoke, still feeling sick to my stomach over the way the crowd there, handled the situation. I won't go into details but really there were two situations; one involving me, one involving someone else, both at the same time.

Yesterday I spent a lot of time and energy talking with the owner of the place (and receiving hate mail and comments from some of her "flock" [as I call it]) whose attitude reflects a lot of peoples' attitudes: get over it. I changed my profile picture to solid black - I did not want to be seen. I was terrified all day yesterday.

I was really hurt Sunday night. Deeply hurt by the actions of a number of people who would not listen when Bill tried explaining to them that I was having a panic attack.

Yesterday and this morning, I felt like sandbags were tied to my arms and legs. Heavy. Just so heavy.

But then I thought, isn't this what you're so against? Isn't this what you have wanted to try to help fix for so long? Isn't this why you chose to share your story to begin with? To stop this kind of stuff?

So now, still feeling heavy and hurt and bewildered and confused and a host of other things, I also realize it was a heavy dose of reality: people don't understand and those who might, won't ever admit it because incest and molestation and rape are all so taboo that they don't want to talk about it. I can guarantee at least one person in the mob that was attacking us had been sexually assaulted, considering the statistics, but more likely, there were several. Still, they participated in the verbal and physical brutality. Better and easier to run with the pack, than to show weakness, I suppose.

It seems to be almost a catch 22: the uneducated and poor (such as those where we were the other night), don't want to know anything about it (they have their own problems) and the educated and wealthy don't want to know anything about it because you should just get over it and get a job (besides, they have their own problems and it's easier to donate to Easter Seals or some Cancer organization than to help with child abuse and rape. You don't have to get involved).

Of course, there are exceptions.... I'm sure there are. I'd like to meet them.

My safety was taken away that night and as much as I missed singing karaoke for all these months, I doubt I'll be doing it anytime soon again.

Compassion. It's been sucked out of people by the condition of this world.

What a shame.