I Being I

My Name is Cristina D. Johnson.

When have I been "I"?

When I posted "Coming Out," I was being I...I was being "real" and goddamn it was scary, especially posting it on my facebook, going public to so many people I hadn't shared with and had, in fact, deliberately hidden from.

Today I was talking to Bill (a long-time, trusted friend) about the past five years of my life because I've given it a lot of thought. I suppose it even started before then - when I moved to Connecticut.

I had the intention of making a better life for myself and my son (and also my daughter at the time, but it ended up not working out that way). I was afraid of this...place. These people. Upper Crust Society - the "them" that I'd always feared and been ashamed to be around, and also held some contempt for. But somewhere inside, I wanted to be that. I wanted to be more than I always had been.

I didn't want to live in the ghetto anymore. I didn't want to be poor and broken anymore and throughout my life, I ran and ran - always running (I can't tell you how many places I've lived in or how many places I've gone to) but I was always running. I didn't know it at the time, of course, but I know it now.

Then I came here and I was still running...still running from all the darkness inside, the truth....the shadows that followed me with the promise of torment.

Then I met "him" and I thought, okay...this is my change. This is where I really take a step up and move further up and beyond. And BOY was I really running then, but in my mind, there was no way my demons could catch me if I were with him. No way because life would be different. He was more cultured (I believed) and he was more educated and intelligent and would help me escape my ugly. I could hide in his world.

And I did - for a long time.

So I was talking to Bill about this - about how I used to be, before I met "him" and how different I became. How I got sucked into this world - his world - and slowly became someone I didn't want to be and have never been: someone who judged others. I became exactly what I'd always abhorred in humanity...exactly what makes it feel like an "us versus them" world. I would sit around the picnic or dinner table and, at first, just listen - listen to others talk about people (poor, gay, drug addicts, etc) with little or no conscience or compassion.

But slowly, trying to be this "better" that I'd been seeking (whatever "better" is), I became one of those among them who, albeit not quite as much, fell prey to the gossip.

I didn't like it and I don't like it now. I am not that kind of person and never have been (although my blogs of recent could be argued otherwise, however I do not view them that way - I view them as opening up and sharing my pain and my heartache and they're certainly not "gossip" but, rather, my experiences).

"Yeah you used to get mad at people when they talked about others," Bill said to me. "It used to irritate you."

"Yeah it did," I recalled.

That's because I was one of those people that "upper crusters" talk about. So...

When have I been "I"? I certainly wasn't free to be "me" when I was among "the enemy" - those whom I'd heard bashing the poor, gay, different, etc. I was not free to be "me" because I was afraid to show myself.

I was, though, myself at one point: When I became vulnerable and weak; when I opened up; when I shared; when I was afraid; when I was open and honest about my past to everyone I know and have known for these past five years. When I gave him my trust and was vulnerable...terrifyingly so. It was the first time ever in my life. That was when I was "I".

It is so terrifying to put it out there, oh God you can't imagine.

I have a tendency to tell people something - some detail or part of my abuse or something about the effects of it - and then immediately push them away because I am afraid I've said too much.

Well it's the same way with this blog - with Coming Out. I was scared for three days of what people were going to say to and/or about me and for three days, I was severely affected. I was truly shocked when people - even family members that I hadn't talked to in decades - came out and encouraged me. Friends contacted me and shared with me. My therapist was proud of me, as were Bill and Cindy and my beloved Aunt Neen. It even inspired others (from a different site, as well as my online protege' to do the same - to come out and share their names).

So for a few days, I got to experience "I" - the real "I" that I've neglected all these years and the one that I've run away from my whole life. With every blog I write, I dig deeper into the "me" that I've never had the luxury of knowing and for every message, text, phone call, or letter, I feel more and more empowered, encouraged, supported and accepted.

I know there are people out there gossiping - I lived it and it's rife here.

But I won't live it anymore. That's not me. That's just the tiny pieces of a little girl who has spent her entire life trying to be "better" or "right" enough to be loved who just keeps trying to do everything she can to fit in.

It's much more satisfying to be accepted for the real "I" that I am - as terrifying as it is to be so exposed to people whose character I've come to know...to communities that are burdened by judgment, and don't even know it.

Thank you to those who have reached out to me, despite the ugliness I feel inside. I struggle a lot and know it's a long road, but your support and encouragement truly gives me hope and strength.

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.

Why Do Trauma Survivors Push People Away?

There's more than one answer to this question.

Sometimes it's self-protection...keeping people from seeing the "real you" - the "you" that you see yourself to be, which (particularly for incest and rape victims) is usually something bad, dirty and unworthy. They keep you at arm's length, to prevent you from leaving them. The more superficial and "chummy" they can keep it, the safer they are that you won't leave them. Often they'll do things for you, too, without expecting anything in return, to help fortify that you won't leave them.

Sometimes it's not pushing you away, but testing you. I test a lot. I test everyone, always. My friend recently pointed this out to me. I guess sometimes I push people away but usually those are the ones who fail my "tests" which can be very simple - tests of integrity and trustworthiness. And not just one test, but many, before I open the door a crack.

And sometimes it's to protect you - the friend, family member, partner or supporter - from seeing their reality. The reality of complex trauma is an ugly thing - very ugly. And once you (a trauma survivor) reach a point of vulnerability in a relationship, the concept of that person seeing the "real you" is terrifying and opens up all kinds of windows and doors - many that have been shut for their whole lifetime. This is an absolutely horrifying experience because you (the survivor) don't know if the supporter will (a) be able to handle it or (b) walk away and say they can't handle it so the best option is to just protect you from seeing it at all. Rejection after revealing such painful things, would be painful beyond words.

Pushing people away is almost a way of life for me, although most of the time I push those away that I am closest to, ironically. Everyone else I just keep on a superficial level. I don't do chit-chat which means my social life is pretty dull and solitary. I don't mind....but yet I do.

I envy those who can just go out and ...I don't know, fake it? I used to be able to do that. Put on a happy face, pretend my trauma never happened. But because of the nature of my five-year relationship, some doors were opened that I cannot close. It's like opening a closet door that's crammed full of stuff and once you crack it open, you can't push it back shut, and stuff just keeps coming out. Horrible, embarrassing, mortifying, terrifying stuff. Monsters. Memories. Rage. Pain.

Nothing within that closet I want to see, never mind wanting anyone else to see it.

So for me - in my opinion - these are some of the reasons trauma survivors push people away. I bet there's more, but in my experience, this has been it.

Just listen

I recently said in jest, that if I ever wrote a book for partners of incest survivors, I would entitle it "Bill"

Bill is a friend of mine. We've known each other over ten years.

He came to visit - just left about an hour ago, actually. He showed me a lot while he was here. I cried and cried and he listened. He hugged me, told me he understood and just...listened.

He didn't judge or offer advice; he didn't look at me funny or anything. He just listened. When I would gag (I gag a lot lately) he would ask me if I was okay. He wasn't pushy or arrogant; just concerned. Truly concerned.

He let met talk as long as I wanted to talk and then he validated me. He told me good things about myself - things I haven't heard in a long time, and things I need to hear.

For two nights, he let me stay with him (completely platonic, btw, because we are just friends) but even he saw the difference in me, when we neared this house, and as we drove away.

My nerves here are just shot. My heart broken and he listened to me pour it out... He never said a bad thing at all; just listened.

I realized it was the first time in years that I felt listened to and acknowledged. It was the first time in years that I felt I mattered - that I was important...that I'm worth someone's time. I'm worth someone's compassion.

He came for a couple of reasons but partly because he wanted to get a feel for what I need as I go through what I'm going through and I think, what he saw, was this crisis on top of a crisis. He calmed me down, told me he would help me... soothed me, promised me everything would be okay. He was honest - told me I didn't necessarily push people away, but that I definitely do test them. But he didn't say things like this in a condescending way, as if he knew some better way to be. It was a decade-long observation that he made, and that I accepted as true. Because it is true.

I didn't sleep too well those two nights, despite being away from the house, but I wasn't as sick as I have been, either. And I smiled. And I laughed, too.

I stuck my feet in the water at the dock...so did he. Something I haven't been able to do in years, without fear of ridicule or judgment.

We went today to see Cindy. She cut off all his hair (it'd been growing for three years - he had a ponytail!) so we went there and Cindy, too, echoed so many of the things that Bill had said.

It was ....something.

I can't describe it.

It was something indescribable to be sitting between two people who want me to heal. They want me to heal and not only that, but they want to help me through it. They don't want to leave me or run away. They want to understand as much as they can. They don't push or pull - they've been so gentle and so kind and I don't have any words. Just tears.

Mixed tears.

Tears of appreciation, and tears of longing.

Appreciation for what I have; longing for what I've missed all these years.

That ticker in my brain that keeps going, "You were never enough for him...." over and over.... it's all your fault, all your fault....

But now I have these people who are being authentic and kind and they're telling me they love me and they don't expect anything in return....just want me to heal.

This makes my heart ache. It makes me question everything I know and believe about myself. Everything I've always believed about myself.

It's not fair, what I'm going through.

And it's not fair that people gave up on me. I am worthy of being listened to until two in the morning if necessary. I am worthy.


Neither of them have shunned me for my suicide ideation or cutting; neither of them have chastised me for feeling so ashamed. Neither of them have put me down - not in the least. They lift me up. It is a little frightening, especially given the recent circumstances and how everyone just gave up.

They are helping me... sometimes just by listening.

Friends and Supporters

I've found, through the process of this break-up and the horribly humiliating behaviors I have exhibited, that I have friends and supporters who are there for me, no matter what. This is difficult to fathom, difficult to accept.

Especially when the ones you thought would be there, left so recently.

I struggle with this, yet I am grateful, too.

These people help me without expectation and they recognize my journey as my journey, not theirs. They allow me room to breathe; they let me call them at 2 a.m. with a nightmare; they don't judge me for doing whatever I can to get through this; they commend me for the work I am doing and have done; they encourage me because they see my potential and know I will, one day, have some great accomplishments.

One day, I will make a difference.

These supporters and friends have not bashed me when I was at my lowest, nor have they talked about me behind my back. They have honored my need for privacy - for now - until I am ready to divulge what I am and have been going through. And I will one day.

One of them recently told me: "You have to open up - even if just a little bit - and trust someone." and I know she's right...it's just so frightening to me, especially now. With the exception of my therapist, opening up and being honest and vulnerable is like standing on the edge of an extremely high cliff. Stomach in knots.

I don't know how to trust... mostly, I suppose, because I don't trust myself. I don't trust myself because of the rotten decisions and choices I have made. The intention was always good, but the result always just reinforces the abandonment I've always lived with.

So this blog is for my friends and supporters, to say thank you. To honor you for being such amazing human beings. For helping me and seeing me through this, for listening and for learning and for understanding. Thank you for not pushing your own agendas on me, knowing that I have a huge agenda already and a great big "to-do" list, all geared towards healing.

Thank you for picking up the slack, when I can't carry the weight.

It's not easy to watch someone you  care about, go through so much pain. I know this.

Thank you for being there through it all.