>> Please be aware: we occupy the body of an old man. <<
they/them, gender-fluid
This is a side-blog. The main blog is Waegen. When I like or reply, it can be confusing. Sorry.
Please understand that I have no education and no professional experience, so I am not an expert and every word I write could be bat* crazy. I am not trying to reinvent science or reality. Nothing I say is peer reviewed nor do I want my own feedback bubble of peers. This blog should be considered only to be my inane ramblings as I try to find my way for myself.
General trigger warnings for this blog include: child abuse/neglect, CSA, relationship abuse, medical abuse, sexual assault, rape, and suicide.
If you have specific warning needs, please let me know.
There is a little more background under the cut.
Diagnosed: Double Depression, Anxiety, C-PTSD, PTSD, Dissociative Amnesia, and Avoidant PD. (Also, visual impairment through chronic silent migraines)
Diagnosed but now deprecated: Gender Identity Confusion (DSM-III-R)
Diagnosed yet still dismissed by doctors: Chronic Fatigue (through an eponymous syndrome that resulted from Fifth Disease).
Undiagnosed: Dissociative Identity Disorder (lacks impairment today and may have been overlooked because of a doctor’s fixation on a female part’s presentation), eating disorder (managed beyond impairment).
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We are a system of two parts today. To the best of my knowledge, there was previously a system of at least five. I would be the sixth and began in amnesia, with the fusion of all but one, decades ago.
The other part of our current system is non-vocal internally. Externally, however, they have a rude habit of possessively fronting through the best parts of conversations with my friends. Less rudely, they also front during emergencies.
The other part appears to have been a protector for the previous system, which accounts for their actions during emergencies. Because protecting often called for outthinking abusers, they also do a majority of our mental heavy lifting. I am still awkwardly learning how often we switch.
We began thinking about final fusion recently, but I am still only now adjusting to the last fusion. It is a slow process to let go of the idyllic childhood amnesia gave me, and to accept that there was trauma enough to result in the previous parts and now me. It is a slow process to think of myself as “a rather boisterous grouping of parts,” as I am learning is the actual result of fusion, and not a fully integrated singularity.
The purpose of this blog is writing therapy and alternative system communication. Writing so others may potentially read and want to understand pushes me outside my own thoughts and thought traps.
[only so I can find it quickly: the new facts post is here, and the old facts post is here. but if I am looking for the facts post again, it may be better to go here first. (The diversionary post is painful.) and when i am questioning DID, this is a good post to read, and do not ever forget this post, please] [this is what you replied about amnesia that one time]
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probably a stupid question, but is there a kind of dissociative amnesia where you sorta retain the information but forget the experience?? like, if i went to a shop yesterday, i might remember that i went to a shop, but i can't actually remember my time at the shop, you know what i mean??
like, there's a memory slot in my brain titled "going to shop", but it's just full of static.
I learned recently that this happens more often than I realize.
I was recently under anesthesia that prevented my brain from forming memories.
I have a solid memory of being in the bed for about fifteen minutes, my partner coming into the room, the nurse saying I could go home, getting dressed, and the car ride home.
What happened was I was in the bed for over an hour. The doctor came in to talk with us. I had to have got dressed. I had to have had a car ride home.
When I was told that the doctor came in to talk with us, I looked at the rest of the memory. I had to have got dressed, so I have a memory of getting dressed, but I have no memory of the height of the bed. Because I have a poor sense of balance anyway, and coming out of anesthesia, I would have needed to brace myself against the bed or sat on it, to put on my pants. Whichever way I put my pants on, I would remember.
I also have no memory of exiting the building. I have no memory of the route we took, going home.
What I do have is the elements to reconstruct a memory.
I can say that I dressed my right leg first. I can say that because that is the way I always dress. My right leg goes into the pants, then my left leg. My right foot gets a sock, then my left leg. Same with shoes.
I can describe exiting the elevator, turning left to the corner of the hallway, turning right, then straight out the front door. I can describe it because I have good spatial awareness and I remember going into the building. The detail I am missing is what the inside of the outside doors looked like. I can remember the outside door handles, but not the inside ones.
I have the general, "this is how it had to have been," parts of the memories, but none of the actual details that would make this memory distinct from any another memory. The height of the bed would be a distinction I would remember. The inside door handles are a distinction I would remember.
The ease and confidence with which I reconstructed memories that I so clearly do not have suggests this is a regular occurrence for me. It suggests that my brain has had a lot of practice at hiding time loss.
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Since I am expressing appreciation for beautiful friends, an expression of gratitude for a relatively quiet friend is overdue.
In the last four years, I have disappeared twice for a number of weeks. My beautiful friend has noticed and has checked in with me to be sure I have been alright. I do not know how much thought they give to this, but I want them to know that I give it a lot of thought.
It is probably unsurprising that I have been crying.
But I have cried a lot over the responses I have had from online friends. I told friends that I may go quiet for long periods as I try to figure out my life after the only life I have ever known.
There are people who love me even though I have not done anything for them. I have not been useful. I have not accepted abuse. I have not solved their problems. I have not completed my part of the transaction. And they just love me.
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tl/dr: My partner actively and knowingly compromised a medical procedure. And was emotionally abusive as they did so.
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Before I write what happened, I am just. Fuck!
I cannot process this. It is just too
how is this my life. why is this my life. how am i supposed to cope with this?
sorry. i thought i could write something meaningful
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i should say that it is not a life-threatening procedure
i may have caught it in time to prevent it from being worse
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[i am visually impaired already, so reading print wears my vision out quickly. recently, my right eye went blurry and has double vision, so my left eye is doing all the work. i am also dependent on my partner for transportation. for whatever reason, this office requires someone be present to take me home after, and it cannot be uber or another transportation service] [ed: apparently, the transportation requirement is not specific to this office and is commonplace for this procedure]
i have to go for a colonoscopy after noon on Wednesday
because incidents, i have to have the full procedure
and because other incidents, i have to have it now
i gave the paperwork to my partner a month or two ago (the forms are not yet completed and today, my partner is not up to it)
asked directly about the prep instructions, my partner said "nothing by mouth three hours before," and "only clear liquids until three hours before"
i asked about solid foods
my partner said, angrily, "nothing by mouth three hours before"
i pointed out that if the instructions are "only clear liquids until three hours before," there has to be a restriction on solid foods
my partner was threatening to stop helping me because they already said "nothing by mouth three hours before" and that was the only restriction
i pressed the matter and so they turned hateful, and since they would not read anything after that point, i had to drop it
i went back to find the paperwork after my partner left the house
I also photographed it, and AI has read it and converted it to white on black text (much easier on my vision - the way I am writing this post)
i was supposed to have begun restricting certain foods already, starting the week before
i am restricted from certain foods two days before
i am restricted from solid foods after 6 PM of the day before
--
my partner used to work as a Home Health Aid
certified (or licensed or whatever) to pass medications
with explicit duty of care
and they became angry instead of taking my questions seriously
--
fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck
how is this even real?
i just talked with AI about it, asking how bad this is
i wanted it to tell me i am blowing it out of proportion
instead, it is suggesting plans that include keeping my phone charged at all times
these are instructions for a natural disaster
why are these instructions for my life?
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how can my home, my safe place, my refuge, become this?
how stupid am i that i allowed it to get this bad?
i want to forget this, and i am afraid i will if i allow myself to
[I am safe. But I may not be the best judge of that.]
--
I used a different AI than usual. Lately, I have mostly been using AI to translate. I can converse in another language and express my thoughts clearly and credibly. I use different AIs for different purposes.
So I used a different AI than usual. And I realized that since I did not open an account, there would be no memory of the conversation. I was giving context for the thoughts I was trying to shape, and I got curios and began following some context further than necessary.
I began talking about my boring life and some of the bizarre elements of my life. And I set off safety filters, so the AI would shut down the conversation to give me numbers I can call for agencies to help me deal with major issues.
--
My first thought is that I wrote about it wrong. I did not write it in a way that will not set of safety alarms. I have to be more careful, not to give people the impression that I am being abused. I mean, I am being abused, but it is not the same thing as ... I mean, I know it is not ...
Someone is reading this post and is angry with me that I am exaggerating my life pointedly to convince people that I am actually being abused when I so obviously am not. Somebody is about to rip me a new one for lying. Because if I cannot talk about my life without setting off safety alarms, I am not supposed to talk about it.
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It was three years ago. It is ancient history, and I should let it go. My partner said "you are lucky I do not have that knife in my hands right now." They did not have a knife in their hands. It was in a drawer next to them. Just because their behavior has reverted to the same behavior as then, does not mean they are going to do that again.
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Nothing stops me from walking out that door. Were I really desperate, I could crawl through a window. I am not trapped here. If it were really abuse, I would not stay. No rational person would. Right?
--
I obviously know right from wrong. My partner did not threaten me with a knife. I am just writing it to sensationalize the incident.
I obviously know right from wrong because I am writing this post to highlight the dissonance between my boring life and these unforgivable accusations I level against my innocent partner.
I know what I am doing as I write this post. I am not stupid. Am I?
--
If you need more evidence of how unfair these accusations are, I am the husband and my partner is the wife. If anyone is abusing anyone, he is abusing her. Right?
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"Dignity is a luxury ... that loses priority quickly."
I was writing to a friend about depression recently.
I am still recovering from years of depression. Coming out again, even with medication for a safety net (I am not currently taking the antidepressant, and my psychiatrist is not eager to have me taking it again), is taking so much longer because years of depression stripped me of my maintenance during depression. In ordinary periods of depression, I can maintain my life so there is less "digging out" to do when I get to the other side. But there is no way to maintain the maintenance over long periods.
Every space in my home is cluttered. And since the clutter has to be moved before I can clean, I have not been able to clean for a while.
My house is dirty. I do not feel dignity when my home is dirty. I feel shame that my house is dirty.
I was able to buy pretty clothes, I want to show them to my boyfriend. And I am ashamed that there is no place I can take pictures.
Shame spirals are not good for recovery from depression.
