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SamsLand
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what's a disorder?

Permanent Linkby SamsLand on Mon Oct 24, 2011 1:14 pm

IT seems we only begin classify MH issues as a disorder with they interfere with our regular daily duties, work, health, relationships, parenting (if our children are lucky enough that someone notices we are screaming at them all the time).

But isn't ignoring our MH issues, keeping them to the side to accomplish our task-driven lives a disorder?

From the outside, it has been remarked, that I have the perfect life. I have a great job, great kids, a wonderful husband. The picture perfect life. Yet, if you look inside me, the person that apparently has this life, I am disordered. But am I not disordered because I am able to pretend that all of "me" is irrelevant, and that as long as I accomplish I am ok? Turns out these accomplishments are about as fulfilling as a donut hole.

I am disordered. I'll only talk about one thing, my gender. I don't know if I am male for female. Sometimes I think both, sometimes I think femalesness is just a product of society and wanting someone somewhere to like me and to fit in and be accepted. Sometimes I think I have alters, a male a female, a child, a preteen girl who talks to much and who I hate. Sometimes I think I must be normal, just making this all up. "DID is for people with real problems". well who changed it from MPD to DID anyways, why do we have to be so fragmented and dissociate to be disordered? I can tell you feeling like you have multiple selves is not normal, is intrusive and creates a lot of inner problems like anxiety, depression and SH. I detach, I dissociate, I most days hate myself, and often I'd rather not be here as me, and the only things that keep me alive are my kids and my desire to see how the world ends up. What we discover, what humanity can do, accomplish. What we as humans can be. My faith is in humanity, my kids and the rest of the world.

But when I focus on my work, my family my obligations, helping out others, I can be functional, and successful. Mostly because I am completely ignoring me and my inner struggles and focusing my time and energy on tasks. But that outside view of success is in fact my disorder.

Sam
Last edited by SamsLand on Mon Oct 24, 2011 1:15 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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evacuate my brain

Permanent Linkby SamsLand on Fri Oct 21, 2011 10:37 pm

I'd like a few things to leave my soul.

Certain memories, you can start and take all the emotions you unloaded on us with you.
Denial, if you stay too long there won't be too much left that is real.
The dude who is pushing away from my therapist, do you really think this is a good time to isolate?
The person who is afraid my H is a cerebral narcissist. Why is everyone an N to you?
The iron curtain, turns out things die without sunlight. You will die too my love.
The beholder, if you cannot see any beauty, you will take us down with you.
The dissociater, escaping reality is a short term solution.
The conformer, you don't fit into society norms, hoping to is a waste of time.
The pretender, you are not who you pretend to be. You aren't anything.
The lover, they say you cannot love unless you love yourself. So you aren't even a lover.

If you all leave my soul I'm pretty sure nothing will be left. Do I keep you to be, or do I let you all go?

Sam
Last edited by SamsLand on Fri Oct 21, 2011 11:13 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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trying to "feel" good

Permanent Linkby SamsLand on Mon Oct 10, 2011 8:16 pm

So I'm supposed to be focusing on what feels good. Feels good. Hmmm. So break it down, I'm told. What feels good to each part of me. Each of my senses. So I think about this for a few days and realize there is nothing about thinking that actually can make us feel better. There aren't thoughts, rationalizations, objective opinions that can make us feel better. My mind cannot think my way into feeling better.

To feel good we need to engage our senses. Touch is a good one, the touch of another. A genuine hug. Embracing bare skin, our warm fuzzy blanket or bear. How about smell, the smell of someone's skin, or of fresh cut grass. Maybe fresh air, or a lit cigarette. Garlic and butter in a steamy kitchen. Which brings me to taste. Mmm the taste of butter and garlic, the taste of chocolate covered butter cookies or homemade soup, or better yet butter on freshly baked bread. And to hear, my favourite tunes, or a friendly voice. And laughter. Laughter. Laughter IS the best medicine. Hear laughter, see laughter. See someone smile, to see the world, the grass, the trees, the bees. To see a friend, to see a place you can call home.

And to engage two or three or four senses at a time feels good. Laughter, we see, we feel, we hear. Friendly gatherings, we touch, we eat, we smell food, we laugh. And sex, we touch skin, we smell skin, we taste skin, we hear breath, we see. The more we engage our senses the more we desire. And fulfilled desire feels damn good.

And even though I know all of this I cannot feel better. Because, I think, it is my mind that knows this.

Sam

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I'm a broken ceramic pot.

Permanent Linkby SamsLand on Sun Oct 09, 2011 6:35 pm

Today I feel like, you guessed it, a broken ceramic pot. You know the kind. Once lovely, shiny and new. Not too pretty or anything, plain, useful and strong. But I've been bumped a few times, knocked, even dropped a handful of times. But I've always held it together. Because I always knew of the potential. One can never know what my come before them, but whatever it is has the possibility of being amazing. We've held bouquets, that are beautiful, and short-lived. We've potted orchids, which are lovely, and while finicky, are probably the best companions. We've housed amaryllis bulbs who deceivingly emerge with nearly all of the beauty one can imagine. And we've embraced Daisies, our favourite, whose fresh scent and livelihood reminds us of spring and all the possibilities of the growing season. And between plants we've held spare objects that are require keeping, or dried seeds to be used later. Despite the bumps, cracks and chips, I've enjoyed my time, embraced the beauty around me with purpose.

But now I feel like I have been dropped and I've broken into thousands of pieces. I keep trying to glue them back together, trying to recreate me. How I want my pot back, my sense of being whole, my sense of purpose. But I cannot get the pieces to fit in the right places. The shapes don't make sense. The pieces are sharp and can cut. I'm frustrated because this used to be easy and now it is so complicated. I've tried to make a bunch of little pots but that is not working. I've tried to force pieces where they don't belong, and surprisingly they don't fit where I want them to. And my tears are ruining the view, all of the pieces look the same. Nothing is as it was and it will never be the same.

I'm trying to find the courage to be a mosaic. To put the pieces together again, not to be a pot but something else with purpose. Something undefined. Something that may go against the convention of society but has an equal place within it. There is a tiny seed of change that was in the pot when it fell, and that seed is now part of me too. I will try to nurture that seed, embrace that seed, house it, hold it and give it a home. Turns out I am probably not a pot, while I enjoyed and and was good at it, it wasn't all of me. I was hiding most of me, inside. Those pieces are me, and I will not feel whole with all of my pieces until I accept each and every one of them as part of me. My goal is to work on this mosaic, to put the pieces in their own place, where each belongs and feels right. I need to use acceptance as grout to hold us together. For right now I am a pile of broken ceramic, but one day I hope to be a mosaic.

Sam
Last edited by SamsLand on Tue Oct 25, 2011 10:45 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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