Posted in art, attachment, blogging, dissociation, dissociative identity disorder, Girl blogger, health, mental health, mental health awareness, repressed memories, therapy, trauma, traumatic memory, Uncategorized, Wellbeing

She simply said ” This is Trauma.”

_This is Trauma

And like some nightmarish carousel that I can’t get off, I am no longer feeling angry and rageful. I am now feeling sad and tearful and little and vulnerable and like I just want a hug with my therapist.
I want to feel the safety of her office and of her presence and I want the warmth of her arms where I can just let go for a little while.
This week, I’ve found it hard to fully put into words what I am experiencing. I mentioned briefly in my last post (that I just posted like 2 hours ago!) that I was dissociated in my session on Monday.
I felt confused and disorientated and kept saying ” but, why is this happening to me? What’s WRONG with me? What happened to me?”
Sienna said simply ” this is trauma.”
Lately, I’ve been feeling the full breadth of the trauma disorder in action. I’ve felt how far-reaching it is, how insiduous it is.
Perhaps because I am so fragmented, I am able to sort of watch it happening as a bystander, a witness who doesn’t get involved…AND be the victim, the one experiencing it all and getting lost in it – but as the bystander, I am watching the reactions of several victims all within the one body – because I have alters, dissociated parts created to help me cope with whatever fuck-fest was going on when I was a child.
Because I have alters, I am experiencing several victim’s stories and emotions and also the abusive introjects who say the worst things to me, and I have the Editors who are there for my protection to keep me looking and behaving “normal” to the outside world (thank god for them) and I have the angry protectors who are thinking they have fires to fight, and are dialling up the hypervigilence and paranoia. And I have heartbroken, scared children and furious mistrusful teens, some of whom hate themselves so much that they want to self-harm.
It’s like being at a busy party- except this is the
So when I was asking Sienna ” What happened to me?” it was a part asking. She doesn’t know why she feels this bad, why she is dissociating, she can’t remember why but she feels that something terrible happened.”
It was another part who was asking ” Why is this happening to me?” Because that part doesn’t have the memories either just the symptoms of abuse, neglect… whatever. She also doesn’t know of any bad stuff. So is bewildered at to why everything feels so dissociative.”
When I asked ” What’s wrong with me?” That was a teen part who feels like all this craziness is her fault. She can hear the abusive introjects who tell her she’s a liar and an attention whore, but she thinks it’s her voice telling her that. She also doesn’t know of any abuse, just that she was born wrong, that she is disgusting and worthless.
And there was other parts of me who knew the answers to those questions. I know cognitively, this is trauma in realtime. This is trauma being played out in all it’s glory.
I KNOW the theory. I know how and why this happens, I know that is is how trauma presents. This is my dissociative disorder in plain sight. This is normal for a dissociative disorder, all of it.
It just doesn’t feel normal to those inside who aren’t aware of the facts and maybe aren’t even aware they are an alter.
It’s a strange feeling. The strangest of feelings, to be a spectator as the dissociative disorder activates.
It’s like…. I am watching the disorder unfold, and do its thing from afar. I don’t remember witnessing and experiencing it quite like this before.
It’s weirdly a sign of growth and healing that I can see the level of separation now. It’s strange that growth actually feels like I am MORE split and separate then ever before, it feels like a step back, to feel SO fragmented. But the growth and repair in in the being able to feel and notice the level of dissociation. I may feel more split than ever and that the parts feel more autonomous rather than being blended with them (ie we all mix in together) but it’s the awareness of it that’s they key and the indication that I am healing, integrating somewhat.
Everyone in therapy knows you get worse before you get better, right? Well this is kind of the same thing… the splitting feels worse, the parts seem more active, working on their own, less co-operation, and that looks and feels like a regression, a step backwards… but it isn’t. The fact I am aware enough, awake enough if you like to feel that splitting shows I am less dissociative- even if I sometimes feel very dissociative.
GEEZ how complicated is it??? It’s hard to live and harder to explain, so if you don’t have a dissociative disorder or fragmentation, I’m not sure how easy it is to follow what I’m saying?
Have you ever had one of those conversations with friends about space and eternity and what eternity really means? Like how can space go on forever… the concept of “forever” is just something we can’t hold in our brains, we have no context for the immeasurable. How can there be no beginning or end in space, the universe etc… and you just feel your brain sort of blow a fuse at the immensity of the concept, like, no matter how hard you try to imagine eternity, you just can’t find what that means… Well that’s what it feels like trying to explain the inner mechanics of having alters. It’s so mind-bending and confusing and full of opposites, and it’s like having split into several people all having different experiences but in the same body… there’s no rules… argh…

I’m struggling tonight.

Posted in blogging, dissociative identity disorder, Girl blogger, health, journal, lifestyle, mental health, mental health awareness, repressed memories, therapy, trauma, traumatic memory, Uncategorized, Wellbeing

Traumatic Amnesia

Untitled design (13)


Fear and Self-loathing comes fast on the heels of talking about sexual abuse memories or suspicions or flashbacks or whatever the fuck my brain thinks it’s doing.

I am ashamed of all of it.

The only reason I am writing this, documenting this utter shit-show, is that maybe someone will read some day and it will help them with their journey through amnesia but sort of wondering, thinking, feeling like sexual abuse happened but don’t have concrete memories of it.

I’m being upfront here. I am being honest when I tell you that I have no idea where the journey is taking me or how it ends.

Will I ever get my memories back? Partially even?

Will I explore my suspicions to death and never get an answer? – The worst outcome!

Will I explore it all, and come to the conclusion that sexual abuse was made up in my mind for some reason that I am not aware of? Is it the product of an over-active imagination or of things I’ve absorbed from tv and what I’ve read… I am very intuitive – could I have picked up other people’s stories sub-consciously and adopted them as my own experiences?

Are my experiences the result of a brain somehow wishing it had happened, so that I could validate the extremely traumatised parts of me… and excuse as to why I’m so broken at times?

Is it for attention? A need for pity?

Or will I find out that Yes it happened?

I don’t know.

Tonight, I do not know why any of this is happening to me. And tonight, I feel utter rage. At myself.

I hate my stupid brain. I am crawling with shame that I could ever think that abuse happened?

Why am I SO set on uncovering something there is NO concrete evidence for?

Why won’t my stupid brain give me peace? Let me just forget. LET IT GO!!

I want to let it go so badly. I am bored of it, sick of it. My brain feels tired from all the searching within for answers. Desperately trying to remember something, anything that can shed light on why sometimes I feel so much like there’s been sexual abuse in my childhood?

I can’t let it go. Even though I want to. My brain just churns it over and over but I never get an answer.

On Monday night after my session where I’d been so dissociated and feeling the full force of the fragmentation, I had this moment in the car, a flash image of me kicking a steel wall and shouting “ give me my memories back! GIVE THEM TO ME!!!”

Because it feels like I just have this steel wall that Donald Trump would be proud of, that is keeping me out from the missing pieces.

And I am furious.

I want my memories back.

I say I’m ready. I feel ready to know. I feel ready to deal with whatever comes my way. But I’m not. I know I’m not.

Because as ready as I feel… every-time I get a very real-feeling flashback or nightmare or partial (maybe) memory, I freak. I dissociate and I feel like I’m breaking and I need a lot of support from my therapist.

So, as ready as some parts of me are to start dealing with this shit-show, clearly I’m not as ready to cope with the outcome of knowing as I want to be. And maybe that’s why the steel wall remains.

I know I am saying different things in this post. I start by talking about disbelieving it ever happened and now I’ve reverted back to talking about knowing there’s a steel wall keeping me out from whatever the fuck is behind it.

Are you as confused as me?

What I don’t understand is this – I don’t CARE if it happened. If it happened and I didn’t remember.. then whatevs, if it isn’t affecting me then it doesn’t matter.

But this sort-of half remembering bullshit is driving me insane. That’s what’s hurting me.

I get why a brain would make you forget terrible things, but what’s the purpose of it letting you semi, sort-of know?

I am terrified that I am wrong about it all. I am terrified I’m right. I can’t win.

But I am more terrified of what it means about me as a person if I eventually find out that I’ve been wrong about thinking I’ve been sexually abused in childhood. The shame of being wrong, of leading people to support me and feel sorry for me when I have lied the whole time, makes me want to rip my own face off!

The shame is big enough to silence me. The shame is what makes me try to stuff it all away and forget about it. Because….. what if I’m wrong about it all…. What if it NEVER happened?


I had an interesting conversation with someone on Tuesday who’d read my blog and wanted to share her experience and corroborate what I was remembering as it was things that happened to her too.

The details she shared and the things I told her and she was able to say “yes,that’s a thing”. Gave me SO much overwhelming relief.

All I could think was “ THANK GOD! I am not mad, what it happening to me is normal (within the context of trauma and amnesia) and what I am remembering is something that happens in child abuse.”

I felt almost giddy with relief, excitement seems like the wrong word but I feel a rush of energy and the heavy black feeling of no knowing, not understanding left my chest – a weight so oppressive that when it lifted I felt an almost happy weightlessness.

I felt utterly validated.

It’s not that people around me doubt my experience. On the contrary, people seem to believe 100% that I am showing signs of repressed child abuse.

But without concrete memories or evidence, I have real trouble believing myself. How can this be real? How could this happen? Who could have done it? Who had access to me? Who knew about it? Are they still alive?

So, with the person’s validation, I felt like I had permission to believe myself, that I had a sort of proof… I had some information that pertained to circles of abuse.

I text my therapist to tell her what I’d learned. She asked how I felt? That it felt big to her?

I told her it was huge. I told her I felt huge relief, amongst a gamut of emotions.

And then I dissociated. Big time. I became young and vulnerable and paranoid that I couldn’t trust anyone – my therapist included… especially my therapist… that I was in danger. If I told “they” would know and they’d come get me.

“Who is they?” My therapist asked.

“ I don’t know… the people…” I said. It was hard to find the words, hard to find the trust to tell Sienna what I was scared of and who I was scared of because adult me was still watching this unfold and was remaining sceptical and aware that I would sound paranoid and like I was losing touch with reality.

My therapist offered me a session for tonight. But I couldn’t get there.

I really wish I could have because today I’ve gone full circle and am back to doubting myself and feeling shame and hate for myself.

I decided today that none of it happened. I am a liar and an attention seeking weirdo who wishes she’d been abuse to give herself validity for why she’s a fuck up.

Sienna text me and asked how I was today. I told her I didn’t know. Because I didn’t know.

I don’t know how I am feeling. That’s the truth.

Except that I feel exhausted with not knowing the truth of me.

And the shame of not knowing if this thing really happened, makes it hard to live in my own skin.

Sienna reminded me that we have a check in tomorrow morning.

I took the opportunity to tell her “ I don’t want to talk about the abuse stuff anymore. IT didn’t happen. Don’t let the parts talk about it anymore.”

Sienna agreed we could pull back from it.

Part of me felt disappointed that she’d let me. And part of me sees it as proof she doesn’t really believe me either.

The part of me that is fronting right now is a protective but slightly abusive part. Who is utterly furious with all the parts and how much we’ve openly talked about the abuse stuff. As far as she’s concerned, there’s not concrete memories, no proof, therefore it didn’t happen.

She also knows the young parts won’t stop talking about it and showing Sienna how affected they are by it and the only way to silence them is to get Sienna to do the silencing. Get her to not believe them. The shame of that will silence them for good.