5 Alive

When in hard situations I have learned that I often cannot fix,  answer, or be in I try to remember the DDI. I call the 3s.  People places and things where the "Gods Prayer" a " Hail Mary" may apply.  Often it's a horrid feeling of being stuck where you'd rather not.  Sometimes it is dealing with a person or people that cannot be appeased.  Maybe you have been in something similar.  The 3s Deflect, Defer, Ignore Deflect- Change the subject.                 Move away from the discussion.                Do not take the ' bait' on topics or                with people you know are looking                 for conflict to set you off. Defer -  I hear what your saying.                 I am sorry you are feeling that.                 I will think about that.                Do not engage the person. Use                repeated 'blank' responses. Ignore - This is not mine. Reminder.                Remove yourself.                 Do not answer people w

My step father really raised me. He was the soft and the safe. A man that saved me in so many ways.  From 3 yrs old this man gave me the support and love that helped me survive the parts of my life he could do nothing about.  Many times he comforted and provided the safe from what he did not know.  He has fast progressing Alzheimers. I am not coping well at all. My cancer limbo seems so secondary.  I need him. We need him. Not easy add the DID...we are all grieving.  Many days I have felt I cannot go on.  Seemingly endless tears.  He said... " We are one of the greatest stories of live ever." Truth 💔

My heart was beyond heavy.  Tears flowed, seemingly without end.  The issues many.  Physical and emotional pain had me.  I felt this little fur paw on my arm.  Not pulling for attention.  He lay tight to my side.  All 6.2lbs of him.  My little dog.  I rubbed his fur hand.  He rest his head.  Like he knew. Myself not well. Papa not himself at all with Alzheimers. Low on doggy treats.  That he knew for sure. He Stayed.  And stayed.  Licking the salty tears away as they dropped.  My comfort.

We have faced many difficulties throughout life. Chaĺlenges, experiences, abuse, love, loss.... Our supports have been full at times.  Other times few.  Sometimes none.  We have been leaning hard on a friend we met through twitter.  He has become The Support. Besides my elderly folks I really have no one else close.  John is not close either. It's a five hour transit trip. 21/2 by car.  He has been to help comfort.  Help me when I am ill.  Take me to appointments, do my chores and far far more.  He knows all 5 well.  He will even read to Wee. Here or on the phone.  It is touching the care he has in him.  Wee calls him Jonjon. He is Her friend. Lol. John. So many words to thank you. You are loved here. Just as you are you, are the finest of friends. ♡

Motivated by so many issue that hit home and resonate. So many causes to champion for.  Where does my own movement begin and end? This is a difficult question with the agendas of 5 (Dissociative System). The 'bigs' have opinions and views that don't always meet. The 'Wee' does too.  I am me. Host. This is my life. I want to reflect my beliefs. Yet We are a compliation and my home, my clothing, even food speaks of the differences.  Again, where does my own movement or mission begin and end?  I have the obvious. PTSD With DID. I speak of my physical health issues thus challenging the beliefs about Anal Cancer, rare cancers, disabilty life and hpv virus.  My biggest hope is to show others that we are not so much different when it comes to coping and all need each other to helo us find our way, to hold on, a caring smile.  These days I am not well both ways. I am in a bad cycle. I know time and reaching out to others who are like me helps.  Answers will come.  My moveme

Since my teens I have been in psych therapy of one sort or another. On and off through my 20's. Into my 30's.  My diagnosis changed over time. Things become more obvious or clear. I was diagnosed with PTSD at 26. Dissociative Identity Disorder was picked up by 36.  I am staring at 50 and am on therapist/psychiatrist I don't know what number.  I have had this psychiatrist since 2007. She is a military civilian psych. I got her by miracle really as military personnel and their spouses are her focus.  I'd made a friend who was a veteren who took my file to her...she took me. Blessed.  I had a comradarie with my veteran friend and some of their fellow ptsd mates. There was an awareness and acceptance I had not felt before. On many levels we could relate in the symptoms if trauma.  This doctor understood. Over time she learned more about the DID through colleagues and seminars. Seeing me she saw the disorder frequently in motion. My 'alters' had therapy too.  We star

It has been hard to write. There are many complicated issues happening all together.  Overwhelmed is not strong enough a word. Nor is turmoil.  These things do not come with handbooks.  Over my lifetime I have experienced , seen or heard some of the most unusual for a normal lifetime.  Some not by choice and some by choice. There have been times 'this body' (could be any one of us) has lived outside the lifebox. We want to experience it. Most of those were fun and hold good memories.  Memories of good times seem to end.  I have been under a year in an apartment in town. That has been a big adjustment. Lots is just not familiar or comfortable yet. I have been home and isolated, fear about losing my step father (my rock) runs rampant. He has fast progressing alzheimers and the doctors fear cancer as well.  Fear about what is happening with my own body due to a battle with Anal Cancer is high. I have been at this 'game' with doctors for too long. With Covid appointments we

She openly wept He watched The end inevitable At heads No passage He could not be She could not be The expected Neither gave way The two hid Love tossed Aside to sit Both to linger In their own Oneness She wept He watched She withered In loneliness His hand Remained tucked In lost past Breaking hearts His self stance Grazed heart By love's bullet Unseen pain He hid Tears unshown She did not see Turning away She did not feel The cold Take hold Of him

@crazyasscancer  That was her handle on Twitter.  She was a stage 4 Anal Cancer warrior .  2016 Being myself stage 0-1 I had started to look for others with same cancer.  There was little information about it and it was then quite embarrasing for me to talk about.  I found @abumrap first on twitter and from there found two others.  One passed that first year.  Michelle was still fighting and out sharing, educating and writing a book.  We talked on several occassions. She was kind and inspiring.  She had a family she was proud of. She foughy for long term palliative care for cancer patients.  She living her life the best she could She passed on June 10th.  I had known she was in for a lung biopsy months ago but there had been no talk of it since.  I am still in shock she has gone. Her battle complete.  I mourn for her, her family and life friends.  For me I mourn her as well as turn to my own anal cancer. I am in the middle of testing.  I have been 8 years doing the rounds of resectioni

There are many things going in in my life.  With PTSD and DID it gets very confusing as We try to manuever big issues we face; Deaths of safe loved ones Alzheimers loss parental Financial strain  Resurge of Anal cancer issues Severe bursitus in leg still waiting treatment New Surgeon to get used to (abuse issues) Covid backups in healthcare so long waits for visits and tests And so on... I find myself thinking back.  My mind seemingly a vault of pictures, short movies, clippings of lives past.  Some complete with sound and smell if dwelled into more of a fear flashback.  The bits and pieces memories can come faster and faster.  Many stories.  Adrenalyn heightens perhaps.  Layers and jumbling.  No rhyme or reason to my conversation.  Bouncing in history.  I have been told I become discombobulated.  In the calm these moments in reminiscing can be part of healing.  Memories as puzzle pieces.  Alter times that now brought life parts together.  It becomes part of my work.  My therapy.  I ha

Have you ever just felt lost?  My world, my body, my supports...everything it feels like its upside down.  I feel vulnerable and scared and sad and mad.and confused.  I feel like I am trapped in this as so much is out of my hands. Think positive..they say... I feel broken and lost.  I cannot find this positive you speak of.  Between tears I look for it. 

Doing the best I can with what I have. Ever changing yet not, I am trying to live in my world. Everything changes. Too much at once is very hard navigating. As 5 we find ourselves very scattered. A dissociative system in disharmony is incredibly draining for one body.  Current and lingering events Death of an Aunt, an Uncle and anothe Aunt of Covid19. Stepfather diagnosed Alzheimers and his licence taken. Sale of our safest spot. A cottage in Muskoka we have gone to since 5 yrs old. A resurgence of cancer issues. Pain and waiting.  Bustitus in right leg that isn't being treated due to Covid. Still trying to ground in new apartment.  Financial issues.  Family... Stuff stuff stuff... Spun is how we are right now. We emotionally contain then burst.  Not fun. Not pretty. Fear, frustration and deep sadness.  Outside this, in the time of a pandemic, we try to look for life. The little rays of light from people, watching wildlife in spring. Taking in fresh air. Learning to relax in today.

Early in my marriage I had a miscarriage but had no idea other than it left scarring. It was picked up somewhere down the line.  When I was 35 I got pretty sick. My menstrual cycle had no cycle. I was having issues daily.  I got pregnant in the November.  I had no idea.  After 3 yrs together he moved on before Christmas I was sick but mending when the morning sickness started. I was back to work. Mornings slugging boxes and doing maintenance work.  One shift the abdominal pain was too much and I went to the ER. That day I found out I was likely just shy of three months. The baby appeared to not be forming corectly.  I left there stunned. Make a decision.  My doctor was pro life. Cripes, I was raised Catholic. They wouldn't give me the abort clinic number.  I found it.  I told the guy. He was well moving on.  I was really not well myself never mind raise an unwell baby or carry til it aborts itself.  I got a friend, who knew how to keep her mouth shut, to take me.  You need no detai

It can be all shits and giggles at times.  The funny comes out.  Many times it has been the mask of opposites.  To show what I did not feel.  Perhaps in hope that it will penetrate myself.  Pain can run deep beneathe a smile.  It is a way of coping/not coping.  Too long a way to survive some of the brutalities of my own life.  Engrained to be happy or at least show it.  Inner bruises don't show.  There are times the eyes expose the realities.  Most never see.  The clown comes forward to push back my tears.  The stories can flow.  Laughter ensues.  Live outside my box.  This life.  Dancing in my onsie on the balcony. Drop and make a snow angel at random. Organize an adult scavenger hunt. Switch ornaments between neighbours. Jokes and funny faces. For you. For me. Humour over sadness and pain.  In time the issue will catch me. Til then the mask hides my truths.

I seem to be in a really crappy cycle.  I am having lots of nightmares. Flashbacks in the day. My life feels a mess and so out of control. This gives me the mads.  I start the blame game.  All those who have wronged me and how.  I yell at them in my head. How could you??? I feel like I have been left holding many heavy shit bags.  I am overloaded but can't get them off me.  Tied to a past I didn't ask for.  Remembers times when smiles outweighed tears.  Gone. Long ago. You And you And that And them Useless blame.  I have anger and resentment that I let go of...get into a better place in my mind...forgive sort of...then it comes back. I take it back.  I am feeling vulnerable.  I feel very alone in adulting and worry about aging alone.  I feel poor.  In pocket and today a pity poor me.  Today my pot is either overflowing or empty.  I am not sure. 

Well my appointment was supposed to be on the 5th of March.  There was a time mix up and I was on the phone with my Doctor there.  He is the head of radioogy so I was surprosed to get him.  After talking about what is physically going on in my Anal region we decide to try a nerve and anti inflamatory med to see if what was there calmed or stayed.  We decided to meet in 3 weeks......that didn't happen as he had forgot to put my script in before he went on holidays so I had not had enough time tring it.  Now.....Civid 19.  My appointment has been pushed to at least July. I have a tentative date.  Like all medical services here we are diwn to essential only.  I had my 6 plus month break...now it is looking more like a year.  Should I be worried? I know what feels wrong.... Holding on. 

I grabbed a cigarette. Thinking this was one cool old guy.  We started therapy at that little brown shack.  'Emergency' it said on the door.  'Crisis'.  Yep. I fit it.  I was ready to drive into a brick wall. Something, inside...a block to this end.  I think he suspected then. Disassociative. No word. He would ask "Are you in there?" as I often fogged out.  Sometimes..." That is odd..." "That doesn't sound like you..."  Odd times I would find him staring at me looking shocked. It was long ago now.  I needed help and this man did what he could.  He was good with me.  No one knew about DID then.  We didn't know we were multiple.  I really didn't feel it unless I panicked and felt like I had a blackout.  I was young.  University was a huge step that had set me off.  Working 3 jobs and saving to go had been the  pressure.  I would also have been the first in my family to go. I felt that.  We worked therapy for about 8 weeks when he

I can see her Not close enough Eyes pleading Noise drowns  Her screams I can see hands  Tugging her As I reach Close, so close I can feel Her deep terror Desperation I cannot get her I beg to the sky I beg to those hands Release her Release her Release me Let me go  Please Its a dream. I have these type frequent.  A child No faces I am outside But it is me At other times I am older Again, outside myself.  Perhaps 12 at most.  It is so real.  Sound. Smell. Details. No faces. Mine.  No perpetrator.  Hands. A necklace. Not enough.  A nightmare. A flashback.  They come frequent.  I know feeling stressed and vulnerable makes it happen often times.  Sometimes it is a way in starting to heal from some of these traumatic events. I know, therefore, I can work on.  A painful path.  I am tired.  My body is sore.  I feel quite drained.  Day rest seems easier. I have fewer of these terrors.  Nap. Nap.  At least rest. 

Silenced by the perpetrators of my abuse, over years, different people at different times made it clear the importance of secrets.  To speak the truths as a child would be ignored and painfully quieted.  Threats made to loved ones also firmed my mouth in resolve of self censorship.  In doing so, under circumstances a mind cannot process my psyche splintered. I fragmented in mind several times over.  In aging some of these self secrets have come forward. Memories clear and detailed. Flashbacks. Secrets from my past have been told by some who have forgotten they were secrets... These have been like a flood of pieces of my life puzzlecoming together. Things from 40 us years ago begin to make sense.  What to do with some of this is still eluding.  Sigh. 

Been a string of grey and tough days.  Lots of just life and maneuvering all unfamiliar territory.  Part, the move, and the continued work shifting things in the building. New elevators and windows is hectic and noisy.  Part is a feeling of deja vu from long ago married days.  So 'we' have some confusion and that has led to panic and panic hooking flashbacks. We have medication to try to cope. I have gotten pretty housebound. Not doing peopling.  The hardest is my calling and visiting folks. Particularly my step father...he is in mind decline very fast and I really am not coping.  As a system we are all over.  We just haven't been coping with life.  I have been hit and miss with any communication.  My anxiety is out of control.  Stress is really high.  Too many things.  Mostly around my parents.  My step father has been my rock. There is also now age released secrets that thry both share...I feel confused about the history.  My paternity in question... I have decided to sec

Sleepy Hollow A safe, quiet spot. Nestled in my own blankets with pillows in comfort. The heaviness of fatigue drawn on my face. Lines of the day blurred. Time in and out. I need to lay. Find sleep. If only the others within me would cooperate. Yes..we are 5 in total. At 49 active, little co consciousness due to a self protection, 4 aware and busy alters. Each with purpose and agenda. Often I, the 'host', will lay to sleep and another will get up.  Oh so tired. The doctor sent a note to put up for All in me to see the periods the body requires sleep.  It appears some may see this as a recomendation rather than  Perscription.  Soon a pass out for a long period will happen. It always has been. A body will look after itself as well as it is able. Shut down much required. Lay and wait.

A quiet night Darkness blurred Flurries fly Scattered white Speckled sky To ground It falls Watching still Calming found Breaking down Heart walls To lift Come light It's whirling Storm ~A.R.* When the pain of life Is howling in my head I run at will Such heavy dread Tears stream hard  Like the pounding rain Blinding me still No place to hide It is all lost Churned past inside ~A.R.* I will not cave  I will not crubble To be your slave I see you there Your lies Inficting despair Taking my mind A fight unfair They call you  Depression I call you out Out of my way I fight today ~A.R.* Wearing weighted feathers Beaten iron Layered stength Protective layer I cannot fly Earthbound Warrior of truths ~A.R.* Ice crusted lashes Snow swirled blindly Bundled tight Harshness endured Air freshly clear A mind to settle Blow through me Great winds white Clean my wounds Before my tears Freeze to my heart ~A.R.*

It became so clear.  A truth I had tried so valiantly to avoid.  It was staring at me.  Crazy Eyes was there.  It was apparent his mind was lost.  In swirls he was stuck in repetition.  Tone of frustration turning to anger.  Something I had seen so long ago had resurfaced but differently.  It was dementia.  Severely out.  It had him.  My heart clenched.  Tears streamed and stained my cheeks.  I felt raw and exposed.  Human facing the downturn of life.  It's harsh ending.  Unsure.  No path.  Taking him in bits.  Now quickly.  He felt foreign to her.  This man.  Her father. 

1988 I was at my best and my worst.  I had my first nervous breakdown right out of highschool. I'd been pushing hard and fast for so long. Working several summer jobs with University scheduled for the fall.  It hit. It came like a train.  It was the buildup of a confused life and distraught mind. I had reached a breaking point.  Mental illness was not talked about. It was obvious I was 'hormonal' or some kind of mania perhaps.... The MD sent me to 'The Little Brown Shack'.  It was psychiatric emergency help put behind the old hospital.  Tucked in a patch of trees I began my first therapy sessions.  .  I am 18.  My hair is short for wash and go. Little make up. I am 116 pds and a little more than 5"7'.  The tears flow even as my face remains staunch.  My eyes are drawn and I feel weighted. I just want to run. To where? "Come in" he says.  A therapist. He looks 90 to me.  Tall and lanky.  Blue eyes.  Wrinkled forehead.  Bright smile.  Longest arms I

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