My Newest Obsession
I’ve mentioned before that K has an obsessive personality and tends to go overboard when she gets an idea in her head. Well, the idea currently inhabiting her brain space is the possibility-nay, likelihood of her being diagnosed with a dissociative disorder. Based on the clues which I seem to be leaving myself-notebooks, lists, folders on my laptop filled with helpful websites, and the all-important diaries-I was first labeled MPD/DID back in 2004. I’m looking at the calendar and seeing that it is now 2012, which can only mean one thing: I’ve been in denial for about 8 years, or so it would seem. My theory is that the paranoia took over and I refused to accept the diagnosis, for I certainly didn’t want to be THAT crazy… I’ve been under a doctor’s care-regularly, without a break-since 2002. So that must mean that it took my therapist and psychiatrist roughly 2 years to figure out what was going on with me. Apparently I’ve been misdiagnosed over and over again, for all these years, ever since I saw my first psychiatrist at age 16. Every doctor I see takes notes and makes a diagnosis based upon the “me” that is sitting in the doctor’s office. I can’t say for sure how many of the K’s went to therapy, with that wonderful therapist whom we loved so much, (who later dumped me after 7 years together) but I have recalled a memory or two in regards to that period of time and my current state of mind. I thought I’d share these memories with you (plus, it’ll help me remember again in the future)
I remember one time going in to see the therapist (this was about 5 years ago) and she asked me to do a homework assignment; I was to draw a picture of the way I viewed myself. I think the assignment was supposed to help me with my Body Dysmorphic Disorder and self-esteem issues. Well, she was blown away the next week when I showed up with a whole handful of pictures of different K’s, each with her own fashion sense and musical tastes and hobbies. I didn’t get what the big deal was; I just did the exercise as it was assigned to me. Now I’d give anything to get hold of those drawings again. I can see some of them in my mind, but it’s all fuzzy, like it was a dream. I think perhaps I’ll do this exercise again and see what happens next time. I wonder how many drawings there will be…?
Another interesting memory is really several similar memories, all taking place at different points in time. I remember my therapist asking me what my name was. I remember that well…. in fact she asked me for my name on half a dozen or so occasions that I can recall. I never knew what to say. I never knew the answer to the question. Although the question stirred something within me, I couldn’t put my finger on the point of it all. So I forgot about it, until recently. Now it’s true that I’ve probably developed an unhealthy obsession with Google and Twitter and the web in general. In fact, I’m so focused on doing “research” on the subject of DID that it pisses me off I have to stop for eating and sleeping. There’s no time for such trivial matters! I’m working on a deadline here! I don’t know how much longer I can stick around and take care of things. All I can remember clearly about my being here, in this “lifetime” is that I once had my own office and kept lots of photos, to remind me of my life-literally-and when everything fell apart, (as it always inevitably does) I ran away to a different state and became a different ME. And that’s how I usually handled working a job-stay and do well until the pressure builds and we snap and disappear, go away. But I’ve totally gotten off the track of our subject! Damn! I HATE when that happens, when I “lose my place” and have to reread everything I’ve written and try and figure out where I left off. Sigh.
I can’t remember what the point of all this was, I just wanted to share with you my theory about K. I think she’s got DID, and I think she’s been in denial for years because it’s too frightening a diagnosis for her to bear. Also, I’ve been researching and have found that DID is the same as MPD, so those 2 diagnoses, made by different doctors at different times in my life, were actually the same thing and thus gives us more reason to believe that K does in fact has this disorder. I just wish I had read all those diaries and journals I’ve been keeping all my life. So much time has been wasted at this point already…