Psyched To Be Here
I had therapy Wednesday. The only reason I know that is because it’s written on my calendar, and I look at my calendar weekly because I need to know when I have to go out in public, e.g. a dentist’s appointment, therapy, a birthday party. (I actually have to prepare myself mentally to be around other people, sometimes for days) I’m trying to strain my brain and remember what happened in that therapy session. I honestly can’t recall anything at the moment. Let me concentrate harder… I still can’t remember. Damn. I have no memory of showering and/or getting dressed, no memory of driving to her office, no memory of sitting in the waiting room. Perhaps I should check my phone and go back through all my texts, and then read all my Tweets from the past 2 days, and check my journal for any entries made in the past 48 hours. This is so frustrating. I wanted to write about my session, but I can’t remember it. Not any of it. Hmm.
OK, something’s coming back to me now- I showed her my journal. Yes, I remember that. I read her parts of my journal, the parts written by other me’s. (Hey, I’m starting to recall stuff now!) I talked to her about how I switched over the weekend, and remained a different K for about 2 days. I have evidence-notes and lots of lists and partial blog posts and various writings, all written by person(s) other than “me”. Also, there is mention by the one known as Switch Kellie of another K coming to our assistance, the one known as The Cleaner. So there’s that. I talked about being 2 different me’s for a few days. I mean, I switch for short periods of time rather frequently- I’ll suddenly change into someone else and get a wild look in my eye and say something out of character or do something odd or my voice and/or language will change, but it could be for an afternoon or even just a moment-but as far as a complete transformation goes, well that happens less often. It does happen however. It all depends upon my stress level and my mood and my environment, among a hundred other things. When this incident occurred, all the factors were conducive to switching, and so the other K’s took over, and my style of dress changed to something more pulled-together (for Switch Kellie) or something very casual (for The Cleaner) and my likes and dislikes (Switch Kellie drinks tea instead of coffee) and habits, both good and bad-all these things changed. Some differences were more subtle and probably only I would notice them. But I was a different K, no bones about it.
So this past week was eventful, to say the least, and I at times had to take extra anti-anxiety medication. And I was really looking forward to seeing my doctor. To be honest, I was hoping that I’d show up for therapy and be one of the K’s who appeared over the weekend. Even though my psychiatrist has witnessed me as a different K (she has met Switch Kellie before), I still feel the need to prove myself to her. I want her to actually see me switch, so that she knows once and for all that I’m being serious. There are many doctors who don’t believe in multiple personalities or MPD/DID. Now granted, Dr. H has never done or said anything to make me believe that she doubts me. In fact, she’s sometimes asked me about the other K’s, which implies that she accepts their existence. And one time I flat out asked her if she thought I was full of shit, and she looked me in the eye and smiled and said, “I don’t think you’re full of shit.” So this whole paranoia thing is really unnecessary…I think the reason I feel the need to prove myself, to give evidence of my dissociation, is because I’ve been accused of faking it before. What’s even worse is that it was a family member who proclaimed I was a liar. That still hurts when I think about it. Maybe I should discuss that incident in therapy one day.
OK, I’ve been going back through my Tweets and text messages and emails and diary entries and lists and anything else I can find with clues. I have a better idea of when I switched (approximately April 14) and for how long, and what I did during those times, and where I went. Also, who I encountered, who saw me “out”. And then there’s the Tweet from April 17 which says “Back in my head and body now”, so I guess that’s when I officially felt like the world had stopped spinning so fast. Thinking about these things now, it all feels like a dream, or like a story I was told or a movie I watched. It seems like it happened to someone else, not to me. I can remember seeing things happening, but it just comes across as so surreal now. And of course, there are huge chunks of missing time and lost memories.
I went to a bar that weekend. Boy that was tough; I can remember how I felt so out of place while I was there. And everyone seemed to be staring at me, like I had a neon sign hanging over my head that flashed “MENTALLY ILL”. The bartender that night was a friend, but she doesn’t know me as the K that came into the bar; I wonder if she noticed the difference. First of all, I ordered Diet Coke without vodka. Unusual. Secondly, she probably thought it was strange, since for the first time ever, I chose NOT to sit at the bar, but rather to go off someplace where there were no people (I was hiding). Also, I didn’t speak to my friend very much at all…I hope she doesn’t think I was rude. Was I rude? I’m not sure. My husband wanted to go check out the band, so he left me alone, just for a few minutes, but it felt like hours. I could feel the eyes of everyone on me, and I was nervous and had to pop a Xanax. It was really hard being in that environment, surrounded by strangers, when I myself felt like an outsider in my own world. That’s it exactly! I felt like an outsider in my very own body. My thoughts were not my own; they were foreign to me. But here I am, and I am fine, I survived AGAIN and no one other than my husband and my shrink knows about me switching…. except maybe anyone who might have stumbled upon certain Tweets during those in-between-me times. Perhaps no one even noticed. After all, I’ve been faking normality for more than 30 years now, so I’ve gotten quite good at it.
I’ll tell you one more thing about my psychiatrist’s appointment. She made absolutely certain, before I left, that the receptionist made me an appointment for next week, and for the week after that as well. I thought that was really top-notch of her. My last doctor would never have been so thoughtful as to do that. This doctor stood there at the desk with me while the receptionist tried to find an opening. Dr. H insisted that it be in one week’s time. I am really beginning to like her, maybe even trust her a little bit. (!) I am holding onto her 24-hour emergency number as though it’s my most-prized possession; I put it in my wallet along with my appointment reminder cards and her business card. I don’t have pictures of my kids or my dogs in the clear plastic windows in the center of my wallet; I have my psychiatric information. How fitting. If anyone ever finds my wallet, they’re going to see that I’m just a nutcase with no money but a lot of lists.