Since I was small, I’ve felt as though I have a twin. I think I mentioned it, last visit. It’s just that there has always been something missing, and I am at a loss to imagine what it could be.
When I was almost 18, I believe, my real mother and I reconciled. She was telling me that she and my father were very excited that she’d become pregnant so soon after losing twins. I thought that I must be right…perhaps one twin was still there, somehow. Or, perhaps, I was one of the twins and just never left. I asked Mom about it the last time I saw her and she said that both twins were accounted for after the miscarriage and that she’d had a D&C, I believe, so that there is no possibility of any sort of genetic entanglement, were there such a thing.
So, here I sit, wondering how I could be stupid enough to think that some part of me exists in a twin I’ve never met. For years, I suspected that I was actually a twin and had absorbed the other one. THAT does happen. I wish I could meet a twin absorber and pick their brain for a bit… CRAIGSLIST!!!!! 😉
When we were young, my youngest half brother told me that he felt as though he were missing a piece inside. He was probably about 8. He even showed me where the empty spot was. His empty spot was near his heart. He’s now a raving lunatic. You say that won’t happen to me. My friend says the same. I suppose I’d just feel comfy with some real assurances. I don’t think I’m cut out to live like he does. I’d rather die. I don’t know how he’s still around with as many attempts as he’s made not to be. I remember the last time he slit his wrists. It was disgusting. There was this new cop throwing up in Mom’s front yard from the sight of all the blood. All I cared about was cleaning up the scene of the attempt before my mother saw it. Mothers shouldn’t have to see those things.
This lithium is really helping a lot, Doc. It makes me feel more…bright. I can focus and stay on a task for more than five minutes. I still can’t remember, off the top of my head, what all I did yesterday. Yesterday, I couldn’t recall what I did the day before that. But I can during normal conversation. Mostly. lol! It’s amazing, this gift of clarity. I pray that this is ‘my’ med and you don’t want to keep adding or changing things. I’m still having extreme anxiety and panic. But, everything else is better.
Oh…I’ve even been driving the speed limit. That’s just not me at all. But, I don’t have that urge to thrill seek. I haven’t gone over a hundred in a week now. I wanted to a little bit, but it wasn’t an irresistible urge. I like that. Irresistible urges tend to get ya into trouble. Also, there’s this cop that I am pretty certain has it out for me. Not…stalkery ‘has it out’, but he would not mind busting me for speeding. I know, it’s breaking the law, but there are hardly any people on these old roads and I don’t see the point in making the few that are here abide by arbitrary laws. Just sayin…
Well, I’m gonna wrap this up. I hope you’re having a pleasant Sunday, Doc. 🙂
So often, we set ourselves up for pain. Life is busy. It’s hard to take time to really pay attention to the things going on around us, sometimes. However, if you don’t, then YOU are responsible for those tears you’re crying over someone who hurt you. Take a minute to evaluate those in your life and how they make you feel about yourself, and why they make you feel that way, particularly in love relationships. Do not allow yourself to be so afraid of the answers that you don’t ask yourself the questions. If you’re feeling anxious about really asking yourself about a certain person or situation, to begin with, you probably already know the answer. We’ve all been there. It’s up to us to never go back there.
My real mother and I reconciled many years ago. She’s a wise woman. She has two sayings that are very much relevant to a happy life, especially if you’re dealing with mental or emotional pain:
In late June, I felt that I needed help with a panic issue that had plagued me for years. I sought out the help of a psychiatrist about an hour away from here. Upon our first meeting, I recognized that he was a very soulful person. I liked that. So, I asked this very soulful man to give me a pill for panic. I even said, “Please.”
As it happened, I was in full panic mode when I arrived at Doc’s office. That wasn’t unusual, since I almost never leave home and can no longer even grocery shop for myself due to the intense panic I experience. He put headphones on me and turned on an EMDR machine. I calmed down in about four minutes. It was incredible. However, the good doctor quickly assessed that panic was not my only issue. In fact, it isn’t even the most important one. We talked for most of the hour before he made any decisions about my mental state.
I was diagnosed as Bipolar 2, PTSD, Self Disorder, and Dissociative Disorder. I know…that’s a mouthful. However, I’d like to add that a dear friend explained that we are, at times, given a diagnosis for the purpose of being able to receive treatment for things that don’t necessarily meet all the criteria for one thing, or the other.
To give you a little background on me…
I was born in 1966. My parents were married. My mother discovered, immediately after my birth, that my father was/is gay. She had a bit of a breakdown and I ended up being adopted by my grandparents. Dad, (my grandfather), was a violent alcoholic. Mom, (my grandmother), was something akin to one of those blow up sex dolls come to life. She was into the occult, very much walking the Left Hand Path, as it were. Though I went to Sunday school and church every week, at her side, no less, my life also revolved around the Left Hand Path. Mom was extremely abusive towards me and I hated her from first I can recall. Ironically, Dad never raised a hand to me until I was a smart ass teenager. He was my savior, my hero, and possibly the biggest influence on my life. He showed me the beauty of controlled violence, and I’ve been fascinated by it my entire life.
I married at 19, after completing a six week stay in an eating disorder unit, that turned into a rehab situation, as I was, at that time, a drunken pill head. The young man I married, B., was 21 when we walked down the aisle. We had two boys during our 30 year marriage. He died 15 months ago from an aortic dissection. During the last half of our marriage, he was abusive and cruel and insufferable. He became addicted to pain killers. I spent most of the last year he was alive just making sure that he was breathing. In spite of the bad things, he is the love of my life.
I started this blog at the behest of a friend. I have been keeping a private journal since a few days after my first visit with Doc and I filed it in a folder called The Dear Doc Diaries. I felt it appropriate to assign that name to this blog. I find that, so often, it helps to look at a situation from another point of view, and when I write to Dear Doc, I frequently find that I arrive at an understanding that I wouldn’t have, had I not tried to see a situation with a more clinical eye. After all, we’re not talking about mental wellness, now, are we?
I would also like to add that I don’t feel that I’m special in any way. I do not believe anything about me, or the mental situation I’m in, is unique. My worst day is someone else’s best. I know, because I used to be that person. And, because I can see and feel. There is never a pain shortage in this world. Sadly, that has always been, and always will be, true. But, if by sharing my story helps anyone not feel as though they’re so alone, and that their way in life is so singular that nobody understands, or that no one can help them, then I feel as though dealing with my own pain on a public playing field is worth it.
Thank you for taking the time to read this lil intro. I’m interested in your stories, too, and your feedback. I never thought I’d be doing a public journal like this. In fact, I’ve always said that writing keeps me sane! lol! Guess not!!!!
Have a lovely day, dearest reader…