All Alone...

It's been hell. I've been through hell. And I'm sick and fucking tired of going through it all alone, all by myself- I haven't had a decent therapist since I was dx 2 weeks sober in a psych hospital with Dissociative Identity Disorder(DID), new name for Multiple Personality Disorder (MPD). Then, get out, go back to my psycho, HIV serial killer fiancé, David Dean Smith (JFGI, Just Fucking Google It) to find out- he thought I was dead, cuz I was for a minute. Ok. Maybe five to ten, my last memory was on a steel gurney at St Mary's, with Dave desperately asking the staff,

"Isn't there something you can do?!"

"It's out of our hands now" as they pulled the curtain shut.

Last thing I saw was a destroyed man. A man, I loved fiercely, would have died for and pledged my life to, destroyed. And I had been the one to destroy him. The only man I'd found- ever- who truly loved me, liked me, we laughed, took me on dates, and trusted me. We did everything together. We were inseparable. But, when he thought I had died, because that was the last of me he saw, when I called him 4 days later from the psych hospital to let him know I was alive, and I was at somewhere called, "Forest View Hospital", he had already gone back to his meth whore, and doing meth. I had been detoxing from drugs and alcohol for four days. They kept feeding me Librium and B vitamins. They came in the third day and said,

"You need to get up. You've been asleep for three days. You need to go down and eat."

I didn't even know who I was, where I was, what happened, or how MUCH my life was never, EVER going to be the fucking same.

I've been through hell. My first year of sobriety, after coming home from the hospital in August of 2008, Dave basically told me he had gone back to his Meth whore. We are supposed to have a commitment ceremony, here's a retrospective/hindsight sign of imminent doom: DOWN BY THE RIVER!!!!, and then honeymoon at Mackinaw Island, because I had never been.

That first week out, that weekend he told me he was going away for the weekend. I said, I was going to Detroit. Nope, I'm leaving Friday and I'm leaving Opeth (his whippet mix) while I go. God damn asshole. Left me with a sink full of dishes to hand wash- I FUCKING hate hand washing dishes. Pretty much any fucking housework. Maybe it was because I was a janitor, then a maid for rich, white people, then a maid for seniors- which was a delightful job. But, after living with three men, being their maid, then going to work to scrub other people's toilets, and then clean up after three men on the weekend? I'm fucking OVER house cleaning. AND? The cherry on this shit sundae he fucking gangstered me with?

He was taking his meth whore up to Mackinaw Island. Did I mention Dave was going to be featured on HBO's Real Sex, because he was such a sought after Dom? Yeah.

Then? Three months and three days later, I test positive for HIV. Don't you even DOUBT my first stop was his house.

He died in 2015. After turning himself in to the GR police and confessing ALL. And, to make him even more of a mother fucker/fucking love of my life, out of the thousands of victims he created?

He only gave the cops My name and My number.

He served his time. The HIV disclosure law in Michigan was altered. We still have to disclose our HIV status- but if your viral load is Undetectable, meaning you have less than ten copies of HIV in your system, you CANNOT transmit HIV to another undividual. U=U. JFGI. So, now?

If the other party screams, "I have HIV!!!!" and they claim WE gave it to them, after we legally have to disclose, or go to prison? Now, the burden is on THEM to prove INTENT. Not us. MM mm. If you watch any TV, you HAVE to have seen the ads for PrEP? Basically, blue pill (Truvada, I think) that is if you are HIV negative in a sexual relationship with a person living with HIV, you cannot get HIV- AT ALL. SUCK. On. That.

Did you know, there's an HIV travel ban? There are some countries I am NOT allowed to go into because I live with HIV. Yeah. America lifted their Travel ban in 2010, I think, or 2012? We had a HUGE International HIV/AIDS conference. Talk about a HUGE party. That I TOTALLY missed, because I'm on disability and it was like, ZOOM! Quick. And I had no money, dead family members, separated parents due to dead grandparents and estates, and my mother flipping three houses in 4 years, burying both her parents, buying off her asshole brother, selling our family home-where I was fucking CONCIEVED (on the stairs, no less. Rowr, rowr) and her having to move across the state to be here. So, yeah. Short notice, no money, family obligations= not fucking likely. But? THANKS, OBAMA FOR LIFTING THE TRAVEL BAN!!!! Goddamn! Do I miss you!!!!!!! And your complete sentences...dignity...professionalism...prioritizing crises...doing your job...caring about America...volunteering...subtly flipping off the press corps- cuz you actually HAD daily press briefings? But, I digress...

Anyways, through out all this shit, I was going to therapy two times a week to a "DID" therapist. Who, is a whole other blog. I have to go to National NASW (National Association of Social Workers- their licensing/union/ethics entity) and file about 8 ethical violations on 8 different LMSW's for assorted bullshit. But, not today Satan. So, she dumps me in 2017? So, basically, up until last week, I have not had continuous, solid trauma recovery therapy with one, the same, provider since 2017.

Yes. I have gone from 432 alters, parts, poly fragments, fragments, memories, emotions, whatever. to 82 people. People battling- and I say battling, because every day is fucking war in-between your ears, your heart, and your soul- with DID typically refer to the grouping of their Alters etc. as their "System".

Since- and y'all can fight me with this one. I triple dog dare you. I've been my own mental health guardian since I was 14, on Prozac in 1989 when I was 16, by my choice- no HIPPA bullshit back then, and I have been my own Mental health and medical guardian since forever-16, I guess, since I could legally drive and make my own appointments. Had to find my own help. But, thank God for my dad. He raced home in 1989 when the police called him cuz I basically made a, "Cry for Help", suicide attempt. He raced home, swore up and down he didn't know, he was sorry, if only he had know and vowed to get me help. My mother I had told the year before when I was 13, that something was wrong, and that I needed help. She was busy on the computer, never looked up, and said,

"you're fine".

Fucking Incapable of Normal Emotion fine.

I've also got an Undergrad in Sociology and a minor in Arabic language, history and culture from the Harvard of the Midwest, Oakland University, and Half a Masters in Social Work. I aced EVERY GODDAMN Abnormal Psych class I've ever taken, advocated with shrinks, therapists, hospitals, and motherfucking insurance companies, on my own behalf, by my god damn self, so Bring it, cunts.

But, that's just, you know, MY personal experience.

But, since there is no...how do I say this is laymen and professional terms...

For Cancer, right? There is an evidence based, researched, tested and tried procedure and approach to battling different types of cancers. For everything but Pancreatic Cancer, there's a scientific protocol.

For DID? There is NO set evidence based, peer practiced, tried and true recovery modality/therapuetic intervention for putting Humpty Dumpty back together again. BECAUSE? And this is my own experiential theory- everyone with DID has experienced significant, severe, prolonged trauma in the formative childhood years- and were talking everything from murder, to mayhem to sex, to incest, to rape, to verbal, to torture, to physical, to you fucking name it- if it happened to you as a child, over a significant (Years) period of time, BINGO! You win a big, phat case of DID. And THAT, my friends, is the ONLY common denominator.

Talk and medication therapy are the leading therapeutic interventions. Equine, Art, Play, Music, Pretty Much ANYTHING that helps you to Heal. Because you are essentially, in charge of REPARENTING yourself and your, "System". I refer to mine as my Family, and here is another universal truth regarding DID- your alters? My Family? Saved My Life. WE-my Family, and others living with DID- were Little People experiencing Big, Adult Things, and we couldn't deal. SO? I describe my, "people" or alters, to others as, Imaginary friends that I made up, while I left the room, while they dealt with the ugly shit. Then, after the ugly shit was over? They'd step back, I'd come up front, and we would assume our, "Great Pretender"/Bravado facade. And, that, my friends, is just the proverbial TIP of my iceberg.

I've been dealing with ALL this with NO partner, NO siblings, Aging parents- once who is battling cancer and has been since 8/2017-right when my therapist dumped me. Fucking cunt. Dying cats, people dying, family members dying, battling disease, battling physical diseases, STAYING SOBER FOR DAMN NEAR 12 YEARS NOW, and being a recluse since Dave died in 2015. I go out for groceries, but can't until my masks come, since COVID, doctor appointments, can't even go into the vet now. I used to go see my Pharmacy Dream Team, but I have to do drive thru now. Even my therapist is tele therapy. But, if I've proven one thing through all of this?

Somewhere. Somewhere deep inside my being, I and the Powers that Be- all 5 million of them, have NEVER given up on me. I've attempted and wound up in a coma for attempted suicides- a serious one while sober in 2016, but I always came back. So, since 2016, I must've found the grit in my gut, the spit in their eye, and the love and belief in myself if not just for me, but for others to hold on and Love yourself enough to fight for yourself, because you matter. I matter. We ALL Matter.

I've said this once, and I'll say it till I stop sucking air,

"Because you take breath, you matter".

Good night, my loves. Be good to yourself. Because if you're not good to yourself, you can't truly be good to anyone else. Hug yourself, hug your loved ones. We need you. Believe it or not, the world needs you now, more than ever.

Sleep Well, my loves.