Transcript: Episode 7
7. Emma
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[Short piano piece is played, lasting about 20 seconds]
*speaking softly* This is Emma. My husband’s at the store right now. I can’t really do it, so he’s gone for me. I thought I would try to record a podcast so I have time by myself. The children are still at school, but I can hear children. Someone is crying, some of them are talking, someone is laughing and making jokes. Someone wants my hot chocolate. Sometimes I can hear specific things, sometimes it’s just all blurred together. I don’t remember driving home from therapy, I don’t remember therapy. I know we were there. I thought I saw her and I thought I heard her, but then it was like a dream and then it went away. Then when I blinked, just in a moment, time’s already gone and I was in my car, in my driveway at home. The outside kids were running down the stairs coming to greet me. They were so excited to see me home and they were so excited and came running up and hugging me. I was so glad to hold them, to be close to them, and to be home. Except that it’s a funny thing to come home when you don’t remember leaving - I’m not even sure how long we were gone.
It’s snowing today. The days are quiet and still. There’s something peaceful about it, the way it blankets the ground. Except the leaves that poke through haunt me. I don’t know how and I don’t know why. They’re just leaves. It bothers me the way sitting in the fourier bothers me - to look and see from the front door how there are stairs going up and stairs going down. Like an expanded version of a split level home, except we have a living room right there by the stairs. But still to go up to the bedrooms or down to the den - there’s something about that that feels like the leaves in the snow, like somethings not right, like somethings not now. I don’t know what it is. Sometimes these feelings are left in me like clues, but to follow them is to go on a dark path and it’s scary and frightening and I’m not sure I want to go, so I don’t. Sometimes I try and I focus on something - but the more I try to figure it out, the more blurry it gets, the more dizzy I get, the more fuzzy it all becomes until I forget what it was I trying to think about, what it was I was trying to remember, what it was I’ve already forgotten.
My husband is leaving town next week for work. He’ll be gone for a whole week and I’m really anxious about it. I know I’m an adult and I can take care of my children, and I love to be with them and spend time together. But they’ll go to school during the day and I’ll be home alone all day. I’ll be alone at night after they go to sleep. We have a teddy bear from therapy that our therapist gave us. It doesn’t feel big enough for a week without my husband. I don’t know if I’m strong enough to do it. I don’t want something bad to happen or something to go wrong. Or for me to lose myself… or my children. The others are there. They are me but not me. I am them but not them. We are completely different and completely separate and yet sharing this body in ways I don’t know, in ways that feel so crazy, in ways that I don’t want to understand how, or sometimes don’t want to know. There are clothes that are not mine, shoes that are not mine, jewelry that’s never worn, but I find it laying out. Make-up I don’t even know how to put on. I don’t know who plays the piano, I don’t know who plays the cello. I don’t know how to do the work I see on the computer. I don’t know how my children get their chores done. I don’t know when I eat - it’s not that I don’t eat, it’s not that I don’t want to eat, I just don’t remember eating. I know that I do, obviously I do. Sometimes when I go to write in the notebooks for therapy, the table and the desk are covered in crayons - but my children haven’t been home. Or markers… and the children are playing outside. Or even paints - and this is not what they could have painted. Sometimes I try to read it to learn what’s going on. Sometimes the pages blur in front of me and make me nauseous. My head turns away before I can even stop it… because seeing the pages or reading what’s on them gets too hard so quickly, so easily, but I’m trying. I don’t know how there’s a house full of people that I cannot see. I don’t know how there’s a house full of people inside of me. If I could ever remember therapy or know that I was there, I don’t know what I would say… I’m happy with my husband, I don’t have any complaints. He takes good care of me and he’s kind. He’s funny and he helps with the children and helps with the cooking and cleaning. We do everything together, he’s my best friend. When we have a disagreement, it’s just a difference of opinion and we can talk about it… we don’t even have conflicts or arguments. The children are good… they’re not perfect, but they’re so well behaved especially for all they’ve been through. So I don’t know what I would say or how I ask for help except with understanding what’s wrong with me. That’s what makes it hard… because to understand what’s wrong with me is to remember what I can’t understand. And why all this happened the way it did.
Two of my children have some medical problems that mean they’re in the hospital a lot. I had a lot of injuries growing up, but nothing like the kind of illnesses these kids have. Maybe that’s what I need therapy for, that’s why I thought I was going to therapy - was from the trauma, like the medical trauma from all that we’ve been through as a family… with life flight helicopters, and hospital stays, and being separated. That’s how I lost three whole years… I know I was in the hospital with the baby, but I don’t remember that. I mean I’m aware that - how can I be aware of something I don’t remember? That doesn’t make sense. Other things I can’t remember or be aware of and other things I remember so clearly, I don’t know how I forgot anything else. The only other thing I can think of that maybe I should talk about with my therapist… is just about my dead parents. I mean, my parents have died, so maybe I should talk about that. My father had some kind of lymphoma and my mother had ovarian cancer… not at the same time, but that’s how they both died. My father never forgave me, but I don’t know for what. I ran away from home when I was 17 and I know that made them angry... made my father angry, they were divorced you know, my parents. My mother, who had been unwell for sometime, also had a mean streak, she was addicted to pain pills and it caused lots of problems. But that’s just life, right? Caring for your aging parents. It was exhausting and it was hard. I don’t know if I did it well, but I know I tried my best - to care for them until they died, but maybe I should talk to her about that.
Sometimes when things get really blurry in therapy I can hear her, the therapist, I can hear her telling me her name and that we are in her office and that it’s safe. I’m safe at home with my husband and in our house. I don’t know why it’s such a relief to be at the therapy office and be safe there. I don’t know why… I don’t know why I think that I’ve been unsafe. Today I learned about DID, that all of us together are called a system, and that each of us individually are called alters. Or some people have other names for them. I learned that some people say plural instead of multiple because it’s more inclusive for people who don’t have much amnesia or for people who have DID but are functioning well. I don’t know what functioning well would look like for me… maybe being less afraid, maybe being less anxious, maybe understanding more of what was going on around me, and where I had been and what I had done. Or where they had been and what they had done. Being able to care well for my husband and children I guess. And my nightmares… I have such nightmares. I would need better sleep to be considered functional I think. I’m so tired. I had nightmares again last night, but I don’t want to talk about it. But I will say having my husband know about the DID and having a good therapist who’s really helping me and I feel safe with. It does feel like for the first time, the ground is beneath my feet… even though it’s all so hard and often scary, maybe I just don’t feel so alone anymore. I’m trying to make friends on the groups or others with DID or who know or learning how to be supportive because so many people have helped me. It’s not an easy thing but I’m trying. There’s so much to learn and it’s hard to process. I try to learn, I try to read some of the articles people have shared or listen to some of the other podcasts or the videos to watch. But too much of it and it all just gets blurry and then I don’t remember...and time has slipped away again. It’s like trying to hold sand in your hand or trying to speak color or trying to see feelings. There’s just so much disconnected. I listened to the podcast about going to therapy and the deer...I would have never in a million years thought to look up what that meant, what the symbol meant or to try to change it into something good. I don’t know how you do that. I mean, I want to practice good skills that help, but it’s really hard to implement when you just don’t know anything. But I’m learning some things. I learned today that I can freeze an orange and use it as a grounding thing, like smell it and touch it. I never would have thought of that. I also learned that one thing that can help feel safe or help with grounding is to turn on all the lights and shut all the doors. I never would have thought of that either, but I tried it today and it really helped.
I guess that’s all I can say today. I want to be more helpful and I want to share more, but I don’t remember therapy and the notebooks are gone so I can’t even read something. But I wanted to check in and say hello. I’m really grateful for your friendship and your support as I’m learning about this...and for the things you have shared to help me learn. Thank you for listening and being there as we learn together… It’s so hard sometimes, but it doesn’t seem so hard when we’re not alone. I guess that’s kind of ironic, isn’t it?
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