Transcript: Episode 267
267. Feeling Words
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[Short piano piece is played, lasting about 20 seconds]
[Tearful voice throughout]
I'm trying to find words. It's really hard to do. But I feel like I'm in a precarious place. And I don't know what will happen if I don't. I'm in my closet, in the dark, to make the outside feel like the inside. So that's a start with words. Dark and alone and locked away. Except I know about Now Time. And I understand in my head that I'm not really locked away. But sometimes it feels like it.
I thought in therapy I had learned that when this kind of feeling comes, that's when you most need to connect. And that if you find the words, even when it's hard, you'll feel better. But it feels inside like something big is boiling up, and I don't know what it is or what to do with it. And I've turned out the lights because I'm still dizzy and I thought it might make the spinning stop. I feel like maybe I've talked myself in circles. And everything's swirling down. And I'm afraid I'm going down the drain.
And what was bringing healing was people. And what gave me hope was people. And so I don't know what to do when it's people that are taken away. And I don't know how to try when that's what hurts.
I heard the interview with that lady about reenactment. And I feel like that's true, about how we feel like the common denominator, always being the problem, always being the weird one, always being wrong. Guessing wrong, getting it wrong. And now we've learned so much about the brain that I understand why wrong feels like danger. And there are days where that feels like a lot of progress. But there are also days like today where understanding doesn't make it un-wrong, doesn't make me un-wrong. And my brain tries to connect all the pieces where we got it wrong.
Three years ago when someone said to us, “I'm your friend,” we got it wrong when we said, “Oh, okay, you're our friend.” Two years ago, when we kept saying, “we need to learn about friendship and we need to learn about people,” we got it wrong for trying to look. Because maybe it was easier not knowing what we were missing than looking at in the face every day.
And at Healing Together they talked about the levels of intimacy. And so I know I need to use the word colleagues instead of friends. And that some people are just kind, not really your friend, even when they say so. Even though they might use the word. And I know that therapists are not parents. They're not really going to adopt you, even if they say so. And maybe they shouldn't say so. And they ought not taking you home. And that they're not your friend. They know how to help. And that's good. And they're good at what they do. But you don't go home with them.
And in that footprints episode, when we tell the story about the teacher from high school, sometimes people try to help you see things, but they're not actually giving it to you. And sometimes people are just kind because it's who they are, not because they see you, or remember you, or choose you. And in the end, that can feel the same as people who just pretended because they wanted something.
Sometimes it's just circumstance and no one is wrong. You live far away, or paperwork won't go through, or laws won't let you love, or you didn't really have a choice. Sometimes everyone does their best and it still doesn't work. Or there's no way to figure things out. Or people's best still hurts or is not enough. But always, when the scene clearly comes, it hurts. And always in the waiting there is grief. Sometimes what hurts is what went wrong. And sometimes what hurts is what never was, what never will be.
I spent a year imagining an office where I once played, where we used to go, where we thought we were safe. But what a gift is that, that for an hour and a half every week, we could just go and be safe and rest and be cared for, when no other time and no other place was safe? Or we could go, however hard that was and whatever sacrifices we made to make that happen, we could go there. We could look forward to going there. We could hold on until we got there. And it gave us hope. And it kept us alive. And we could spill out all the crazy so that there wasn't as much to carry back home. And we could fall apart, but be put back together again. And I'm so raw with all my pieces spilled all over the floor.
So when she talked about reenactments in that interview, it was like a sucker punch. Because I know it's our fault. My fault. But I don’t know how to fix it. And I don't know how to let someone help me.
And they know it goes back to the beginning of things. Parents who seemed like monsters but were themselves so wound. I think that's what makes us both victim and rescuer. Because we are hurt by them, but we're also supposed to be the ones to fix it, to stop it, to change things. And then when we try to tell our story, we become the persecutor and it's the whole stupid triangle over again. We’re the bad ones for talking, the bad ones for sharing, the bad ones for saying out loud, “You hurt me when you did this to me.” The wrong ones when we say, “Why didn't you just stay with us like you promised?” The ungrateful ones when we say, “Where were you? I am not here to worship at your shrine, I am here to ask for help.”
And I'm so scared of doing that to my children. And I'm so anxious about the years passing while I try to get better. [Sniffling] “Now time is safe,” she said. Until there's a virus that can kill you. What do you do when it turns out that downtime isn't safe after all? Because sometimes it's not. [Sniffling] Sometimes people don't show up. Sometimes people don't keep their promises. Sometimes you're left alone. How am I not still a scared little girl in a closet? How is this any different? How am I supposed to change the world when they can't leave my house? How am I supposed to keep people safe when they say, “No, don't try. It's not safe, actually. Everybody stay home?” How am I supposed to keep people safe when I go back inside my turtle shell? How can I offer any good when the things I tried hardest that were wrong?
I thought the day we messed therapy up was the day that we did a painting that changed everything. But now I understand it was the day we sent the email asking for help in the first place. We shouldn’t have. This is how reenactment works. Looping back to what you thought works before. Emailing the counseling place that was the closest to what we could find from before, when we were 17. But that's why everything happened again was because it was still connected. It was going back and we didn't even realize it. We didn't know. So it was unfair to her and it was unfair to us. And it was all just reenactment. Starting to believe, starting to hope, starting to try. And then everything being taken away again. And I've cried about it for over a year and I can't make it stop.
Now there's a book and you’ll have more pieces. And you’ll know that we lit the match and that that's our reenactment. I know it now. I see it. I understand it. We just keep burning down what’s trying to help us. [Crying] Destroying what is good. Losing it all right as it all settles into place. Reaching our breakthrough and stopping. Like quitting a race as soon as you see the finish line. Once again ruining everything by talking. Running my mouth and just hurting everybody.
We told the therapist that we couldn't talk to her about the hard things because something bad would happen. She said that was Memory Time and nothing bad would happen. And so we told her some things. And we started talking for real. For real. Talking like we never had before. And you know what happened? Her mother's house burned out. I didn’t light that match, but I opened my mouth.
And we tried so hard to find another therapist. Not to talk about things, but for the grief of leaving her. Because I didn't know about reenactments yet. And then finally, after a year and a half, we found that therapist and wouldn't tell her things. So we did therapy about therapy. Until we told her something on accident, really. But it came out. And now she's dead. And I know, I know, I know in my head that is not our fault. Our therapist got COVID. And it's so selfish of me to even be talking about it, because she was a real person in her real life with real people who knew her. I don't even count. Why don't we ever count? And I know that's magical thinking and that I'm not so powerful. Except you know what? That's a lot of power and it's a lot of magic because it keeps happening. [Sniffle]
And they know it's ridiculous. And then they send an email from church. That because people are getting vaccinated, they're going to start having services again. I don't think I can even leave my house. [Crying] I don't want to go out into the world and see more people. I can’t do it right. I am have been so far in my own world all this time, and I don't know how to find my way out. [Sniffling] The kids will be so excited when I tell them.
I don't know how to make peace with this part of myself that has felt all these things while we have the time in space and aloneness to do it, to look into this darkness that hurts so much. I don't know how to do that and also make it back out into the light. And that support system that I had worked so hard to build before this is part of what I lost. So I don't even have a starting place on the other side. [Sniffle] I don't know how to make those kinds of big changes.
Except that if I want to live, then I have to stand up. I have to go outside. I need to eat something. I need to breathe. I need to move. I need to find my way back into my body and care for it, and care for me, and figure out how to be me in relationships with other people.
We interviewed Joan Turkus this weekend. She's a psychiatrist who helps people with DID, but who has also been a kind friend during the pandemic. One of those who has helped make sure that I don't feel alone. And the episode will air later this year sometime. I don't even know. But one of the things that she talked about with different kinds of friends. And she told a story about someone who realized that there was one lady she went to visit just to have tea with, another friend that she liked to go on walks with, and other friends that they went to do fun things. And it helped me because I thought of that kind of intentional compartmentalization. Kind of like that one therapist last year taught us about intentional dissociating. So you can use intentional dissociating to help contain. Like imagining a container for hard feelings that you can put on pause between therapy sessions, or until you find a good therapist, or until you can start with your first appointment or whatever. And so using those same skills intentionally. And I think maybe this is the same the compartmentalizing.
I can't undo the parents that I had. I can't undo the loss that I feel for foster parents that I lost. I can't undo the grief for losing a good therapist who was not my friend, and not my mother, but feels like both. I can't change those things. I can't integrate my world where all of those things can happen. I can't keep waiting for a world where things from the past that almost happened really happened, because they didn't. And they won't. And they're not going to. And it's toxic for me to keep waiting for things to be different. For thinking that I can just have only one friend to share everything with, or one therapist who stays forever and doesn't die from COVID. I can't undo the things that happened to me. And just like I can't undo the things that happened to me, I also can't undo the things that never happened for me.
But I can do what we do and contain it, and dissociate it, and let go of carrying around the pieces, and let go of the idea that things will ever be different. And then I can compartmentalize, intentionally. This is a safe person and they are kind. And I also want to be a kind person. And so we can be kind together. But I can't share these pieces. Because they're not received, or attuned, or responded. And podcast or not, I'm done putting pieces out into the world that aren't treated with dignity, that aren't tended to when they're offered, that are violated right as we learn to trust. And so I can compartmentalize colleagues who are safe and good, and know about DID and get that part of my world. Or a new friend who is deaf and DID like us, even though everything else about our stories is unique. Or other therapists with DID. Or other survivors who are different than me because they are Plural or OSDD or whatever label you want to put on people, or however people identify.
And that's how I go back out into the world. Because I'm not alone. And I can't grow up in a closet. And I'll never find the light while sitting in the dark. But if I'm honest about that, and do that work, then maybe even though it's hard and even though it hurts more than anything has ever hurt, maybe we can be a light for someone else sitting in the dark. And I can be there for you the way you've been there for me. And me that's where we get it right about connection healing, and people being safe and good. When we walk through together, even in the dark
[Singing] Got nothing to give you but a prayer. God's gonna see you through. To part with you more than I can bear. But somebody gonna love you. Sweet baby, sweet. This much I know is true. Sleep, baby, sleep. Somebody gonna love you. Oh, I'm gonna always love you.
[Break]
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