This is the first time I have blogged about Dissociative Identity Disorder.
I use the term ‘Struggles’ because it perfectly describes how we live with this illness. It’s a massive struggle – from day to day, even hour to hour or minute to minute.
Not something I imagined life would ever be. But it is what it is, and we have to make the most of each day. There is no other choice.
These blogs are our personal journey, wherever that takes us. Raising awareness along the way, reducing the stigma so many of us with mental illness face and hoping for a brighter future.
“DID is about survival! As more people begin to appreciate this concept, individuals with DID will start to feel less as though they have to hide in shame. DID develops as a response to extreme trauma that occurs at an early age and usually over an extended period of time.”
― Deborah Bray Haddock, The Dissociative Identity Disorder Sourcebook
DISCLAIMER: Please respect that this is my work, and do me the courtesy of crediting a weblink should you SHARE these blogs (link). No copying or reusing my blogs without my express written permission. Email email@example.com – Thank you.
One of the many things I have learned from my illness of Dissociative Identity Disorder, is that days are like a spectrum. Bad has many levels, and we rarely have good bad days.
Today I had a better bad day, and they are few and far between, unfortunately.
I guess it makes sense to blog about bad days on a better bad day, because it’s like looking from outside the box.
There was no staying in bed in pain today.
We baked some cookies.
Even got some light housework done.
But what’s upsetting is that these better bad days always end. Statistics have proven that over quite a few years now.
Right now, I feel like I’ve surfaced, got my head above water. But at the same time I am well aware this feeling won’t last that long because it always shifts. Moods, pain, dissociation, depression, anxiety, nightmares, insomnia, fear, triggers … they swirl around my feet in the water and it’s only a matter of time before they grab me and I return to the struggle of trying to survive in an ocean that is relentlessly chaotic in her severe storms and tidal waves.
In recent years I have just sunk to new lows that I didn’t think I could sink to.
I find that mental illness, regardless of what mental illness that is, is like a recording studio console. So many switches and levers because depression can vary, anxiety can vary, migraines can vary, dissociation can vary.
I think that better bad days give me a bit of a break, and some times help me catch up a little.
But they also really upset me. It’s like showing me something I can’t have and may never have.
Symptoms of my mental illnesses change through the day, even during an hour. If my console switch for depression has 10 levels on it, then today maybe I was a 4 instead of an 8. But my DID (dissociation) switch may have been a 9 instead of a 6 because some of my Voices that helped me get some things done were active, therefore I dissociated more. So I lost track of some time today a bit more than the past few days.
Maybe my recent run of really f*cking bad days has triggered an internal switch of particular Voices to help me cope. I have thought of this. Internal support networks have kicked into gear.
I am fed up with the extended period of pain and being unwell.
I am fed up with the lack of decent sleep.
I am fed up with the hopelessness of my situation.
I am fed up with the endless tunnel and no light at the end of it.
I am fed up with being in this pit.
I am fed up with the stigma of being sick and unwell, of suffering these mental illnesses and chronic pain.
It is hard to be hopeful when this suffering is long term. It isn’t just days, weeks or months, but years and commencing the second decade.
I am tired. I’ve had enough. I want out. I want wellness, joy and good health. I want my life back. Actually, I don’t want, I NEED.
Nothing I achieve, if you call it that, has meant my recording console is all at ZERO.
I cannot describe the sheer frustration of being where I have ended up. The bad days are really horribly bad and they are never-ending. It’s like being in a bubble and watching the rest of the world go about their day, while I’m standing here shouting but the world just doesn’t see me.
The spectrum of bad days, the intensity of how they vary, is just whether I scream at the top of my voice or whisper. Today I might be whispering but I’m still in the bubble, still separated and alienated from the world. My space is dull, dark and depressing and outside the bubble I see people walking in beautiful sunshine.
So to those of you inside your bubbles, accept the better bad days and, like me, be thankful for the reprieve. Even document them, write in a diary or journal so you can look back and see that better bad days do exist. Do a blog ! Share your experience because those with a Lived Experience of illness help break down stigma, and especially #mentalillness.