So after the last post I did end up feeling like posting, however a ghost decided to take over my computer for a few days and so I had to take it into the store to get it exorcised. But I have it back now, and there's no more random mouse movements or clicking, so I am finally going to do a real post.
As a follow up on my medication situation: I have been feeling a lot better again, so I think that the med that was reintroduced has started working again. It's amazing that one tiny little 5mg pill is the difference between being a horribly anxious person and being just a very stressed out person. It's bizarre knowing that without that tiny amount of drug, my soul would be slowly dying under the pressure of all of that anxiety and depression (not to be melodramatic or anything...). I'm just happy that I finally have some meds that work and make life seem pretty OK.
I have some art to post. My therapist and I were talking about how I could go through all of the trauma and yet still act like a normal little girl. There was definitely some dissociation going on; I would just think about other things so that I didn't have to feel what was happening. I think I also separated myself into two parts - one part dealt with the abuse and the other ran around dealing with normal life. I'm not talking about dissociative identity disorder (multiple personalities), I just think it was a different part of me that had to deal with that stuff so that I could then go on afterwards and act normally. It's kind of like I compartmentalized the abuse so that it didn't affect the rest of my life. After something happened I could just tell myself that it wasn't real or it hadn't really happened to me. I remember telling myself that it was Katie that did the bad stuff, and I've always hated when people inadvertently call me that because I guess I associated that name with the part of me that experienced horrible thing.
As a follow up on my medication situation: I have been feeling a lot better again, so I think that the med that was reintroduced has started working again. It's amazing that one tiny little 5mg pill is the difference between being a horribly anxious person and being just a very stressed out person. It's bizarre knowing that without that tiny amount of drug, my soul would be slowly dying under the pressure of all of that anxiety and depression (not to be melodramatic or anything...). I'm just happy that I finally have some meds that work and make life seem pretty OK.
I have some art to post. My therapist and I were talking about how I could go through all of the trauma and yet still act like a normal little girl. There was definitely some dissociation going on; I would just think about other things so that I didn't have to feel what was happening. I think I also separated myself into two parts - one part dealt with the abuse and the other ran around dealing with normal life. I'm not talking about dissociative identity disorder (multiple personalities), I just think it was a different part of me that had to deal with that stuff so that I could then go on afterwards and act normally. It's kind of like I compartmentalized the abuse so that it didn't affect the rest of my life. After something happened I could just tell myself that it wasn't real or it hadn't really happened to me. I remember telling myself that it was Katie that did the bad stuff, and I've always hated when people inadvertently call me that because I guess I associated that name with the part of me that experienced horrible thing.
Protection
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| August 2012 |
This is supposed to represent the dissociative defense I used while bad things were happening. The pinkish semicircle at the bottom represents me and the greyish color on the outer part represents the dissociation barrier between me and the abuse. The red-orange is the pain and the black represents how it seemed like there was nothing outside of the abuse while it was happening. The three grey, brown and green spike-things represent the three main abusers. They are mostly blocked by the dissociation, but they still manage to pierce through and leave their mark. I tried so hard to pretend it wasn't happening, and later that it had never happened, and yet it still managed to push its way in and hurt me.
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