July 6, 2013. It just struck me that of the accumulation of ‘disabilities’ I live with as I approach my 62nd birthday probably all of them are triggered in the current set of circumstances of my life. I am poised to move – had made that decision to return north to live near my daughter and her family so I could be at least some part of my 1- and 3-year-old grandsons’ life. Two days after I made that decision once I returned from my visit north all was tossed into the air as my daughter and her husband decided to look into better paying (by far) jobs in an entirely different location.
There is nothing firm under my feet to think about until they are done thinking about whatever it is they need to think about. I am just ungrounded.
I just found myself thinking about my ‘diagnosis’ of Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID) – which in my case is “undifferentiated” because I was so abused for my first 18 years of life I was never allowed to form an identity at all. I have DID without identities. I am in the middle of what that feels like right now.
One of the worst states I can find myself in is to be ungrounded. Being ungrounded in my life keeps any particular part of myself from taking hold. This is tied to my depression: “Who am I today?” Some part of me is simply wandering around in space. It’s a very good thing that I have a house to live in, with a yard. This gives me space where I am safe within which I wander — as I wander around inside of myself — looking for WHO is actually present in this body in this material world.
I don’t know who.
I miss the focus of my book writing. SNAP! All of that ended abruptly without any warning whatsoever. That writing simply STOPPED. Whatever part of me did all that writing disappeared like a puff of smoke in a sudden breeze. GONE! DONE! No book writer to be found anywhere around where I live.
No gardener, either. Whatever focused identity built this garden, put up those walls out there, created the pathways, took pride in the flowers, enjoyed caring for it all – is also GONE! POOF! Nowhere to be found.
Nothing in my house feels like it actually belongs to me although intellectually I know it does. It doesn’t FEEL like this is my life. I don’t know where my life is — or where an identity is any more that fits here.
I am a floating, bobbing, drifting ball of spirit light not in any special form. Untethered, ungrounded, unfocused. This is not any fun whatsoever!
Maybe it will turn out that I won’t move anywhere. Mabe it would take more out of me to go through that uprooting than I have to spend of all my internal resources combined. Maybe I will have to upack these boxes. Or not.
Where is Linda?
My personal boundaries were brutally invaded my a mean psychotic madwoman nearly every time I turned around – or did not turn around – all the way through those 18 years of my childhood. It made no difference what I did or did not do. I simply endured it all. But WHO endured?
I am awaiting a meditation CD – yoga Nidra designed for PTSD war veterans – that my sister ordered for me. She has found it extremely helpful to her. Something to look forward to with a narrow beam of light. Will it help me? It cannot hurt me!
I have a nicely framed canvas reproduction of this painting hanging on my living room wall by the artist de Grazia –Los Ninos – given to me by a stranger. It was too large to put in a box so it’s the only object hanging still on my wall. It comforts me. Part of me feels a little grounded looking at it. A kind of portal, a window into some part of me that knows I really do live here. Here in this house that feels like a boat drifting without sail on a wide open sea without another person or shore in sight.
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