The Coke Can and Hell

 

July 23, 2010

Progress is slow at the moment.  It seems like the late summer month of July is just dictating how the chat sessions will run its course.  The Enemy continues to ask about my experiences in regards to ESP.  I have grown uncomfortable answering the questions as I don’t know why he is questioning me when we are supposed to be working on what I thought subjects related to why I am there for  – D.I.D., etc.  If I can’t get a read on why the questions, I get some what suspicious especially when it comes to people who mostly are skeptical of such a controversial subject.  Again, I as a client have to keep in mind that the words “illusion, delusional, and schizophrenia” are all composed in and around the dissociative identity disorder.  I googled the words D.I.D. and ESP and found a very scientific website and forward it to the Enemy and asked that we discontinue any more of the discussion during the chat sessions. 

We talked about the appeal for a moment, he thought it was good.  Only time will tell.  Then we talked about Straight Inc. again.  What I did in there for nine months.  I sat for 12-14 hours a day.  We talked about the phases of the program, but I didn’t know if I had explained it well enough, so I googled it later when I was home.  I would have been better off googling “HELL”.  The positive websites are all lies and if there was a way to take them off I’m sure it would have been done. The websites of course never mentions all that happened.  I want to make it clear, I want no sympathy.  There were children as young as 14 years old in Hell I can’t help but wonder what scars they carry.

This is my condensed version of my hell that I can share at this time. I’ll skip to the night I was taken to the first house of my first imprisonment. I found a coke can the first night I was locked in a person’s bedroom and when they were asleep, I proceeded to bend the coke can until the edges were like razors and proceeded to cut my wrist, until I felt blood trickle down my arm.  I knew I would not be alive the next morning.  Hell prevailed and this is where I take a deep breath…..I would leave “Hell” nine months later, but it has never left me.

  Enemy asked what I did those nine months.  I sat in an un-air-conditioned warehouse for 99 days in a folding chair sometimes being stood up to hear a bunch of kids and staff   humiliate me, cut me down, cuss me out, for doing drugs, not participating in the group discussion of 300 or more children and adolescents when I had not done drugs and was there because my mother did not care to parent any longer. The anticipated Wednesday and Saturday nights were the best part of “Hell”.  That was when the parents came and did the same thing to their individual child!  They were given a microphone, standing across the room, when it was their turn, the child stood up and they would thoroughly cut you down and then smile and say “I love you”. I sat there 99 days thinking to myself, why in the hell do I want to go home?  Exchange one hell for another? Of course having the bipolar disorder and not having medication was a challenge all in itself.  Some how I learned to sleep sitting up in a chair only when they didn’t notice – it was a game for them – they apparently loved to shove me to wake me up.  I would count – but I don’t remember what – perhaps how many bullets it would take to shoot my way out of the building?  They didn’t like it when I would bite my fingers until they would bleed, so they would hold my arms down in the sweltering heat.  There wasn’t much to do for entertainment. Sitting for 12-14 hours and going home to be locked up in someone’s home until the next morning to start all over again, not really inspired to plan my future.  I did go home after 99 days, but nothing changed other than I slept at home.  My mother pretty much ignored me.  No T.V., radio, phone, outside influences or interaction of any kind.  I couldn’t run because my father had attached an alarm on my bedroom door.  My father a raging alcoholic and my brother dealing drugs outside of his bedroom door, you just have to see the humor in all of this or Hell would win in some twisted way. By that time I was so emotionally and physically spent, suicide was really just an extension of Straight. The next phase they let you go to school and then return to the building.  That was the worst part yet.  My friends, (one currently the CEO of a fortune 500 company and his wife – best friend as kids) were all in AP courses and straighter than hell. They had visited me when I was in the hospital.  I don’t know if they knew what had happened to me.  I just kept my head down low and tried to make this experience go away.  On the day I ran into my psychiatrist at a community hospital while with my art club from school and he revealed something I will never forget.  He said that he was in the process of admitting me back into the hospital when my mother threw me into “Hell”. 

Yes – it all made sense.  It was all about the money.  It always had been.  She had even taken me off my medications after mentioning the expense of filling the prescriptions when I came home from the hospital. 

Chat session was I hope beneficial for the progress of the therapy.  I am not emotionally tied down to my experiences of 1978 at the moment.  I simply cannot allow myself to feel the past events because it serves no purpose until there is an effective strategy plan put into place.  In the past if I allowed myself to feel the emotions of “Hell” or other past events that resulted in trauma, I would find myself in very bad situations.  I don’t have the means to cope as a healthy normal individual does.  I know that.  I don’t have a back – up person set up to go to if I feel the urge to fight this incredible feeling to “leave” which is so compelling that I later feel it was the safest result in the end.  Dissociative behavior I feel is a protection that kept me from hearing what was going on in Hell after a while, what happened throughout my first eighteen years.

            Again – “iF” ….

But right now, I have not let myself trust Enemy nor who I am.  I have noticed a few glitches in time, but my husband is keeping me busy.  I am reading books like crazy, catching myself when I begin to feel the pull that is so overwhelming that leads me into the well worn path that relieves me from the reality of the confusion/ pain of years ago, into a fog where I no longer hear nor see anything in the present.  It has become so easy to leave.

I cannot leave this without saying I have a wonderful life with people who will always be around to say I am as wacky as ever and know when I need their presence without ever asking.  I’ll never understand what they see in me, but it’s a crazy life in more than many ways.

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About crystallball7

Creative,some say "eccentric", dark sense of humor,sensitive. Never the same for too long. Running from lost time. Longing to be on the beach, at the ocean, New England. Afraid of life, extremely afraid of life.
This entry was posted in bipolar disorder, dissociative identity disorder, Mental Illness, psychology; M.P.D., D.I.D. and tagged , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to The Coke Can and Hell

  1. Pingback: Mental Disorders 101

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