April 2010 Archives

From 1948-1975, Walt Kelly was well known for writing comics that were based on social and political satire. One of his main characters, Pogo, is a possum and was the smartest animal in the community of swamp animals that made up the comic strip.

One of Pogo's more famous quotes was "We have met the enemy... and he is us." The quote has its origins in war, but Kelly used it as commentary on how humankind was polluting the planet.

Now I do appreciate that when healing from child abuse, such a statement can rub many the wrong way. To many, the enemy is the abuser. But, for me, I am in a particularly challenging place right now. When dissociative coping massively escalates—and by that I mean dissociated parts become activated, start acting autonomously, and I lose large chunks of time which threatens safety—then I cannot help but come to the conclusion that the enemy is indeed myself.

Dissociative coping, splitting, and creating multiple personalities are all wonderfully adaptive when a child and into adulthood. But, when you have made that commitment to awareness and communication and healing, and then it feels like that has all been taken away, you cannot help but have a negative view about the underlying mechanisms that drive how we live our lives. That is where I am at now. So, I am not a big fan of dissociation right now.

I see myself squarely as the enemy. And I'm not talking about specific parts of me. I am really not out to pick fights with specific parts. I am talking about the "all of me." Right now, I'm having trouble seeing the healing path. I only see confusion as we ever so quickly move away from being a quasi "internal team" and leap into our own corners.

I have a huge fear that this shift in me is not the normal ebb and flow of healing. That it will be a permanent shift (or very long term shift).

Luckily, Pogo has another famous line. And that is: "Don't take life so serious, son, it ain't nohow permanent." Maybe that way of thinking will be able to keep me going.

I know, that is a provocative question.

I have had 20 years of being diagnosed as multiple or DID (dissociative identity disorder) and have worked on healing, in various ways, for all that time. I know that I am clearly very different now than I was 20 years ago. I suppose many people—multiple or not, abuse history or not—can make that claim. Of course, I am continually reminded that in many ways I am very much the same.

How my system "works" has changed, mainly because of the increased awareness I have cultivated over the past several years. This has led to increased levels of internal communication, some inter-part compromising, and, yes, very "public" internal battles.

Another change is that a few in my system have had their names clarified over the years. I am not sure how that happened really. And some have become quiet. And then there is the experience of co-consciousness. To me, even though all of these are part of the healing and evolution process, they are also the seeds that sow doubt about my experience. I sometimes struggle with this, concluding that the whole experience of DID is a complete sham. But I hold onto things like Is Dissociative Identity Disorder Real? and I am always working on accepting my truth.

As I heal, and I do think I am healing, I can visualize the core of "me" growing and taking on what the rest of me used to hold in compartments. In one sense, I think that is a sort of integration or merging. I have had parts of me who absolutely hated being identified with me, Paul, in any way, shape or form. That is happening less now.

I have never appreciated the view that integration is something that happens in a sort of fusion in a one hour appointment in a therapist's office. That is not my experience.

I say that because I did have a series of experiences of what I called my Higher Consciousness Experience. One could make the case that such an experience is integration in its purest form. And I postulated that those of us with dissociative disorders would be most affected by such experiences because our internal structure has been in such opposition. In other words, we have farther to go internally than many others, so we would feel these consciousness states as being drastic leaps from where we usually are. I have labeled these experiences as "touchstones" and they do motivate me to continue this work. I like to use the analogy that it might be like taking a trip up into space, and then returning. Or, another more real-life example could be when my first child was born. Not only did time stand still, it was a completely unifying experience.

So, back to integration. The question I often ask: Is my approach of taking on more and more scalable and sustainable?

I often get overwhelmed with what I have to deal with internally. My Healing Guide has said "You can't do it all yourself." And she is correct. There is the view that parts are sometimes happier with my taking the load off them, as long as they get to retain their separateness and their "identity."

But, honestly, I think they are mostly meeting me halfway. Meeting halfway is the key. If I do it all myself and take all of the responsibility, my cup will simply runneth over.

So, I have called what I am doing, for now, a "collaboration." It makes more sense to me.

Is integration possible? I do firmly believe that anything is possible. Although, I am not really sure what that would look like for me.

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Related External Post: The Rocky Road of Integration by Dr. Frerichs at Multiple Voices.

It is difficult not to pay attention to the stream of news regarding clergy abuse in the Catholic Church. It is on all the major news sites I frequent, plus the Survivors Network of those Abused by Priests issues daily e-mail press releases.

I really do not want this blog to become about clergy abuse. That is not at all my intention. My focus here is squarely on understanding trauma and dissociation particularly as they relate to my own healing.

But I do have to comment when I read something that begs for comment. I feel like it is sort of my public duty. So let me hop onto my blog soapbox for a moment.

The latest news is that Pope Benedict met with clergy abuse victims during a trip to Malta and 'weeped.' The news story included a press statement from the Vatican, which was telling:

One does not need to know much about any facet of this ongoing saga to know that everything said in that statement, after "he prayed with them," is demonstrably untrue.

It is also interesting as to who these "victims" are. They were undoubtedly hand picked and expected to say things like "[I am] trying to regain my faith." But those seeking to restore faith through the Catholic Church do not represent the vast majority of those abused. What about those whose faith has been shattered? Whose spirituality has been twisted by conflicting messages, teachings, and actions? How can that spirituality possibly be truly restored within the walls and constructs of an institution with such weight as the Catholic Church?

I struggle. In my head mostly. And I write. And I talk. And I pay attention. And I draw and paint.

The image above was done as an art therapy directive last week right after leaving the hospital. The directive was to "paint about something lost and something gained." What I lost is a spiritual direction. What I gained is a family, and an ability to ground and contain, and heal.

I know that someday these two sides will have to intersect. I cannot imagine that now, but perhaps they already are. I have had experiences of spirituality not tied to any religion. If you look at the early posts on this blog, you will read about my "consciousness" or "enlightenment" experiences. I also know that parts of my internal system have had similar wondrous experiences that were tied to religion. They were protected for those parts. But as I do the hard work of looking at myself as a whole, I cannot help to know they were really taken away.

That reality poses a huge dilemma for me. It is also one of the big questions that those of us with dissociative disorders have to face.

It could be asked in this way: How do I integrate parts of myself that were protected with parts of myself that were not without going crazy?

Or it could be asked in a much simpler way: How do I heal?

Perhaps this journey, partly documented here, is my spiritual path. Perhaps I am meant to heal. Perhaps I am meant to live.

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As many of you know, I have been inpatient in a psychiatric hospital; the same hospital I have been coming to since two decades ago. I was discharged today after 17 days. Every admission is unique. Yet every time there are striking similarities.

One similarity, alluded to in my last post, is the healing power of the group experience. The inpatient unit I always go to specializes in trauma and dissociative disorders. So, in a certain sense, we all have something in common. All of us know about triggers. We recognize when someone is in crisis and is grappling with safety. We know what it means to struggle with being present and we can sit together outside the nurses station and help each other ground. We empathize with someone who is in acute distress and may need to go to the Quiet Room. Or shudder when we hear the words yelled out from some corner of the unit by a nurse: "I need staff!"

There is a weight to the place that is almost impossible to describe. But it is also a place of levity. There are a few staff who specialize in this. One staff member likes to tell us each morning he received a "Certificate for the Best Blood Pressure Cuff Putter Oner." The other night, one nurse listened to much of my 90s "alternative rock" playlist on my iPod. I gave her the name of a good restaurant, and she shared with me a great grilled steak recipe. I do not think I have ever been there when I have not, at least once, almost peed my pants in laughter. I even got a real doctor's prescription for "One Dog"; yes, a real live dog!

That is the balance I often refer to here on Mind Parts. It is the balance that makes the unit the special place that it is. It is the balance where we find true healing.

We are all at different points along the healing journey. I know when I started here I was always amongst the youngest. Now it is not that way. In fact, someone referred to me the other day, in a complimentary way, as the "Unit Dad," I think, in part, because so few patients are male.

I often meet young people who have so few skills and feel as though their lives will never change. I also meet many who have struggled for decades and are tired of the journey. I am one of those people sometimes. For many, the journey never seems to be worth it. For many, depression never lifts. For many, life is one disappointment after another. It is somewhat natural, in one sense, to contemplate suicide.

I like to think that being around others—going to groups, sharing in the kitchen, being up sleepless at night because of PTSD hypervigilance—is remarkably healing. Many of us do not know the gruesome details of each others' histories. But we know where most are at. We just know. In art therapy group today, the last group I attended before I left, the directive was to draw a fork in the road. We draw for 20 minutes. We post our drawings on the board. And we talk about them and get feedback from others. When you have spent two weeks with many of the same people, you understand what their art means and what they are trying to express. It all makes sense.

Where all this is taking me is that I now have a better appreciation for what "group healing" means. Many of us think we heal by doing therapy, which usually means between two people, a therapist and a patient. So many of us are involved in groups—be they sports groups, book club groups, Internet groups or what have you—and these can all be quite therapeutic. But there is so much healing that can occur in a group focused on trauma healing; especially when the group experience is more than just talking. It is art. It is music. It is laughter. It is crying.

Thank you Proctor 2.

Related posts:

• Expressive Writing Group Experience (4/2010)
• Re-entry (8/2009)
• Acceptance (8/2009)
• Hospital Gratitude (4/2009)

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In the hospital the other day, I had an experience in a group that was quite special. Actually, during this hospitalization, I have had several good group experiences. This one stood out, however.

There were five of us patients who showed up for the weekly "Expressive Writing" group, plus two group leaders. The directive was:

"Think of someone you look up to, real or imaginary, who has taught you something you can use (or do use) in your healing. Describe either the characteristics of the person, what they told you, or how you have been helped. Use expressive writing by telling a story, writing a poem, or anything that makes sense to you."

I wanted to focus this on a motivating statement which has helped me heal. At first, I wanted to write about what Karl Paulnack said about music and heart healing. Then I thought about some quotes by famous people.

But I settled on something that is intensely personal. I think the most helpful, validating, and motivating statement anyone has said to me, has come from my therapist, who from here on in I will call "My Healing Guide." Over a year ago, she said to me in an e-mail:

I never really reflected on these words at the time, but I saved them. About a month ago, I revisited the e-mails we shared. These words, in particular, have helped me enormously. They have given me strength to continue on this journey; one that often feels too long and too hard.

I have heard similar words from others involved in my healing, most of them verbal (which get a bit lost). All have been helpful and motivating, though none have ever been said so perfectly. There are also many statements from my family and friends that have helped me too. But, a therapy relationship is unique in that it is focused specifically on healing. And, as such, these words have special meaning to me.

I was prepared to read my statement out loud, but there was a second part to the group exercise. That consisted of each of us picking out one or two words or phrases from our writings and putting them on different colored heavyweight paper using magic markers.

We then placed them on the floor and we read our own. We then were asked, as a group, to arrange them in a line in any way that made sense. The group debated some of the ordering and we went back and forth a few times. We then taped them up on a board, in the order agreed upon, and read them out loud together as a group.

The list was:

The only word that appeared twice—came from two different people in our group—was strength. We felt it was important to use that word to bookend the list; strength was felt to be necessary for all of the in between words and phrases to exist.

On Good Friday, the Catholic Church, through the pope's personal preacher, compared the current scrutiny of both the pope and the church to the historical suffering of Jews. Rev. Raniero Cantalamessa said, "They know from experience what it means to be victims of collective violence and also because of this they are quick to recognize the recurring symptoms." To make matters worse, these words were spoken during the homily of the Good Friday service in St. Peter's Basilica, while the pope looked on.

I can understand that the church feels under siege. It is and should. Everything that is happening now is a direct result of the church's own doing, and as I have said before, none of this is surprising when seen in its proper historical context. The responses are typical, and sad—that facts are being misrepresented and that the church itself is the victim.

These statements, from which the Vatican has since backtracked, are merely a public admission of what is the predominantly held belief of the church hierarchy. A belief that is the foundation of all that is wrong with the church. A core belief that has put so many children in danger for so many years. A core belief that has led to the suicides of so many clergy abuse victims. A core belief that has been a true obstacle to healing of physical, emotional and spiritual wounds of untold thousands.

What do such statements say to those who were sexually abused by deviant clergy and whose abuses were covered up for decades? I will tell you what I heard and felt: That we survivors are demons. That we survivors mean nothing. That we survivors merely incite violence.

The irony of these statements by the church is that in reality they do not apply to church suffering at all, but to the suffering of victims of clergy abuse. In fact, this is a parallel I made in Jews.

Whenever I think there is hope that the message I heard loud and clear as a child and teenager and adult is now different, I am given a dose of reality that it is not. These statements have served, in my mind, to nullify any prior or future statements of empathy or support for the abuses and cover-ups that have occurred. The Catholic Church does not have the right to say one thing one week, do nothing at all in its deeds at the highest of levels, and then say something so appalling and unholy the next week on one of the holiest days of the year—and expect to retain any shred of credibility.

I am certain Jesus does not at all approve of what the church has become, supposedly built around his life and teachings. If Jesus were giving the Good Friday homily, I would suspect he might repeat Matthew 21:13 in which he said: "My house shall be called the house of prayer; but you have made it a den of thieves."

On Good Friday, the hours of 12 noon and three are known as the Three Hours' Agony, representing the last three hours before Jesus died on the cross. Tradition holds that these hours are for specific prayers and acts of reparation for Jesus' suffering; acts meant to repair the sins against Jesus. For me, this year, I spent these hours in a psychiatric hospital, tortured by internal conflicts about religion, God, Jesus, and Satan. When I read these statements spoken on Good Friday, precisely in the middle of these three special hours, I could not help but have the immediate reaction that I should die. It was then not easy to stay safe, and eventually I found myself sleeping in a hospital Quiet Room.

But I fought.

A couple days removed, I have gained some perspective.

In Galatians, Jesus said that we are all sons of God. My interpretation is that these acts of reparation are meant to acknowledge all of God's children who have suffered in the name of religion.

Instead, in St. Peter's Basilica, we are not reached out to; only the church is the victim.

Unfortunately, this leads me to conclude that the words of the Catholic Church are clearly not the Words of the Lord.

Related Posts:

• Holy Week, Church Visit, Scandal, and Miracles (March 29, 2010)
• Thoughts on Catholic Church Abuse Reports (March 15, 2010)
• Ireland's Church Abuse Scandal and Personal History (May 24, 2009)

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