The We in Me

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A glimpse into our beginning with D.I.D. Me. Us. We.

                                                

Oh where to even begin... 

I've had, what I called, "Black Outs" most of my life. My entire life really... Who knew it was an actual problem, huh? I did, they did, Nobody else seemed to notice, or care. I was 100% unaware I was a multiple, until my Diagnosis a few years ago. We spent years trying to get us help. I merely attempted to know why I had the "black outs." I typically received the (((Shrugs))) and (((Head scratch))) from doctors followed by the ever so eloquently put, " I dunno." Thanks doc, helpful. It became more and more difficult to go to any sort of "Medical Professional." Lets be honest, how could it not?

You have a cold. You know you have a cold...Headache, cough, sneezin' your brains out, and a pain in your chest. You head to the doc, he shrugs at you and says, "I dunno." How many times would you go and try to figure out what was wrong? Three, seven, maybe you're particularly determined and find twenty across the country and yet still, nothing. You get nowhere. They run test after test, you speak with specialist after specialist and still...Nothing. Yet, you continue to sneeze or in my case, black out for extended periods of time and wake up in different places having no idea how you've gotten there. I don't mean, you ran out to the shop and are so tired you briefly forgot what you were doing. No, no, you were just leaving a shop in the summer and WHAM, you "come back" with a swollen hand and stitches across your cheek. Oh and for added fun, it's winter and you see mountains. For those unfamiliar with Chicago, there are no mountains. Moving on...

Sinking deeper into depression, terrified to go anywhere and people? Forget that, no way! Eventually, you begin to swirl nonsense in your mind. "I must be crazy." "People were right, all these years, I really am crazy." Well, speaking from experience. No. Absolutely not. You are not "crazy." That awful word people throw around far too often. That one small word that holds so much despair for so many. Stop that.

We needed help in a major way. They could see what I was going through, yet I had no real idea they were there.  They knew they couldn't simply "tell me", what was going on. Trust me, at that point in my life, I would've lost my fight with mental illness. A fact I am now very much aware of and I can not express how truly amazed I am by them and their determination. They tirelessly continued seeking help. Doctor after doctor. Disappointment after disappointment. They kept going. I am now more aware of what they have done, in regards to helping me with my health and I find them truly remarkable. They astound me.

Years later, we found a doc who did see what was going on. We still see her today. Twice a week, for now, not forever. We are working through things, figuring out why some of my parts are here, helping them heal and figuring out what the hell is going on some days. Life with DID looks different for everyone. There are of course similarities, but "Different People Different Parts." Our doctor says that. All. The. Time. It has become a source of major frustration for one of us. She calls it the "DPDP, bullshit." She will typically reply with a, "yeah, yeah. STFU Doc." She's fun, many of us call her, A, short for Anger. Again, she's fun. Despite her anger/hostility she does actually like this doctor. She is just unique, in her own way she cares and everyone is different.

It was a long tiresome life, but for the first time ever We find ourselves looking forward towards the future. We survived. We got through, but now we can do more than that. Now I want to do more. More than mere survival. More than being, barely, satisfied with hiding. We're greedy we want more than to have survived. Now, we want to live...

 

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