Judgment Seat

Are you
Are you a man?
Are you a man who destroys, stabs, violates?
Do you and your friends bring clouds of confusion, storms of agony, rain of terror?
Do you carry weapons of choice? Lust, hunger, thirst eternal?

Are you
Are you the man?
Are you the man called daddy, husband, son?
Do you know me? Do you see me? Do you care?
When will the desires be satiated, the hunger appeased, the thirst quenched?

Are you
Are you a daddy?
Do you know where you end and I begin?
Are you pleased, pleasured, The Great Pretender?
While I am paralyzed, poisoned, powerless?

Are you
Are you my daddy?
Can you not see, I am severed, shattered, seared?
Can you not hear, my veins no longer pulse?
Why do you instill death in my bones?

Are you
Are you even mine?
Your stealth is my stench
Your passion – my prison
Your malevolence –  my madness
Your dishonor  – my decay

Tuesday I realized I was a prostitute

A few months ago I had flash back about being in a large one room building with my Dad when I was 8 – 9 years old.  I was on my knees, ready for the abuse to begin.  Same abuse, right?  Except I saw other men in the room.  The men were there not to just watch but to also participate.

My dad must have planned this gathering.

What were these men doing to know that they had this common interest?

Did someone start talking about being sexually attracted to young children and the other men said, “Oh yeah, me too”?? 

How long did these men talk like this before someone came up with the idea to meet together?

How long did it take for my dad to offer up his only daughter to these other men to abuse?

Did he require that they give him money in return?

How can a dad prostitute his own daughter?  A child none-the-less?

He has to be a sociopath.  But he sure is a well put-together sociopath.

Love = Fear

Love equals fear
It’s all that’s known
She pleads for his love
Craves his touch
Believes, hopes, and wants this to be love

Love equals fear
She begs for his touch
Submits and accepts her fate
Burns from the pain
Numbs, disconnects, and separates into four

Love equals fear
She waits, grows and pretends to live
Smiles and masks hide this growing pain
Life interrupted, torturous memories flash
Alcohol, pills, dissociation eases the suffering

Love equals fear
Little girl on inside, woman on out
No longer able to numb the torment
Escape is the treatment
Music, drifting, pills to end the life

His love is real
Her evil is known
Powerless once,
But never again


I’m afraid I’m going to have a mental breakdown.

Two and half months ago my co-worker was fired and I was given her job.  Previously I was working 20 hours a week answering a pretty quiet phone.  It was a very stress free job.  Now I am the office manager in charge of two company’s payroll, taxes, insurance and safety audits, four bank accounts, accounts receivable, etc.  At first I loved the challenge!  The office was an unorganized mess and I enjoyed bringing the office up to a functioning level.   Before my DID diagnosis I would have excelled at a job like this (even with having no accounting experience).  Before the diagnosis I was able to shut off all emotions…well, that’s not accurate.  It wasn’t a choice of shutting down, I just was shut down.  And I’m able to function in that state.

My therapist and I decided to work on the everyday stress rather than continue DID work just until the beginning of the year.  Once I became accustomed to the new job and things started to flow (I was hoping by the end of December) then we would switch back to DID work.

As the responsibilities accumulated and my hours increased it became more and more difficult to function.  I was spending an incredible amount of time at home on our bathroom floor curled up with a baby doll.   I thought I was literally losing my mind.  In October my boss told me things would “settle down” and I wouldn’t be so busy the next month.  When he told me the same thing in December I knew I would continue my slide down to DID hell.

Last week I decided to tell him that I needed to lower my hours to 15 (I did NOT tell him about the increase in panic attacks and less mental capacity) and asked him to hire someone else to help me in the office.  He agreed.

Because I told my therapist we could begin DID work again, I was a mess of mental illness and emotions at work today.  I’ve realized that I will have to get 40 hours worth of work done in 15 whenever my hours change.  Also it will take time for him to find someone, interview, hire, and train.  But I am close to a mental break down TODAY.

I need to work a job and get paid about $200 a week to help pay for counseling.  So if I quit this job then I will have to find another one.  So, instead, I keep plodding along trying to hold it together till…..what?  I have a nervous breakdown?  I just don’t know how many days I have left before that happens.   I made my husband promise if he had to take me to the hospital that he had to make sure I could be admitted with my baby doll.


“All the perpetrator asks is that the bystander do nothing”

I asked my husband if he would take a stand WITH me and tell his mom that he was the leader of our family and he had been the one to make the recent decision to not spend the night in her house anymore.  I reminded my husband of the time I took a stand with him concerning my parents.  Many years ago my husband sent a letter to my father questioning his manhood and parenting and expressing his anger towards him.   (I have since learned my husband was angry because of what he was missing out on being married to a woman who had been sexually abused rather than angry because of what my father did to me.)  My mother started addressing cards only to me after that.  I knew she was thinking that I was the one living with an abuser since he had expressed anger at them.  I promptly wrote mom stating that I had read the letter my husband had written and agreed with everything in it.  I never heard from her again.

My mother-in-law couldn’t find a woman’s ring and watch so she accused my oldest son, who had not been to visit her in the last two years, of stealing them.    My husband and I couldn’t take the risk of her accusing my two youngest, who are black, of stealing so we decided to spend the night with his brother.  My mother-in-law is convinced I am keeping her son and grandchildren from her so all of her anger is pointed at me.  As a side note, she never calls the children to talk to them and has to be reminded to call them on their birthdays.

I told him it would make me feel protected, loved, and valued.  It would make me feel like we are together in this problem.  As the day wore on, I realized it was too much to ask because he couldn’t bring himself to do it.  He laughed with his mother, talked about life with her, but couldn’t stand with me before her.  It was too much to ask.  So, again, I am the one blamed, the one hated, the one outcast.

My therapist read a quote recently about trauma and bystanders.  (I don’t know where the quote comes from)

“It is morally impossible to remain neutral for those that bear witness to conflict between the victim and the perpetrator.  The bystander is forced to take sides.  It is very tempting to take the side of the perpetrator.  All the perpetrator asks is that the bystander do nothing.  He appeals to the universal desire to see, hear and speak no evil.  The victim, on the contrary, asks the bystander to share the burden or pain.  The victim demands action, engagement and remembering.  After every atrocity one can expect to hear the same predictable apologies:  it never happened, the victim lies, the victim exaggerates, the victim brought it on herself.”

 So I am left alone in my shame because he is unwilling to share my pain and in doing nothing, he chose the side of the abuser.

Disowned again….

I could hear the laughter before I opened the door.  As I entered, my mother-in-law had hugs and kisses for everyone…except me.  From the moment we walked in the house she neither spoke to nor looked at me.  Even after I hugged and greeted her. This year, she has decided I had too many sins and has passive aggressively disowned me.

For many years my mother-in-law and I have had a very fragile relationship.  She is the ultimate and final ruler of her home.  She is a “Christian” with a capital C and carries a long narrow list of sins that she uses to condemn others.  A big no-no is having ANY emotion other than happiness.  Another sin is to address issues.  Denial is the only way to remain in the fold.  No deep discussions are allowed.

When I was first married, I truly thought I was lucky to marry into this seemingly perfect family.  For several years I guess I met with her approval but as time passed I couldn’t reach her level of perfection.  Even though she had to “put up with me”, she would always show some form of affection….a smile, a quick hug, feigned acceptance.

For 25 years she has greatly disliked my having a food allergy although I have never asked or expected her to accommodate them.  I’ve always taken my own meals, just in case, even though she has always made sure I can eat the main dish.  Until yesterday.  She served a meal I could not eat so I ate the chili I brought.  I piled shame on my plate and drank a mug of false guilt. Christmas presents of clothing and gift cards were passed around by her.  I got 8 oz of grocery store dried fruit.  I draped condemnation and self-loathing around my back.  I came to Christmas wanting family love and acceptance; I left with unworthiness and loneliness.

While I was in her home I accepted the blame but I left predictably numb.