Dealing with Life

With an ongoing struggle, life hits hard. I wear glasses. Two days ago, my vision went; kaplooey, completely out of focus. I can no longer completely focus on small print. Today, I am typing this zoomed in 150%, so that I can see what I am typing.

The thought of totally losing my vision is terrifying. I am a diabetic, but my sugar is completely under control. When I test my sugar level, it is normal. When I go for checkups, it is normal within non-diabetic standards. I do drink non-diabetic drinks; I do indulge in sugared coffee in the morning. I drink –maybe- two sodas a day – over the course of the entire day, not a whole soda all at once.

Where can this sudden loss of sight have come from? My right eye is not functioning properly. I have proven that today. Tuesday, I brought my prescription in for new glasses (after saving and saving to be able to afford polycarbonate with transition lenses) finally. The prescription was for one lens only – the left eye. The right eye did not change. Although they had to replace both lenses, the right eye did not need a new prescription. My left eye, changed by about 60 points – a huge change.

When I put the new glasses on, I was able to focus well enough to read normal print again, something I was not able to do with the old glasses. Still, things are way out of focus, and not correct, but I do not think it’s a function of the glasses. I think it’s a function of something is massively wrong with my right eye.

When I had my doctor’s appointment back in late August, the technician got frustrated with me, because I could not tell her which one was better, this one or that one with my right eye. Neither one was better. They were the same to me. So she said “pick one”. That is not the way it’s supposed to be done. So I picked, and picked and picked, and each time it got worse and worse and worse... until finally she said “this is your new prescription” and I said “Oh no it’s not”, because I could not read a single letter on that line, whereas I could when we started.. Barely... but I could.

Then we did the left eye that came a bit more easily, and was quickly corrected. Then, she tried to get me tested for glaucoma. This woman is already frustrated with me, and then she tries to stick a piece of paper in my eye. NOT!!! I can’t even put eye drops in my own eyes, and she thinks she’s going to get a piece of paper next to my eyeball? NOT!!! I panic – worse than any wild animal when things come close to my eyes. I told her this, and still she tried. Then she comes at me with the wand thing for the glaucoma test. Come ON People! Why can’t you listen – PANIC WORSE THAN A CORNERED WILD BEAST!

So, without those two tests performed, and this technician totally pissed off, she says go out and sit in the waiting room until they call your name for the doctor to see you. I’m looking at her, and saying “Just like that, you’re giving up,” but she had already put the eye drops in my eyes, and could no longer do any readings on my eyes.

So – off to the waiting room I go. At least the doctor treated me with some semblance of respect. He explained that once they put the eye drops in they couldn’t re-do the “is this better or that better” test, until the eye drops wear off. That test is only for when there are no eye drops in the eyes. “Oh, nice of the technician to be a total bitch,” I think to myself.

The doctor looks into my eyes, and tells me “You’ve got two tiny ruptures behind your right retina; they will eventually need to be corrected with laser surgery. I want to see you back here in 9 months.” He was very nice, and explained himself thoroughly. I fear… that I have more ruptures behind my right retina now, and that is what is happening. My left eye however is also not focusing properly, and it should be. I have my new glasses on. Everything SHOULD be clear through that lens… and its not.

Sigh =FEAR=

=signing off until tomorrow=

Dealing with MPD - My Journey

First, let me explain why I say MPD (Multiple Personalities) and not DID (Dissociative Identity Disorder) as all members of the “esteemed” psychiatric community in the United States call it.

MPD – Multiple Personality Disorder
DID – Dissociative Identity Disorder

They look different don’t they? If you were to hunt down their definitions, you’d find that they echo each other’s definition. So why do they have different names? Read the definitions closer. They are identical, except for one very important line, and it is that very same line that is the reason that I say – that I am MPD instead of DID.

The Definition of MPD:

• • The presence of two or more distinct identities or personalities
• • At least two of these identities or personalities recurrently take control of the person's behavior
• • Inability to recall important personal information that is too extensive to be explained by ordinary forgetfulness
• • The disturbance is not due to the direct physiological effects of a substance or a general medical condition.
  

The Definition of DID:

• • The presence of two or more distinct personality states
• • At least two of these personality states recurrently take control of the person's behavior
• • Inability to recall important personal information that is too extensive to be explained by ordinary forgetfulness
• • The disturbance is not due to the direct physiological effects of a substance or a general medical condition.
  

My alters (or family as I prefer to call them) would not like it if I called them a “Personality State”. Nor would your children like it if you called them a figment of your imagination.

I think that somehow, DID lends less credulity to the fact that indeed there are other personalities inside, they are real; they are distinct, complete separate personalities, with likes, wants and needs. It’s hard to live like this as it is. I have severe symptoms. I wake in the morning sitting at my desk, when I went to bed in my bedroom the night before. I physically cannot sit for extended periods, but one of my family members likes to be at the desk.

Worse yet, is the lack of psychiatric support. There is somewhere along the lines of 90% of the members of the psychiatric community who do not believe in MPD/DID to begin with. When other symptoms erupt – like my running battle with severe depression, hospitalization is always a battle. I am –forever- being re-diagnosed as BPD (Borderline Personality Disorder) or Schizophrenic – both are misdiagnosis of MPD. Doctors refuse to treat MPD in the local area, and then they medicate me for these disorders. When I was living in a group home, I was forced to take these medications, or return to living with my abusive parents.

I’m on Medicare and Medicaid due to disabilities beyond the mental part – (physically disabled as well as the debilitation of MPD, PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder), and Major Depression). The only local hospital that even offers a PTSD clinic is a private hospital. So, when symptoms of depression and suicidal ideation come about, it’s compounded by the knowledge that I’m going into a facility that doesn’t care if I’m MPD or not, it’s going to medicate me for something I’m not. Feelings of desperation begin to cloud and compound the feelings of depression. Then the angry insiders step out, the ones who want to quit, or who have only one way of expressing their anger and that is through cutting on the body. That scares me the most. I’m caring for children, I can’t be cutting.. But the feelings are soooo close.

Just this morning, I came into the office to have a cigarette, and discovered something extremely odd. There was an un-smoked cigarette, with a paperclip pinching the filter sitting on my desk. This has never happened before; to me it causes fear and wonder. Who did it? Why? When did it occur? I didn’t do it! I went to bed, I woke up in bed. I do not recall ever getting up in the night, yet when I got up this morning, all of the clothes that were on top of my hope chest that is at the foot of my bed, were on the floor – yet, my bed was not ruffled, nor were my blankets and sheet messed. I did not get under them at all last night, and it was cold.

I have a therapist, she’s a wonderful person. I go to her office, and chit-chat. I get to the point of getting comfortable enough to talk about something, and it’s time to go, our scheduled time is over. Poof – the time flies over my head and all I can do is look at the clock and say huh? It’s not that I’m uncomfortable talking to her. It’s not that anyone inside is uncomfortable talking to her – I don’t get that feeling. It’s that NOBODY wants to tell.

So, redirection, change the subject, I don’t even realize I’m doing it.. or am I ? Because sometimes, I don’t remember the session at all. Most the time that is. I don’t. Who was there? How did I get home? Must be James drove again, he’s the driver in the family. He’s 16, I learned when I was living in Phoenix. A very safe driver for one so young, but he can’t control it when Janet wants to take over. SHE is the suicidal one, and one of her constant, scary themes is driving at 100 miles per hour into a very sturdy tree or light pole.

Yet, we don’t talk about that. Not until the pain is so great, that it’s tearing us all up inside. I can hardly breath sometimes. Yet no tears come. I cannot cry. I have not cried in years.

The journey I’m on, is a long one, and I’ve been on it for years. I’ve got a long ways to go. I’m on a backwards slide, and right now the safety net has been ripped full of holes.

There’s only one patch that’s there, that I might catch.. if I land right.. but that’s highly unlikely at this stage of the game, there is little hope.