Laurelayn
Jedi
This is going way out on a limb for me. I have decided to post it anyway.
It starts with a dream I had that I feel was inspired by my reading Myth of Sanity.
December 30, 2010
I was in a house, a very large house, that belonged to Chuck and I. There were lots of people there, mostly friendly and supportive. I went out into a beautiful courtyard where there were lots of lovely plantings and a large chicken coop and my chickens came to greet me. They were beautiful and I was happy to see them and they were happy too.
I went to an open window because I heard a bird and saw a pair of parakeets sitting near the sill, the window was open but they stayed inside, uncaged, singing and chattering.
I went inside to a large open kitchen and looked around at my surroundings, all the rooms were very large and open and there was nice furniture, several large tables surrounded by mostly empty chairs. And artwork everywhere, I felt a sense of satisfaction realizing that we had created many of the pieces I was admiring.
Chuck had brought me flowers that were laying on the counter, I picked them up and started eating them, someone asked me what I was doing and I offered them some flowers to taste. They were sweet and I told her they were sweet peas and they were good.
An older woman walked past us pushing an empty stroller and was shaking her head and looking at us with a judgmental scowl and I was wishing she would just go away and not be in my house.
When I woke up I was thinking about the dream and remembered that a feeling of worry about loosing the house was there. I went outside to smoke and was thinking about the myth of sanity and dissociated identity disorder and how it might be affecting me.
I thought of when I was barely 15 and my aunt and mom held me down on my knees by my hair and burned the pages out of my journal (that they had found and read) one by one while telling me that I was a stupid slut and a fucking dirty whore and while yanking on my hair and slapping and punching me I was to realize, they said, that I was a horrible person and I deserved nothing good in my life.
I realized that there was a small piece of me still there, stuck inextricably in that moment.
When I go back through my memories I came to a thought that pieces of me are there, everywhere through my past, I am like a smear through time and that thought makes me feel thin and transparent, like series of scenes on celluloid and trying to integrate myself, trying to remain here, on the end of the paintbrush, seems impossible.
Especially in the context that there is no time, I am there, I am thousands of there’s all at once. This book, the myth of sanity is only the first of the big 5 I have been able to read and it has been a little more than scary for me, to come to a realization that the severe abuses I do remember from when I was little are likely interspersed with many I cannot recall, and many of the voices in my head are just that, pieces of me stuck in scenarios that are likely terrifying, and operating (me) from the emotional little hells they are stuck in. Until a couple of years ago I honestly thought everyone had these voices.
When some part of I endeavors to stand back and look at the whole picture (more like my little scene in a huge painting of all of humanity I have interacted with) that is forming, at my age (there’s that concept of time again) my particular part of the painting is probably well past halfway done, and I can see colors and scenes of terrible jagged raw pain and horror mixed seamlessly with scenes of unspeakable joy and incredible beauty with the muted shades of the everyday mundane covering the background. From my vantage point at this particular moment, I have a tough time envisioning myself being capable of really knowing myself. How can I become aware and even attempt to remain in the moment when I don’t know why these voices in my head respond to things the way they do.
It takes a LOT of effort to pull myself out of some of my paranoid thought “takeovers” I am still there, kind of observing, but, daily, thoughts overwhelm my awareness that leave me very scared or unbearably lonely or even in tears when nothing bad has recently happened.
I can be going out to feed my chickens and just suddenly stop and stare at nothing while some horrifying scene of something that never happened and probably never will plays itself out inside my head and leaves me very shaken.
I am so glad I am reading this book. I have always endeavored to shut these things off and considered it as a weakness that I can’t always do that. I scream inside my head ”STOP! Just shut the F up!” and wonder WHY I constantly do this to myself.
At first the stories in the book seemed foreign and I thought, oh, how awful for these poor people, but when I woke up this morning after the dream, standing outside in the freezing cold having a smoke things just clicked together like pieces in a puzzle and I saw how my story is eerily similar to the passages in the book.
I haven’t finished the book yet, I am beginning the last chapter. I am hoping to learn some way to become more….. Well, less panicky and able to get through a day here and there without these “attacks” on myself. The POTS has helped a lot, I recite it very loud inside my head and many times I can drown out whatever scenario the voice is painting at the time. and the eiru eolas is awesome but long, and I haven’t been very consistent with that.
I have a really hard time letting go, if I don’t try to maintain control over my thoughts I end up in the paranoid land, where personally catastrophic disasters happen every day :O, sometimes several times if I am tired or not feeling well.
I am grateful for this site too, knowledge is power and I know this to be true, I use it daily to survive inside my own head. And just knowing that somewhere over in France there is a community that is living in a wonderful cooperative, mutually supportive non hierarchical way learning from and teaching one another, gives me hope that someday there might be many such communities where highly sensitive intelligent loving beings such as myself and my wonderful husband (who is much like me) might join and find a home among, to help and be helped, to learn and to teach.
I am currently living in the “reddest of the red” state, busting my ass at a part time temp job building office furniture, barely making a living and as much as I wish to, I can no longer afford luxuries like more books. Myth is probably my last one for a while, Secret history was a large purchase for me 2 years ago, but I saved up for it because I really wanted it.
Our income is even in more dire straights now and the internet is my only source for new insights. Thank you all for sharing here, you all give me courage and hope to persevere.
Laurie
It starts with a dream I had that I feel was inspired by my reading Myth of Sanity.
December 30, 2010
I was in a house, a very large house, that belonged to Chuck and I. There were lots of people there, mostly friendly and supportive. I went out into a beautiful courtyard where there were lots of lovely plantings and a large chicken coop and my chickens came to greet me. They were beautiful and I was happy to see them and they were happy too.
I went to an open window because I heard a bird and saw a pair of parakeets sitting near the sill, the window was open but they stayed inside, uncaged, singing and chattering.
I went inside to a large open kitchen and looked around at my surroundings, all the rooms were very large and open and there was nice furniture, several large tables surrounded by mostly empty chairs. And artwork everywhere, I felt a sense of satisfaction realizing that we had created many of the pieces I was admiring.
Chuck had brought me flowers that were laying on the counter, I picked them up and started eating them, someone asked me what I was doing and I offered them some flowers to taste. They were sweet and I told her they were sweet peas and they were good.
An older woman walked past us pushing an empty stroller and was shaking her head and looking at us with a judgmental scowl and I was wishing she would just go away and not be in my house.
When I woke up I was thinking about the dream and remembered that a feeling of worry about loosing the house was there. I went outside to smoke and was thinking about the myth of sanity and dissociated identity disorder and how it might be affecting me.
I thought of when I was barely 15 and my aunt and mom held me down on my knees by my hair and burned the pages out of my journal (that they had found and read) one by one while telling me that I was a stupid slut and a fucking dirty whore and while yanking on my hair and slapping and punching me I was to realize, they said, that I was a horrible person and I deserved nothing good in my life.
I realized that there was a small piece of me still there, stuck inextricably in that moment.
When I go back through my memories I came to a thought that pieces of me are there, everywhere through my past, I am like a smear through time and that thought makes me feel thin and transparent, like series of scenes on celluloid and trying to integrate myself, trying to remain here, on the end of the paintbrush, seems impossible.
Especially in the context that there is no time, I am there, I am thousands of there’s all at once. This book, the myth of sanity is only the first of the big 5 I have been able to read and it has been a little more than scary for me, to come to a realization that the severe abuses I do remember from when I was little are likely interspersed with many I cannot recall, and many of the voices in my head are just that, pieces of me stuck in scenarios that are likely terrifying, and operating (me) from the emotional little hells they are stuck in. Until a couple of years ago I honestly thought everyone had these voices.
When some part of I endeavors to stand back and look at the whole picture (more like my little scene in a huge painting of all of humanity I have interacted with) that is forming, at my age (there’s that concept of time again) my particular part of the painting is probably well past halfway done, and I can see colors and scenes of terrible jagged raw pain and horror mixed seamlessly with scenes of unspeakable joy and incredible beauty with the muted shades of the everyday mundane covering the background. From my vantage point at this particular moment, I have a tough time envisioning myself being capable of really knowing myself. How can I become aware and even attempt to remain in the moment when I don’t know why these voices in my head respond to things the way they do.
It takes a LOT of effort to pull myself out of some of my paranoid thought “takeovers” I am still there, kind of observing, but, daily, thoughts overwhelm my awareness that leave me very scared or unbearably lonely or even in tears when nothing bad has recently happened.
I can be going out to feed my chickens and just suddenly stop and stare at nothing while some horrifying scene of something that never happened and probably never will plays itself out inside my head and leaves me very shaken.
I am so glad I am reading this book. I have always endeavored to shut these things off and considered it as a weakness that I can’t always do that. I scream inside my head ”STOP! Just shut the F up!” and wonder WHY I constantly do this to myself.
At first the stories in the book seemed foreign and I thought, oh, how awful for these poor people, but when I woke up this morning after the dream, standing outside in the freezing cold having a smoke things just clicked together like pieces in a puzzle and I saw how my story is eerily similar to the passages in the book.
I haven’t finished the book yet, I am beginning the last chapter. I am hoping to learn some way to become more….. Well, less panicky and able to get through a day here and there without these “attacks” on myself. The POTS has helped a lot, I recite it very loud inside my head and many times I can drown out whatever scenario the voice is painting at the time. and the eiru eolas is awesome but long, and I haven’t been very consistent with that.
I have a really hard time letting go, if I don’t try to maintain control over my thoughts I end up in the paranoid land, where personally catastrophic disasters happen every day :O, sometimes several times if I am tired or not feeling well.
I am grateful for this site too, knowledge is power and I know this to be true, I use it daily to survive inside my own head. And just knowing that somewhere over in France there is a community that is living in a wonderful cooperative, mutually supportive non hierarchical way learning from and teaching one another, gives me hope that someday there might be many such communities where highly sensitive intelligent loving beings such as myself and my wonderful husband (who is much like me) might join and find a home among, to help and be helped, to learn and to teach.
I am currently living in the “reddest of the red” state, busting my ass at a part time temp job building office furniture, barely making a living and as much as I wish to, I can no longer afford luxuries like more books. Myth is probably my last one for a while, Secret history was a large purchase for me 2 years ago, but I saved up for it because I really wanted it.
Our income is even in more dire straights now and the internet is my only source for new insights. Thank you all for sharing here, you all give me courage and hope to persevere.
Laurie
