June 21, 2019 darnold1975

The Hurt Child (Poetry)

The Hurt Child

6.2.2019

After 30 years I welcome you to see

A vision of the devil you carved out of me

I took your hate as a child the very best that I could

But these days I awake saying, “Bitch, I wish you would!”

Your words have haunted me all of these years.

And I lost count years ago on the number of tears.

That I shed for myself when no one else would.

Of course not around you but alone I could.

I’ve been very patient and it’s been a chore

Because while you’ve been enjoying your life, I’ve been fighting a war

One where not all of the wounds can be seen.

My smile has provided for me a social smoke screen.

It was my fault that others continued to get hurt.

I told no one, spoken was not one single word.

Columbine was much later and aren’t you glad

I regret not walking back into that school

for you because your ass I would’ve had.

You have hurt my kids through me and also my wife.

And that your you changed the course of my life

You’ve taken everything I worked so hard for and left me with nothing.

I sit here smoking weed trying to survive the memories just huffin’ and puffin’.

I’ll make that trip no matter what, so call me a hater

I don’t call it “revenge” I call it, “returning the favor.”

The day I show up you won’t know what to do

Because that 13 year-old hurt child is coming after you.

By: Dana Landrum-Arnold

#thispuzzledlife

June 19, 2019March 2, 2020 darnold1975

Who Will Cry For The Little Girl?

6.13.2019

“The worst type of crying wasn’t the kind everyone could see–the wailing on street corners, the tearing at clothes. No, the worst kind happened when your soul wept and no matter what you did, there was no way to comfort it. A section withered and became a scar on the part of your soul that survived. For people like me and Echo, our souls contained more scar tissue than life.”
― Katie McGarry, Pushing the Limits

Recently, there seems to be some type of shift that’s taking place in therapy. Coach and I have been working on a few things with “my guys” and that’s where it seems that the shift started. I can’t do much explaining other than my personal opinion because right now my job is to trust and let the fairy dust fly. The player/coach relationship that I had with my coaches was always considered very sacred to me. So, you can bet your ass that the “therapeutic relationship” that I have with coach is one that is very sacred and protected as well.

Tonight I was suddenly stopped in my tracks with a big dose of anxiety that instantly had me in tears. A lot of old and extremely painful feelings have been nipping at my heels and tonight was the breaking point. Crying in front of a therapist again has taken some getting used to. I didn’t say that it was comfortable but what it has been is……SAFE. After years of being made fun of, ridiculed and belittled for my tears, it makes doing what seems natural appear impossible at times. I can’t begin to explain how damaging abuse and “bad therapy” can deeply impact someone. What I can tell you about is the relief that is felt after months and, in this case, a couple of years watching so many things about a therapist and finally taking that chance again with my tears and not getting hurt. The unspoken message between stares that says, “I’m not going to make fun of you” instantly makes the tears fall faster. There’s not a monetary value that you can put on an experience like that. Your heart feels a pleasant but guarded relief and overwhelming grief all at the same time. Since that day a deeper level of trust and openness was achieved and therapy continues to evolve. Leaps and bounds is the Speed at which I’m doing work.

Last night I found a picture album that I had forgotten that I had stashed away in my room. Curious what pictures were in there I looked and felt a lump in my throat when I saw it was pictures of Marshall when he was younger. I was just being a proud momma until the pictures of him as a preemie in the NICU. Feelings ran hot/cold from head to toe. I felt the same fear that I had experienced when I was unable to hold him initially. I couldn’t understand why this was happening with our new baby. The guilt and shame was incredible then and still is now.

There were approximately 30-40 more pictures each with heavy emotions attached to each one. I sat there in the quietness of my bedroom and let the anxiety and 30 years of shameful grief overtake me. The tears were not gently rolling down my cheeks. I was “Snot crying” like a toddler in Wal-Mart. Each picture’s emotion was like it had been felt for the first time. I held my stuffed animals and wished for anything but aloneness. I needed someone to tell me that grief will not kill you. And that I couldn’t possibly cry enough tears to be seen in the emergency room for dehydration. Maybe I could try and understand it my way that I could make sense of things. The best possible explanation was that I was losing water weight. Yep…I got it after that. The grief I was feeling was just too much. Those pictures needed a better place to stay until they don’t have quite the sting that they do now. And I’m proud to say that those pictures have a new temporary home placement.

After adjustments were made with my guys a couple of weeks ago, the freedom for better communication has been allowed. What a sense of freedom and a new level of understanding I’m experiencing with my alters. Emotions are still very overwhelming for me. They’re almost always very intense whether or not they are positive or negative.

I began to feel the individual feelings that my alters experience daily. I have been coasting on laughter and anger for so many years that I seem to have forgotten how to experience some of these feelings on their most basic level. And just me, my stuffies and my guys would be here to deal with them all……ALONE. I was soon overcome with grief, loss, guilt and shame not for myself but for those children, teens and adults who were so mistreated. I know it’s weird hearing someone talk about different parts of themselves like they’re the poor, pitiful neighborhood kids. But to me they are all individuals. They just all live under one roof…MINE. Just roll with it.

I began to cry for the fear that each one experienced at a level that’s not easily put into words.

I cried for all of the anxiety, from the years of stress, that has left its permanent mark on my body physically.

I cry for the secrets that the children were forced into silence thus preventing help. And for the teens and adults that still keep secrets now because they still feel that they aren’t worthy of being helped.

I cry for the person that I use to be before the damage of the abuse showed such overwhelming evidence.

I cry for the children and their lost innocents.

I cry for those that needed and wanted help and it never arrived.

I cry for the fear of having relationships with people because when I was younger relationships came with an “OWIE.”

I cry for the adults who experienced every level of pain in a relationship for many years that was supposed to be one where love and protection were a natural reality. Unfortunately, though, relationships now equal fear.

I cry for the ones who had relationships with those trusted and respected people who have since died that had such a positive impact on us all. But the loss was so great that the impact can be felt with every failed relationship since.

I cry for the one that hurts so deeply over losses that she will sabotage anything good.

I cry for the ones that miss out on the joy of being able to enjoy food and eating. Because those times were used for target practice by others.

I cry for the little one that cries continuously. Her pain cannot be soothed. She has a hole in her soul that was created from rejection and abandonment. She craves security and safety that was lost in 1975 and 2015. Nothing and no one but me and the universe can hear her piercing cries.

And I cry for everyone who is doing their best to realize that love and compassion aren’t supposed to hurt.

And those who are also very slowly beginning to allow both empathy and compassion to collectively soften and re-warm the hearts that were tucked away for protection that have grown cold and necrotic. With the re-warming comes new and healthy growth. Hearts with healthy tissue begin to mend. The soul energy that had become so depleted will be renewed. Tears go from the color red back to clear. The masks of the clown and the devil will not be the only two available because there won’t be a need to looked through the eyes “masking” pain. That determined athlete will have a renewed sense of purpose and a new set of trusted and loved teammates. And a new coach who’s words of wisdom gets absorbed and held onto with a death grip. Self-worth and value become realized and then actualized. Scars begin to fade from fresh battle wounds to the scars of the war once fought. New and healthier ways of protecting myself will become the new breastplate that will be worn with pride knowing the work that was done to earn it. And another dynamic “coach” that will have motivated and pushed me with fairy dust to be the best possible “ME” that I could be. But the greatest gift that will be gained covers it all……AUTHENTICITY.

Who will cry for this little girl? The ones that live inside of me. She matters and so do they.

“I define connection as the energy that exists between people when they feel seen, heard, and valued; when they can give and receive without judgment; and when they derive sustenance and strength from the relationship.”
― Brené Brown

#thispuzzledlife

June 19, 2019June 19, 2019 darnold1975

All I Have To Offer

“When you’re just like everybody else, you’ve nothing

to offer other than your conformity.”

—Wayne Dyer

Lately, I’ve been adding some poetry that I had saved on my phone. What I’ve learned about having relationships with my internal guys is how to listen to them. If I get a wild hair and need to either write a blog or poetry it usually means that someone is needing to be heard. Write it down and then ask questions later has been my motto lately. What I’ve realized is that chaos and confusion are minimized and open, honest and direct communication has been encouraged. Trust me….this is one big process of learning how to build and maintain relationships with “head mates” that have seen a lot of the evils of mankind. I would like to thank Hobby Lobby and Michael’s Crafts for allowing me to buy supplies from them in order to do projects that enhance the building of a better relationship with my alters. Ok….now I’m being silly.

I usually start getting silly when I become uncomfortable in some way. And well, “Coach of the Year” has assigned me to write about what I have to offer as a person. I don’t always like the “assignments” but I love the lessons and answers I get from them. To put it all into perspective, growing pains are called “growing pains” because growth doesn’t always feel good. Likewise, growth as an athlete requires constant practice and learning the ins and outs of playing the game.

One of the greatest lessons about playing ball that I remember was when we were learning how to run bases. Stay with me because this part can get confusing. You don’t wait until you’re all the way down the baseline to the base to look at your coaches for direction about what to do. You ALWAYS keep your eyes on your coaches. Half way down the baseline to 1st base you start looking at your first base coach. If he or she thinks that you can take another base they will point in that direction. Half way to 2nd base you begin looking for your 3rd base coach for direction on either to stay or go while also listening to your 1st base coach from behind you about whether or not to slide. If your 3rd base coach signals to take 3rd base he or she will also be rounding you to home or telling you to “get down” to beat the throw at the base. If you start rounding 3rd base and head to home plate, you look to your teammates on whether or not to slide. So, from the time the ball hits the bat you look for direction and trust that your coaches are making the best decision for both you and the team. Either way, you’re not alone…ever. You’re simply being directed until you’re back to the safety of home plate. They direct you but they don’t nor can they bat for you individually or as a team. The work has to come from you.

Artist: Celeste Roberge

It’s the same way for me in therapy. I’m always looking to coach for guidance. I don’t want anyone to do my work for me. I hunger for her guidance and fear the unknown. But I also trust her and know that decisions will be made in my best interest. And from having been mistreated by a therapist previously, being able to trust her to not hurt me or to not have ulterior motives is really kind of a big deal. It has take now a solid 17 months to try to work through a lot of the fears surrounding the therapeutic process. I haven’t conquered them all but when I moved here I hadn’t conquered any. Getting hurt in therapy by a therapist has caused more issues then what I was prepared to deal with. I had no idea how hurt I was but Texas has a way of revealing all kinds of things. Yep….a modern day “Mr. Miyagi” she certainly is.

All of this ties into the original topic “What I have to offer?” It’s embarrassing for me to discuss this kind of topic. After years of being told by different people that I wasn’t good enough as a human being and the fact that I’m a total non-conformist, it’s really difficult to say, much less believe, that I have anything to offer this world. I totally stick out like a sore thumb with the problems that often arise in public (tics, switching, emotional outbursts, aggression, etc) regardless if I can’t control them falling short in society’s definition of “normal” is not easy.

Having limitations like this certainly makes life incredibly more challenging. The eyes that you view the world with after abuse seem to be put into place without knowledge that it’s happened. The confidence that I worked so hard to gather and maintain as a child was completely dismissed and destroyed through the hatefulness of others. The compassion that helped to build my confidence as a child didn’t seem to be able to shine through the darkness. Slowly, I began to lose my spunk for life and likewise pieces of myself. I could no longer offer those qualities in myself that I lived with daily that made me proud to be a part of the human race. I no longer saw people that I welcomed around me as a precious commodity. I now saw them as potentially harmful, shady and very scary. I kept my jovial demeanor that everyone loved until the hurt I was hiding became the new clothing for my soul. And my big heart that had always been one of my greatest assets had gone into hiding in order to also protect itself. I looked up one day and had no idea who was looking back at me from my reflection in the mirror. My arms were severely scarred. Eating had become a necessary evil. And my dreams and goals for what I had worked so hard to achieve had disappeared like grains of sand that slipped through my hands never to be seen the same way again.

I had become emotionally feral through my own survival. I seemed to have changed right before the eyes that had supported me for so many years. And now, I had become not only someone I didn’t recognize but also someone that other people who loved and respected me didn’t recognize. I simply had morphed from an individual that people loved into someone that people feared. It was heartbreaking to know that this emotional freight train was going through destroying everything in my path and I was powerless to stop it. Mel and I searched for answers daily for years in hopes of finding anything to help explain why I had become this aggressive monster that even she feared. She fell in love with Dana who loved and cherished her unconditionally. And almost overnight the Dana that she knew was gone only to be replaced by an aggressive, disrespectful, scary, immature and seemingly much younger version of herself that Mel didn’t recognize or understand. And frankly, I had no explanation for anything regardless of the evidence that would be presented to me.

We moved to Albuquerque and for me it was something that I had hoped that a geographic change would help to remedy. It didn’t. Once we got there free from the oppression of the deep south, we sought out counseling knowing that I had problems. We had no idea how deep those problems ran but soon we would. I could offer nothing to anyone. I felt I was being drained of my “goodness” and all the positive attributes that made me the compassionate and loving person that I had always been. All I felt was hurt. And all I seemed to be able to offer was more hurt. So, my only solution to stopping the hemorrhaging was to end relationships and to isolate myself, as much as possible, from society. That way no one would have to suffer pain through my own doing anymore.

Again we would come in contact with another hurtful human being in the form of a therapist. The only thing good that came out of the 2.5 years that I saw her was the correct diagnosis. Other than that she was incredibly damaging for me therapeutically and emotionally. I soon wanted nothing to do with professionals and became even more aggressive to make sure that no one wanted to help treat me. The truth was that I wanted so desperately for someone to help me. I, however, was so scared of having another hurtful professional that the fear paralyzed me and sabotaged any type of help that might’ve been offered. My new motto was: “No one would ever hurt me again professional or not. And I would do everything in my power to make sure that happened.” True to my word I became a patient in facilities that people hated to deal with. I gave a whole new meaning to the term “non-compliance.” I trusted no one and hated everyone. But my fearless and loving wife still searched for answers while trying to raise our two little boys despite me often times being in a condition where I couldn’t even get out of bed to take care of my basic hygiene needs. And yes, there were times that she had to bathe me because I just wasn’t able to at the time. That, my friends, is a example of love.

She would find a facility in Texas that she thought I needed to try. For two years, she pleaded for me to go and I wouldn’t. I eventually showed up and set the aggressive tone early just to prove that I could hurt and scare people just like they had done to me. I finally met the therapist that would work with me while I was there. I was determined to run her off too. What I didn’t count on was that she would be able to see past the anger into the pain hidden behind the spewing and venomous rage. I tried to end the caring and compassionate look in her eyes and couldn’t despite my greatest efforts. This peaked my interest but the fear of her position as a therapist took over. I knew that I had finally met my match.

Within 1.5 years of this experience I moved to Texas as a last ditch effort of trying to save myself from an assured death. I didn’t come here believing that things would change and get better. I came here because a rare find showed me compassion despite my self-destructive path. So again….what do I have to offer? For me, I’m still in the process of finding out what those gifts have the potential to be. My sense of humor continues to be one of my strongest and best qualities. I have an education that allows me to speak to people about the damaging power of abuse. I have the emotional knowledge to be able to reach teenagers and to know the struggles of living life feeling emotionally trapped. I have the knowledge and firsthand experience of seeing how compassion and love can topple the effects of abuse by soothing the pain and hurt. I know and can feel what it’s like to be loved by someone who will sacrifice everything to make sure you’re safe because they want so desperately to help find the one they fell in love with. I know what it’s like to make sacrifices as a parent to protect two little precious beings that still call me mom. I know what it’s like to still be coachable after being a washed up “has been” athlete from 20+ years ago. I have the experience and know how to continue to pick myself up and keep going when I’ve pushed myself way past my limits in order to survive. I know what it’s like and fully understand the fear of letting someone in to help when allowing someone to do that caused so much hurt and pain. I know the feeling of not being heard. I know the agony of silent screams and the language of pain that can take on so many different forms. And I have the Experience, Strength and Hope of someone who’s been fighting a war my entire life without being in the military and not ever having to leave my homeland.

One thing that Sarah taught me many years ago was this, she said, “Dana, you have the capacity and ability to do great things. But you can’t give away what you don’t have. Recovery is what you need and what will make great things possible.” So, I say this to you now…recovery is a marathon not a sprint. You don’t ever reach the finish line of being “recovered.” I still struggle emotionally on a daily basis and I still don’t yet have all of the answers I want. I am, however, slowly receiving the answers I need. Healing wounds is not easy nor is it comfortable. And unfortunately, it’s also not instant. It took me 43 years to become this damaged and dysfunctional and to think that it can all be changed overnight is unrealistic. One thing I never allow life to come between is me and my therapy. I have my heart set on once again being a functional part of my family and to help my one and only soul mate raise our two little boys that we fought so hard to have. And today I can say that the parts of my destructive self, no matter how slowly, have begun to be silenced.

“Mentors don’t just have to be people

who are older or more experienced that you are.

Mentors are people who really care about you, know you,

and want to offer feedback and advice to help you grow.”

—Jennifer Hyman

#thispuzzledlife

June 19, 2019 darnold1975

Life With The Plant

“It doesn’t have a high potential for abuse, and there are very legitimate medical applications. In fact, sometimes Marijuana is the only thing that works… It is irresponsible not to provide the best care we can as a medical community, care that could involve Marijuana. We have been terribly and systematically misled for nearly 70 years in the United States, and I apologize for my own role in that.”

—- Dr. Sanjay Gupta / Neurosurgeon

Where our society and medical professions have advanced from the days of lobotomies, bloodletting, hydrotherapies and many other dehumanizing ways of treating mental illness, many attitudes and stigmas still remain the same. And still, there are those affiliated with religion that seem to think that mental illness is punishment for moral transgressions. And yes, I have also been told that even though trauma induced, my alters are actually demons that do not deserve a voice but should be cast out instead. I chalk a lot of this up to ignorance but still the target was me.

While living in Albuquerque Mel and I would come to realize, unbeknownst to us at the time, the complications that living with a mental illness would entail. I had lived with severe depression and anxiety since childhood which few people from school days realize. Even as a child and teenager I was well liked and was one of the favored clowns much like today. Before we left Mississippi there was very clear evidence that something was definitely wrong. Finally, breaking free of a 14 year abusive relationship just seemed to complicate life more than either of us could’ve ever imagined.

Albuquerque was a place where we could break free from the overly conservative south to have a relationship and family, or so we thought. With each passing day, though, my “quirkiness” would soon take on a life of its own. By the time our oldest, Marshall, was born it was like the flood gates had been opened. We were already seeing a very loyal and trusted therapist. I was now losing time for days and weeks. I was hallucinating and becoming increasingly suicidal and my behavior was becoming more erratic and at times very scary. I had also started becoming very aggressive which led to horrible rages. The scariest part about it all was that I had no memory of these things happening.

The level of trauma that I held within me was now bursting at the seams to a point that I couldn’t contain it. The harder I tried, the more I failed. I was seeing a psychiatrist and had run the gamut of psych meds and their subsequent unpleasant side effects trying to find some combination that could provide me, Mel and our new little baby some relief. I had been given several different diagnoses that never quite seemed to fit. And each time I would have to be hospitalized the re-traumatization just grew in intensity.

I eventually became toxic from all of the meds and was seen in the emergency room because the doctors thought that my kidneys were shutting down or that I might’ve had a stroke. I was admitted to the hospital but the next morning the doctor that came to see me was yet another psychiatrist. Again, it seemed, no one wanted to believe us. I politely told him he could leave and that I was going to leave as well since nothing was being done and the bill was going higher and higher. Mel and I left the hospital completely defeated and our trust in the system that was designed to help was becoming depleted.

Mel would soon begin capturing some of my strange behaviors on video in order to show the doctors exactly what was happening. Doctors and other professionals still didn’t seem to believe us despite the captured evidence. No one believed that it was possible to have these types of behaviors and to not be able to remember doing them. When Mel would show me the videos and tell me other things that I had done, I was appalled. There’s no possible way that I was treating her or our new baby this way. In some instances, after seeing the footage, I would collapse with grief.

After returning to my psychiatrist following the debacle in the hospital he said, “Hey, how about we try the medications again?” I simply replied, “You’re crazier than I am if you think I’m going through that shit again. I almost died from your pharmaceutical poisons.” Psych meds didn’t help they seem to complicate and exacerbate my symptoms but most of the time left me feeling “robotic” and unable to feel anything. That’s when I was put on medical cannabis and it has been a lifesaver every since. Anytime, I’ve had to be hospitalized for mental health issues I ALWAYS refuse the medications unless absolutely necessary like for sleep. The meds have never helped me because most of the time I feel so bad from the side effects of the adjustment period that I’ll just quit taking them. They simply made me a “chemistry experiment.”

For the first time in my life, I was able to have some type of quality of life while we searched endlessly for someone that could treat my complex traumatic past. Cannabis has its limitations just like any other medications. But, for once, something was actually working and “Big Pharma” just couldn’t compete with nature. These days I don’t ask for permission or have the willingness to wait on an already corrupt government and the decisions of the narcissist clown that currently runs the country to tell me when it’s ok to have a quality of life. I just simply do what I have to do to survive the best way I know how and most psych meds are still not a part nor will they ever be a part of that formula ever again.

I have taken much criticism for using cannabis as a medication to treat PTSD. Again, it’s ignorance that seems to fuel these criticisms. Until you have almost from synthetic medications then maybe an alternative way doesn’t seem feasible. Even as a recovering addict I have yet to have a single problem related to addiction with cannabis. Hands down this plant has and is continuing to save my life from some incredibly debilitating symptoms.

For some people cannabis seems to be the only answer. I take a medication that can replace any combination of psych meds. There are those times, though, when symptoms seem to just shoot through the medicinal ceiling of the plant. And this is when I will usually have a backup plan for anxiety meds and sleep meds. Some people mistakenly think that medical cannabis “cures” PTSD. I politely tell them that it’s a medication just like any other medication to treat the paralyzing “symptoms” of the disorder only it’s much safer and works better for me. Unfortunately, it doesn’t have the ability to “unbreak the plate” of the traumas that caused the PTSD to begin with. You still have to do therapy. You still can’t go around the issue to reach a resolution. Painful as it might be the only way for that to happen is to work through it. Cannabis helps with the very frightening flashbacks, migraines, insomnia, anxiety and any other unpleasant symptom that can lead to suicidal thoughts and behaviors. So while the presidential pumpkin and his posse are busy playing politics and searching for the next horrible hairdo. I’ve got therapy and a lifetime of trauma to work through. I and many others don’t have the luxury of being able to wait for them to get finished rolling around in the bed with “Big Pharma” and pass federal legislation so that this medication is legal everywhere. I, not anyone else, will die from my PTSD symptoms unless they’re controlled. Sadly, many people, as well as, returning soldiers have died by their own hand because of lack of access to a medication that can save lives in so many different ways.

I will always back this highly stigmatized and demonized plant that has helped give me some type of quality of life despite some people’s ignorance about the topic. My wife will tell you that being put on the cannabis program has saved my life. And even though functionality still fluctuates heavily sometimes from the disorder itself, it’s still so much better than it could be and has been thanks to a plant called exactly what it is….weed. Cannabis has had such a positive impact on my life that living without it seems inconceivable. And the only side effects I have to worry about these days are sleepy, happy and hungry.

#Thispuzzledlife

June 19, 2019 darnold1975

Lessons Learned

“There are certain life lessons that you can only learn in the struggle.”
― Idowu Koyenikan, Wealth for All: Living a Life of Success at the Edge of Your Ability

I have been asked more than once since writing these blog posts how I decide what to write? The truth is that I don’t always know. Sometimes it can be a topic that has embedded itself in my gut. It can be a topic that I continually search for answers and/or the meaning in my life. But, I often times will begin writing without any type of direction. Maybe it’s even some type of struggle where writing is my way of asking the universe for a lesson to be taught. And my thoughts have always been to sit back and wait for my answers to be revealed. Whatever the “reason” or “lesson” my intent is to be open and receptive no matter how difficult.

I have always been one that has taken the hard road out of necessity. Mel will be one of the first to tell anyone who asks that “Dana has to see something for herself before she will make a decision. You can tell her all day long the easiest way to go but until she sees things for herself she won’t budge.” This is not a fact that I deny. Maybe the hard truth is the only way I learn. If you wait for me to read between the lines, I will most assuredly leave you frustrated. Being incredibly hard headed and coming in 2nd place only to my Nannie, has never really made the “easy way” a workable option either. I must have questions answered and the questions about the questions answered. I might still reach the same conclusion but it will have taken me twice as long.

As a young child and then a mouthy teenager if I was told not to do something you can write it down that within hours or minutes I would be doing the very thing I was told not to do. This is where playing sports and having coaches who had the ultimate authority taught me discipline. As an adult and without their sometimes harsh discipline I seemed to go through life hungering for direction. Also, through this same discipline I was taught how to pick myself up and keep going. Because it wasn’t all about me, it was about our TEAM. This team concept is one lesson that I have never lost.

At 43 years-old and a difficult adult life, I’ve had to take some hard looks in the mirror and some much needed soul searching that would’ve had the ability to piss off Gandhi. Go a step further and do this in solitude with the daily worries of a mother and a wife and it doesn’t take long for someone to start questioning whether or not the chip on my shoulder is actually worth carrying. It also has the incredible ability to lessen the teenage arrogance in my walk and anger written on my face all seemingly hidden by a smile and a few jokes. Because when you don’t have the daily distractions of life there’s nothing that can bring forth an argumentative yet very sobering day like the one staring back at you.

There have been many times that I have stared in the mirror only to see the one looking back almost as if to say, “Really? Smiles and laughter are all fun and games until you get a really good look at yourself when the clown isn’t on stage, isn’t it?” I continue to look in the mirror at the stern arrogance of the one who, in recent years, has been able to provide intimidation whenever needed. I look down at my hands remembering how much damage can be done to a room in a fit of rage. I then look at my forearms and hear the familiar taunts from 30 years prior and the feeling of words spoken as though they were being said for the first time. The adult that was to educate her never raised her hand in anger because the muscles she used as a weapon could also cause damage. I look up as tears begin to stream down my face wishing, for that moment, that someone would make the pain in my chest cease. I search for a laugh or a smile to be instantaneous medicine as it has been for the majority of my life. Instead, however, were a set of eyes belonging to a very hurt teenage child who is fixated on the guilty memory of the unknown mother who said, “She hurt my son too.” Through the tears she tried but couldn’t convey the language of her pain. Pain, as she would discover, wasn’t always spoken. And on this day, the lessons were learned.

#thispuzzledlife

June 19, 2019 darnold1975

I AM RESPONSIBLE

“Hate is the complement of fear and narcissists like being feared.

It imbues them with an intoxicating sensation of omnipotence.”
― Sam Vaknin, Malignant Self-Love: Narcissism Revisited

The term “Responsible” has never been a word that most people use to describe me especially in my teen years. There are those teens who are very responsible driving, their studies and extracurricular activities. I personally got caught up in the comedy of the situation from start to finish even if it was actually more dangerous than funny. As a teenager when my well thought out teen ideas would emerge like going to bonfire parties with fellow classmates and upper classmen and seeing how many times and how much we can throw up in one night without dying; or driving like a bat out of hell with gasoline panties on down what was known as “Thrill Hill” outside the Petal, MS city limits at speeds where those that drove down it should’ve all met our demise; or and this is the best one…..we as a softball “team” on the eve of a “hot as crotch” practice we thought it would be a great idea to get drunk as a team would help with team unity. Guess who DID NOT buy that explanation? Nope…as I recall the next day we ran, and ran and ran and ran until your hangover was gone or there was no more puke left to let loose. I, for one, never drank the night before a practice EVER again. I’m usually the one cheering on such outrageous ideas and had already begun planning jail commissary meals made with Ramen Noodles as somewhat of a “celebratory being handcuffed” gesture if needed. Guilty your honor!!!!!!

The thought of coming in contact and being held emotionally hostage for the next 14 years never crossed my mind. My main goals, at the time, was to stay as high as I could and not eat. Both somehow seemed to soothe my heart from my 8th grade disaster only a couple of years prior. But now we as a student body and a community had been gut punched by the disappearance and alleged murder of our classmate Angela Freeman. As I’ve mentioned before our graduating high school class and subsequent classes were pummeled with tragedies. I felt like the combination of school and home where death and illnesses were always imminent in my daddy’s large family. We just never got to recover from one thing before something else happened. I was beyond mood swings. I was like a mood theme park. I just remember feeling different, alone and trapped. Obviously, my theory about being able to do WHATEVER I wanted to do, as an adult, also had some flaws waiting for their time to appear.

When I jumped full body into adulthood before my time that’s when I understood “keeping secrets” at the fullest. I literally was taught so many lessons about life, at that time, that I couldn’t sit back to study and understand them. I was busy learning all about malignant narcissism without knowing the full meaning. And since this was prior to when I decided to go back to college, I also thought that domestic violence was all about physical abuse. I was busy surviving and not really knowing what that meant either. I knew that I never saw or heard things between my parents like I heard every moment of every day with him. Heck, I just thought this was the reason people were so miserable being married. I thought this was just the way things were suppose to be. Oh how my immaturity and naivety was drunk driving my way down the highway of life at that time. I still look back in total astonishment at how I made it through the early days of abuse.

In the late 80s and early 90s, abuse against children and how it would affect their ability to function as an adult was not known or seen as important. And the ability to go to therapy was more of a luxury item rather than one of necessity. Affordability was practically nil to many children and families. I would also be willing to bet that there were no mental health benefits on an insurance policy either. So, for me and other children and teens that needed the help early on would not and could not be provided with the help we so desperately needed.

“Stay away from lazy parasites, who perch on you just to satisfy

their needs, they do not come to alleviate your burdens, hence,

their mission is to distract, detract and extract,

and make you live in abject poverty.”
― Michael Bassey Johnson

I’ve been told many times that the teacher that abused me was treated the same way by her father. My ex-husband and his brother were horribly physically and emotionally abused by their father. The excuse that has always been given when I asked him about the abuse was justified by him saying, “We might’ve been scared of him but we weren’t out running the streets getting drunk or high either.” I could also see very clearly how the abuse had affected him and how he still feared his father each time we went to visit him. I was told what I could and could not say or do around his father. And I always found it strange that he and his brother called his father by his first name rather than “father” or “daddy.” The clearest point of view I saw about the abuse they went through was by how I was treated by them. Both of the grown little abused boys over the years had also become their father. These 3 people that I’m talking about were not “crazy” they were and still are just mean. And to my knowledge have never had a day of therapy in their lives. What they did do successfully was to perpetuate onto me and other people just like it was done to them. And they go through life never having faced their on responsibility in acknowledging how the abuse affects and continues to hurt people through their aberrant, coercive aggressive, threatening and other overt and covert behaviors. This works down their intended target until the individual believes their lies as though it was part of the gospel. And then ANYTHING that goes wrong is their victim’s fault no matter what. Every weekend the ex-husband would go play golf as his favorite pastime. I use to pray hoping that he played well. If not, somehow it was my fault that he didn’t play well. People have asked me many times why I didn’t leave sooner. The problem lies once they get you mentally to believe all of the lies that they tell you it rewires your brain and you wake up one day and everything you use to believe about yourself and the world has now become what they think and believe about the world. Your beliefs were stupid and you were too dumb to have your own belief system anyway. Therefore, we cling to that relationship with everything we have because being without them would mean total annihilation for us or so we believe.

Here’s the whole point of this particular blog. These people and their behaviors are characteristic of transgenerational trauma in both families. However, they have all chosen to pass this abuse on and do nothing about it. With the traumatic life that I’ve lived, I have chosen to do some very emotionally painful therapy in order to stop the cycle of abuse since my abusers didn’t have the guts to do their own work. They might can make it continue wherever they are now. In my family, though, the cycle of abuse ends right here. I have been carrying the abuse of the boys that molested me. I have been carrying the abuse of my ex-husband and brother from their father. And I have been carrying the abuse of the teacher that always has a “I just caught the stomach virus” look to greet you with. Plus, I have been carrying trauma and abuse unrelated to them and that’s my own stuff. Your baggage that I’ve carried for you for so many years will be waiting for you at the nearest dumpster where it belongs. Ya’ll have had control of my past and present but the future is MINE.

I can’t even begin to fathom our children having the same fears that I had as a child, teen and adult. And I would run in to rescue my sweet Mel if I saw any signs of this and that’s exactly what I’ve done. Moving to Texas is exactly how I was able to rescue them thus far from the abuse. I looked up one day and I was saying some of the exact same hateful stuff that my ex-husband said to me. I have 3 people desperately wanting their other mommy and spouse to be able to come back together and to function as the family and couple like we set out to be. And for that I AM RESPONSIBLE. The one who was “too stupid to think for herself” was taking very detailed notes those years with you. And once you study a system and the way it works you can also find the flaws in the system. The night I got up and walked out I had just beaten the “ALMIGHTY NARCISSIST” at this own game.

“How starved you must have been that my heart became a meal for your ego.”

—Amanda Torroni

#thispuzzledlife

June 19, 2019 darnold1975

Code Of Silence

The Code of Silence

“The predator wants your silence. It feeds their power,

entitlement, and they want it to feed your shame.”

—Viola Davis

When I first begin getting to know someone, the very first thing I look for is their level of snitch. What do I mean by this? Snitching is when you tell on someone to get yourself out of trouble. Another word for a snitch is a tattletale. To be labeled as a snitch socially is to be ostracized. In other circles being labeled as a snitch can get you killed. And snitching is a predator’s greatest enemy because that exposes secrets.

As a small child the term snitching wasn’t used yet. I did know what the term tattletale meant. And what hurting my friend’s feelings and damaging a relationship because of telling secrets meant. It meant people would be mad at me and I would have no friends. Even teachers at daycares can get tired of all the tattling. Step inside any daycare and you’re liable to hear, “The next child that tattles doesn’t go outside and play.” These are two dichotomous examples of telling information. My question to think about is are we teaching our kids the best and safest message? There are always exceptions to the rule. By the time these children are teens there’s an unwritten “code of conduct” around telling information whether it be relevant or not that might save lives. This will also get someone labeled as a snitch.

I can expand more about teens later, however, for the sake of this blog post I’m going to refer to myself as a young child. My first lesson in keeping secrets that should’ve been told was around 5 years-old. I was molested many times by my neighbor’s youngest and middle sons. These boys were around 13-15 years old and old enough to know better. The way I was held emotionally hostage was through threats like “the police would come and I would have my parents taken away.” I was also told, “that I would make people mad and no one would want to be my friend. And it would be all my fault.”

This little girl named Dana would do everything possible to make sure both she and her family was safe. From a child’s point of view, I hung on to every scary word spoken. And afterwards they would tell me how beautiful I was. The searing pain that would burn my body would leave an imprint on my psyche even today. The pain and fear would start and I would leave somewhere in my mind where pain was not felt. Still to this day, I’m very confused in just about every way in regards to having been molested.

People that seek power over other people instill in their victims that telling about abuse is a sign of weakness. As a teenager, anytime I told or tried to tell about the abuse to the school administration this information would get back to the teacher making the abuse worse. The message I got from doing that was to “forget asking for help and save yourself.” After the abuse of my 8th grade year, I vowed that as long as I was around to witness someone needing defending or help I would step in and protect in whatever way that I could. This has bought me unnecessary trouble with coaches and friends but to me it was worth it. I could then lay my head on my pillow at night and sleep.

One night after Mel and I had been speaking to a class at the college, A mother from that class asked me where I went to middle school. I told her Petal Middle School and she asked about the teacher that was so abusive. Because her 8th grade son would come home from school every afternoon with tears in his eyes due to being called names in front of his classmates by a teacher. She told me the teacher she was speaking about and after my heart dropped into my stomach I said, “Unfortunately, ma’am that is who I was speaking about.” She asked, “What should I do?” I told her, “Tell someone and get your child in counseling like yesterday.” I don’t know whatever happened to that mother and her child’s situation. The information I shared with her helped she and her son? However, a big load of shame and guilt was dumped on me as penance for that child and any other children after me that I kept the secret about the abuse ,consequently, leaving the predator unscathed and in the driver’s seat to handpick her next teen victim with ease.

The small little southern city with air tight politics and a nose for people’s business other than their own was to my detriment that year. I was told many years later by one of the administrators that worked there my middle school years information that still burns my ears. I was told, “You were a child at that time and I couldn’t say anything especially due to the politics. But I can tell you now that she should’ve never been around children.” The disappointment must’ve been written all over my face when she saw how perplexed I was. She said, “Is there something I can try to clear up for you?” I stood there for a moment not knowing what to say but burning with questions. “Yes ma’am. I do have a question…..So you all knew she was abusive and shouldn’t have been around children and you let her teach anyway?!” “I was her verbal punching bag and her abuse has affected my education, my career, my relationship with my wife and children, my relationships with others and above all the relationship and image of how I view myself as a human being!” I was mad but I couldn’t stop then tears. She hugged me as we said our goodbyes and went our separate ways.

When I went to my own vehicle and unlocked the doors, I sat down and shook my head and said, “They knew the whole time and didn’t try to stop her. Didn’t they know how badly it all hurt? Did they even care? Yes, I fought every way possible to make it through that year in school that still shows its ugly scarring. No matter what adult I tried to tell that year I got no help from the abuse. And “snitching” never did me any favors. Had someone look past the labels and protected me from the backlash of telling the truth about the abuse my life could and maybe even would be much different now. That one year of school affected a few other teenagers in ways that are still damaging to them. The most visible are the scars that line the forearms of those teens with 30 years of thick scarring from the one thing that would listen to us all then…..razors. I also had the experience of eating disorders (anorexia, bulimia), alcoholism, drug addiction that were all there with their arms wide open to help shield me from the unwanted torture of abuse.

The “Code of Silence” protected by perpetrators in a way that I had no defense. And as a very young bride, I would face abuse again for the next 14 years. That “Code of Silence” that was used as an intimidation factor all those years worked. It kept me silent and the perpetrators innocent. I go to bed scared every night and the first emotion I have in the morning is fear. This shame based silence that seen as normal or acceptable is very hurtful. Maybe protecting offenders because of “snitching” isn’t the problem. And maybe listening and helping to protect children and teens when they tell should be handled first instead of politics and reputations.

“We must take sides. Neutrality helps the oppressor, never the victim.

Silence encourages the tormentor, never the tormented.

–Elie Wiesel

#thispuzzledlife

June 18, 2019June 18, 2019 darnold1975

Live To Fight Another Day

“It might not seem like it now, but this is more than just a fight.”

—-Adonis Creed, Creed 2

The last couple of weeks have brought some very intense emotional days and nights. I’ve manage to, once again, keep the smiles and laughter present and to hopefully not let on that I have been feeling every emotional strand that holds my psyche together. Sometimes the emotions are not just one but all of them at the same time. The toll, both physically and emotionally, that these intense emotions can take on a body and mind words cannot do justice to try and replicate. The only description that I can find, at this moment, is a slow, creeping death. And these are the times when I begin to question every decision and mistake made in my life including whether staying in Texas is still the best decision.

Lately, the battles with my behavioral addictions has been the ones to seemingly take me over. The battles between my ears are crippling. I’ve battled anxiety and depression for as long as I can remember. Within the last few years depression seems to have intensified so much that I don’t even know the name to give it. And my anxiety has me wondering why I don’t have a cardiac “crash cart” available on a moment’s notice. Also, the fight for every bite of food and the urges of self-harm never stop talking to me.

Coach Nick Kolinsky told our team time after time, “Little things make big things happen.” He was obviously talking about us working as a team. He reminded us that as players if we do our jobs fielding, batting and running individually that we are doing our part to help the “team” as a whole. I’m now much older and his words about working as a team still ring true. The sometimes little irritating therapy assignments are all for one goal…….FUNCTIONALITY. Not only individually but again as a mother and a spouse. And as a well oiled system.

Then there are the times that I get buried in questioning my diagnosis. I’ll still try to find a way out of my condition being true. But within minutes one or more of the symptoms return only to confirm that the diagnosis is, in fact, correct. I think I’ve questioned this diagnosis since the day I was told that I met criteria.

The last few months has been filled with neck surgery, back surgery and very soon a hysterectomy. With all this stress and others my eating disorders thought that it was a perfect time to raise their ugly heads higher and with sometimes an unbearable strength. If I look at this opponent as a whole it becomes too overwhelming to think about challenging its poisonous power. Don’t get me wrong I’ve been struggling for years with this big, smelly beast. Life with ED (eating disorders) has gotten stronger over the years. I know what to expect on each level of starvation. The pain of anorexia and bulimia I cannot explain. But there have been many days lately where just lying in my bed hurt. The dehydration and everything that comes with it like dry mouth, cramping muscles, stomach cramps, nausea, vomiting (there’s no food but there is bile), dry skin, brittle hair, lack of energy and this time it was a good ol’ case of thrush. And along with it the added messages of those who spoke venomous comments to me as a teen and an adult are on some kind of marquee being seen and spoken one after another. I usually lie in my bed crying about having to make simple food decisions. My ex-husband would call this immature, senseless and childish self- loathing. And for a minute I try to pull myself together. My effort would be for nothing when the towering thoughts about how everything about food and body image is bad unless he takes total control to tell me what I can and cannot have to eat. Those painful thoughts and sometimes realistic situations leave me paralyzed not knowing what decision is the “right one” so that I don’t get in trouble. All in the name of “not wanting to have a fat wife.”

“You would be as big as this house, Dana, if you didn’t have someone managing your food for you. You’re just too dumb to make decisions about healthy food, I guess” he would say daily. “Remember this…..” he would say. “I’m not living with a fat woman! Go look at yourself in the mirror and tell me if you can even see what I’m talking about.” I would go to the nearest mirror where I could see down to my knees and look at everything about myself. In my eyes and apparently his too, I looked like the Stay Puffed Marshmallow Man from the original Ghostbusters. I could see how disgusting I looked or at least I better be able to see it. I would again, as I had many times, gone back to where he was waiting and told him, whether I did or not, that I saw the problems areas on my body and that I would fix it.

Obviously, that was another time and another place. But every time I try to put a piece of food in my mouth, I hear those words screaming at me. Day after day and night after night his torture emotionally was more than I could take. I would nod like I understood but I would soon lose what he was saying and me and my brain were elsewhere. Nevertheless, I would do my best to follow food orders and always in sequential order came the secretive self-harm behaviors. The combination of surgeries and trying to deal with the trauma of my eating disorders has been difficult at best.

There have been times when I just needed some cry time. The time again when I lie in my bed cry and hating the things that were done to me. “I don’t want these problems!” Are the words my heart screams as each painful word rolls down my cheek. ” I want everything I fought so hard for and loved so much. ” I wake up every morning pissed off that I have to face another day. I want the road I was already on to be successful academically and professionally. I want my family that I’ve tried so hard to preserve. Divorcing him was the easy part. The frustrating part is facing it all again daily after I’ve survived it once. ” I shouldn’t have to be doing all of this! I didn’t do this to myself! Someone make them pay so there’s some type of justice is sought for all the things done.”

My tears continue to stream down my face as I write this because I do remember so vividly the abuse that happened daily concerning food and body image and how powerful his criticism were and at times still are. Mistakes for me are the “end of the world” and that includes food, body image and food choices. I trust my dear coach despite the pain. I continue to follow her guidance and know that these days are the ones where I have to trust that she’s still taking me down the right path. She hasn’t failed me yet or led me astray in any way. So you see the first quote is right in that this difficult time is more than just a fight. It’s an ongoing war with myself. These days I simply LIVE TO FIGHT ANOTHER DAY.

“He who fights and runs away
May live to fight another day;
But he who is battle slain
Can never rise to fight again ”
― Oliver Goldsmith

#thispuzzledlife

June 18, 2019October 10, 2020 darnold1975

But I Still Made It To Texas

But….I Still Made It To Texas

“My basic principle is that you don’t make decisions because

they are easy; you don’t make them because they are cheap; you don’t make them

because they’re popular; you make them because they’re right.”

—Heodore Hesburgh

As I count down another 365 days in my life, I also look back on holiday traditions and 2018 as a year of struggles and lessons. Yep, I’m too lazy to write separate blogs about Christmas and New Year’s. Did you catch that or is it just me? Ha! Ha! At this point, I’m just glad that I still have the ability and “want to” to write publicly about my struggles as an individual, family, therapeutically and as a system. Honestly, my first thoughts about the year 2018 all revolve around my middle finger.

In January, I started my new path alone by moving to Texas. The importance of this decision was realized only a couple of months prior. Mel and the kids needed to live in a place that was familiar and where they could regain their own sense of balance and security that I could not help provide in my condition at that time. And I needed answers and healing from my own demons and dark past. Sometimes life gives you a way out but only for a limited amount of time. Our life in New Mexico had finally come to an end complete with two little boys that make our hearts beat. My mental health issues were becoming increasingly dangerous and the toll it had taken on Mel and the boys was almost irreparable damage. If love was all that was needed to “fix” everything that had been damaged there wouldn’t have been a need to leave. Mel and I both saw the need and the importance of me moving somewhere that answers could be found but only with the right practitioner.

I had set my sights on moving to Texas in 2016 but actually taking that step without Mel and the kids wouldn’t happen until January 2018. This was a decision that kept tugging at my heart. I knew it was the right decision but I didn’t have any way of proving that to make the decision easier to make as a couple. It would be one of those Please don’t be the wrong decision! Please don’t be the wrong decision! moments that was so scary I couldn’t put into words. She and I knew that without long term help of some kind I wouldn’t have a relationship with them anyway. I was just dangerously out of control mentally.

By March life would once again be full of new struggles. My 2006 Honda Pilot that I brought with me on my new endeavors would be totaled in an accident. Not knowing the extent of my injuries I would run to the vehicle that hit me to help the driver as I had done many times while working on an ambulance many years earlier. Once the emergency vehicles showed up and I had returned to the opposing side of the highway where my own vehicle turned its last wheel the searing pain in my neck, back and legs would make its way into a form of uncomfortable permanence. The days of having good medical insurance was left in the deserted high mesa of Albuquerque, New Mexico. And now I was just another American leaning on Medicare for help. I would also soon be driving an 18 year old black leather 2000 Pontiac Grand Prix that would come to be known simply as “The Hot Pocket.” Let the frustrations begin!

Learning who I was as an individual is still a process that I continue to learn about every single day. But I was learning since moving here in January that I had a very large trigger that I had never even considered. In Albuquerque we were left most times to fend for ourselves no matter where we looked for answers. When I moved to Texas I was greeted with a large outpouring of love that most would welcome. I, however, was terrified by all the help that was awaiting. I honestly didn’t know and still don’t really know how to receive help without there being a price for it. I suddenly became very triggered and left a stable living situation only to “couch hop” for the next few months until I looked up and I was homeless. This would mean that I didn’t have the privacy and quiet that I longed and hungered for. No one seemed to understand especially me. Being in public and around people all the time seemed to make me feel like I was boiling in hot water. No matter how hard I tried to accept this form of love and acceptance…I just couldn’t.

My mental health issues soon began to show the ugly faces that I had tried to warn other about and all I could think was “Damn, not here. Not to these good people.” But trying to wish them away wouldn’t happen in Texas anymore than it had worked in New Mexico. I knew that this meant one thing….people would get hurt and relationships would be damaged and lost. I couldn’t stop it. I had seen it 100’s of times and nothing good ever came of it. I just knew what it felt like when it was about to happen. All I could hope for was that it wouldn’t be too bad because this time I was alone without Mel and the kids. I prepared my heart for the worst like I had many times. This time would be no different as I would lose the relationships of those that I loved and admired without even trying.

Physically I felt completely beat down. Mentally I was a hot mess and I now doubted whether this move was in fact the right thing to do. The true reason that I moved here, to do therapy with my new coach seemed to be the only thing that still seemed right. I leaned on the many years of lessons that I had learned from Sarah to help me make the decision again about staying in Texas when I wanted to run because it was the right thing to do….and again I stayed. It wasn’t because I had faith that things would get better. I stayed simply because I trusted her and that she never led me in a wrong direction while she was alive.

Therapeutically, I thought moving here and working with “coach” would be an easy thing to do since I was so incredibly excited to be given the chance. I was excited and I knew without a doubt that my decision of working with “coach” was still the right decision. But “easy” was never in the realm of reality. I had a decorated therapeutic past and it didn’t seem to recognize good or bad practitioners. It only recognized “practitioner” and “position of authority” both which scared me to death. I constantly reminded myself that I already trusted her on some level because I moved here to work with her. But instantly trusting even though I was confident in my decision just wasn’t going to happen.

When I looked at my new life the only place that didn’t seem to bring some form of unwanted and unneeded pain was the hour that I spent with coach in session. Most days the money it would require to afford food was always an unknown. I was not willing to forego a therapy session because for that hour I felt safe even if I was shaking with fear for the time I was in there. I would be scared of possible topics I might have to discuss and I fear her position as a therapist but I didn’t fear her as a person and that meant everything to me. I wanted to be heard and my pain validated and the only place that seemed to happen was when I was in a session because I wouldn’t dare open up to others. Life is hard and society can careless how I feel about anything in the present time much less 40+ years of pain and abuse from my past….but she did and still does care.

Coach knows what she’s doing and I have to continue to trust her. She knew that the only way that I would find comfort is through consistency and compassion. I was sloppy seconds of a very abusive therapist but I was looking and hungering for the help that I so desperately needed. And that my aggressive nature had to have a reason. Before long her compassion began to melt my very tough exterior and tears would form and begin to drop from the years of abuse. Except this time my tears brought about more compassion and validation where, at times, tears were seen as a weakness and more abuse seemed to follow.

August 1st started the “intensive” that she and I would have for a month. That month did a lot for me regarding trusting coach and the therapeutic process as a whole. Before this started, though, I vowed to be completely focus, “nose to the grind” and completely secluded. This was no phone calls except immediate family and my coach and no social media except for blogs and remembering friends who have died. Sometimes solitude is all you need to help regain focus on things that are important. Because in solitude you have no one to look at but yourself. Apparently, this is just what I needed because the changes that have occurred within my system are some that I never dreamed possible for a teenager who was simply not heard. The key to her was something along the lines of a forced hug (not literally) to show her that everyone isn’t the same. And allowing her a voice preferably not a screaming one. Yes that teenager is indeed coachable when others have often thought incorrigible.

Fall time for me brings about some pretty horrible memories and anniversaries. At some point, coach responded to a question of mine “being thankful for what I do have” was the answer. I’ve thought about that every since the day that was said. This fall I would finally understand what she was saying. Now that It’s towards the end of December I can say that I put her phrase into practice by being thankful for what I do have this year despite all the struggles:

I made it to Texas where I was met by an awesome group of people.
I was involved in a wreck and injured but I wasn’t killed.
I ended up back in the psych hospital 2 more times but it didn’t hurt anything but my pride.
I ended up homeless but repaired the relationship with my parents.
I had two surgeries because of my wreck but I’m still walking and talking.
My time in Texas has been a struggle in every way. But….I Still Made It To Texas.
I don’t get to see my boys very much but there is Facetime.
I have several addictions that I struggle with but I’m still here struggling.
I never get to see my wife. She was able to be here several days for my surgery.
I don’t get to spend holidays with my family. Making the sacrifice to live in Texas without them helps to ensure I get to spend the rest of my life healthy and happy together as a family.
I just embarrassed myself and my wife because I “flipped my wig” coming out of anesthesia. What a great education in mental illness behaviors the hospital staff got from me free of charge not once but twice.
Difficult decisions were made and tears were shed because it was the right thing to do. Not the easiest thing to do.

I always think about the holidays when I was little and prior to our family’s matriarch, my Nannie’s death. I can remember the smell of the air and the damp fall leaves, our family traditions and how much they still mean to me. I remember my daddy’s Christmas morning breakfast and the year Sarah and Doug sat at our family’s table and had breakfast with us. I also remember how much holidays scared me when I was married to my ex-husband. The day time hours were fake happiness and gifts. And the night times were criticisms about what I had managed to mess up and how dumb I was. Don’t think for a second that he didn’t criticize my appearance on those days too.

Recently, Mel came to Texas because I had back surgery as a result of the wreck in March. This was the first time she and I had spent any significant amount of time since I moved here. The experience was a disaster for both of us at the hospital even with my limited memory. The embarrassment for me personally has been a lot to bare. But the tears we both shed before her ride picked her up to take her back to the airport because we both love each other and miss being a family were the ones that were the heaviest. I asked her again now that it’s been almost a year since moving here, “Do you think we made the right decision?” We both agreed and said, “Yes.” Moving here was the right decision but it didn’t guarantee things being easy and so far that has remained true. This year has been one of many ups, downs, struggles and lessons…..BUT…….WE STILL MADE THE RIGHT DECISION TO MOVE TO TEXAS TO DO THERAPY…..AND WE MADE IT HAPPEN!!!!

#thispuzzledlife

June 16, 2019 darnold1975

What December 4th Means To Me…..

” Today, on her birthday, I am teary eyed about the other woman

who also remembers that today, 43 years ago, she gave life

to a child that is calling me “Momma.”

—Unknown

I must admit that my birthdays for a long time have carried with them a dark cloud. As a child, I remembered them being like most kids’ birthdays. Cake, ice cream, presents and if you were lucky a party at McDonald’s complete with a tour to the store’s freezer just to find out that it was cold. A paper birthday hat and the playground equipment that was fun only in spring or fall seasons because you didn’t dare play on it in during the humid summers of the Deep South for fear of being burned alive by the stifling hot metal. The consequences of being a child playing on metal playground equipment would remind you that next time maybe you shouldn’t.

In my teen years, birthdays usually consisted of The Petal Lady Panther Basketball Classic. Softball season would’ve ended by now and we were well into our basketball season. There were plenty of local “social parties” complete with a bonfire, alcohol and loud country music. I was also busy trying to fill an emptiness in myself that I couldn’t identify. I just knew that emotionally I hurt. I began treating that hurt with any substance or behavior that seem to soothe that pain even a little bit. Little did I know that I was already in the death grip of addiction by the time I graduated high school. The combination of both the physical and mental stress of addiction for a mere 4 years would take the dream of playing college ball of any kind away.

As a late teen and early adulthood, I wouldn’t only see the dichotomy in a person’s behavior. I would often times feel the shift in his behavior before it actually happened. It was also on some of those same scary nights that my birthday December 4th would fall. Apparently, there was an unwritten rule about what men, specifically my ex-husband, were entitled to on any day but celebrations of any kind were a guarantee.

This “emptiness” was now identified as a void. And the void was the one thing that has haunted me daily since middle school….my adoption. The abusers in my life have always made sure that this particular topic’s wounding got a little deeper with their ability to hurt without touching. Each year that passes it makes this time of the year just a little bit more painful. I’ve always seemed in some way to seek out the love and acceptance of my birth mom that I’ll never receive. She, unfortunately, does not have it to give to me to satisfy that insatiable need that never seems to be filled.

In the process of searching, finding and being rejected again and years of abuse I’ve pretty much walled my heart off to most people including close friends and family. Each year it gnaws away at me until the thought of getting close to someone scares me so bad that I reach out and destroy that relationship. Now In my 40’s I walk around with such a thick and, at times, aggressive coat of armor that I run off a lot of people before they get a chance to really know me past my silly sense of humor. Several people know that my birthday is off limits in regards to contacting me. Social media is turned off and my phone is put on “Do Not Disturb” making it virtually impossible to contact me unless you’re here in person. Very grumpy I can be on this the one of the heaviest days of grieving for me all year long.

Coach has the uncanny ability to get me to do “therapeutic assignments” that can have me stomping around like a toddler who was given the wrong colored cup. I have the ability to act just like that when I think my unhealthy ideas are much better and/or more fun. This birthday would be different though. I had to be receptive to her ideas and be trusting enough in her as a person and as a professional for her guidance to be remotely acknowledged on this topic. And by the end of the day after coach stirred the fairy dust and a few of my own tears fell, for the first time in many years when the sun went down my smile didn’t. It was genuine happiness and…..well….it was different but it was nice.

I guess what made the day even more special was celebrating my birthday with our oldest son, Marshall who turned 7 years old yesterday. I never understood how my birth mom felt. I heard the painful words she said to me. But when I laid eyes on our beautiful first born, I’m glad that I don’t know what it’s like to be her. Because I have two beautiful little superhero, “man cub” children that call me Mom and I get to call them Sons.

I can still say with much assurance that the impact my adoption has had on my life has been tremendous in both good and bad ways. There are many tears left to cry on this topic. And much more emotional healing that needs to occur because coach does more than blows a whistle…..she plants seeds.

#thispuzzledlife

June 16, 2019 darnold1975

Everyone’s Entitled To One Good Scare

“Everyone’s Entitled to One Good Scare”

“Was that the Boogeyman? As a matter of fact….it was.”

John Carpenter’s Halloween, 1978

The last couple of years for Halloween posts I’ve written about the difficulties of the this time of year. Make no mistake that I’ve loved the holiday since I was a child. I was a child of the 80s and very distinctly remember the smell of the cheap plastic masks with the rubber band and two staples to hold it on your head. And the one small air whole that didn’t allow enough air to keep a fly alive in the time it would take us kids to get to the next house. Completely out of breath from lack of oxygen and the plastic mask sliding all over my face from the sweat I would hold out my bag at the next house while saying, “Trick or Treat” in anticipation of another dose of sugar.

As I got older into my teen years the fascination of the holiday and horror films would be my focus for the next 30 years and counting. Most of us don’t exactly enjoy getting scared but this holiday has always seemed to be the exception to the rule for many of us haunted house, haunted barn, haunted cornfield, haunted hay ride, haunted school and horror movie going individuals. And it seems that this time of year is when we turn getting scared into a sport. I know that until recent years since having my own children that I was always first in line to anything creepy scary. Mel she just patiently waits for me to return and to get my personal rating.

Anyone who knows me knows one thing…I love the horror movie series HALLOWEEN with the favored boogeyman Michael Myers directed by John Carpenter. I am a true fan of this series. This time of the year usually consists of binge watching these types of movies for the entire month of October. Whether it be Jason Voorhees, Freddy Krueger, Leather face, Pin Head, Chucky, Jigsaw or whomever might be your favorite “fright guy” there’s one thing we learned growing up is that the boogeyman are all make believe monsters in masks and make-up.

Now that I’m an adult, I love to watch for the comedy in some of the earlier films amid the gore. Here are a few things that I’ve noticed about horror films that seem to always remain constant.

No matter how fast you run the boogeyman can ALWAYS walk faster.
It’s an apparent rule that you must investigate every scary or odd sound.
The cars taken to the future murder scene won’t crank even though you left it running to go check on your friend.
The boogeyman can be burned in a furnace; shot multiple times; decapitated or drowned and still beat you back to your car and wait in the backseat while you frantically try to crank the uncrankable.
It never fails….if you’re in class at school and happen to look out the window the boogeyman will be standing across the street, in plain sight of everyone else, staring at you but no one else can see him.
No one wears bras…..EVER!!!
Rotary phones never work.
Windows are always left open.
Cell phones NEVER have a signal.
Doors always slam shut and jam.
Boogeymen are always experts in the hygiene and mating habits of teenagers because that’s who always dies in the shower.
When you’re in the shower and hear the phone ringing, after sprinting to the phone in a shower cap and towel, no one is EVERon the other end of the line.
If you have a family pet it will be killed and then you’ll be killed. Apparently, this is a horror film sequence that must happen.
The boogeyman can still find you even when you pull the covers over your head.
“SH-SH-SH-AH-AH-AH” translated means “run deeper into the woods then trip and fall over a big bag of air.”
Every house in horror films from the 80’s has the same butcher knife in the kitchen drawer.
Screaming really loudly while standing still does NOTscare the boogeyman away. He will continue walking towards you.
The scariest music to hear is whenever the little girl starts singing a nursery rhyme while jumping rope.
After watching a horror movie at a theatre you WILL instinctively look under your car and in your backseat before getting into your car.
Horror movie night regardless at home or in a theatre teaches you that five minutes after turning off the lights you will hear a noise in your room and will ninja grab your cell phone with that horrible little light and attempt to light up the room to see if you have company.
Telling the boogeyman, “Don’t rip my blouse, it’s expensive you idiot!” will not make him stop trying to kill you.

This year John Carpenter is back in the driver’s seat making the 10th film in this series. October 19th, 2018 Michael Myers will return to Haddonfield for yet another bloody Halloween. I might not go see this movie on it’s opening night with the rest of the fans. But make no mistake that I’ll be there to watch it in the theatre when everyone is gone to school and work. Another stellar “scream queen” performance by Jamie Lee Curtis I’m sure will happen.

This was sort of a “tongue-in-cheek” way of looking at the boogeyman. For many of us, though, we have met and had interactions with the real boogeymen and women of society. They don’t have blank expressions, knives for fingers on gloves, chainsaws, butcher knives or anything considered stereotypical of these scary people. They are people who call themselves friends, teachers, “safe people”, trusted professionals, clergy and spouses just to name a few.

In the last several years, I have lost the ability to have fun on Halloween. Horror films serve me a purpose and those reasons are reserved for coach. I still watch my movies but the term “boogeyman” takes on a whole new meaning. I face the memories of the boogeymen and women every day and night. I’ve had enough scares to last me a lifetime. And, honestly, if you try to scare me once you’ll not do it again. Just like Jaime Lee Curtis playing the part of Laurie Strode in the Halloween series, I’m watching, waiting and hoping every single day that they don’t find me again. Because they don’t wear masks, they walk among us.

“The darkest souls are not those which choose to exist within the hell of the abyss, but those which choose to break free from the abyss and move silently among us.”

-Dr. Samuel Loomis, Halloween

#thispuzzledlife

June 16, 2019April 2, 2020 darnold1975

At Least I Didn’t Poop On The Floor

“At Least I Didn’t Poop On The Floor”

“Having a 2-Year-Old is like owning a blender that you don’t have a top for.”

–Jerry Seinfeld

I’ve always said that being a parent is the hardest but most rewarding job on the planet. Our dreams of being coming parents was not easy in any shape, form or fashion. Thank goodness there are companies that now include fertility benefits that makes this dream possible not just for LGBT families but any family that has this same dream. Our dreams were fulfilled and soon much laughter would ensue for us as first time parents.

One of the things that I’ve enjoyed the most is the same kind of humor that I would experience sometimes days or weeks later after a specific event. This is the same way that I’ve also found humor being in the mental health system for many years. The humor might not be seen in the moment but trust me I would see it soon afterwards. Lesbian moms raising two little superhero boys guarantees a wide variety of funny moments daily especially when I’m involved. And there are also those times as a mother when I have come to the realization why some animals eat their young.

As an LGBT couple one of the questions we have been asked many times is, “Who did you choose as the donor?” First of all, the process of finding a donor requires much more than noting the name and look of someone in a lineup. The process is actually much more complicated. It took us approximately 1 year to pick out our initial donor which is not the “donor daddy” as we call him, of the boys. He is completely anonymous which is how we chose him to be. We don’t have a name only a donor number chosen from a nationally well known donor bank as HIPAA also protects their specific information as well. We do, however, know specifics about the donor and his biological family’s health information minus the names. And well….this is as far as I’ll go in talking about this part of the process.

One of the most frequent questions asked specifically about the donor is ethnicity. And after watching our sons single-handedly transform our living room into an obstacle course of different objectives that is only meant for kids no matter how much the adults try to succeed at beating the course I can very confidently say, “THE DONOR IS PART NINJA WARRIOR!!!!!” Both boys have the uncanny ability to jump from the sofa, to the loveseat and then to the coffee table and back while having a loaded nerf gun; shooting zombies and dodging sharks in the ocean (otherwise known as the carpet) while simultaneously avoiding hot lava often times with either me or Mel being the disabled one who was shark bitten and is now hopping around on one leg from our wounds. Yes they do let me use one of their nerf guns which is usually the one that doesn’t work. I inevitably will take heavy fire from both boys only to get frustrated with my guns and just take the nerf bullets out and start throwing them due to mechanical failure. My battle wounds are usually heavy and we both usually end up with many painful red polka dots all over our faces and body from their always “spot on” aim. I have yet to understand why their aim is so good with a nerf gun and the aim for the toilet looks like a drunk with a water hose has been allowed to just have “free time.” With the automatic watering of my eyes after a shot right between the eyes or directly in the nose and a loud squeal from me after another battle wound eruptions of laughter would commence. This was usually followed with a burning question from our 6-year-old Marshall while I’m assessing my wounds, “Momma D can I practice shooting your boobs as target practice until you’re ready to play again?”

When the boys were infants some of the funniest moments were me and “DIAPER TIME.” Mel grew up helping to take care and babysit children, of all ages, on a regular basis. I, however, was always uncomfortable around children and ran when diapers were going to be changed. Being a new mom DID NOT change that like many would think. The saying, “It will all change when it’s your child” was a lie. It might not be someone else’s child’s shitty diaper but it was still a shitty diaper and nothing make that any prettier no matter how much Glade air freshener was sprayed around the topic. I always hated those words, “Dana it’s your diaper turn!” My instant thought was, “Somebody just kill me now!”

There are those people, like Melody, who are just natural mothers in everything they do. I am not nor will I ever be that kind of mom. I’m the one on in the background gagging at just the sight before the wretched smell even has time to enter my nostrils. She would always end up snickering and say, “My God Dana! It’s just a diaper!” “Ummm….yes Mel that is the problem at hand!” She would always try to help in her own special way by finding the nearest spray can of air freshener and spraying it all around the area where the diaper changing would commence. When the sticky tabs of that diaper were forced to release the death grip on the plastic that occasionally helped hold the brown napalm death in its holding area the smell in that area of the house would resemble something like a shitty fruit basket. I would be gagging and would say, “I swear it smells like someone took a gigantic crap in an apple orchard!” Comical doesn’t begin to describe the sight of me attempting such feats. It pretty much looked like a scene out of a YouTube video of father’s gagging while the mother’s are videoing and laughing hysterically.

I knew, though, that every time I got through one diaper that my turn would follow again sometime after Mel took her turn with such ease. So, I tried to get smarter about how I went through this process. I eventually took the time to wear full turnout gear like I was about to face the “Diaper Apocalypse.” I would prepare by covering everything on my face, accept my eyes, with a sweatshirt and holding my breath. I would also have both hands in sterile gloves to protect my skin from possible poop exposure. Having everything I need very near and at my disposal, I take a deep breath and shout, “I’m going in!” I always tried to change the diaper in the time that I was holding my breath but inevitably I would eventually need to breathe. I would try to take very short breaths just until the job was done but some of the jobs seemed like a construction site. Out of desperation, I would try to take an even bigger breath just to try to make it to the end and that’s when it happened. I would start gagging and usually throw up but not without first saying, “Oh my God I taste it! It literally feels like I just ate shit!” I would no doubt look back at Mel saying, “I’m in diaper hell! Help me!!” She trying her best not to wet her own pants from laughter would say, “Dana it’s just a little poop!” I have never been able to adjust to such wretched smells that have come from our little boys.

I am also the parent that when one of the boys gets sick at school rushes off to rescue our little man cub hoping to God that he doesn’t puke in my vehicle. The whole ride home, maybe 3 miles, I would saying, “Please don’t puke! Please don’t puke!” Inevitably when we finally get home the spewing would finally let loose and my own gagging would once again start. This time I’m gagging while trying to keep our puking kid from traipsing through the morning’s breakfast. There is absolutely no possible way I could clean that up without exposing my own breakfast. But as the spouse I am considerate in my own way so I gently place newspaper over the area and block it off with fluorescent cones so no one would step in it. And the soured mess patiently waited all day until Mel got home from work to clean it up.

Potty training is another source of laughter for our family. I understand that it takes time when your child comes to you and says, “Mommy I have poops and need a new DIPA!!!!” In my opinion, if you can say this you are old enough use the toilet. Letting them run around without a diaper never seemed like a good idea to me especially when they take this to mean that they can “free pee” anywhere including my leg while I’m running their bath water. “Son you are NOT a Chihuahua! Pee in the toilet!” is what I said and we all had a good laugh.

Truly, some of the funniest moments we have experienced as parents are the total randomness of both boys in things they say and/or do. Here are a few of those situations.

When Copeland was an infant and Marshall being raised in an electronic world when Copeland would start crying he would ask, “Momma can we put Copeland on the charger so he will stop crying?” No son but we can pretend.
Conversation between Mel and Copeland…..

Copeland: What are you made of mommy?

Mel: Sugar and spice and everything nice….

What are you made of Copey?

Copeland: Plastic

Mel: No sticks and snails and puppy dog tails that’s what little boys are made of.

Copeland: Nooooooooo I don’t have puppy dogs!!!!

Mel: So what are you made of?

Copeland: Rubber

Later Mel tries to ask the question again.

Mel: So what are you made of Copey?

Copeland: Plastic and rubber and Boogers!!! Lot of Boogers, Momma!!!

Marshall being so proud that he lost both of his bottom teeth asked Mel if he could put his picture on Facebook, Instagram and TWEETER. Obviously, Mel and I and the rest of the universe has been saying this all wrong. Death to Twitter.
Marshall and Copeland were having a pillow fight when Marshall was overheard saying, “Pick up your pillow and fight like a man!” Words never heard in THIS lesbian household.
Trying to give our boys the freedom to choose what he would like for meals has been advantageous for both them and us. Sometimes you can get some funny requests. Like recently, Mel asked Copeland what he wanted for breakfast and he instantly said, “Not broccoli-it’s not tasty.” Ok let me just say before it’s assumed that our little boys are being force fed trees for breakfast like miniature brontosaurus’s is not correct. Randomness…remember…randomness. How about a snow cone? When asked what flavor of snow cone he replied “a chicken one!” Now, I have seen chickens with flip-flops but not on snow cones.
Just today I learned that both boys now take pleasure in crossing their pee streams with each other so they can see how they can make an “X.”
Recently, the boys were arguing and then the oldest got “fwapped” by the youngest very unapologetically in the face. Marshall runs to tell on Copeland and says, “Momma, Copeland hit me in the face and touched my eyeball!” As hard as you might try to maintain the “parent face” sometimes with statements like this it just can’t happen.
Copeland decided that he didn’t want to wear his diaper after his nap and took it off and then proceeded to go squat on the hardwood floor in front of his grandfather, who was watching TV, and took a big dump.

Our little family has a complicated life most of the time. Without knowing the obvious our family is just like most raising two children with both being boys. Food groups have expanded from candy, chicken nuggets, boogers and now include a group known as the “hot dog.” Honestly, you don’t even have to speak English as long as you can speak fluent “poop and wiener” you’ll be able to have a conversation with our 3 year-old and 6 year-old. We don’t ever take for granted the laughs because we understand that all that can change on a moment’s notice. The humor is always welcomed for however long it’s willing to stay to give respite from the stress. Mel and I were discussing something about the boys one day and it we just weren’t seeing eye-to-eye on something and the words that changed the whole tone of the conversation were hers, “Well At Least I Didn’t Poop on the Floor.”

“There really are places in the heart that you don’t

even know exist until you love a child.”

–Anne Lamott

#thispuzzledlife

June 16, 2019 darnold1975

A Letter From A Parent

A Letter From a Parent

“You have forgotten who you are and so forgotten me. Look inside yourself, Simba. You are more than what you have become. You must take your place in the Circle of Life. Remember who you are. You are my son.”

—Mufasa, Disney’s Lion King

Even before you entered this world you were being showered with love.

We mapped out a plan and you were sent from above.

While you were growing you momma was busy protecting.

For she was shown a different side of life.

A side about chaos and strife.

The ones with the big hands disguised as a cuddly bear but underneath were a big healthy snake

Created was hatred and fear.

Your education will provide for you many opportunities.

But be careful trusting even those considered “trusted” within your own communities.

Sometimes those with power seem to embrace that delicate gift to be used as a weapon.

And then one day you are standing there only to be called a fool.

Also created was hatred and fear.

Whoever you fall in love with it doesn’t matter who they might be.

Man or woman just love and be free.

If your relationship requires a suit of armor….BEWARE.

Because in the eyes of the perpetrator, no one will be there.

Another example of hatred and fear.

My precious boys always remember this……

-If someone wants you to do something and it feels wrong then it probably is.

-No one’s hands are automatically invited just because you’re a kid. You belong to you until you decide that the right person has come along to share that with you.

-Don’t get caught up in the politics of government and the business world. The heads of these corporations are as corrupt as their politics. Learn and simply be aware.

-Medical Cannabis Saves Lives!

-Be loyal for this is a shining quality.

-Be a man of your word.

-Remember that families come in different shapes, colors and sizes. There are those families that are a part of your genetic makeup. There are also the families that you handpick and these are your “Chosen Families.” They are not given but rather simultaneously joined and built through mutual love and respect on both sides. They stand alone in the world in love, loyalty and compassion. Hold onto them tight for the greatest pain is when they leave for reasons other than by choice. This pain will be felt deep in your soul.

-You are a uniquely, beautiful person who deserves for the words “No” and “Stop” to be validated.

– Remember that anyone who is “different” from you has their own scoop of “special” in their soul.

-The most powerful and damaging muscle in the body is the tongue. It can do damage in ways that people sometimes aren’t able to recover. And once it’s said it cannot be taken back.

-Becoming a man is a process not an event. You can’t walk into your house and throw a quarter on the table and call yourself a man.

-There’s a big difference in being a father and being a daddy.

-Appreciate a valuable education because it can disappear with your dreams when you’re not looking.

-Dreams give you a reason to live. Never allow someone to hurt you so bad that you stop dreaming.

-Don’t judge those who die by their own hand. You don’t know their battles and I hope you never do. Sometimes life is just too difficult.

-Learn from your elders for they are life’s greatest storytellers.

-Always, always remember that there is a story inside of you that if only you share it with the world the amount of lives touched can be limitless.

-If you see or hear an injustice make your voice heard for you might be the only advocate in the moment. DO NOT REMAIN SILENT because your personal view isn’t popular. If you turn a blind eye then you’re just as guilty as the perpetrator.

-If you need help ask for what you need. The longer you wait the more your soul will become necrotic until the damage is so colossal that recovery might not be possible.

-Men and boys have tears too. Share them with the world. Character makes a man not tears.

-Religion is for those who are scared to go to hell. Spirituality is for those of us who have already been there.

-Don’t live in a tunnel of vision. Just because it’s not what you choose doesn’t mean it’s wrong. Make educated decisions not ones that guarantee membership in a local bandwagon.

-Learn history and be able to recognize the signs of it beginning to repeat itself.

-Even through your greatest efforts you can’t save them all. It’s not about you.

-Be smart about living life not just likeable.

-Respect takes a long time to develop and a mere second to lose.

-Animals are to be loved for their love is a different and special kind of love.

-Every situation is a gift. It might not come with a pretty bow and pretty wrapping but it’s still a gift.

-Don’t attach your self-worth and value to someone who can’t see your worth and value.

-Learn to love yourself independently of from the societies of the world for this is a great lesson in survival.

-Look for the diamonds that cross your path and love them like the precious gems that they are. Learn from them.

“Love hard but be willing to be loved hard back.”

–Momma D

#thispuzzledlife

June 15, 2019 darnold1975

The 1-2 Punch

“Grief is perhaps an unknown territory for you. You might feel

both helpless and hopeless without a sense of a ‘map’ for

the journey. Confusion is the hallmark of a transition.

To rebuild both your inner and outer world is a major project.”

–Anne Grant

Another sleepless night and I’ll just call I….grief and shame. It comes with no instruction manual or statute of limitation. To me it’s one of our body and mind’s deepest and purest emotions. Grief is one of these emotions that float around in our psyche waiting for its “perfect” time to be exposed. Its perfect timing usually does not equate to our perfect timing. Some of us prefer to grieve in private to hide whatever shame we’ve been intentionally or unintentionally exposed to about the process. No matter how heavy or light the grieving is on a more intimate level we would usually prefer to have someone close by for support.

My personal grieving process is one that’s very confusing and shame based. While still living at home with my parents prior to my relationship with my ex-husband, grieving was considered a natural part of life. Emotions were acknowledged and processed usually around the dinner table. At the hands of an abusive teacher at age 13, was the first time I very distinctly remember being shamed for my tears. Tears were no longer seen as an emotion but rather as a weakness. The lesson learned from this experience was “Ignore the emotion. Hide the tears. The abuse won’t stop but it shouldn’t get worse.”

Tried and true this method worked for this moment and many more years. I had no idea where powerful emotions other than anger went. They just seemed to dissipate as quickly as when they appeared. The grief has been out of sight from the naked eye. Though it was only buried and not gone.

Grieving around my ex-husband was never acceptable as you can imagine. His grief no matter how minute seemed to always be justified. My tears led to comments about being “childish and embarrassing” for him especially when in public. At home behind the dread closed doors, I was still called “childish” and “stupid.” I was also made fun of, laughed at and “taught a lesson about being an adult” by way of some sexual encounter. I very quickly learned how to also control those emotions with a shovel and dirt. So where do the emotions go? They are buried deep in the ground where your heart rests. They are festering sometimes for years one on top of another. Eventually maybe sooner rather than later a foreign substance or maladaptive behavior comes along that seems to provide some type of pseudo-catharsis. It presents itself as the dependable one who will always be loyal and non-judgmental and a best friend We buy into the rationalizations only to have the name ADDICTION tattooed on our foreheads like a scarlet letter. The substance and/or behavior soon becomes the “best friend” that will cut out throats leaving only a trail of destruction to show the quality of the relationship. This “stuffing” of emotions is in no way exclusive to grief.

Three years after the death of Sarah and I sit here quietly in the wee hours of the morning, in my bed facing this very emotion. A heavy heart and a lump in my throat that seems to be limiting my air flow is the result of this incredibly painful memory. From the time we were notified that she was terminally ill until she passed away from approximately 1.5 weeks. I felt as though I had no time for grieving because I had promised to do the difficult job of being with her until the very end. Out of respect, I felt that I needed a safer time and place to deal with this. However, tears just seemed to continue to fall despite the fact that I could not feel any emotion. I vowed to process this the minute I got back to Albuquerque.

Once I was able to line up another therapy session the weight of Sarah’s death and the miscarriage of Copeland’s twin got the best of me and I began sobbing like a child. I was being so vulnerable and raw with my emotions for the first time since the horrible days of not being allowed to grieve around my husband. I just needed to be able to cry as an adult child and parent for these heavy losses. I hungered for something as simple as compassion. This day and time “compassion” would be the illusive fugitive. The response I received from this “trusted” professional was, “Dana give me a break. She wasn’t your real mom and that wasn’t a real baby.” All I could do was freeze and try not to vomit. It was like another 1-2 punch experienced many times previously but all in their own unique fashion. I became numb and have no further recollection of the remaining time in session.

In the years since this happened any time emotions about the loss of Sarah make it to my throat but rarely do they leave my eyes. The shame for grieving even with so-called “safe” people now felt “unsafe.” This incident alone has made for some difficult therapeutic baggage. I don’t know how to put what happened into words but betrayal is how it felt then and now. Being able to address this topic with professionals on a level deeper than just superficial has been nearly impossible because of one thing…FEAR.

Luckily after this incident our trusted couple’s therapist of 6 years, at the time, was patiently awaiting the return with open arms as we come back licking our wounds. Unfortunately though the damage had already been done. The same actions by my former perpetrators had now rolled out of the mouth of my therapist. When I finally met “coach” in nothing less than a flamboyant display of behavior my distrust and subsequent hatred for professionals of any kind was very evident.

I’ve always said that compassion is my kryptonite. “Coach” hasn’t let me down in this area. It’s been a very slow process to learn to trust the right kind of “safe” people. As the boiling lava of grief surrounding the loss of Sarah and our unborn child continues to fester, I still find myself going into the closet in my bedroom to cry so that no one else in the house can hear me. The few times I actually do shed tears around others is simply because I consider them my very closest. As I continue to deal with the shame of showing intimate emotions I also realize that I’m working with someone who would never treat me like that. With all the complexity of untangling some very painful areas of my past, I must admit that I can leave that for someone other than me. When I met “coach” someone in the same professional position had planted a seed about the possibility that it could happen again. The pain of it slowed me down but again compassion is winning out. And slowly but surely my tears are finding their way out of my eyes again.

“Shame corrodes the very part of us that believes we are capable of change.”

–Dr. Brene Brown

#thispuzzledlife

June 14, 2019June 14, 2019 darnold1975

The True Meaning of Sacrifice

“Once you agree upon the price you and your family must pay for success,

it enables you to ignore the minor hurts, the opponent’s pressure,

and the temporary failures.”

–Vince Lombardi

Memorial Day is the day of the year where we celebrate and recognize the ultimate sacrifice given by those who served our country. It’s not about the barbeques or all day swimming with friends and family. The tumultuous times regarding the leadership and safety of our country is not only seen on major news channels but also witnessed within our own living rooms. Our troops returning home have sacrificed the life of daily freedoms and modern conveniences to go fight to protect our freedoms. Often times, though, when they return the true meaning and consequences of fighting a war now have redirected their once simple way of living by way of PTSD and all the complications that go along with it.

As I attempt to live this life with my own issues, I am often met by complete strangers who see my medical alert dog tag identifying PTSD as my condition. They soon notice and sometimes question the many scars on my forearms. They ask, “Were you in the military? Did you go to fight the war?” My response is always, “Ma’am/sir I didn’t fight or serve for our country. But fighting a war I have done since I was a young child.” It is at this point that the questions usually cease and their own uncomfortability surfaces not knowing what to say next. And well….I usually let them marinate in their own thoughts without explanation.

Today marks mine and Mel’s 11 year anniversary. We don’t count our “legal” anniversary because well that was controlled by the laws of the land prior to that date. Our marriage and family life has been one of sacrifice both individually and collectively since day one. We have sacrificed relationships with both friends and family as a result of our love for one another. And we have also sacrificed many parts (no pun intended) of our relationship as a direct result of my own personal traumas and the scars and open sores which they have left.

And yet again we find ourselves continuing to sacrifice our family cohesiveness and my time away from our children all in the hopes for better days ahead. I can write clear headed for now and these are the times where I can see the importance of that sacrifice. There are days recently where I’m blinded by the tragedy of those traumas and living life is not a priority in any fashion. Sometimes, though, I seem to get sucked down into the ditch of a previous life when the only option was to survive or die. The images of abusive memories soon become those not of the past but of the present.

Mel patiently and very lovingly makes sure the kids are taken care of and are safe and have some form of normalcy for them all. The tears she silently cries I don’t know about now. I’ve seen enough of her tears for me, our children and our family unit to last me the rest of my life. She and the kids continue to heal their own wounds while I search for answers of my own. She loves me but knows that this walk I’m on has come to a point where I have to do it without them. The continuation of hope for a day when I will have been able to shed some of these layers of hurt and pain and to function as a happy and healthy member of our family seems to be in the back of her mind at all times.

There was no possible way for us to envision the what the term “sacrifice” would entail. She and I both continue to watch and be a part of daily struggles regarding attachment, trust and bonding even with the most compassionate people. My absence for birthdays, kindergarten graduations and just daily life as a family can never be gotten back. However, the days of being genuinely happy to be alive and to one day be able to be “fully present” for future events is all the justification we need to know that the right decision was made for me to move here to do this work.

The transition has been one that has not been easy in any sense of the word. I brought therapy baggage that has complicated things in ways that I thought would be easy to ignore and work through. What I’ve found is that that couldn’t be further from the truth. This is also when the words spoken by trusted coaches ring very loudly in my heart and soul which say, “Keep swinging the bat. Keep shooting the ball because no athlete plays perfectly all the time. And it’s these times when you have to keep going and try, try again until you achieve the results you want. It’s about hard work and never giving up.”

Happy Anniversary, Mel!!!

#thispuzzledlife

June 14, 2019 darnold1975

Advocates

“Momma D, Why Do You Act Weird Sometimes?”

–Marshall Landrum-Arnold

The above is a question from our 6-year-old son. The one thing I’ve learned about having this disorder is that no matter how hard I try to be “normal” I’m not. The term “normal” is truly a subjective term that only fits perfectly on a washing machine. Maybe I should say socially acceptable. Regardless of what term I or anyone else tries to use the fact of the matter is that a lot of times I’m just not. I have awaken many times to face the day with the attitude that I don’t nor will I ever have some type of mental disorder. No sooner than the words roll off my tongue do I realize that I, in fact, have a mental disorder that can, at times, be completely debilitating.

I have come across many people who are of the opinion that “you just need to look at things differently” “you just have to think more positive” or “the past is in the past.” I would instantly become infuriated even if the emotions didn’t reach my face. A lot of statements are not malicious but rather out of ignorance. Also, with trauma you just can’t “unbreak the plate.” There is no possible way to just pretend that things didn’t happen…..THEY DID HAPPEN. Everyone around you can be in total denial with their heads in the sand but the fact is that the images, words, feelings, body memories and mental torture goes everywhere I go all day long every single day.

Having a diagnosis like Dissociative Identity Disorder is not one that’s easily hidden from those closest to you. When you have a spouse and children the inevitable will surely happen. I’m talking about sometimes very rapid mood changes, alters emerging, rages, voiced self-hatred, noticeable self-harming behaviors, etc. I realize that not everyone with this disorder operates the same as “systems” are as unique as fingerprints. But for our little family we have chosen to educate our children as things happen. Please understand that I’m not talking about telling our children my trauma history in detail. We educate them on an age appropriate level.

We’ve educated and continue to educate our children about being from an LGBT family and how families look differently. I have found that children are pretty satisfied once their questions are answered even with the most simplest of answers. Throw the taboo topic of mental illness that most cringe to discuss in there and more questions emerge.

As a child, I credit my parents for exposing me to individuals with mental retardation and other disabilities. Maybe this is why I don’t shy away from anyone with a disability. I truly accept anyone as they are regardless of disability or difference. Within our little family there’s no denying “difference.” Marshall has been noticing for a couple of years now that I’m just that….Different. He might not know the name for what’s happening when alters come out or when I become completely non-functional. But make no mistake that he knows something’s wrong.

One of my biggest hurdles everyday is anxiety. I can range from just a little uncomfortable to vomiting and diarrhea. So, while living in Albuquerque I found that the gentle vibration of a moving vehicle combined with my favorite music can soothe the soul.

One day Marshall was riding with me which was always our special time to sing together and get a snack from somewhere without little brother. He said, “Momma D, can I ask you something?” Me thinking this would be a typical little boy question similar to “Why do birds poop when they fly?” But what he asked me for the first time caught me by surprise. He said, “Momma why do you freak out and act weird sometimes?” Instead of further fueling the shame of the having the disorder by saying, “Don’t ask questions like that.” I simply asked him for clarification by saying, “Baby what exactly are you talking about?” He said, “Like when loud motorcycles drive passed you and other loud noises scare you. Or when we are playing with my toys and you act like a kid.” I told him, remember age appropriate, “Son when momma was younger she had some people that scared me really, really bad.” He said, “Did they like jump out and scare you?” Not being too far off the mark in some instances I said, “Well sort of but mommy just got really scared and things still scare me a lot.” He said, “And that’s why you freak out sometimes and get scared by loud noises?” I said, “Yes, baby.” He then asked, “Is that why sometimes you have to go to the hospital? Like to help you not be so sad and mad?” I thought to myself, “Why is he so perceptive?” But I replied, “Yes, baby.” He said, “Is that why you see people like Tina so they can help you not be so mad and sad?” Proud to answer the questions of such a smart little boy I said, “Yes baby.” His instant reply was, “Ok can we go to Toys R’ Us and not tell momma Mel?” I chuckled as I said, “Heck yea!” You will be entertained to know that all teenage and child alters were shouting with excitement when I said that. When we arrived at the store he said to me what Mel has told me many times prior to going into a very overstimulating situation like a toy store, “Momma D, I will sit in the buggy and will put my hands on your hands to help keep you to the ground. (He was talking about staying grounded.) Don’t worry, it’s just a store and people and they won’t hurt you.”

These were some simple situations with some very powerful answers and outcomes. And how you choose to educate or not educate your family about mental illness is your business. Some might disagree with how we choose to do this with our children. My answer has always been, “That’s the beauty of living in a free nation. We don’t have to agree.” But what a disservice it would be for this little boy if we weren’t honest with him. I wasn’t inappropriate in any manner. I was simply answering something that had been bothering him in a very age appropriate manner. I didn’t get into specifics about my trauma as at age 6 he is not mature enough to handle that.

The fact is this…..I’m one of his mommas and he and Copeland both love and miss me dearly. He knows I’m different and yet without judgment he still loves me unconditionally. Being away from Mel and the kids living in Texas and working with someone determined to help me is extremely difficult. Take away all of my mental issues and what’s still left is a momma and a wife who misses her family dearly. Things I’m missing being away from them I’ll never be able to get back. Through necessity we are raising our family to be….ADVOCATES.

“A lot of people are living with mental illness around them.

Either you love one or you are one.”

–Mark Ruffalo

#thispuzzledlife

June 14, 2019 darnold1975

Soul Murder

“They are all innocent until proven guilty. But not me. I am a liar until I am proven honest.”
― Louise O’Neill, Asking For It

I have written and spoken several times about my life and domestic violence. Under the umbrella of domestic violence are several forms such as: physical abuse; emotional abuse; controlling or domineering; intimidation; stalking; passive/covert abuse; economic deprivation; endangerment; criminal coercion; kidnapping; unlawful imprisonment; trespassing; harassment and sexual abuse. I knew that several years after leaving him that something about our sex life continued to haunt me. I didn’t know what it was called but I always knew what it felt like….SOUL MURDER.

In the conservative deep south, I was brought up like many children to “save yourself for your husband.” This was not a tall order for me as sports was my number one priority. I would meet him at the age of 17 which was 19 years his junior. Naivety led me right into the cold awaiting arms of a predator disguised as “Prince Charming.” He used the one promise that he knew I couldn’t refuse to set the hook and reel me in “I will help you find your birth family.” Rolling off his silver tongue of manipulation would be the promises of a future with a man who would “treat me like his queen.” But like most things that seem too good to be true his promises would turn out to be lies.

I guess what made this so confusing was that I NEVER saw my dad treat my mom with disrespect. I was questioning the whole time, “This is what I saved myself for?” He was my first and the guy that finally trusted in such an intimate fashion only to have that trust betrayed in a way that is still too difficult to handle emotionally. I secretly wondered why I was never told about this side of marriage. The truth despite his “brainwashing” justifications for his actions was that no this was not normal and healthy marriages do NOT consist of this type of dominating behavior.

Many years later while looking for answers regarding the strange, threatening and coercive nature especially with the passages of the Bible about how a “woman is to submit to her husband,” I came across the term Marital Rape and I knew instantly that this was what had happened. The term marital rape describes “any unwanted sexual acts by a spouse or ex-spouse that is committed without the other person’s consent. Such illegal sexual activity are done using force, threat of force, intimidation, or when a person is unable to consent. The sexual acts include intercourse, anal or oral sex, forced sexual behavior with other individuals, and other sexual activities that are considered by the victim as degrading, humiliating, painful, and unwanted. It is also known as spousal rape” (https://definitions.uslegal.com/m/marital-rape/, 2018).

I personally have not been able to make sense of such an intimate form of betrayal. This type of violence destroys you from the inside out. Remembering how scared I was as a young child when the first time I was introduced to sexual abuse the rules of these types of scenarios were still very clear. The easiest and least painful way to get through the moment was to give in to their demands. If you try to fight them the abuse gets worse. If you don’t “perform” for them the abuse gets worse. And as I was told many times, “What are YOU going to tell them Dana? You’re the “head case” with the mental history, not me.” The puppet master continued to pull the strings to make sure that his needs and only his needs were met.

Even as I write this the nausea bubbling like a pot on a stove builds its way to the back of my throat as I think about and remember the vile ways that I was treated as property rather than as a human being. I was not a wife but rather a legal whore. Being told what I was going to do for him and then berated with humiliating and very damaging body image comments afterwards just seems to further rake into your soul with the devil’s claw. Consensual loving sex is not…

Forced sex. This should be obvious. But some men have the mistaken idea that marriage changes the rules. It doesn’t. If a husband holds his wife down, pushes her, or imposes sex by hurting her, it’s rape. Making love doesn’t include making someone cry.
Sex when the wife feels threatened. If a husband forces sex through verbal threats of harm to the woman or to people or things she cares about or if he comes to her in a barely contained rage, she can’t consent. She can only comply rather than risk being harmed either physically or emotionally.
Sex by manipulation. If a husband calls his wife names, accuses her of not being a good wife, or blackmails her emotionally by suggesting she’s so bad in bed that he will go elsewhere, he’s manipulating her. Some men even threaten to leave and take the kids with him if their wives don’t comply with demands for sex. When a wife falls for these tactics, it isn’t consent. It’s rape.
Sex when the wife can’t give consent. Loving sex is genuinely consensual. If a woman is drugged, asleep, intoxicated or unconscious, she obviously can’t give consent. Even if she says “yes” in such circumstances, the “consent” isn’t valid or truthful. She’s in no shape to consider the consequences or to participate as a willing partner.
Sex by taking a woman hostage. Some men keep themselves in a position of superiority by controlling all the money, by making contact with friends and family difficult to impossible, or by making sure there is no way for her to get transportation out of the house. The woman becomes a hostage in her own home. Like many hostages, she gives up and gives in to whatever he wants — including sex.
Sex when the woman feels she has no choice. Giving in isn’t the same as giving consent. When a woman feels that it’s just easier to give in to sex than to respect her own needs, she is being raped (https://psychcentral.com/lib/marital-rape/, 2016).

THE PSYCHOLOGICAL EFFECTS OF SUCH BEHAVIORS INCLUDE:

Short-term psychological effects include PTSD, anxiety, shock, intense fear, depression and suicidal ideation.
Long-term psychological effects include disordered sleeping, disordered eating, depression, intimacy problems, negative self-images, and sexual dysfunction (https://vawnet.org/material/marital-rape-new-research-and-directions, 2018).

COMMON WAYS THAT ABUSERS AVOID RESPONSIBILITY FOR SEXUAL ASSAULT

Denial: Acting as if nothing out of the ordinary happened, boldly stating that it didn’t happen, calling you crazy for saying that it did, saying he doesn’t remember.
Rationalization: “You must have wanted it” “You could have stopped me,” “A husband is entitled to it”; Rationalization is also blaming you: ” If you gave me more sex I wouldn’t have to force you”
Minimization: I didn’t really hurt you” “You’re making a fuss about nothing” “I just wanted to make love to you.”
Claiming Loss of Control: “I was too turned on to stop”, “You make me so angry” (https://pandys.org/articles/partnerrapeoverview.html, 2009).

To say that I’ve lacked a fulfilling intimate sex life would be the understatement of my life. The level of fear that I experience even with the most supportive relationship cannot accurately be described with words. Whether it be child alters, teen alters or adult alters who step in to try and make this very part of my life possible, it always becomes a disaster. Oh and the mood gets squashed when you think, “Finally, I can do this!” But, yet, you find yourself running from the bedroom straight to the bathroom to vomit.

What I can say about this type of abuse over many years is this….

He not only raped my body, he also raped my mind and murdered my soul. I was very fortunate to meet someone like Mel who is one of the most caring, understanding and compassionate people I know. Our relationship has always been based on love and not sex. I married someone who loves me for the shattered and leftover parts of someone who use to be a fully functioning human being. It took me loving and bowing down to a monster to be able to recognize an angel. She and I walk hand-in-hand often with tears in both of our eyes trying to find a way through all the destruction. She didn’t ask to be married to a spouse with so many complex problems both physically and mentally. She does it because she loves me. Would I go through it all again just to have her? I go through it every day. The abuse has never stopped.

“Here, from her ashes you lay. A broken girl so lost in despondency that you know that even if she does find her way out of this labyrinth in hell, that she will never see, feel, taste, or touch life the same again.”
― Amanda Steele, The Cliff

#thispuzzledlife

June 11, 2019August 13, 2019 darnold1975

He Was More Than A Coach

He Was More Than a Coach

“Coaches who can outline plays on a black board are a dime a dozen.

The ones who win get inside their player and motivate.”

—- Vince Lombardi

I’ve always spoke very highly of all the coaches I played for now 20+ years ago. I’ve always had that strong connection to them regardless of how much time has gone by. Now if you want to know how I get motivated, let me know that “I have a ballgame to play and my team needs me.” My life as a ballplayer took on some of the most raw feelings I’ve ever experienced. Being an athlete was about more than just a game, it was about the entire journey of learning fundamentals and evolving into an individualized athlete with a heart of a champion. Here’s the story of a man that knew exactly what to do to help me step my game up as an athlete. But what he didn’t know he was creating for me was a way to survive.

Nicholas “Nick” Kolinsky was a ex-football player who had a heart as big as his frame. He is still and will always be a legend from the South MS area. He was originally from Pennsylvania but moved to MS many years ago to play for the 1962 championship football team from the University of Southern Mississippi. He stayed around that same area met the love of his life and raised one beautiful family. His youngest daughter, Nikki, and I would be teammates for several years.

This man was surely a legend in the city but for me the term “legend” would take on a whole other meaning. I would meet coach Nick sometime in the early 1980’s. I had play some form of “coach pitch” softball for a year but this was “real” softball, as I saw it, because we had tryouts. I was an okay player but nothing was serious and I was having fun. We had the tryouts complete with coaches from the league and their notebooks looking on and taking notes. A couple of days later my parents and I got the call that I would play for Nick’s Ice House and my coach would be Nick Kolinsky.

This big and loud man would laugh and smile in a way that you just instantly know that he was different than most people you meet. His happiness and love for life, his family and now this young softball team was infectious. You never had to ask me if I wanted to go to practice. I would sometimes walk back to the vehicle with my heart crying tears because I didn’t want practice to end. I ate, slept, breathed and fully saturated myself with his coaching as much as I could.

He pushed me but in a way that I wanted to play at my best. He always told us as players, “You will perform in a game the way that you practice. Winners never ever give up. Every play and every ball you catch or hit effects everyone on your team and they are your family. You leave it all on this field. If at the end of the game you have played the best you could and you left it all on the field no matter what the score you will always be a champion in my book.” He knew how to motivate me. I instantly took some of these lessons with into now a 42 year-old womanhood.

Every athlete has a difficult night where things just don’t seem to work. You misjudge balls. Your hit timing is just off and you begin to worry if you even have any eye/hand coordination left. It was these times when coach would say to me, “Dana, that was a $100 catch and a .10 throw!” It wasn’t earth shattering to be “off” for those games but disappointing it was. He could somehow tell when I needed that “compassionate coach” side and he always encouraged me. He would bring his big “man size” body down to my child size self and look me in the eyes with compassion and said, “Keep going baby. These kind of nights don’t last but you have to keep pushing through them. Don’t you give up! Do you hear me?!!! You leave it out here on this field no matter how much you have to give. Your team needs you. If you get scared and don’t know what to do on those bases KEEP YOUR EYES ON ME. I’m right here and we will do this together.”

Now to most people this interaction might not have been that big of a deal. To that developing child and athlete, that was all I needed to hear. He didn’t say that he would be there to do it for me. He said, “I’m right here and we will do this together.” From that day forward, I played with confidence and have faced every obstacle knowing that he would always be right there. He had no idea what those positive interactions would do for me as an adult. Every single time I had to pick myself up from one of life’s unfriendly occurrences, I always heard my coach saying, “Charlie get up! Your team is depending on you. The game is not over yet. Get back over here!”

Charlie was a name that Coach Nick gave to me because of the way that I played. He always told me, “You play a lot like Pete Rose. You have some of the best hustle I’ve ever seen. From now on you will be called Charlie Hustle.” As long as there was daylight and the “want”, “need” and “will” to continue was there he would stay after practice and hit me additional balls to help me sharpen my skills. Our team seemed almost untouchable. It wasn’t just me who would benefit from his coaching. We practiced and practiced hard every single practice. Lolly gagging was not allowed by him, other coaches or the other players on the team.

After ballgames it was nothing for him to load up the entire team in the back of his pickup truck while we cheered going riding through the city like we were national champions. And to me we were. I’m glad that he gave me a foundation of self discipline. It might be in only a couple areas of my life but it took and I’ve never let go of many of his life lessons. We were told very seriously, “that being a winner is not given. You have to put the work in and even then you might not win the game or the battle. It’s the same with life. You give everything you have all the time until there’s nothing left to give. That is a champion!” He gave all us players a t-shirt that had his business logo on the left chest. But on the back it said “I’M ONE OF NICK’S BOYS” He told us as a team that those shirts you have to earn to be able to wear them. Until I graduated high school, I was known by my nickname Charlie Hustle and I wore that shirt with pride. I always wore that shirt under my uniform shirts throughout my high school career as a kind of balance and piece of my coach right there with me like he had promised.

Because of the impact of his compassion in my days of being a child and developing athlete, I have survived many different situations. I worked hard to live through a lot of things. I reconnected with him after this many years. I was contacted by one of his daughters via Facebook to tell me that his health was declining. On one of our trips back to Petal where he and his family lived the whole time I knew them. I walked into the house where he was sitting and his eyes lit up. “Dana!!!” He chuckled. My eyes filled with tears and I hugged him and said, “Coach I’ve missed you. Here’s my family.” I don’t know if the tears fell like they’re doing now as I write this. But shortly after Marshall pooped on his lap he wanted to talk about old games from when I played ball for him. It was like one of the most beautiful times as a child had been resurrected by the gentle giant that had become a gentle old man. I called him several times since that visit and each time we spoke he had a even more difficult time speaking due to a failing heart.

My beloved coach passed away July 5, 2016. The grief is so great that it’s taken until now to be able to write about such a great man. The towns of Petal/Hattiesburg knew when this man passed away. For me it was like a new national day of mourning. The pain of the little child inside had me disappearing inside myself. My athlete has never stopped mourning over his loss. Anytime you ask me about this guy I called Coach Nick I tear up but not out of sadness. I tear up over the gift I was chosen to receive. That was just gratitude rolling out of my eyes. Since trauma has had such a big impact on my life more than once I always wear that shirt into a session with my therapist when I need his encouragement.

Ironically, as the universe would see fit, I met the one who would be the next big coach in my life only a month later. This time things are different. Now I’m not in the fight for a win in a game, I’m in the fight for my life. And everyone doesn’t receive a participation trophy. Grateful again? You bet I am. I will find a way to succeed because I’M ONE OF NICK’S BOYS!

Below are links and newspaper about this guy everyone knows as The Man, The Myth, The Legend. Please take a little time to read about this man that both South Mississippi and I loved.

http://www.hattiesburgamerican.com/story/news/local/hattiesburg/2016/07/05/hattiesburgs-nicks-ice-house-icon-nick-kolinsky-dies/86728744/

http://www.hattiesburgamerican.com/story/sports/college/southern-miss/football/2016/07/13/cleveland-nick-kolinsky-jack-lucas-had-special-bond/87010864/

https://www.legacy.com/obituaries/hattiesburgamerican/obituary.aspx?pid=180567264

#thispuzzledlife

June 11, 2019 darnold1975

Tioga Bound

“When you know who you are; when your mission is clear and you burn with

the inner fire of unbreakable will; no cold can touch your heart; no deluge

can dampen your purpose. You know that you are alive.”

– Chief Seattle, Duwamish

I was looking through my recent blog posts and realized that I had not yet written about a place I went to visit last summer/fall 2017. There are some situations in life when/where it happens you have to just be quite and let it soak in. Sometimes just looking at how situations came to be can unlock a little patch of “surrendering to the process.”

I believe wholeheartedly that there’s something about how the stars are lining up in my life. I don’t have those answers yet but they’re out there somewhere. In March 2017, I was pretty hopeless in most areas of my life. Out of the blue I get a call from someone who still completely amazes me with her compassion and patience. I had found my new coach finally. Tears streamed down my face as I call my wife Melody to let her know what had just happened. The challenge would be for Mel and I, as a couple, to figure out what was best for our family as a whole. I had my eye set on one thing as my goal and that was the day I could begin this arduous work with someone already proven trustworthy.

We already had planned a trip to Walt Disney world in Orlando, FL with our boys obviously not knowing what the coming months would bring. Anyway, the boys and Mel enjoyed the trip. I just realized how bad things had gotten and was continuing to decline. Our boys were entitled to have some genuine fun that normally they couldn’t do around me because of PTSD symptoms. While at Disney World I enjoyed seeing our boys and Mel with smiles on their faces. For me having so many issues with social situations the trip was torture. The amount of people and no private space had me wanting to just randomly bite people for no reason. Then somewhere on the inside I heard…”Orange is not a good color for you! And you won’t like the flip flops!!!!” Not conventional grounding method but it worked. The fireworks shows, though beautiful, had me running for cover. But I do love my family.

Mel’s grandmother passed away which meant we would be staying very close to the city where I grew up. It doesn’t matter the situation. That area of the country is just not safe for me to be hanging out in. But It was a death in the family and loyalty to our friends and family are stronger than anything we have individually, as a couple or as a family. We eventually made it back to Albuquerque. And things went from bad to worse.

I ended up returning to a trauma unit where I would meet more close friends referred to as my “battle buddies.” This stay was quite difficult to say the least. Things were much different and I left there completely defeated. Just months before I caught wind that someone cared which left me very curious say the least. The only thing I’ve never been surprised by is in the fact that change is constantly happening. This situation was absolutely no different. I licked my wounds all the way back to Albuquerque to my awaiting room where I keep all of my secrets. It was sort of my prison within my own prison.

Someone did mention about this place out in Tioga, TX called Healing Springs Ranch. The last thing I wanted to talk about was more treatment. I was exhausted and felt beat up. My recent trauma unit stay reaffirmed to me that professionals were just dangerous no matter how they put a nice spin on things. And I hated them all. No one would have another shot at me like that was how hurt I felt. I was so miserable and wanted a way out. I wanted help but feared it to my core. Again, I was told to call them and check it out.

I wanted the opportunity to go and try another open campus facility, at some point, because those were where I was most comfortable. I just didn’t want to go right then. Being on a locked unit never helps me or anyone else. But what I was about to walk into was something I was never prepared to experience. I was told who my inpatient therapist would be. I had already known her from previous visits to other facilities and knew that she was gentle so having that knowledge really helped me to settle. Here I was about to trust someone to mess with my “system” again and I wouldn’t be able to leave for awhile. And there was only minimal trust to start with.

My wife dropped me and my belongings off after getting checked in. I was told to enjoy that last Diet Coke for a while. I froze. What in the hell did he just say?!!!! I instantly felt death near. I knew that coffee was not even a remote possibility for me. Caffeine, Caffeine where shall I find thee? I was truly starting to panic. OMG….what have I just agreed to? I was trying to keep the fear buried and plenty of smiles and laughter on the outside.

I soon took that long ride, on the golf cart, to the main building known as the Bunk House. I was beyond terrified and my inside guys were assessing everything we saw, heard and smelled. We passed the field of cows I would learn to love and talk to every morning on daily walks. There were a couple I would name T-Bone and Rib eye. I know I should have a conscious about their names but I don’t. And the golf cart would be parked by cows that had this exact conversation go on right before their eyes.

Friend: Dana those are those different cows called Yams!

Me: I can assure you that those are not yams.

Friend: Dana yes they are I know what I’m talking about. Those are YAMS!!!

Me: Oh for the love of God and the Holy Angels! That is not a potato! A yam is what you have on Thanksgiving! If that is a yam then that potato has four legs and a tail while also saying…MOOOOOOO! A YAK! A YAK is what you’re thinking about and that is not a Yak either! That’s just a messed up looking cow! We laughed then and still today about how funny that brief moment in time unfolded.

When the doors opened and I began the incline on the floor to the nurses’ office I was greeted by a few people welcoming me to Healing Springs Ranch. Omg…they’re a cult! They have a following of people that claim that they care and are happy. I saw who would be my therapist and instantly I thought…Damn I feel bad for you already.

Everyone was so incredibly caring and you just somehow knew that this place was special. It was just different in a loving kind of way. In my illustrious career of dealing with treatment centers and stabilization units I had never found this much compassion in one place. This is a place far from a locked unit. They loved without conditions. This has always been a foreign concept for me because from several abusers “love” had conditions. So accepting this love was going to be a challenge and it was the majority of the time.

Very slowly but surely I would begin to settle in with this new community. This place whatever its magical powers was loving me and I began to melt. No one saw this right off but both me and my alters felt it instantly. I’m a difficult patient in the best of circumstances. But apparently The universe knew what it took to make me crumble……COMPASSION. I was still a very angry and scared person under all the smiles and laughter. They had already found my weakness.

And you seem to know that the relationship is going to be interesting when one of the first people you see you say, “Hey 13 is that you?!” Calling someone, who would turn out to be one of my closest friends, one of your alters’ names can be incredibly funny. I’ll be honest that an argument between a 10 year-old and a 13 year-old can be awfully flamboyant. But put them both in adult bodies and that could be sent to the comedy show of your choosing. However, The awesome look at nature and it’s scary and comforting critters it hides seemed to be medicine for my soul.

Charlie the Squirrel seemed to take the place of the Angry Birds in Albuquerque. My personal encounters involves said tree rodent. Oh Mr. Sandy cheeks decided that I needed a little more confusion and proceeded to bark at me machine gun style. With my very well developed hyper startle response, Charlie might as well have been sitting on my face and chewing on it. All I could think to say was, “It jumped out from the bushes and almost killed me!” Really he just scared the shit out of me from about 10 feet away in a tree. Then I scared the shit out of the people walking with me. We still laugh about it all.

Life had become routine which I loved. At night after most of the day staff left for the evening and we had all gotten our night meds and snacks people would head down to their rooms either for a shower and/or bed. But there were also members of our tribe that enjoyed that 30 minute time period of sitting on the porch with the slight breeze and just decompress from all of the day’s activities. The night wildlife was front and center. If you were brave enough to listen to some of the conversations we would have you would realize that there was an amazing amount of healing that went on. There started out with about 4 people, including myself, who took full advantage of hanging out with this new family. By the time it was my graduation, there were usually over 10 people at night.

I was usually telling some kind of funny story or just getting tickled about the day’s activities. There were stories about Miss Betty and the Mr. Bitchy. Many also know about my Ozzy Osborne impression shouting “SHARON!!!!!!” Any issues between me and Charlie the Squirrel had to be told. Funny stories from being an EMT. Or the funny things about being a lesbian mom raising little boys. On a more somber note someone might bring a guitar to the patio and we would sing.

These other clients and staff were hearing details, ugly details of my past and they still loved me. They were getting to know my alters almost as well as my own spouse. The work we all did was hard to say the very least. Walking in their doors with all of my therapy baggage at the forefront assured me just starting on trust again. But my family members who were also working on their individual issues were also there. After many years of Melody and I flying solo through this life of Dissociative Identity Disorder, I can only wish that the facility had been there much sooner. Finally I had found a place that would take the time to get to know someone beyond the adolescente.

There were times when the work we had done during the day time just managed to leave the mark on someone’s face that said, “I need a friend who understands and to be able to let the tears fall where they may without the fear or feeling of judgment.” Healing with your peers with no parameters to interfere was total freedom.

At HSR, I found my tribe. I found a whole host of “safe people” that I never knew existed. All of the amenities are just a bonus with the total experience. The food is prepared by one of the finest chefs on my list. The staff packs a lot of knowledge about both addiction and mental health disorders. Their passion for what they do can be seen many miles away…like Albuquerque. But what you’ll experience as a whole is beautiful. I didn’t leave there with a lot of answers. But I left there knowing and believing that all people aren’t dangerous and that was just what I needed. Because “those people” and the alumni are who I call….FAMILY.

These are just a few of the reasons that Healing Springs Ranch is where I found my forever home with a brand new, handpicked by the universe, group of likewise compassion and passion for life kind of family. I learned at “The Ranch” that even clowns need to make time for tears. And that not everyone is put on this earth to hurt me. As for my alters and I, well let’s just say that the process of “being loving” with our tone to each other is still moving forward just at a snail’s pace. And I did get to move closer to my HSR family. As difficult of a process as it’s been not moving here with Melody and the boys, I’m in the arms of members of that same family. I finally made it here about 2 months ago and I walked into those loving arms of people that I met hear. They understand without explanation but with humor when I say that I’m one of those people who are buy 1 get 15 free.

“You treat a disease, you win, you lose. You treat a person, I

guarantee you, you’ll win, no matter what the outcome.”

– Robin Williams

https://www.healingspringsranch.com/

#thispuzzledlife

June 11, 2019January 19, 2020 darnold1975

For The Bible Tells Me So Part 2

For the Bible Tells Me So…..Part 2

“If a believer demands that I, as a nonbeliever, observe his taboos in

the public domain, he is not asking for my respect, but for my submission.”

― Flemming Rose

Let me start this entry by saying that I am in no way putting in “jabs” to any particular religious belief or sect. I’m simply stating how religion can be used in an abusive nature. I have my own personal experience with Southern Baptist and Southern Evangelicals. I don’t dislike either one. Abuse has also been publicized within the Catholic religion. But let’s face it, abuse of any kind knows no boundaries and/or limits.

In the many years that I longed for and searched for my birth mom I heard the same story over and over about how she was put in touch with a pastor in the Petal/Hattiesburg, MS area and then like a bad explosion I was born. When I got older I had to be able to understand what all this meant. So the only way I could fully comprehend this was to call it “The Underground Railroad for Unwed Mothers.” To tell a few more of the details surrounding her prenatal arrangements and my eventual birth, my birth mom was from Indiana at the time. She was 16 years old and had gotten mad at my biological father and fled to put me up for adoption as soon as possible. This information I received when we met face-to-face.

As I stated in the first part of this blog entry being an unwed mother was not exactly as socially acceptable as it is now. We are not talking about 50 years ago either. In the 1970s was when my birth mom had me. In the 1990s when I graduated high school teen moms were still regarded as “less than” no matter the circumstances. These “less than” opinions were not only from the standpoint of the church where I personally saw people treated differently depending on socioeconomic, gender, race, sexual orientation and just about any other category where someone might “stand out” as being not “normal.”

Nevertheless my birth mom was actually suppose to go to the Bethesda Home for Unwed Mothers when she was pregnant with me. However, she was too far along in her pregnancy to be accepted there. This was the best outcome for me as the baby for her to not be allowed there regardless of the reasoning. For her, though, she has made it clear many times over that I was “an inconvenience in her life then and now.” Tell me even reading that you didn’t feel that punch to the gut. Now imagine that you’re that baby that grew up wanting nothing more than to find part of your identity and you’ve been forced to wait to find this woman that you inherently have longed for your entire life because of state laws. All the while hoping that your opinion of what “adoption” means to you is different. Only to be rejected again but now you feel that very deadly blow. I could do absolutely nothing. I could say nothing. Me being left speechless seldom ever happens.

To this day, when I am still and think back to that moment I have to change the subject because it’s just too painful to remember. To make matters worse, when I returned from finding the answers I needed my husband at the time told me “she’s a filthy and disgusting woman and she gave YOU up for adoption.” I can’t describe what that did to me emotionally. Every feeling and thought that I had up to that point about my self-worth came down to that one comment. I have never recovered from things like that that were said to me daily.

When she was turned down at the girl’s home she stayed with another local pastor and his wife until she had me and like clockwork she left never to think about me again until the phone call from my biological brother telling her that I had been found about 30 years later. She has had an incredibly difficult life. She and my biological father passed along some strong addiction genes and well…..not much else. The “Nature vs. Nurture” debaters would love to study this one. I was going to mention something about good looks but roasting myself has become somewhat of an art.

The point in all of this is that religion can be incredibly shaming to those that aren’t stereotypical worshippers. This means going to church or whatever your place to worship and acting a certain way or being vocal. Now, personally, I don’t care how anyone worships or who they worship because I consider this a very private matter between you and your higher power whomever or whatever that might be. Here’s a quote from an author on this very thing…

“Evangelicalism has taken the Extrovert Ideal to its logical extreme, McHugh is telling us. If you don’t love Jesus out loud, then it must not be real love. It’s not enough to forge your own spiritual connection to the divine; it must be displayed publicly. Is it any wonder that introverts like Pastor McHugh start to question their own hearts?”
― Susan Cain, Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can’t Stop Talking

Pastor Marvin Winans is a gospel singer a member of the Winans Family a famous gospel group. He also leads the choir called the Perfecting Church Choir. He also has produced several albums with this choir while also being a part of “Tyler Perry’s House of Payne.” Winans also delivered the eulogy at Whitney Houston’s funeral in 2012. The comment from an elder in the church about his policy regarding baby dedication for unwed mothers and their children was this…..

“Pastor Winans has a strict policy — he won’t bless the babies of unwed mothers in front of the congregation”, Fox 2 Detroit reported.

Grace said “she felt degraded by the pastor’s decision. She’s hoping he reconsiders, even if it means having her son dedicated during the week by a church elder.”

Until then, she told Fox 2 Detroit “she has no plans to return to Perfecting Church.”

“I absolutely would not set foot back in the church right now because I feel like they look down upon me and my kind, meaning single moms and unwed mothers,” Grace said.

Pope Francis recently said in May that the Catholic Church should bless children born out of wedlock, because their mothers chose life over abortion.

“’Look at this girl who had had the courage to carry her pregnancy to term. … “What does she find? A closed door,” he said, according to Vatican newspaper L’Osservatore Romano. “This is not good pastoral zeal, it distances people from the Lord and does not open doors (http://archive.eurweb.com, 2013).”

What about those of us that can’t attend comfortably because of trauma either by clergy abuse, PTSD, social phobias, etc? Well, let’s just say that I’m open about many facets of my life regardless of ostracizing. Loud music which is usually the status quo in most churches sends chills all over my body. Not because of the words but because sensory overload and hyper startle reflex that will have me cringing and crying if I can’t get out of the situation. If I’m still unable to leave violence is my “go to when niceness doesn’t work. I’m openly gay and legally married with children, addictions, mental illness, phobias, PTSD, eating disorders and medical cannabis. Do I need to keep going?

I’m that baby that was refused dedication to the church because I was born to an unwed mother (figuratively of course). My point is this…..the church has lost sight of its mission if Christianity is your thing. I have my beliefs and questions just like most that keep that information in the dark. I don’t believe for a minute that the only relationship you can have with God or your chosen deity has to be within a church. Nor does it make you “less than” because you don’t chose to worship like others.

I’m currently surrounded by people who are loving Christians who understand mental illness and its roots. They don’t shame me into going to church with them it’s a choice that I make. And if I start having an issue I simply leave the service and it’s no big deal. Many churches have a room removed from the service area or provide ear plugs for this and many other reasons and conditions. God just knew that when the mold broke that I would be quirky but that I would SURVIVE and thus far that’s exactly what I’ve done.

#Thispuzzledlife

June 10, 2019August 10, 2019 darnold1975

It’s Not About The Food

“Girls developed eating disorders when our culture developed a standard of

beauty that they couldn’t obtain by being healthy. When unnatural thinness

became attractive, girls did unnatural things to be thin.”

–Mary Pipher

One of the things that I’ve learned the most about my many maladaptive behaviors is that the perfect storm had arrived to ensure me having eating disorders when I was a very impressionable teenager. Not only was it teenagers having issues with body image. It was also the abuse that occurred during that time and the things that were said and my impression about what had occurred and what was done. As a part of the abusive teacher’s very hateful nature was the being humiliated about myself as a human being in front of my peers. I was put on display a lot of the time and made to stand in front of the class while being made fun of without having any type of recourse. If I ever said anything back I was punished by both she and the administration who clearly had no idea to what extent her abusive nature was. She on more than one occasion, would tell me when the rodents would get into my food in my locker “It doesn’t look like you need food anyway.”

My high school years during which I kept those eating disorders alive and well I became a sickly 83lbs and ruined any of my hopes of playing athletics in college. What I was left with was a life of painful eating disorders that I still struggle with daily. These behaviors were further compounded when I met my ex-husband who disguised his personal reason for wanting to help me by encouraging the eating disorders in his own way.

I was made to weigh for him sometimes weekly because “I’m not going to be married to a fat ass” he would always say. He would also tell me that “it’s ok to have fat friends but you don’t have to look like them.” He micromanaged my food to the extent that that I was only allowed to eat what he approved of and nothing else. To make sure this happened he would allow me only 10 pistachios and 10 olives to eat while at work working two jobs. He would also, on occasion, sit out in the parking lot to make sure I didn’t eat anything that was not what he allowed. When I would tell him that I was hungry his supportive line was “No pain no gain.”

He would also leave random newspaper clippings around the house about the latest weight loss diets and/or make me take pictures of myself in swimsuits or naked, put them on the refrigerator and tell me “next time your fat ass gets hungry look at this picture and maybe you won’t want to eat.” He would also make comments if we went out to eat about how all the people were looking at me because I was a fat ass. He would say, “If you don’t like them staring at you then don’t be a fat ass.” If we had dinner with his family he would wait until we left to criticize either what I ate or how I ate. And many times these comments were said where other people could hear them. He would also say, “Did you have to eat that much of whatever we had for dinner? You eat like a prisoner who’s about to have their tray stolen! And that is why I have to tell you how, when and where to eat. Because you’re too dumb to do it on your own. You’ve already proven that time and time again.” Eating quickly became the most dreaded activity I had to deal with on a daily basis. My goal was to try to get through life with him and eating as little as possible. As you can imagine I didn’t do that to his standards either.

The message that was conveyed to me was that no matter what I did it would never be to his irrational standards. I was also expected to be at the gym to workout mornings at 5:00 am. Being a well known guy in the city he knows many people and that included the employees at the gym. So, he would call to verify be being there and what types of workouts I was doing. If I ran 4 miles he would want to know what I didn’t “gut it out” and run 5 miles.

Years of his verbal abuse, threats, and sexual abuse slowly broke me down. People who don’t understand why individuals stay in relationships like this often say, “Well he only did what you let him do” cannot possibly comprehend what this does to your psyche. Those types of hurtful comments are why most suffer in silence and don’t ask for help. After all, sometimes it was the easiest and safest thing to do by just going along with whatever his demands no matter what they were. He had me convinced that I was nothing without him. He and his brother tormented me for years and continue to do so internally. But again they were both raised by a father who was also a malignant narcissist and a mother who worked at home without an education until much later in life. So really she had nowhere to go with three children and no education. So for many men and women in these types of relationships that don’t leave usually have a damn good reason for staying. There’s always more to the story behind those closed doors than what you realize. My own parents had no idea the extent of the abuse that I was having to deal with on a daily basis. Such is a life with a malignant narcissist.

To this day, if someone tries to take a verbal jab at me while in a public place or group setting my “verbal sniper” becomes activated and a one-sided war will ensue. Get me in that little conservative and very judgmental city and I “turn into a werewolf” as my wife puts it. I have found that striking the first blow is a way that I can set the tone that I will NOT be hurt by whoever it is that I feel is a personal threat either imagined or real. All I have to do is see this as a possible threat. Anyone that I perceive as a authority figure, I absolutely will not make eye contact with if at all possible.

I guess the message I’ve tried to convey is that eating disorders and other maladaptive behaviors are about something much deeper than society sees them. You see the signs and symptoms and I feel the weight of the trauma every minute of every day. To this day I will chose not to eat because the internal war about what to eat is just too painful. When I do eat I can never be full and satisfied because full means fat to me. If I do feel full I have to purge with laxatives to get rid of that feeling. It’s not a binging thing it’s an eating thing. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again…..IT’S NOT ABOUT THE FOOD.

Understand this as well….I’m done trying to live my life carrying my trauma and the trauma those two boys in adult bodies. I will NOT continue to be a part of the cycle of not working on my own trauma just to have mine and theirs to be spewed out onto other innocent and unsuspecting people. This is a work in progress no doubt but the cycle dies with me. I’ve proven that I can live through it. Now it’s time to prove I can live without it. All I need was to find a coach to help with this and I did.

“I failed eating, failed drinking, failed not cutting myself into shreds. Failed friendship. Failed sisterhood and daughterhood. Failed mirrors and scales and phone calls. Good thing I’m stable. ”
― Laurie Halse Anderson, Wintergirls

#Thispuzzledlife

June 9, 2019 darnold1975

The Healing Has Begun

“Healing is a matter of time, but it is sometimes also a matter of opportunity.”

— Hippocrates

Recently, I was asked to notice the things that irritate me throughout the week but more specifically in public where I have the most problems. And OMG I must have totally been attempting to be a trophy hog on disordered thinking or something. Because I started noticing that everything about being in public bothers me with the complete spectrum of emotions. I won’t put too many specifics because well…..we live in a society with some real poop slingers. No wonder I have so many different reactions both physically and mentally.

I already know from where some of these reactions stem but some I don’t. At any rate, I still learned something about my triggers. I also learned that I have a lot of work to do before I’m anywhere near comfortable in public again. I’ll just have to trust the next step.

I have isolated myself so long that I’d lost all hope and refused to set any goals. I guess before I set goals I needed to have some time to realize what it is that I want again out of life. What are the things that I’ve missed and grieved over missing in life? Some might not seem big but they were definitely taken for granted.

First, I want to be able to be the kind of spouse to my wife that she deserves. She didn’t ask for the complications of a mentally ill spouse. I also didn’t ask for the mental illness. She’s a real trooper in every way. And she wholeheartedly supports my efforts to find peace.
I want to be a mother to my children that’s there for them both emotionally and physically. Yes my children are learning about mental illness firsthand. It’s both good and bad. They are learning how devastating it can be but they are also learning how to be advocates at the same time. They deserve, as well as, I do to be emotionally available to them. They know that momma D is different. And they also know that I’m momma the one who loves them more than my next breath.
I want my career back working with difficult populations with addictions in some capacity.

I want to speak to graduate classes specifically about the stigmas surrounding the diagnosis of DID. And how important ethics are and the damage that can be caused from not being ethical therapists. And how bad therapy almost killed me.
I would like to do public speaking outside the classroom also helping to lessen the stigmas of mental illness.
I want to be able to live a life free from the torture of my past.
I want to be able to grieve all these years I’ve held back out of fear.
Above all I just want to be heard.

This might seem like not a big deal to some but this is still a tall order that I have never seen as being remotely possible. I don’t know what lies before me. I heard someone recently say that uncomfortability is the key to healing and growth. I am definitely no stranger to uncomfortability. But more with the goal of peace at the finish line doesn’t appear to be a difficult choice. The pace will be slow and steady which is the way I would view a ball season or an important game. And well….I’m in the fight for my life. Burning out on the front end just creates more setbacks. It’s also not a sprint but a marathon. Because it took 42 years to become this dysfunctional and to think it can all be healed over night is a miracle only Jesus could pull off. Yes Sarah I do understand. Sometimes all you need is for someone to give you a chance to reap that opportunity. My friends the healing has begun.

#Thispuzzledlife

June 9, 2019 darnold1975

Closing The Chaper

Closing the Chapter

12.29.2017

“If you’re brave enough to say goodbye, life will give you a new hello.”

—Paulo Coehlo

Since the end of 2017 is fast approaching and writing has not really been a priority because basic mental and physical survival grabbed that #1 spot this year. Our little family complete with two little boys that are a beautifully and hysterical mixture of zombie fighter, American Ninja Warrior, chicken nuggets, boogers, poop, sweat, nerf guns, goat head stickers and a nice dose of generalized “Little boy GROSS” seem to be the perfect description for our two little Albuquerque charges. And it’s because of these two little boys and the love that Mel and I still have for each other that our family is currently closing the chapter here.

Mel and I, for several years now have been looking for a way or a reason to leave Albuquerque. There are several reasons but mainly because you just seem to know when it’s time to move on. In June 2009 shortly after completing graduate school at William Carey University in Hattiesburg, MS we set out fleeing our conservative homeland with the goal of one day being parents. We had no jobs and really no direction but we wanted to leave and leave we did. But not without big dreams for life in the southwest. I had one personal dream of working as a drug/alcohol therapist with the Native American population which would come to fruition. We didn’t know what life had to offer but we were ready to face anything or so we thought. And for the next 8 years our life would be about a lot of struggle.

Life was about to teach us some incredibly difficult and painful lessons about facing adversity, our expectations of the word “friendship,” the devastating lasting effects of abuse, the painful sting of death of friends, family and yes both Copeland and Marshall’s twins, a representation of the sad shape of the country’s mental health system, the awareness of how uneducated the legal system is about mental illness, the understanding of how damaging bad therapy can be and the eventual realization that there are still some damn good therapists out there who are truly doing what they love are passionate about for the right reasons. And the true meaning of the words “SACRIFICE” and “LOVE.”

We both landed jobs with a temp agency within the billion dollar company Fidelity Investments. Mel would eventually be offered a job as a Fidelity employee which would include fertility benefits that would make our dreams of being parents possible. With both of us being adopted, neither of us wanted to adopt but I had no desire to carry. Mel would be “chomping at the bits” to step into that role. Having finally divorced a very mentally and sexually abusive 14 year relationship I seemed to just be “unsettled” but tried not to pay it too much attention. So, I jumped into a doctoral program to help fulfill whatever need it was that I was looking to fill.

I would fall absolutely head over heels working with the homeless. Coming from small town where the drug problem and crime is more of a nuisance rather than a way of life, we were about to be in for a big shock. Watching the FOX reality show COPS could easily be achieved by sitting on our front porch and just watching the action. With a large transient population and our first residence being directly off historic Route 66 in downtown Albuquerque being touched by the crime was inevitable. I would soon realize, however, that the costs of addiction in every facet I would encounter was at a ground zero status. This level of addiction would simultaneously be challenging and heartbreaking. The homeless population I would work with included members of the 200+ gangs in the city, skin heads, murders, rapists, drug dealers and anyone seeking free county funded medical detox. I would develop a deep down love for working with these men and women who had their own individual needs but underneath their natural edginess and attitude there was a beating heart in their chest. Very quickly a mutual respect was developed and we looked forward to seeing each other daily.

Soon my ever increasing mental health troubles couldn’t be discounted as stress. It would eventually become such a big problem that it would turn into a search for answers which continues today. A few years later all of the strange and at times increasingly debilitating symptoms and a myriad of diagnoses several professionals would concur on the diagnosis of Dissociative Identity Disorder. I could accept just about any diagnosis but this one. I just didn’t see how it was possible. Mel and I both looked at each other like I had just given birth to a baby giraffe. I can safely say that we were both in denial about this one.

I thought if I just tried really hard that there was no need for this stigmatizing label. What I learned a few years later is that no matter how much I attempt to be a normal person with normal problems, I just wasn’t. I can’t even begin to convey to you the long term effects that abuse has had on my being able to function as an adult. As with most things humor can be found if you look hard enough. But some of the effects on both the individual and the family can be devastating.

My active working career with my brand new degree would be short lived. This disorder has left me unable to work since our oldest son, Marshall, was born 6 years ago. Nevertheless both of our little preemie boys and their love for us as their parents can make it possible to “white knuckle” situations longer than you ever imagine. Many hospital visits, treatment programs and literally blood, sweat and tears later I went to an inpatient trauma program in Denton, TX desperate for help and terrified. Mel and I began realizing that there are many professionals in that area that actually specialize in treating this disorder. Complicating this new found information was my intense fear of professionals or anyone in position of authority. I would meet one at the inpatient program that apparently has the patience of Job and could see right past my spewing venomous rage directly into the pain and hurt.

The loss of our beloved Sarah Pardue in 2015 to cancer has truly left me feeling completely alone and floundering with no direction. She was my YODA and a voice of reason that I would actually listen to. Her loss brought me to my knees and feeling like someone had figuratively broken my back. Every since I’ve been in a downward spiral that leaves both me and Mel in awe that I’m here to write about it.

The challenge then became how do we get me access to these services from Albuquerque where we seemed to be forever bound. About 6 months later our answers would be revealed. One thing kept gnawing at me….Why did those people at that treatment center care? I was so loud and flamboyant about who wasn’t going to make me do shit. I was on a locked until which is a huge trigger for me since part of my trauma is from being or feeling trapped. So, I’m usually just a pain in the ass for that type of staff. They didn’t tuck tail and run which made me do a double take.

So for the next couple of months it would be having Mel drive me and the kids to Dallas for a session and then turning around and making the 10 hour trip back to Albuquerque. The compassion and expertise we finally found was something that we would come to realize that would be a necessity for my ultimate survival. That would mean leaving our trusted therapist of 8 years here, in Albuquerque, who had been the only evidence of consistency we would experience here. Another inpatient stay in Denton, TX with completely different circumstances and the results were disastrous. I could do nothing but cry.

My soul and heart ached and longed for the wise words of Sarah. “What the hell do I do now?!!!” I kept saying. I couldn’t imagine what she would say because it was in this moment that I needed to hear her talk and that wasn’t an option. At some point among the tears I remember very clearly Sarah saying, “Dana there will be times when you have no idea what to do next in life and I won’t be around.” Panicked I would ask, “Well mom what the hell do I do then?!!!” She looked at me and said with that comforting smile….”The next right thing whatever that is.” I would always ask her, “Well, what the hell is that going to be?” and she would say “to let life show you what to do next.” I had no idea how profound that conversation we would have at different times would be for me.

It would soon be suggested that I look into a new and upcoming treatment facility called Healing Springs Ranch in Tioga, TX. I have to laugh because even now I think what the hell is in Tioga, TX? Once you see how really small of a town they are tipping the scales at 886 for a population. And I’m pretty sure that more than once I communicated with some of the local residents by saying, “MOOOOOOOO!!!!” But deep in the heart of a big ass pasture there is a magical place that has healing vibes complete with fishing, kayaking, paddle boats, golf, swimming and other activities while surrounded by wildlife that doesn’t seem to fear humans in any capacity. I mean those little animals don’t even fear Chef Corey who can make a mean dish out of damn near anything. More than once I felt guilty for eating those plates that were like portraits.

Having been in the nation’s mental health system for the majority of my adult life treatment centers don’t typically exude compassion with many staff much less those in charge. Healing Springs Ranch is no ordinary place. From the minute you darken the doors compassion and passion seems to ooze out of every pore that makes up that place. Hey, you know for me the term “Open Campus” vs. “Locked Unit” took me very little time to make the decision to go directly back to treatment. They also said that individuals with Dissociative Identity Disorder were also treated there. Boundaries were made very clear and I began to thrive. I hungered and longed for boundaries but wanted the freedom from being a typical psychiatric patient. It proved to me very quickly that compassion, boundaries and freedom from being “trapped” can do a lot for someone who struggles living life through trauma colored lenses. Sometimes all you need to treat a sudden case of anxiety is a beautiful walk and a smart-ass comment from Charlie the Squirrel. Or the sight of that one special therapist coming to work that stops her car on the path that goes by the cows just to say, “Good Morning cows! Today I will not eat hamburger.”

And now that she’s gone life showed us answers just like she said. And now under the heading of SACRIFICE and LOVE, Mel and I have decided that the best thing for our family, after years of looking for a sign of hope, that I will move to Texas to do this work individually. They will move back to Mississippi for the support that they need while I make this part of the journey with someone who will be one of the most powerful coaches of my life surrounded by a chosen family of trauma survivors. As we close the chapter on Albuquerque and 2017, with tears in my eyes I’m cautiously optimistic and yet terrified in the same breath. Life is very scary for this adult teenager. I’m heading back east knowing confidently one thing…..that I’ve always been coachable. That I’m doing the next right thing and I’m positive that Sarah would give her stamp of approval on this decision. My statement in life is this….”There’s no way that I can fail now.”

#Thispuzzledlife

June 9, 2019 darnold1975

Who Really Cares?

January 11, 2017

“The moment we begin to fear the opinions of others and hesitate to tell the truth that is in us, and from motives of policy are silent when we should speak, the divine floods of light and life no longer flow into our souls.”

— Elizabeth Cady Stanton

I think this is a question that is often asked but responses are typically….”Not me for sure” “I could care less what people think” “Their opinions don’t pay my bills” But if we all really look deep do we truly care what people’s opinions are of us as an individual? I can only speak for myself on this topic but I can honestly say that I’m torn. Remember, this is where I am emotionally on this topic at this moment. With so many internal opinions this answer is likely to change momentarily. However, I can say that the majority of my life the message has always been conveyed to me that “image” is very important, if not, one of the most important things in life. And it’s the opinions of others that somehow control the vision or path of my future. Let me explain…..

Being raised in a very conservative and small southern town the typical way of dealing with things has always been to “keep it in the family and put a smile on your face.” Do I think that this way of thinking is detrimental to completing the normal emotional/psychological/physical developmental stages? Why no. But I do think that in some instances it can make for difficult adjustments. I clearly remember as a child getting ready for church on Sunday mornings and for one reason or another I or my sister would get in trouble usually leading to tears of frustration about simply not getting our way. But let us pull into that church parking lot and it was, “Dry it up and put a smile on your face. We are headed inside the church.” What this translates to is this….”Don’t let anyone see anything that is considered ‘out of the norm’ because it will reflect poorly on our family thus making us look like incompetent parents.” Now, I obviously can’t say that this is exactly what my parents were thinking or feeling but it definitely rings true for those friends, family and perpetrators that I’ve had dealings with. I’m also in no way trying to demonize the way my parents raised me.

Is this a very catastrophizing way of looking at a very harmless situation? Absolutely. But this is a very multi-generational and societal way of thinking that is very common nationwide. This is also a side effect of a society that focuses primarily on appearance that is often unauthentic. Nevertheless, these very unrealistic expectations that have false attainability beliefs infiltrate the minds of impressionable children and teens and they are constantly chasing an image or ‘image like’ appearance not only to fail but fail miserably. The thought, in turn, of not being good enough is implanted and constantly reiterated until it becomes a belief and then a self fulfilling prophecy. This obviously doesn’t ring true in every situation but, I would be willing to bet that there are both young teen boys and girls who struggle with body image and appearance in epic proportions.

All of my perpetrators in some form abused me in ways that attacked my appearance and body image to a level that has left long time scars and often gaping wounds both internally and externally. These wounds, by far, have been some of the deepest. Body image and self worth were tied into one very distorted concept that birthed very distorted beliefs. The specifics of these events are left for those willing to listen professionally. Please understand that they are as fresh today as the day they pierced my skin and psyche. This belief is also one that is also held in high regard by society as evidenced by the astonishing numbers of children, teens and adults who are held captive by eating disorders, compulsive plastic surgery or any substance or behavior that falsely advertises that there will be TOTAL control or perfection such and I would be the first one with my hand out.

Now, why all of this long and drawn out explanation? Well, because for me this is exactly what my ‘perfect storm’ looked like. Essentially, I’ve been marinating in false beliefs and concepts the majority of my life in many different ways. These beliefs that have developed at a very young age while also being further molded by daily verbal and emotional abuse just so happened to be the perfect breeding ground for lifelong eating disorders and body image issues.

I was recently asked the question…”How do I imagine a world without the care of what people think?” Again I quickly thought, “I don’t care what people think in the least bit.” Then the reality of the question hit me a few seconds later and I looked at her like someone who had just seen an individual streaking in their living room. All I could muster was the puppy head tilt. I honestly had to fight back tears because I knew what was being hinted at and how incredibly painful this topic is for me.

Since I’ve now had time to digest the question further I can honestly say this….I have no idea what a world where no one cared what other people think about them. This in no way has any hint of sarcasm attached to it. It’s almost like asking Helen Keller what it’s like to have sight? When I’ve never lived or understood how to live life full of true freedom in that way, it’s difficult to imagine a life like that even being possible. That’s not to say that people don’t fully understand and embrace that concept currently. It sounds like a beautiful fantasy that I’ve been unable to touch, smell, see or taste thus far.

I can tell you that personally with the weight on my shoulders that I’ve carried daily for many years surrounding this topic, it would probably feel like I was so light that I might float away if I were that free. I don’t really know an answer that isn’t conflicting. What I do know is that caring what people think about me and my life and life choices does not get the bills paid. I think also that because of the nature of human beings wanting and needing to belong often times we tend to try and conform naturally to what society, family or friends think for fear of not belonging and having that connection of acceptance from another. I also know that caring what people have thought has left me with devastating effects to my own detriment and often in ways not seen with the naked eye. So, I guess maybe this is just another situation where moderation is the key and too much is dangerous. I’m not too proud to say that I just don’t know or understand that balance yet because I live in a constant state of fight or flight. However, I’m beginning to understand exactly how far this issue permeates every part of my being.

Usually, I write and I get a noticeably uplifting release. Tonight, however, I must say that the feeling is an all over heaviness on my heart, mind and body. As a tear muscles its way through a tough, outer exterior, I am reminded at how very painful and yet cathartic these moments can be.

#Thispuzzledlife

June 6, 2019 darnold1975

Wolves In Sheep’s Clothing

Wolves in Sheep’s Clothing

8.3.15

“Hiding my pain and acting strong, afraid to cry and

show my tears, I struggle with all this years later.”

― Erin Merryn, Living for Today: From Incest and Molestation to Fearlessness and Forgiveness

I’m playing ‘catch up’ on topics and knew that I would eventually need to talk about the topic of the Duggar family. I know that a lot of media coverage has made hearing the Duggar name sound as comforting as snuggling with a pit viper. In all fairness, though, I’ve waited to talk about this topic in the blog for a while on purpose. I had a total system ‘shock and awe’ event that happened when details of the events were released. Talk about ripping a scab off a deep and very painful wound. Here let’s just start from when Mel and I began watching them….

Mel and I had been watching the Duggars’ program 19 Kids and Counting for a couple of years on and off. We usually watched them when nothing else was on because of their radical, fundamentalist views. However, when we did watch the show, I enjoyed watching the strange dynamics within the family like many of the other reality shows on television now. We usually have fun diagnosing or predicting future diagnoses of each member of the families we have the pleasure of watching them interact together. Yes, when both you and your spouse have counseling degrees and can recognize dysfunction a mile away, then watching reality TV tends to be so much more interesting.

Anyway, watching the children interact but also factoring in that networks need their ratings to remain profitable, you can just tell that with that many kids in one family, that all needs are not met for healthy mental development. Aside from the fact that I feel deeply sorry for the mother’s uterus for having to birth that many children, I still had a deep concern for the mental well being of the children. I would and do feel sorry for children who have to grow up in families where their religious beliefs are as abusive as any object or fist that’s thrown or used on the child. Where these families might have the best intentions for their children biblically, it’s not healthy physically or mentally for children to grow up with such strict “laws” imposed on them by their caretakers.

When you have 19 children, you are setting them up for failure. I have read and watched how the Duggar’s children interact and an older child is put in charge of a younger child. Ummmm…..did I say that they are both children? Yep, children should not be expected nor put in the position of ever having to be a parental figure to a younger child. I realize that this happens even in smaller families and even non-religious families and it’s still destructive.

When the news about Josh Duggar and the molestation began littering social media and other news sources, it didn’t take long for my heart to drop to the pit of my stomach. I had a gut feeling about what had been the probable cause of the events but I wanted and had to hear more. I was torn about isolating myself from the story because of how triggering it had already begun to be at the first mention of his actions. The only way to explain how I felt was completely emotionally confused but needed to know more.

I was correct in my assumptions that the children were not being taught about healthy sexuality. In many evangelical or other radical religions, the topic of sex and healthy sexuality are seldom discussed anything beyond “don’t do it or you’ll go to hell.” So, children grow up not understanding fully and thinking that it’s wrong or deviant for natural body exploration. Jim Bob Duggar, the father of the multitude, was quoted after walking in on one of his son’s masturbating that “idle hands are the devil’s playthings.” He then proceeded to punish his son by making him do chores with his hands tied. What this suppression will lead to is sexual frustration and confusion. Everyone has been around a teenage male at some point in their life. The last thing they need is SUPPRESSION!!!!! Heck, I would like to hand out extra sets of hands. I’d also like to point out that proving to the nation that you can produce a zoo just because you have the parts is not exactly an example of healthy sexual practices either.

The more I began to dig into the Duggar’s handling and subsequent minimizing of the situation is when I became so triggered that started becoming physically ill. Then, I began to watch as many members of other “Christian” religions also minimize the actions of Josh Duggar. I soon became enraged at what I was hearing and seeing. The attitudes I was seeing were collectively stating, “He said he was sorry and asked for forgiveness, now leave him alone. It was an innocent teenage mistake.” Are you kidding me?!

Standby as I paint the picture of the rest of the crimes that were committed. Keep in mind that Josh Duggar perpetrated 5 female children, 4 of which were his sisters. The initial crimes were committed in 2002-2003. Josh would’ve been 14 or 15 at the time. The behavior was done repeatedly and the parents, as well as, other church members were well aware of what had transpired. Josh’s parents stated that he was put in a program that consisted of physical labor and counseling. Ok, brace yourself for this next part….

The program that he had allegedly been attending consisted of being sent away for three months to do construction work remodeling a building with a ‘mentor.’ This individual has since been convicted and is serving a 56 year sentence for child pornography. Also, none of the adults that were aware of the incidences ever reported the abuse to the authorities. That in itself is a crime! Conveniently, the statutes of limitations had also run out by the time authorities were notified. No therapeutic counseling or treatment has been provided for Josh or his victims. If it sounds like I’m also taking up for Josh, make no mistake that I’m doing no such thing.

His parents minimization of the situation was clearly put on stage in an interview with FOXNEWS….” it wasn’t like this was some sort of terrible violation. It was just a little sexual groping of one’s sleeping sisters.” “There were a couple incidents where he touched them under their clothes,” Jim Bob said. “But it was a few seconds.” Now if that turned your stomach imagine how the children felt when their own father and mother described ‘sexual purity’ after their abuse. Engage in any kind of sexual activity before marriage and you’re as desirable as a banged-up bike or a cup of spit: This is the message the Duggar parents conveyed to the girls who had been sexually assaulted by their older brother.

The Duggar sexual philosophy is that girls’ bodies do not belong to themselves. They’re under the authority of another male figure, and then they belong to their husbands. There is no individual right of female sexual pleasure. There is no value placed on female bodily autonomy, ownership or control. The message is that girls’ bodies are never their own, that the girls themselves are simply vessels for male pleasure, male desires, and male authority, and the girls’ job is to preserve their bodies to hand over to the appropriate man. Ok, this was not their “husband” anyway. It was their brother for God’s sake. If you were raised in a home with these types of beliefs would you, as a female child, said anything already knowing that your fears and confusion would not be validated?

From someone who has been sexually assaulted as a child and later as an adult, the lasting effects reach far beyond most “non-touched” people’s minds. I must keep reiterating that just because I had sexual trauma does not correlate to my being gay. Seems like an elementary concept to some but it still needs to be driven home to others. I was also one that didn’t think that being molested had any long term effects because until my 30s, I had not remembered any lingering negative effects from the incidents. I was also in the middle of still surviving a very emotionally, mentally and sexually damaging marriage at the time that took every ounce of energy. I was also in college working on my undergraduate degree at the time of issues arising directly related to my molestation at a young age which helped to keep my mind occupied.

When our oldest son Marshall was born, I started noticing a lot of anxiety about giving baths; changing diapers and anything requiring basic care regarding hygiene and his genitalia. I would actually start to sweat while changing diapers. I would get nauseous and often times cry while not knowing why I couldn’t do basic “mommy duties.” I felt as if I were violating him in some way. I felt dirty and just wrong for simply trying to take care of our baby. The same type of “innocent teenage mistake” that I’ve heard Josh Duggar’s actions referred to was robbing me of the pleasure of being a mom.

The effects of the guys that touched me both as a child and adult reach far beyond just our son. This information is reserved for the brave souls that continue to work with us both as a family and a system. There’s many more statements made by the Duggar’s that absolutely turn my stomach. Josh Duggar committed a crime and was at an age where he knew that touching his sisters was wrong. To have the behavior reinforced by adults, two being primary caretakers, who knew the behavior was continuing and refused to report it to the authorities or get the proper help that their son needed says to me that there’s more than one perpetrator. What makes this situation even more hurtful was that their weapon of choice was the Bible.

#Thispuzzledlife

June 6, 2019 darnold1975

The Chaos Of Life

The Chaos of Life

8.2.15

“When we are no longer able to change a situation – we are challenged to change ourselves.”

Viktor E. Frankl

The last few months have been nothing less than total chaos for our ‘internal’ and external families. Life can sometimes just knock the wind out of you both physically and mentally. From the very ‘nerve racking’ entry into the world by our new preemie son Copeland to our latest adventure back south and so many things in between, Mel and I both feel like we are being pecked by a duck. Don’t think for a minute that we haven’t taken notice about missing one of the best therapeutic tools we’ve ever used…….writing.

With Mel’s pregnancy being much less than desirable, Copeland’s health issues, national news, loss of friends both physically and emotionally, the return to the harsh south, my ‘internal’ system has stayed in a seemingly steady uproar about many different things. Just trying to keep our relationship together the last couple of months has been a struggle at times. However, there’s one thing we both agree on….the fact that DID doesn’t’ go away and neither does life. So, we dig deep like we have many times and try to find a way to weather the storms of life together as a couple by ‘taking the bull by horns’ and bracing ourselves until it’s over. The complexity of life, right now, is nowhere close to slowing down. There’s a lot that needs to be said and feelings that need to be voiced in order to try and regain some type of balance.

Like I’ve said many times before, we live a very puzzling life that has the ability to leave us both shaking and scratching our heads and wondering what could possibly happen next. My priorities have been to attempt to ‘roll with the punches’ and, unfortunately, that’s included not writing for a little while. This morning, I stagger to my laptop, not induced by a chemical but rather just exhausted from the daily and very familiar feel of a high level of stress.

Throughout the chaos, Mel and I have been able to put more pieces of the puzzle together. She has a very close and tight bond with my alters which makes it much easier for communication. Now some might think that since she’s my wife and we’ve been together for a number of years that having a relationship with my alters, since they are, in fact, parts of myself, would be a given. Trust me when I say one thing…nothing with alters are a given. Relationships with alters are a completely different beast than what most people would assume. One thing that must be kept in mind is that, alters formed as a result of a traumatic situation. And in my particular system, a trust bond was not just broken but completely violated in one way or another. So, even people who I’ve known for years betrayed that trust in sometimes vile ways. Therefore, all we’ve been conditioned to understand is that people are evil until proven otherwise and that has no time limit.

DID, as a disorder, is a difficult disorder for both the client and family members. Throw a big ole’ helping of ‘LIFE’ month after month and the difficulty and further complexity of the disorder will raise its ugly head with triggered alters. Mel and I have and will continue to lean on our therapists both individual and couple for strength and guidance as we have done for several years now. We will also continue to do the best to support each other and our children even though I can resemble an angry and bitchy Chihuahua. And ‘we’, as a system, will continue to seek for the answers through healing in any way possible so that we might all function one day like a well oiled machine in order to be able to do the work we were called to do by helping others.

For now, it’s about just trying to catch our breath and gather our footing again. Lots of tears have been shed lately and I’ll take you inside the last few months with upcoming blog posts. And once again, I begin to feel better even if I was coerced to write reluctantly this morning by some certain ‘insiders’.

#Thispuzzledlife

June 6, 2019June 6, 2019 darnold1975

Copeland’s Arrival

6.3.15

“You may one day do great things and I will be proud of you,

but no matter how old you are or what you do with

your life, you will always be my little boy.”

—Anonymous

The day had finally come for the arrival of the newest member of the Landrum-Arnold family. Copeland Samuel Landrum-Arnold was born May 3, 2015 at 8:06 pm. He was born exactly six weeks early measuring in at a whopping 5.6 lbs and 17.5 inches long. The long days and nights of sweating the health of our only living baby in utero was finally worth the wait.

The scene was like you would expect any other delivery process with doctors and nurses fluttering around but knowing exactly their individual jobs. However, mine and Mel’s situations in life usually consist of a ‘hang-up’ and occasionally attached with it is humor. Mel was induced slowly with Magnesium and Pitocin over a 27 hour period before finally dilating 7 cm in less than an hour. And yes, before you even wonder, she did have an epidural because neither she nor I would have survived without one. While we were headed to the delivery room knowing that we would see our new baby boy soon, all I could think was, “Oh my God, I have no one to go into the delivery room in my place like we had planned!” I get all dressed up in scrubs and head off reluctantly to face the next few moments. As we make our way into the delivery room, the nurses tell me where to stand and start making adjustments to the bed. Apparently, this was a very bad idea to the bed itself. It soon malfunctioned and Mel was eventually sitting in a 90 degree angle and I was forced to stand on my tiptoes to hold her hand because the bed started going up and wouldn’t stop. We laugh about this now minor issue that occurred. But, at the time, all I could think was, “I’m not going to be able to be with her during the delivery because she’s going to deliver on the ceiling!” Yes, I know that I was irrational but the fear was real and irrational.

Some people have the misconception about preemies that the issues are about weight. While this is true, the deeper and more concerning issues are gestational and developmental. Here’s an example….When a full term baby is born, they are born with the instinct to suck, swallow and breathe at the appropriate times. Preemies have to be taught to do this correctly because they are born before this instinct kicks in. Even when being taught these skills, premature babies must drink a higher calorie formula and be fed at certain times to ensure proper weight gain. All diapers both brown and yellow must be weighed and a chart is kept to track the weight gains and losses, as well as, how much is consumed at every feeding. Even with all of this in place, preemies are also often tube fed either through their mouth or their nose. Preemies also have issues with maintaining proper body temperature and breathing properly which can lead to apnea and bradycardia episodes making it too dangerous to go home without being monitored constantly. There is a lot more involved than what I’ve briefly stated. Make no mistake that it’s one of the most grueling and stressful processes that any first time or seasoned parents can go through both emotionally and physically. This was our second go around with a preemie and just as stressful. The smartest and most important thing Mel and I did for our family and ourselves was to say, “No family visiting until after we get home from the hospital with Copeland.” We couldn’t handle one more drop of stress be it good or bad and we knew that going in to the situation.

The next hurdle would be one that we were familiar with but still scared us to our core. When Copeland was born, he was whisked away very quickly and immediately put on a CPAP machine and other tubes, wires and additional machines like a lot of preemie babies. We would not get to see or touch our baby for another 48 hours. That’s one of the many things that families with term babies with no complications seem to take for granted at times. I can’t explain, in words, how excruciating that was to see and feel our brand new baby being taken away before we could hold, touch or kiss him. Even that moment couldn’t compare to leaving the hospital and going home without our baby.

There was a time that I remembered sitting in my vehicle, as I normally do, listening to music and vaping some good medicine while trying to regain balance. There was that one day, though, and there have been many since where I put my head down in my hands and just cried alone out of sheer exhaustion. I have cried out of fear for our son’s uncertain future; the loss of our other child that was supposed to be born but wasn’t; and just the simple fact that the long wait for Copeland to arrive was finally here. For me, this grieving process was and still is much needed.

For the next month, our days would consist of Mel spending entire days at the hospital in the NICU with Copeland feeding, bathing and rocking him. I would be running errands, taking care of daily house chores and making sure Marshall was taken care of. We would also get reacquainted to what I like to call ‘preemie math.’ We would soon be measuring everything in grams and ounces. Finally math that I could understand! I need to point out that I would also go to the hospital and spend time in the NICU with Mel and Copeland but our time would have to be limited because all the stimulation of the hospital and stressful nature of the situation could and eventually would overload my internal system. There were days when I would go early in the morning with Mel to the hospital after dropping Marshall off at daycare. I would stay a couple of hours and then have to go home. The stress alone could take me the rest of the day to recover both mentally and physically.

One of my greatest fears of having another child was not knowing where the same amount of love would come from that we already have for Marshall. When Copeland was born it was like a secret hidden door within my heart, that I never knew was there, opened up and another “honey hole” of love was discovered that was put away for safe keeping for this special little preemie boy. Unlike, with Marshall, I seemed to instantly connect and become increasingly protective and bonded to Copeland. The fear, guilt and shame hit me like a fierce wall of water. Had I cheated Marshall? Was I showing favoritism? All I could possibly think at this time was, “Omg, what do I do and what have I done?” Once again, my disorder has cheated me and my family out of moments that should be cherished. I struggled with these fears and doubts until I couldn’t hold back the tears any longer. I went to Mel with my tears and broken heart and she reminds me that mentally I’m in a completely different place then I was with Marshall. She puts the situation in perspective in a way that I can internalize by telling me that Marshall paved the way through early motherhood and early DID to prepare my heart and system for Copeland. Even now this is still a difficult concept to accept.

For a split second, the idea occurs that I should just pick up the phone and call Sarah. Just as I’m about to dial her number, the harsh reality hits me again like a gunshot to my heart, that she’s dead. I start to panic inside while trying to keep it hidden but my tears have other ideas. Oh, how my heart selfishly longs and hurts to hear her comforting words again. How I wanted to desperately to send her pictures of our brand new baby boy. My head and heart begin spinning out of control with no one to fill that hurt and need to be comforted in only a way that she could. I don’t have time for this now!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

As I have done most of my life, I put my hurt and grieving on the back burner to handle the job before me. No matter how hard I try, the feelings soon turn to anger. The more I tried to suppress the feelings, the more the anger was building. As I tried sorting out all of the feelings and where they were coming from, the love for Copeland continued to grow.

Marshall wanted to fully embrace his job as a big brother; however, the hospital had a lockdown on anyone under the age of 15, including siblings until June 1st because of some type of respiratory virus that was concerning the CDC. This meant that the only way Marshall could even see Copeland was made available through modern technology. Thank you God for Facetime on Iphones! Marshall was itching to get to see and hold his baby brother. As my dear ‘farm raised’ wife would say, “Marshall could worry the horns off a billy goat.” And that is exactly what he did for an entire month until he and Copeland finally met. He just couldn’t and wasn’t expected to fully comprehend the situation at hand. In his mind, he has a baby brother so why can’t I see him? This situation alone was heart wrenching.

The day Copeland finally was able to come home, we all were able to breathe a sigh of relief even his big brother, Marshall. For on this day, we were able to see colors a little more clearly and the sun shone a little bit brighter.

#Thispuzzledlife

May 31, 2019May 31, 2019 darnold1975

LGBT And DID

LGBT and DID

4.3.2015

“Gender preference does not define you. Your spirit defines you.”
― P.C. Cast, Awakened

I’m not going to get on a political soapbox about LGBT rights. The fact is that, people aren’t going to change my mind based on their beliefs. I’m not going to change their mind about my beliefs. Honestly, being a member of the LGBT community and having DID leaves me in the minority of the minorities. Do I care? Some areas yes, but the thoughts don’t control my life. Does the idea of refusing service to someone based on who they love concern me? Yes and I don’t believe that it’s right at all. However, no one’s opinions about my life and marriage pay my bills, sleep in my bed or raise our son.

My mother gave me some valuable advice my whole life that even as a child I was able to quote. When I would complain about something not being fair, she would always say, “There are a lot of things in life that aren’t fair. The sooner you learn to live with them, the better off you’ll be.” To me, that translates to a very common theme in 12-Step communities which simply means, ‘Living life on life’s terms.’ Abuse is the exception to the rule. Abuse is never ok.

If my wife and son were to go into a restaurant and be refused service because of the makeup of our family, sure I would probably make a scene by making my voice heard. I have no problem defending my family at all costs. Chances are after a verbal lashing from yours truly, the person who refused the service might actually think before making such comments. I don’t know. Maybe try checking with one of the employees at our local library to see what he says. Anyway, my wife and I were taught something even more valuable while growing up in the deep south….the art of southern cooking.

One thing I know without a doubt is that, I’m gay and very happy being my authentic sexual self. I was very unhappy living a life that wasn’t me as a straight female. Some people, including family, have an issue with me being married to a woman even though I was being abused by my ex-husband and very unhappy. You know what…it truly is their issue and not mine. I’m happy being with the woman I love and being treated with love and respect. I don’t regret one day since I ‘came out’ even though I, too, have lost friends and family as a result.

I found my soul mate in one of the most chaotic times in my life. We love each other as much and more than we first met. We have weathered storm, after storm, after storm mostly on our own. So, for us, our relationship was do or die. Melody is truly my balance. Since my diagnosis of DID, life for us has still remained chaotic even when our personal life has been ok. Life keeps pounding us with more and more. What I do know about us as a couple and as a family is that we are incredibly resilient and strong.

Our lives on a daily basis don’t even fit the ‘our plate’s full’ analogy. ‘Our plate runneth over and over and over’ seems to be more accurate. If you need a better description, think of an organization that’s collecting money for some charity and they have the thermometer that’s colored red as the collection of funds climbs. When they reach the top, the red starts spewing out the top. Yea, that’s a more accurate picture of how full our plate usually has been for several years now. Mel and I took a proactive approach 6 years ago to start couples counseling as a way to maintain a healthy relationship. How valuable these therapists have been for us as a couple during all of this chaos. Sometimes, it has truly felt like our couples’ counseling has been the only thread holding us together. She sees her therapist. We see our couples’ therapist. And someday soon I’ll have my own therapist again. Truthfully, I would just like to take a break from individual therapy until our new baby boy is born to give my ‘system’ time to chill.

People can have their opinions about gay rights and that’s fine. I also have a choice whether or not to be a one member audience as well. Sometimes I choose to jump into an already futile and very argumentative effort. Nothing really ever gets accomplished but the usually equally aggressive insults. In the big scheme of things, everyone has an opinion and thinks that they’re right. Laws are changed by the government not me.

I’ll tell you what the most important thing in my life right now…potty training the 3 year old. We also have friends and family in need. I’m looking for a new therapist. And daily, I deal with the horrors that I’ve experienced my whole life. I do my best to try and put the pieces of my puzzled life back together. It’s not that the topic of gay rights isn’t important to me. It’s just that, at this particular time in my life, other things take precedence. I’ve got my wife and son and no government or food establishment can take that from me. Most of the time I just roll my eyes and shake my head.

Every single day the evidence of my life of secretive abuse floods my mind and body. I fight like hell to get out of the bed and to try to challenge my fears and anxieties about life. Life isn’t easy being gay or having DID. Both have their own stigmas and bent belief systems by society. Have your own beliefs and opinions, but you can’t touch our rainbow bubble.

And since the uproar about the pizza establishment has become such a big deal….I don’t feed my genitals pizza anyway.

#Thispuzzledlife

May 31, 2019May 31, 2019 darnold1975

It’s Not Easy Being Green

“It’s not easy being green”

3.18.15

“If we could see the miracle of a single flower clearly, our whole life would change.”
– Buddha

The intention when talking about the controversial topic of medical cannabis is not to attempt at changing your personal views. It’s simply to let you see how it has affected me personally since this blog is about my journey with DID. Let me interject by saying that I will speak more than once on a particular topic and possibly say some of the same things. Ignore that and keep reading. You have to understand that every day for me is like the movie Groundhog Day. Now back to our cannabis topic…..

One thing I learned about living in a ‘melting pot’ of a city like Albuquerque is that there are many different views and many of them very liberal on many different topics especially addiction and recovery. I must say that being raised on a ’12-Step’ way of thinking in a ’12-Step’ recovery community, I was pretty rigid on my beliefs about addiction and recovery too. I’m still a big believer in the 12 steps and have watched the miracle of recovery happen to many people including my own clients.

Living in a much larger city than what I was raised in has shown me what addiction looks like from the very bottom in most cases. I have never seen a substance abuse problem of this magnitude ever in my life. Most of my clientele have consisted of the homeless or methadone clinic clients. Both clientele are difficult due to the unique challenges not only each individual face emotionally but just in basic needs that most take for granted. I have a heart that has been touched and shot with cupid’s arrow for these guys I can assure you.

What I was soon faced with was something I would come to a cross roads about the many years of “recovery” beliefs. I started hearing more and more about the Medical Marijuana Program (MMJ) here in New Mexico. I was instantly almost angered by the idea as marijuana as a medication. I thought to myself, “Isn’t the drug problem bad enough?” However, the idea was talked about, both sides of the debate for several years now. The clients that I was treating were clients with prescription pills, alcohol, heroin and most anything else for addiction. Heroin, Alcohol and Methamphetamine being the main substances used out here but not presenting for treatment for marijuana addiction. (I did not just say that it doesn’t or can’t happen.) I did have to get used to the idea of this flower being referred to as a medication. But, my clients claimed that their own quality of life was improving despite their addiction to the other substances. The doctor overseeing the program was also very non-chalant about marijuana as well.

In the meantime, my mental health issues had been hitting the skids for a while and were now becoming ever more present in everyday life. I was not able to control or hide the “quirks” that I might would have at home. I’ve always thought that with psychiatric medications and their side effects that I was actually better before I started taking them to begin with. My psychiatrist later told us that it’s no wonder that none of the seemingly every psyche medication know to man that nothing really worked. He explained that because of my diagnosis that some medications work on some alters where other medications make conditions for others worse. Finally, someone that could answer at least one daily frustrating question. I needed something to “tame the madness.” I wasn’t sleeping at all. I was aggressive most of the time. I couldn’t stay grounded. It was total chaos. I’ve had times since then but thank God not as frequent by a long shot.

My psychiatrist said to me, “About all there’s left is medical marijuana. Would you be willing to try it?” My wife, knowing the addiction history I have, looked at me and had told him before but reiterated the fact that I am an addict. He said, “You know, just try it. If it becomes a problem, we’ll get you off it and you don’t ever have to touch it again.” A cold chill went throughout my body. “Is this what I’m about to have to sacrifice to live?” I thought. We took the signed paper and agreed to talk about it. I was torn inside. I knew what I had been taught about addiction. I also knew what I was being forced to live with and how my quality of life had plummeted. Mel, as educated as she was in the area of addiction said, “At this point, I’ll try anything.” We were both being drained of our lives while trying to be moms to an infant. Something had to give. I hadn’t smoked pot in many years and didn’t know one thing about medical marijuana and it’s medicinal properties. My psychiatrist said it could help my PTSD and I knew that my options had come down to weed or a 9mm.

Exactly one month to the day that I sent the application off to the state I received my MMJ card. I had begun reading about the different strains and about edibles and anything related to this plant. When I got my card the fear had begun to fade and I was ready to get my life a little more livable and quality just like veterans with PTSD. We were off to get my new green meds.

I get to a local dispensary, where I was greeted and asked not what my medical condition was but what symptoms I was having. They begin educating me on the difference in indica, sativa, high CBD strains, edibles, tinctures, wax, shatter, crumble and what might work with my conditions. I was very nervous about this new endeavor and scared about spinning out of control in the most miserable place in the world….ADDICTION.

That first night I began to use my “new” medication was the first night I was able to see something at the end of the tunnel. I couldn’t make it out, but I was intrigued enough to keep going. I was finally able to sleep. I was able to function during the day. I was able to come off IBS medication. My depression was being managed as well as my suicidal ideations, mania and urges to self-harm. My relationship with my wife and son began to improve. This is not a cure all plant by any means. I still have to put in the elbow grease and deal with my trauma every day. This sure makes the process much more tolerable.

Notice I didn’t say that it managed not eradicated thoughts and behaviors. These behaviors still happen more than even Mel knows. A lot of people might think that medical marijuana is just a reason people can give to get high. The truth is that people take medications all the time for the wrong reasons and others take for the right reasons. Also, medication high in CBD can also have very little psychoactive effects making it possible to work or go to school and function with no problem. Medical marijuana patients are also often thought of as a Cheech & Chong type of brain cell lacking type of functioning. This isn’t true either. Most people make comments out of ignorance and I just tend to ignore a lot of it. Because, until you have a condition where conventional medication doesn’t work or has side effects that trump the original condition, you don’t know that level of desperation.

Most people ask how it’s prescribed? There are no labels that say, “Smoke one bowl in the morning and one bowl at night. Finish off with Cheetos.” It’s very trial and error type of a process. You will find your level of medication and if you overdo it, you won’t do it again. Reason: because while you got too high the only question you could think of and not answer was, “Where did I leave my butt? And how do I reach the Cheetos?”

Our son has only heard marijuana being referred to as, “Momma D’s medicine.” We don’t make a big deal about it and treat it like it is…..medicine. I have been on the program for 2.5 years now and have never gotten out of control with my using or had any problems arising related to addiction. I’m off all medications except a couple supplemental meds to help with areas in the body that the marijuana can’t. The PTSD and DID haven’t disappear and probably never will. That doesn’t mean I have to either.

So, while this topic isn’t very popular with a lot of people back south, for this family, it’s important that not only us but other families benefit from this plant as well. I’m a believer and advocate for this medication even as an addiction professional. More importantly, my wife is a big advocate for a plant that has helped to save her wife’s life.

#Thispuzzledlife

May 30, 2019May 31, 2019 darnold1975

Silencing The Lambs

The Silencing of the Lambs

3.16.15

“What makes psychopathy so different, so surreal…that it knocks her head off? The inability to wrap her head around the emotional-physical-spiritual-sexual gang bang that just happened when she thought she was the most wonderful person.”

—Sandra Brown, Women Who Love Psychopaths

I was trying to decide on a quote this morning for this particular blog post about trauma that would cover the spectrum of how trauma effects different developmental stages from a personal perspective. While quite blunt, this quote pretty much describes the ‘rape’ on so many levels of each of my personal traumas. When people ask, “If things were so bad, why didn’t you leave? Or, why didn’t you just tell someone what was happening?” Honestly, I just have to see and understand that I’m talking to someone at that moment who doesn’t and might not ever understand unless in that position themselves. Individuals who have never been abused or been so scared that the last thing they would or could ever do is tell the ‘little secret’ to expose their perpetrators, can’t comprehend that level of fear.

Keep in mind that the ‘little secret’ about my molestation by our preacher’s sons was mentioned in passing only a couple times until I told what happened, not even in detail, less than 10 years ago. That secret I had been holding since I was a 5.5 year old child. Why do kids do that if they know and are confident that their parents can help? The problem is not with the child or the parents. The problem lies with the perpetrators. If the perpetrators are the parents, then that’s a separate topic. Even when I got older and new no physical harm could come to me, the seed of fear was planted many years ago. All I knew was that the topic scared me. I knew what had happened through broken memories. But, I was completely detached emotionally except for the emotion of fear. My parents being the very loving and understanding couple that they are were revealed additional pieces of that time in my life last summer for the first time. Can you imagine how they felt knowing some additional information about things that transpired? Then how do you think, as a child, I felt with it being done to me? The fact that they were connected to religion has always had an influence on my view of religion and religious figures.

In my abusive previous relationship and consequently a marriage, I kept holding on to the false hope that one day I would again be in the relationship with the person that charmed me. I was so young and naive that I couldn’t see what was happening to me every single day. His grip just became more and more tighter emotionally until I had been convinced that I was too stupid, dumb, uneducated, ugly, retarded, unwanted by anyone else and whatever else he could come up with in the moment to call me that I felt too weak to be able to stand on my own two feet. My view of survival was…..well….him. I was also extremely scared, at that time, of the repercussions of his or his family’s anger. But, he had his own techniques about how he would ‘raise’ me as his wife. He just didn’t know that there was a term called gas lighting that would describe parts of his abuse.

A very common form of brainwashing in which an abuser tries to falsely convince the victim that the victim is defective, for any purpose, such as making the victim more pliable and easily controlled, or making the victim more emotional and therefore more needy and dependent. {You’re reading “Definition of Gas lighting” by J. E. Brown.}

Often done by friends and family members, who claim (and may even believe) that they are trying to be helpful. The gas lighting abuser sees himself or herself as a nurturing parental figure in relation to the victim, and uses gas lighting as a means for keeping the victim in that relationship, perhaps as punishment for the victim’s attempt to break out of the dependent role.

Here’s an example…If an abusive person says hurtful things and makes you cry, and instead of apologizing and taking responsibility, starts recommending treatments for what he or she calls “your depression” or “your mood swings,” you are in the presence of a gas lighter.

So, next time, when someone says, “If it’s true, why didn’t they tell?” or “Don’t feel sorry for someone who just stays in a situation like that!” Understand, that there is so much more going on psychologically that you nor anyone else who’s never experienced brainwashing can comprehend. True the victim does protect the abuser most of the time. Trust me…..”IT’S OUT OF FEAR.” This is how perpetrators ‘silence the lambs.”

Mentally and physically, the effects of 14 years of ‘gas lighting’ took a big toll on me. My ‘alters’ protected me from feeling much more of the abuse than was felt. Did I develop maladaptive coping skills from a very young age? Yes, of course. They worked well at the time to help me survive some of the horrific traumas of my life. Now, they just interfere with daily life. PTSD, social phobias, OCD, rages, flashbacks, body memories, etc. are what my days and nights consist of these days. Life is better on some days rather than on others. This, however, are the effects of a lifetime of abuse perpetrated on who ‘had it all’ and became a ‘head case’ over time. Look at the events of many forms of abuse in my life and tell me who were and still are the ‘head cases?’

Dissociative Identity Disorder is in no shape, form or fashion an easy thing to deal with on a daily basis. It’s scary as hell for me most of the time. I won’t nor can I even begin to imagine what it’s like for my wife. Our son, he’s learning on a different level all of Momma D’s parts. Every single day our family is in a battle with this disorder. On an individual level, we’re in a war to put the pieces of the memories back together and deal with them as they should’ve been dealt with many years ago.

Every morning, as long as I choose to put one foot in front of the other, they don’t win. The day I lay down directly or indirectly in a permanent manner is the day they win. I think you know enough about me to know that I come from a long line of coaches that demanded and would accept nothing less than winners. ‘Winners’ in their eyes were more than just numbers on a scoreboard. There’s only one way I know how to operate….”Get knocked down 1000 times. Get back up 1001 times.” This too is a gift.

This lamb is no longer going to be silent. Abuse is real.

#Thispuzzledlife

May 30, 2019June 1, 2019 darnold1975

Happy “Legal” Anniversary

2.25.15

“If someone could reach into my chest and tear out my heart and turn it into a living, breathing person, “Melody” would be it..”

– Airicka Pheonix

February is a month on my calendar that will always be remembered specifically because of Sarah’s passing. There are very few dates that I remember that hold so very close to my heart. Mel and I have been “legally” married for 4 years now. I really don’t know what the exact date is not because marrying her wasn’t important but rather that was the day that the government said we were married. The horrible date of May 17, 1997 when I legally signed my own “abuse warrant” by marrying my “EX” husband, was replaced by a beautiful date of May 28, 2007. This was the date that Mel and I married each other in our hearts. There are soul mates as friends and family. Nothing can compare to soul mates with the right spouse.

We were instantly friends and devoted to each other. I have always been one where the term “friendship” isn’t just thrown around like a household word. There was something different about her and I knew it but was afraid to admit that I loved her. Firstly, I hadn’t stepped out of the elusive closet as being gay. All I knew was that there was this person who I was finally “safe” with both emotionally and physically.

I told her at the beginning of our relationship that I had a lot of emotional baggage from a very long and very abusive relationship. She didn’t care. She loved me for me and everything that would come with it. I’ve tried pushing her away in every way possible to prove to her that I’m not worth loving. I was someone’s “sloppy seconds” after a 14 year stretch. I felt as though there was nothing good left of me. I knew that I could be her friend, but “marriage” scared the absolute hell out of me.

I had a hardness about myself that was meant to keep people away. For some reason, she had me melting like butter on the inside. I knew how the rumors, comments and bibles would be thrown at us as a couple. I had dealt with that for many years and really just didn’t care. This was a whole new experience for someone that I loved dearly. I told her I could handle it again and I tried to help paint a picture of what this would look like as word got around. She didn’t care about that either. She just wanted to be with me. Needless to say, I just couldn’t understand that. What I had just experienced for many years was totally the opposite. My idea of a “marriage” was one that had nothing but fear attached to it. My thought was that no one is accepted for who they are without strings attached. And once you’re legally married, that means you’re property.

Things have been difficult to say the least about us being a gay couple. People were not going to be happy for us because we each had found someone who loved and respected us. To put it quite bluntly, our genitals were put on display instead. As you can imagine, our families were not thrilled. I actually think my mom went and put her head in the oven and turned it on. Not really, but pretty close. Even at the thought of being rejected by family members couldn’t deter us from wanting to be together. Have she and I both lost “friends” and “family” because of our relationship? Yes, of course. However, neither one of us are responsible for their feelings nor how they choose to act. We CAN determine whether or not we will be an audience to their ignorance and hatred.

Six months later, in the privacy of our house where we living together, on Christmas Eve, I proposed and she said YES! We wanted to get “legally” married and have children. We had no idea what all was involved both financially and legally to make this all happen. She very eagerly said that she had always wanted to carry a child. I very eagerly said, “Good because I didn’t.” I wanted to be a mom, but I had no desire to be pregnant. My ex-husband took the joy out of wanting to start a family which turned out to be a blessing in disguise. We didn’t have to really tell anyone because you could just see the happiness that we both shared. We also didn’t have the luxury of proclaiming our engagement because of such conservative views in that area of the country. And so the journey of being each other’s only support when it came to our relationship began.

My mental health issues seemed to get somewhat better from just being in a supportive environment with someone that genuinely loved me. We were both in graduate school and that was our first priority to finish. What was becoming increasingly evident was the PTSD that had developed from a lifetime of abuse. The safeness that I felt with her slowly started to reveal just what kind of damage had been done. All I wanted to do was finish school, get as far away from that area of the country and start a family. So, in June of 2009, Melody and I headed out to Albuquerque, NM to begin a new life. We didn’t know how anything was going to turn out. We just wanted to live life as a couple without all the stares and harassment. That, I can say, has happened since we moved west. Do we both miss friends and family? Yes more than anyone will ever know. Moving back there would come at a cost that we’re just not ready for as a family yet.

We would soon realize firsthand what the long term effects of abuse would manifest. She was fortunate to get a job with a company that provides fertility insurance. This was how we would make our dreams of having children a reality. On December 3, 2011, our little 5 lb preemie baby boy was born. Here we were as brand new parents to a preemie that we knew nothing about. We were out here by ourselves and had just entered the world of parenting. No one could’ve ever prepared either one of us for the feeling of having to leave the hospital without our baby boy. Every day I would drop Mel off at the hospital to spend the day at “Camp Marshall” while I went to work and then pick her up on the way home from work. Mentally, I couldn’t handle the thought of losing our newly born son so I just avoided seeing him at all costs. I was terrified of our son dying and tried to distance myself. This I now regret. We were both on auto pilot in different ways.

She continues to be the same very sweet and kind hearted woman that I initially met. She has a beauty within her that is hard to find in most people. She loves me despite my mental disorder and continues to want nothing but the best for me. What she and I have been through as a couple and now as a family is more than a lot of couples go by themselves in a lifetime. We can read each other like we’ve been together for 30 years or more.

People often wonder how we have made it as a couple. The truth is, since the very beginning of our relationship, we have always had to depend on each other for support. When you’re 18 hours from where you were raised and have no desire to go back to small town living, you’re forced to sink or swim. We have struggled both emotionally, physically and financially just like “straight” couples. We are in the process of raising a very energetic, superhero of a kid that only knows one thing….he is loved by his mommies and that he’s not going to have a baby “sisser” much to his displeasure. Mel melted my heart when I met her. Now 8 years later both she and our son continue to melt my heart. The way I try to make sense of a deep traumatic past regarding a marriage is that there will always be challenges in any relationship. Had I not had a horrible and abusive marriage, I wouldn’t be able to fully understand how my mom and dad have their own loving connection.

Thank you, Melody Landrum-Arnold for just being you! Thank you for continuing to love me despite the hatred for myself. Thank you for helping to make our dreams of becoming mothers a reality. Thank you for always having my best interest in mind while we walk this treacherous road of trauma recovery side by side.

My mom always told me growing up, “If you find a man a tenth of what your daddy is, you’ll have a good man.” My answer is, “I did find HER.”

#Thispuzzledlife

May 30, 2019June 1, 2019 darnold1975

The Levees Have Finally Broken

2.24.15

“When a friend of Abigail and John Adams was killed at Bunker Hill, Abigail’s response was to write a letter to her husband and include these words, “My bursting heart must find vent at my pen.”
― David McCullough

I find myself this morning at a point where I seem to be consumed by grief. The losses in 2014 and now already in 2015 have opened the door to the room where I like to store grief and remain strong. Grieving has never been something that I’ve just been able to embrace as a part of life. I was shown, in many different ways, that grief is a sign of weakness. I was belittled for this naturally occurring emotion in life so many times that my attitude has always been, “I’ll deal with it later.” At almost 40 years old, “later” has become “now.” My body and mind have reached their own limits on storing grief. There is no more room to stuff one ounce of grief into my body. This doesn’t mean that I never cried during life. It means that I never fully dealt with what has hurt me during my life. Through all the abuse, the only option was to put it aside and fight whoever or whatever situation was in front of me. There is a lot in almost 40 years that I must now take the time to sit with and just let the grieving happen.

Sarah Pardue always would tell me in only her gentle kind of way, “Dana, it’s ok to get down and roll around in your sadness and grief. Just don’t make your bed down there.” She knew that her death would be very difficult for me to bare. However, someone bigger and higher knew that her death would also be the “final straw” and key to forcing me to finally be able to grieve properly. Where I have been able to suppress most feelings connected to events in my life, my feelings attached to her passing are ones that I cannot hide.

The wounds from my lifetime have had the scabs ripped off them and have started to bleed again. I have bled blood. Now I bleed tears. The muscles in my body twitch and cause excruciating pain that look at the medical marijuana as though it were candy and fly right through any attempts at pain relief. This is what I personally see and experience as my body crying. What do I grieve?

I grieve the loss of a relationship that was never formed with my birth mom.

I grieve the reality that she was so damaged that she never had the capability to love me.

I grieve the loss of coming face-to-face with her and being very blatantly rejected again.

I grieve the loss of my innocence as a child to those I trusted to love and care for me when my parents had things to do.

I grieve the loss of the trust in genuinely good people because of the bad intentions of others.

I grieve the 14 years that I allowed myself to be perpetrated in some of the vilest forms at the hands of someone who said all the ‘right’ things to get his hooks in me.

I grieve the loss of happiness of my teenage years that began a life that became consumed by addictions.

I grieve the loss of horrendous things that were done to my animals in a final effort to destroy what was left of me.

I grieve the loss of friends and family due to ignorance on different subjects.

I grieve for my family, the things that they never knew and that came out in many other forms towards them.

I grieve for the unknown in this journey of recovery.

I grieve for my wife, as she struggles with me to make sense of a disorder that neither she nor I were prepared to deal with.

I grieve for her sadness as she has come to understand the true meaning of “helplessness” while watching the torture that I go through both mentally and physically, as a result, of the pathology of a lifetime of others.

I grieve for the loss of one of our unborn children.

I grieve the unknown for our son being in a minority family.

I grieve about the ignorance of others and how someone’s genitalia are more important than a genuine love or authenticity of a person.

I grieve the mental health system in this country where instead of embracing people that ask for help, there seems to be the attitude to snicker and shut the door.

I grieve for the sadness that I see and feel from other people that I cannot do anything about.

I grieve for the children every day that are just beginning their own journeys in the world of abuse.

I grieve the fact that even my own knowledge and degree can’t undo what has been done.

I grieve the fact that it’s taken me this long in my life just to be able to properly grieve.

I grieve the fact that I have to be the one to take this painful journey when I’ve already survived it once.

I grieve for friends and their families as their lives were lost for reasons unknown.

I grieve the loss of my grandmothers who have also become guides.

I grieve my professional career that has been put on hold because there were people that didn’t deal with their own trauma.

There’s so much more to list that I could spend weeks doing nothing but typing things that I’m grieving over. This grief has also led to people that are back in my life after many years because as one person put it, “God has a sense of humor.” I have met and maintained relationships with people that give me hope that there might really still be some people in this world that accept others as they are with no strings attached. For these people, there are no words to convey the appreciation and comfort that you continue to provide to both me and my family.

The only phrase that I can feel that can possibly describes this personal view of where I am right now……..”The levees have finally broken.”

#Thispuzzledlife

May 30, 2019June 1, 2019 darnold1975

Passing The Torch

Passing the Torch

2.17.15

“I know now that we never get over great losses; we absorb them, and they carve us into different, often kinder, creatures.”
― Gail Caldwell, Let’s Take the Long Way Home: A Memoir of Friendship

Let me start off by saying that I am one of thousands of addicts/alcoholics whose life was touched by Sarah G. Pardue. I remember vividly lying in my bed, depressed and mad at the world that I was sitting in some “rehab” that was meant for people who lived on skid row or had no teeth. I was very quickly but gently told that addicts come in many different forms and that I just so happened to be one of them. I didn’t know who she was but there was something about her that attracted me to her. Not in a sexual way, but like there was more that I wanted and needed to know about this person. She very gently told me, “Dana, we’ll take this one step at a time.” I was so sour at the world that instead of thanking her for her kindness. I simply said, “Really, is that available stitched on a pillow.” I promptly proceeded to roll my eyes.

I guess maybe that comment or instincts kicked in about how I might be as a client. I was like a feral cat that was just angry and hurt. She had that perfect balance for me. She knew exactly how to push me without being condescending or aggressive. And she knew that I needed that very nurturing side to let me know that she was a human that didn’t have any intentions on hurt me.

I, unfortunately, can’t remember all 90 days of being a patient at Pine Grove’s Women’s Next Step Program, but I remembered the therapist that would forever change my life in a very unique kind of way. I was once handed a “character defect” worksheet where there were like one hundred or more on there that we were to circle as our personal character defects that have entangled our lives with addiction. I very quickly looked at both sides; handed the sheet back to her and said, “Nope. None of these describe me or my current, past or present behavior.” She had that “momma look” in her eye that can spark fear in Satan himself. She simply and very non-confrontational said, “Really? Would you like us all as a group help you pick out which ones belong to you?” I promptly answered, “No. I’m sure I can find a few.”

After 90 days of treatment at the “resort” as the husband at the time use to refer to it, I head out on my own with promises that I would one contact her in the event that I found my birth family or completed school. She had done a lot of something most people don’t really know how to do for me that made a huge impression on my life……LISTEN. To that struggling drug addict, that meant more than that next ‘high’ for me. I will admit that I didn’t go willingly. I also didn’t leave willingly even though I had completed the program because for once I was safe from most things. I cried because I was leaving a “special” and somewhat sterile environment from the outside world that was so mean.

About 5 years later, I tracked her down at work to tell her that I had gone back to school to become a drug/alcohol therapist and was currently in my undergraduate work. I also called to tell her that I been found my biological brother and was flying to meet him, 2 half brothers, my birth mom and birth father. We agreed to talk when I got back from my trip and that’s when the re-connection emotionally began for me. From that point forward, I felt like I owed her the unpayable because she had done the one thing that no one besides my parents and certain close friends had never done, at that point, not give up on me. She always saw some form of potential that even today I still can’t see.

She slowly began and I allowed her to begin to love me until I could love myself. Under the hard exterior, I was melting like butter. I was a kid again with an adult separate from my parents that seemed to love me and listen anytime I said anything. She knew that I was still married to my ex-husband and I was also doing internships under her and a couple other people. It was like everything had come full circle. She and her now deceased husband Doug Pardue became like surrogate parents to me.

They used some very tough love approaches to some of my behaviors and some I didn’t appreciate. I always, knew though, that it was done out of love. They would have “good cop, bad cop” sessions with me that made the show Cops look like pretend. I don’t know if some of you know what being “12 Stepped” means but I can tell you that I’ve had both of their shoes broken off in my hind parts, more than once to get my attention, in an attempt to save my life from whatever behavior was consuming me.

For whatever reason, the stars lined up perfectly again and she is now simply called “mom.” Our friendship grew into something much more special. She has been a “life force” for me for the last 14 years. They both saw me at my worst as a struggling addict of all kinds of addictions. And they were both there celebrating the victory of completing my undergraduate degree in psychology while finally leaving a very emotionally and sexually abusive marriage. Their compassion and my independence that I gained while becoming educated led to me believing that I was not nor would I ever be all those things I had been told all those years by him. I was the only one that could make that change. I wanted someone to come rescue me. This time, though, the realization was that I had to do this scary part on my own.

I became part of their family and she and I had lots of talks about life, in general. We always told each other that we loved one another no matter what. I also was getting to learn from the one that I considered as the “master” of counseling. I watched her every move both at work and away from work. I wanted to learn everything I could possibly learn from the “Yoda of 12-Step.” The key that she taught me to working with others was not with words but with actions. She quite simply taught me the definition of compassion. I’ve never lost the feeling of an innocent stranger that was getting paid a salary, that for once, cared about what I had to say about what had been done to me and how I felt.

A few months down the road she introduced me to my now legally married wife. She played matchmaker which was never intended. I’m glad the universe saw fit that we be together. We have a beautiful little boy and one on the way to thank all because of Sarah G. Pardue. Both she and Doug took me under their wings and showed me again that a healthy love was possible. I might not ever fully understand why they did that. However, grateful doesn’t begin to describe the feelings I have about what they did both directly and indirectly in changing the direction of my life.

I did complete a master’s degree in counseling in 2009. I have fallen in love with working with the ones that always seem to be the “leftovers of society.” Truly, this is partially due to my own trauma. But the other reason is because of the example that she set for me time after time. She didn’t just talk recovery, she lived recovery. The clients that she worked with saw this and you couldn’t help but to gravitate to something you don’t see every day in a person……AUTHENTICITY.

Sarah fulfilled her passionate dream of working with drug addicts/alcoholics and touched many lives. There is only 1 of the 30 women that I was in treatment with, at the time that I stay in contact with. She also happens to be the only one that never relapsed. I’ve had my struggles for sure. And the other former patient has been a prayer warrior for Sarah during her time of grief and acceptance of the death of her husband and her own illness that took her life.

As I sit in this hospital room, waiting for her time to meet her maker, past friends and family members. I also think about how much she impacted my life in a positive way. I’m just one addict that she took time with and let them know that there was still value in a person who had been told for so long that there was no value left. She did addiction work for 20+ years. How many addicts/alcoholics lives did she impact in ways that no one will ever know? To me her concept of counseling was very simple, “Read the person, not the book.” She taught me things about counseling that no book could ever convey. You just have to be able to watch the miracle happen.

What an example of true love, compassion and everything authentic that many of us as her patients, friends, family and co-workers got to see displayed even when she no longer went to work. The word RECOVERY has her picture out beside it. What a beautiful person that God loved me enough to allow into and bless my life. And because of her love and continuous fight against the war on the “disease of addiction” my future clients will also in some very special way will be touched by her as well. With tears in my eyes and streaming down my face, I can say that there are many people that will always remember the legacy that she left on the hearts of many addicts/alcoholics that didn’t deserve another chance.

I have taken that same compassion and concept into my own style of counseling. She has passed the torch to be paid forward as she did with many of us. I remember that everyone is individual and will have individual needs. Above all, she taught me compassion before judgment because in everyone there is some worth. Thank you for loving me, Sarah G. Pardue!!!!!

And she is now with the love of her life, Doug Pardue. You two will be dearly missed.

Sarah G. Pardue

7/11/53-2/11/15

“You were born a child of light’s wonderful secret— you return to the beauty you have always been.”
― Aberjhani, Visions of a Skylark Dressed in Black

#Thispuzzledlife

May 30, 2019May 31, 2019 darnold1975

Out Of The Darkness, Into The Light

Out of the Darkness, Into the Light Part 1

1.1.2015

“Dissociative parts of the personality are not actually separate identities or
personalities in one body, but rather parts of a single individual that are not yet
functioning together in a smooth, coordinated, flexible way. P14”
― Suzette Boon

Since this begins a new year, I thought I would start it off with a ‘boom’ of reality from our world. The topic that I will discuss is one that has such stigma attached to it that it’s has taken me months to muster the guts to discuss it. This is a topic that hits home in the best/worst kind of way. I’ve written for months now explaining some of the many symptoms that I experience mostly on a daily basis. 2014 was no doubt one of the most difficult for me, Mel and Marshall. However, we as a family including my brother have shed tears together, as well as, have a lot of laughter. I have also smoked a ton of medical marijuana just to be able to live day to day.

I figured that a few months ago when I ‘came out’ out as a medical marijuana consumer, the thought crossed my mind that even though people can be cruel when it comes to mental illness, that since this blog is about MY healing I would ‘come out’ about my particular illness. Many have read my blog since day one and for that I thank you. I would also like to say that while reading this particular post that you just keep an open mind. I’m not going to try to change your opinions or perceptions of mental illness. I’m simply going to try and paint you a picture of mine to the best of my ability.

I have Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID). Now for those with no therapy background, I can tell you that this is the same thing as Multiple Personality Disorder. And now your opinions and thoughts begin to race. The only references that most of you have are those of the books/movies The Three Faces of Eve and Sybil. Hollywood did a horrible job painting a picture of what those of us with this disorder look like and how we function on a daily basis. Guess what? I’m still the same Dana that you grew up with and loved. I just have a world that has formed inside my brain that I didn’t realize everyone didn’t have. I didn’t question it because to me that has been my normal. Does this diagnosis make me ‘crazy?’ Should it make you fear for your family’s life if I happen to be around? Does this make you want to run as fast as you can in the opposite direction? I can promise you that all of that energy would be wasted.

The symptoms that I have mentioned in other posts are all true and are a part of daily life for me. I can’t tell you what it’s like living with a spouse with this particular disorder because only my wife can answer that. I can tell you that it’s the most intricate puzzle I’ve ever had to try and figure out. Having only had this correct diagnosis for almost 1.5 years we, as a family, have had to adjust. We were already adjusting prior to Marshall being born. His birth somehow set off a bomb inside my brain that retriggered everything that has happened to me. Not his fault or mine, just our reality.

With both my wife and I having Master’s Degrees in Counseling, we were baffled when we never even considered this diagnosis as one that would fit. Even in graduate school, because of limited time to study the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders we didn’t see the signs. If you want to know why we had limited time to study on this manual, just take a look at it one time and you’ll see that it could take years to be taught thoroughly and it’s like computers changing all the time. This diagnosis is still part of a great debate about whether or not it’s an actual diagnosis. I can’t answer for other families but for our family it’s very much a REAL diagnosis.

Some people have, in fact, asked Mel if she felt safe around me with Marshall. The answer is always the same….yes. There’s a lot of self education we’ve had to do because of the stigma within the mental health communities, as well as, those outside that community. We don’t have all the answers yet to how and why and neither does science. I can tell you that the very slow journey of recovery from a lifetime of trauma actually began when the correct diagnosis was given. Now I finally had answers to why sometimes I would answer myself and had what I thought were ‘loud’ thoughts.

To see me today, I’m the same goofy ass, class clown that was and still is friends with Levi Pierce. I have scars on my arms. It’s nothing to be afraid of, it’s how I survived. You don’t have to be afraid to have your kids around me. I’m not going to cook them and eat them.

DID, as I’ll refer to the diagnosis from now on, is not near as scary as the picture that has been painted. Does it have scary moments? Of course. So does Bipolar, Major Depression, Schizophrenia and any other disorder. This disorder requires a very patient and understanding spouse, as well as, professionals to be able to deal with some unpleasant moments.

The title of my blog “This Puzzled Life” is all about putting these scary pieces back together enough for me to be able to enjoy doing what I love…..helping people. Once piece at a time is how I’ll learn to live with this disorder. Trial and error is how it’s been for almost 1.5 years now with the correct diagnosis. Prior to the correct diagnosis it was and still is at times a total nightmare. Also, life continues regardless if I have a disorder or not. Friends and family still pass away which can complicate things. But, this too, is just the way life operates.

With very patient but firm therapists, I’m finally being able to look very closely at some of the horrors. The ‘alters’ or other personalities, if you so wish to call them, have their own story because they were created by the mind at very key times in the abusive history. Alters together are called a ‘system.’ Each ‘alter’ has his/her own function within the system. Each person with DID has a system much like that of a finger print. Not every therapy works the same like a cookie cutter. Do not be afraid to ask what you don’t understand. Your fears come from what you don’t understand.

“DID is about SURVIVAL. As more people begin to appreciate this concept, individuals with DID will start to feel less as though they have to hide the shame.”

–Anonymous

There are also no psychotropic meds that are specifically designed for this disorder. This also explains why for the first 3 years of seeing a psychiatrist none of the meds worked for an extended period of time. Some antidepressants, anti-psychotics, axiolitics work well for some alters and not for other alters. I was taking Parkinson’s medications for the side effects of other medications while feeling horrible from the side effects. So, that represents toxicity to me. My psychiatrist offered as a last resort the state’s Medical Marijuana Program because of all the mood swings, PTSD, hallucinations and every other symptom I would have at that time. Now believe what you want about medical marijuana, but I can personally tell you that that medication as it is so treated, is one of the reasons my wife, son, friends and family still have someone they love living. The memories of the trauma alone are more than I can handle. The effects of PTSD steal your sanity one image, smell, thought or sound at a time. The body memories while very painful become a little more tolerable with the marijuana and acupuncture.

This is why I’m also so big on people recognizing and working on their own trauma. That way people like me who set out to enjoy life don’t have to wait 40+ years to understand what that means. I’m representative of people who were too proud or stubborn to face their own demons. This too was not a “choice.” I understand the concept of ‘free will.’ Where was my free will? That’s right, there was none.

People from all walks of life have this diagnosis but go on for years with the wrong diagnosis because so much can mimic other diagnoses. There are also those still that live with this diagnosis and are very successful members of society. The trauma didn’t just occur overnight. It’s has happened my whole life so, the process won’t resolve itself overnight. There is a lot of painful elbow grease that has to be put into this recovery. The point is to keep putting one foot in front the other. I’ve never backed down from a fight and won’t start now. You just can’t take the athlete out of me.

I will take you through the victories and the setbacks of this journey. Hopefully, I’ll help educate you while also healing me. The only thing I ask is keep an open mind.

#Thispuzzled

May 30, 2019May 31, 2019 darnold1975

Three Years Of Life

Three Years of Life

12.3.2014

“I fell in love with a little boy and I’ve never been the same since.”

—-Anonymous

At 8:00 pm MST, our precious little boy will turn 3 years old. Three years ago today we were anxiously awaiting his arrival and our challenge as new parents. These three years have brought smiles, laughter and tears. Marshall entered this world as a little preemie at 35 weeks. I was very quickly allowed to get his first picture within moments of his birth. He was taken to the NICU where he would remain for the next 18 days. While we were glad that he was here, it was gut wrenching to know that we would be going home without our little angel that we had been planning almost since we became a couple. I remember thinking, “OK he’s here, now what do we do?” I was scared to death but happy all the same. All of a sudden, the sun became much brighter and a love that I had never experience before began growing daily. My greatest fear was losing this precious little being. So, minimizing my time in the NICU was of utmost importance, or so I thought. Today, I can say that I would love to have that time back with him as a brand new infant. That was just where I was in my process at the time.

Christmas 2011 has got to be one of the best Christmas’s ever because we were a family and our little baby boy was finally home after 18 days of constant worry about whether or not he would make it. This little handsome guy is, hands down the reason that we’ve been able to make it through some very dark times as a couple, individual and family. Some nights we have both been up crying because we just didn’t know what to do to help him feel better. I would certainly go through all the frustration of the last 3 years just to have our beautiful, sensitive, little superhero son in our lives. I must admit that there are times when one begins to make sense as to why some animals eat their young.

We are now in the very independence gaining and boundary testing toddler years. Sometimes I don’t know whether to choke him or just sit and hold this beautiful little boy that we have both the honor and privilege to call “Son.” As a minority family, the response to his birth from outsiders was less than supportive as a collective majority. You can’t convince these two moms by guilt with religion or any other tactic that we ever made a mistake by creating this little guy.

Whatever your beliefs, I can say this with a very clear conscious when I say that, “God entrusted us as parents with this precious being and thought that he was the perfect little boy to be able to handle any kind of disappointments that comes with being part of a minority family.”

Marshall knows one thing that he loves his mommies and his mommies love him. Really, it’s that simple and what counts.

#Thispuzzledlife

May 30, 2019August 10, 2019 darnold1975

And 2 More Makes 3…..

And 2 More Make 3……..

10.21.14

“God touched our hearts so deep inside, our special blessing multiplied.”

~Author Unknown

I must admit that I had a Maury Povich moment when we went to our fertility specialist today. I was hoping that if we saw more than one yolk sac that I would hear those magical words…”You are NOT the father!” No, I’m convinced it was a brief moment of psychosis when I heard the word….”TWINS!” I’m not sure where the idea of throwing myself into a bubbling vat of Ebola came from but I assure you it was brief. I totally started thinking, “Where did the twins come from? There aren’t any in my biological family? I don’t understand?” Ok, so maybe it was full blown “situational psychosis.” Already being a parent to a toddler has taught me that brief moments of “situational psychosis” seems to be accepted as a daily action most assuredly in public. So, my little stand alone moment in the doctor’s office was most definitely appropriate, I think. If someone tells you that they got that same news and didn’t at the very least think, “What the hell?!” I would have to say that they’re not telling you the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. I must admit that I’ve had several laughs since that moment only a few hours ago about why I was actually having those thoughts.

Sometimes events surrounding fertility treatment can also be quite funny. I can’t tell you how much fun I have with the people at Walgreens when I tell them that I need to pick up my wife’s birth control pills. For once, I can understand what it must be like for a man to pick up tampons and pads. I usually don’t know whether to laugh or run. I just get the typical strange looks from the employees. So, I must respond in a rather humorous manner. I usually tell them, “Yea, we don’t need any slip ups! The doctors told me I had a low sperm count but you can never be too safe.” I usually just get a nod and a head tilt similar to that of a puppy. Sometimes you just have to have fun with ignorance. My brother, Levi Pierce, taught me that a long time ago.

I know that some will just from reading the blog and not even being around our family daily will think, “OMG, so much has happened already and your lives have been so chaotic. Why now?” Well, let me see if I can “splain it to you, Lucy.” So, the term “chaotic” does not even begin to explain what our lives have been like the last several years. Truly, we both wanted to wait a little bit longer just to be able to catch our breath. Here’s what it all comes down to………as a lesbian couple who are currently moms, we can’t just decide when the “perfect time” or “more appropriate time” would be better because without the fertility insurance that we have our costs to have a child runs $30,000+ every month we try. Most straight or gay couples have to have the savings or the ability to take out another mortgage to be able to do this even once. This, however, is not us. Melody was blessed with a job that has same sex benefits including fertility benefits. That was all about to come to a screeching halt as of less than a month ago because Mel’s current job within that company was about to be eliminated. That meant that we would have fertility insurance only until the end of December. So, our ‘baby making’ days were looking like they were going to end and very soon. We were scared and very sad. We looked at everything and said, “Well, now is not really the optimal time but we had to jump on this last opportunity.” With very minimal cost to us, we proceeded with the process of trying to get her pregnant by December.

As a gay couple, we have to take many things into consideration before having a child. The fertility process takes up most of the brain and emotional space backed up by legal concerns. We definitely want to move ‘closer’ but definitely not back exactly where we grew up. Unfortunately, that area of the country is not in the majority when it comes to equality for gay rights. We currently live in a state where both our marriage and my rights as a non-biological mother are also honored without having to adopt because we are legally married. We, by no means, are obligated to explain why we made the decision to have another child to anyone. Here’s just a little “bird’s eye view” of what it takes for us to be parents. No daddies other than “donor daddies” are in this house or are involved in this process. These babies were actually fertilized into embryos the same time our almost 3 year-old son, Marshall. These were our “frozen babies” which also have to be paid for yearly to be kept on ice. I’m also knocking on 40 years-old so, we really needed to get on the ball despite what all has been going on.

We transferred two embryos just like we did with Marshall in the hopes that only one would take. However, unlike when we conceived Marshall and lost the other embryo, both of these took. That is a chance that we as a gay couple have and had to be willing to take each time. We could have transferred only one and taken the chance of not conceiving and running out of time. As life would have it, Mel was offered a different job with the same company and we now have the same benefits. When you don’t know for certain what life might hand you, you have to be willing to take risks and live with the outcome. We transferred two frozen embryos a couple of years and neither of them took. And then it seemed that life had once again hit the gas pedal.

I have personally always taken risks. Some decisions were good and some were not. Mel and I have, for the most part, had to deal with this alone in the beginning because our “lifestyle” was not accepted. We have proven that we can be parents and make it happen on our own if need be. Is this a decision that I regret? Absolutely not! I wouldn’t change our trials of not being accepted as a family by both society and certain family members for the gift that we have both been given as a couple and as a family. Life has taught us many things through the gift of our son. He makes everything seem ok among the chaos. Has it been easy? No, but nothing ever has been for either of us even before we met.

So, sometimes when you think you have everything planned the way you want it, the universe has a good chuckle and says, “oh yea, watch this!” We do now and will continue to embrace our roles as spouses and parents. But, make no mistake; we are finished with baby making after this go round. And no we don’t have to worry about having tubes tied or accidental pregnancies. Just a bonus, I thought I might add. We are going to embrace these babies and continue to live our life as a normal family with sometimes abnormal circumstances.

I have a total of four reasons for both living and to attack my very puzzled past and present with a vengeance. Painful as hell is what this recovery has been and will continue to be for a while. Mel and I are both warriors that face life like this……”Tell us we can’t accomplish something, and we can assure you that you will be proven wrong.” This isn’t a spiteful stance just one of the signs of a strong couple who loves each other dearly. And a family that perseveres no matter how it might look; what people think; or what it takes to have a minority family and keep it together. We struggle just like every other family ours is just made up of two mommies, a little boy, two yolk sacs and a lot of love.

I would totally go through all of the abuse of 14 years from my previous heterosexual marriage again to know that in the end I would eventually hit the jackpot!

#Thispuzzledlife

May 30, 2019May 31, 2019 darnold1975

Illusions of Halloween

10.21.14

“The moment of betrayal is the worst, the moment that you know beyond any doubt that you’ve been betrayed: that some other human being has wished you that much evil.”

—-Margaret Atwood, The Empathy Trap book page

These last several months has left me both mentally and physically drained to a low that I have never experienced. Sometimes I have wondered if the universe is trying to point out something that I just can’t seem to see or understand. The stress alone has left me 40 lbs lighter. No complaints from me about that. I think both me and my wife have felt every emotion possible at its highest intensity. Have I allowed myself to do too much at times? Undeniably, yes. Have I neglected my own needs psychologically, physically, mentally and emotionally? Indeed I have. Do I regret it? Not one minute of it. I don’t feel compelled or obligated. I am who I am. And I do what I do out of love for other people.

I’ve been told over the last few months, “No one ever said you had to do it or you weren’t asked to do it.” My response has always been, “Why should I have to be asked to do something for someone that’s just the right thing to do?” I don’t feel that I deserve any pats-on-the-back or high fives for simply taking some time to comfort someone in need. Should I do this more in moderation? Yes of course. But, I know only one way to be a friend…..110% at all times when possible.

I’ve tried to figure this entire struggle lately with very few satisfying answers. The only things I have become “one” with are my own tears. I think that whatever emotional block that I had been struggling with prior to going back south for a visit has certainly been remedied. I have emerged someone different and even more confused. How do I deal with my own trauma like I need to while continuing to be supportive to those in need? Well, right now, I don’t have those answers. I just know that promises were made to both friends and family that I would stand by and support them in any way possible. And since I don’t know how to turn my back on people, I’ll continue to be there for them while also trying to find my balance.

This time of year has many unpleasant anniversaries and memories associated with it. I have always loved the fall and Halloween. This year the familiar smells in the air are enough to turn my stomach. I normally would be hunting for the best haunted house, haunted barn, haunted corn maze or anything that I was hopefully to get a good scare from in the region. However, at this point in my life, there are very few days that are fun and enjoyable. All I can seem to attribute this lack of contentment to is just where I am on my path of healing. The word “trust” is one that has become again a word that is attached to the word “fear.”

Just this past weekend, our family went to McCall’s Pumpkin Patch in Moriarty, NM that we have been going to since before Marshall was born. It has always been a place where my “inner child” comes alive and enjoys having fun. Since Marshall was born, we always take this time to have fun taking fall pictures of him. This year was different. I was very apprehensive about all the people that would be there and just the thought of going scared the absolute shit out of me. I didn’t totally understand but I think back to the sacrifices that my parents always made to attend all of my many softball/basketball games. Instantly, I put on a smile and thought, “I, too, must do this for our son.”

Mel had all medications ready just in case. And I will also add that I was medicated before we even left the house. Secretly, my goal was to get through this as quickly as possible and get back home to my place of “safety.” I must admit that seeing our son having such a good time brought joy to my heart. The fear that I had from just being there was beginning to make me nauseous. I sipped on my medical marijuana shooter to try and help combat all of the anxiety and nausea that was beginning from somewhere deep in my soul. Something was beginning but what and why? I knew that part of it had to do with being around so many people that was for sure. I knew, though, that there was something more painful attached to this reaction, but what? Halloween had always been something fun for me or had it? I tried to ignore everything as best I could for the sake of Marshall and Mel to have an enjoyable day.

The last thing we always do before leaving is the hay ride. However, after being around what seemed like ½ of the total population of New Mexico, I was done. I told them to go ahead and I would just wait under a covered area where a lot of families were eating and taking a break from the activities. Never going anywhere in public without my IPod, I sit at a table and try to do some deep breathing and try and enjoy some music until they got finished. Apparently, I was seen as an easy target to squeeze out because a rather large family decided that they would occupy the rest of the space at the table. So, I politely got my shit and left them with the damn table. I would like to interject that there is not a whole lot that I miss about where I was raised. The common courtesy of simply asking if it was ok to sit there was something that I truly missed at that exact moment. I would’ve gotten up anyway but, you know, the whole “principle” of the matter thing. Anyway, I find a place on a hay bale and sit there in eager anticipation for the return of the pumpkin hunters. I soon realize that I’m not able to keep an eye on everything but this time I’m alone. My mind begins to panic and all I can think is, “Get me out of here NOW!” Then the flashes of images that I can’t seem to connect with begin. Really? All I knew was that I was terrified. The nausea sets in and I keep swallowing to prevent the ultimate embarrassment of vomiting in public. I was scared and alone and that was all I could comprehend. I felt like at any moment someone was going to do something horrible to me. I just didn’t feel protected. My deep breathing quickly became like a dog panting. My eyes searched the area like a tiger looking for a meal. And then…….I’m in the truck almost back in ABQ not remembering if something had happened. I had a really bad headache and tried to put the pieces together and couldn’t. Yea…..Happy Halloween.

#Thispuzzledlife

May 30, 2019May 31, 2019 darnold1975

Tears Of A Clown 3

Tears of a Clown 3

9.8.14

“Anyone who has a continuous smile on his face conceals a toughness that is almost frightening.”
― Greta Garbo

When Levi got back to his room, I was so relieved! Now, I could see for myself that he had made it through surgery safely. Not without battle wounds, but he was alive. I told him, “Bro, I’m still here.” I could tell that between the anesthesia and pain meds that he didn’t know whether to ‘scratch his watch or wind his butt.” I left him in the caring hands of his wife, brother and mother. I could now breathe another sigh of relief. Mel and Marshall came by and picked me up from the hospital to go something to eat. To me, it had been a long day that was well worth the stress.

The next couple of days were spent making small talk and getting to know his family. Marshall continued to play with Boudreaux, Levi’s new grandson. Chris, Charlene and his mom all seemed to be competing for the “Caregiver of the Year Award.” They were amazing at how they were attending to him. I’m not sure what the exact situation was, but I was introduced by his family as his “sister.” Now, between him and me we’ve always called each other brother and sister. His own family seeing, accepting and seemingly understanding our relationship also was the ray of sunshine that my heart seemed to need to feel.

I had just recently been wrapped up in some of my own darkness. This whole trip was beginning to feel like the ray of light that I had been searching for. I’ve looked back and have been able to recall this exact feeling. I’ve wondered why this has made such a big difference mentally for me. What I’ve deduced from this situation is this:

My brother needed me and I was able to get there. I might’ve been a mess, but I got there like we had always promised each other.
My ‘security blanket’ was finally back in my life….him.
I had just been ACCEPTED, by his friends and family, for who I was even at my weakest moment. I wasn’t able to keep the mask on because I had been weakened by my own fear. And they still accepted me and all of me.

I must admit that it was pretty eerie at first. Everything for me has always come with conditions except for a few very close friends, close family and my parents. Even my ex-husband told me that he didn’t understand how my dad accepted my mother for who she is without conditions. He told me that loving someone like that wasn’t even possible. So, this situation with Levi’s friends and family and their acceptance and total disregard for the fact that I was gay, legally married and have a 2.5 year old kid didn’t even seem to phase them. They knew that I loved their friend and family member and that was all that counted.

I’ve listened to stories from almost everyone there about what a big part he has played in their lives. I can honestly say that I wasn’t surprised by what I was hearing. Another thing that he and I have in common is the fact that if someone’s in need of help, we will always be there for them. You can say that it has something to do with the way we were raised; the expectations of being from the south; or our own childhood trauma that’s had influence. What I can say is this…”Fighting the battles of abuse and life on your own is not easy nor is it fair.” Therefore, and I can only speak for myself, when I say that after my 8^th grade school year that I have always vowed that no one that I knew and/or loved would EVER have to fight a battle on their own again. I will admit that he and I both don’t know when to keep our mouths shut at times. I would take that flaw rather than having any of my friends and family fight a senseless battle on their own.

When he was finally discharged and sent home, he wanted to ride in our vehicle because it was higher. We got back to his and Charlene’s house and the cooking began. He was in excruciating pain. So, I helped to make sure he was comfortable. I knew these last few hours would be my last for a little while. We were heading back to Albuquerque early in the morning. We sat, laughed and told stories with as many people that would sit and listen. As the time passed, we began to try and play, “Let’s Make a Deal” with our wives just so we could have those last remaining moments together. We honestly sounded like two kids who wanted candy at the store.

Finally, it was time and I must say goodbye to one of my closest friends. He and I didn’t shed tears in front of everyone. I hugged him and told him I loved him. I reminded him that I was just a text, phone call or instant message away. He told me, “I still can’t believe you and your family came all this way to see me.” I simply told him, “You were not the one that was on the other end of that phone line when I was talking to Charlene. Don’t ever doubt what I will do for you no matter what you may consider as insignificant. You are my BROTHER.”

I was fine going back to the motel because for the past few days that was our routine. When we got the car loaded in the morning and pulled out of the parking lot of the motel, I began to see and feel the tears begin to fall. All I felt was the pull and the hurt of the separation between us on my heart. He was in great hands and I knew that. Emotionally, I just left my brother. That was a feeling that no word could magically soothe. I cried most of the 13 hours it took to drive back home. And yes, the night I left him, he did the same thing. He is a man with feelings and I have never shamed him for that.

I look back on this trip and can do nothing but shed tears. They are tears of what could have happened. They are tears of what happened. And they are tears of joy for my family being completely embraced by some people who had only heard my name until we met. I now have the peace of knowing that I have several more “chosen” family members living in Arkansas.

I have heard their stories about our beloved “Spunky.” I’ve laughed a lot and cried with them. They have also laughed at the beautiful memories that we have of us as rebellious children. Also, things that were shared with me by individuals, is how very big his heart is even now. How he has taken people in and helped “clean” them up. We both seem to lean towards the people that need help. I guess maybe that’s why I enjoy working with populations that make a lot of people cringe. We both have a very strong line of STUPID/HARDHEADEDNESS that comes out in us at times. But, the one thing Levi and I still have that never changed is our love and respect for each other as human beings.

We’ve made mistakes and lots of them. We have had little victories that maybe he and I will only understand. But, my dear and very precious brother, I must say that through all the mistakes, to me you are not only a success as a human. YOU ARE A SUCCESS AS A MAN!

And once again…..the “Tears of a Clown” are falling.

#Thispuzzledlife

May 30, 2019May 31, 2019 darnold1975

Family Day

9.8.14

“Some people’s lives seem to flow in a narrative; mine had many stops and starts. That’s what trauma does. It interrupts the plot. You can’t process it because it doesn’t fit with what came before or what comes afterwards.”
― Jessica Stern

And then you have a random day where everything seems wonderful. I’ve been in public without getting sick. I’ve stopped and talked to a friend and laughed. I’m only dealing with minimal physical ailments this morning. Maybe the weed, klonopin, Valium and ativan are working. I’m not asking questions. I’m just going to enjoy the ride. Reality will be back soon enough. At least I’m not sick despite all of the medication.

I wish I had had the break from some of the side effects from when we went and took pictures on Sunday. I was all dosed up and ready to face the people and overstimulation of my brain. The plan was to take Marshall to the botanical gardens and let him ride the choo-choo. Off our little family goes to find the choo-choo. Did I mention that I had been dosed with a good bit of meds before I left the house? I vaped on my wax pen all the way to our destination at the Botanical Gardens.

Everything was going fine. Marshall was enjoying running around being a kid. Mel was…well….being a mixture of a professional photographer and a mommy. Today was going to be the day that Marshall and I had “mommy/son pictures.” Other families were there having picnics and just enjoying a nice, cool Sunday late morning and taking in the scenery. The people were spread out so, at least, I wouldn’t have to worry about them touching me. I had my wax pen ready, my sunshades to hide my life full of shame and my IPod ready to face any type of external or internal stimulation.

Marshall was showing me things and asking, “Bite you?” So, our conversation was typically, “No, baby, flowers don’t bite.” Then he sees the koi pond. The koi have instantly become sharks. He starts shouting to get our attention, “Sharks, Sharks!” Yep, this momma was proud that our son knows the difference between a fish and a shark. I look behind me thinking because I thought I heard someone call my name. It was a seemingly peaceful pathway filled with small trees, bushes and ground covering. “Here we go,” I thought but not knowing why. I notice my stomach getting a little nauseated but took a couple of vapes off my pen and hoped that the feeling would go away. I soon noticed that my jaw began hurting. The muscles in my body began cramping. The nausea became stronger. I told Mel that I was going to sit down a few minutes to rest, but really hoping that I just didn’t throw up.

The longer I sat there, the worse I felt. As a tear, dropped from my eye underneath the sunshades and shaky voice, I told Mel we needed to go home. An unimaginable fear I must’ve been ‘triggered’ but I hadn’t realized it. Then, the headache hit. Not as bad as the one last week, when I had acupuncture where I never remembered the visit, but plenty bad enough to feel miserable.

Once again, my physical symptoms have messed up another family outing. And soon the shame and guilt hit me like a “tornado propelled bumble bee.” I had no warning but thought it was probably in the lineup somewhere. I felt like collapsing from just sheer embarrassment, even though, people around me didn’t seem to notice. I just sat down again and tried to wait for the feeling to pass. After several minutes, I decided no more waiting and listening to music. I suddenly had to GET THE HELL AWAY FROM WHERE I CURRENTLY WAS! Something still seemed to scare me, but I didn’t know what.

I tried to remember what we were doing, and what had just happened to cause such a scare. I couldn’t remember what I had said, done or thought. All I could do was hope that ‘it’ was over soon.

MY wife, being the very understanding person she is, told me everything was ok and we could come back another day. The disappointment laid somewhere deep within me, not her. She had no idea the level of disappointment I was experiencing. Everything was fine and now it wasn’t. Marshall didn’t seem to notice and neither did the people passing by. So, now I act like everything is fine, right? I stood up and the familiar feeling hit me but this time it scared me. My body didn’t feel like I could control itself but I was moving. It was as if I was watching this awkwardly walking human being that I didn’t recognize. ‘Things’ just weren’t ok for some reason.

We were still able to get some good pictures of me and Marshall. But, the disgrace of the signs and symptoms of disorders can be embarrassing even if other people don’t seem to see them. Some things can’t be hidden. Some things have been hidden for years and are now noticeable. I just wanted to get back to my ‘familiar’ surroundings….HOME!

#Thispuzzledlife

May 30, 2019May 30, 2019 darnold1975

Who Am I?

Who am I?

9.8.14

“Don’t underestimate me. I know more than I say,

Think more than I speak,

& notice more than you realize.”

–Anonymous

Behind the smiles you don’t see the frowns. Behind the laughs you don’t see the cries. Behind the eyes you don’t see the tears. And behind the contentment that you see in the pictures of me and our son, you don’t see the fears that I hide. You see what I allow you to see. I let you see what is socially acceptable. But, you DON’T see the real me. What if you did? Would you even recognize me? Could you even pronounce my name? Or would I be that same person, to you that you’ve grown-up with and known the majority of your life?

I resemble the same person you knew in middle school and high school. I have a wife instead of a husband. We have a 2.5 year old son. We live in the time zone known as “Marshall Standard Time.” I wear shorts and t-shirts instead of cleats and uniforms. I’m still the same ‘clown’ that you’ve always known me to be. I still laugh at inappropriate shit. My humor about things has never disappeared. I’m just not as “happy-go-lucky” as I use to be.

There wasn’t one event that caused a change in me over time. It was abuse that occurred over many years that has changed me. If I met you 20 years now since high school, you would see that same person that you were in the halls with but attached to my leg is a little boy. And attached to my heart is my wife, Melody Landrum-Arnold.

No one ever knows someone else’s true “secrets.” You saw a seemingly happy wife walking by her husband’s side and holding his hand. You saw parents supporting their child in every way possible. You saw an athlete very passionate and dedicated to the sports she loved. And you saw a fun loving and respectful person when our paths crossed. There were scars and open wounds that you never knew.

What you didn’t know or see were all of the “secrets” of a lifetime of abuse. What if you knew all of my thoughts? What if you knew the things I was made to do? Would you look at my scars and be disgusted? Could you look me in the eye because I couldn’t you? Would you stand there speechless because of the lies you were told and believed? Or would you say, “Gee, I’m sorry” and avoid all eye contact. Why? SHAME. Those of us who were once victims carried the shame of our abusers who were “shameless.”

I wish people who have and continue to judge me could spend one day in my brain with all the chaos as a result of the abuse. You wouldn’t survive one minute! No one taught me how to survive all of that. I figured it out on my own. Some behaviors are maladaptive, I’ll agree. I did what I had to do to SURVIVE in any way possible!

I’ve been very strong for many years but I’m tired. Mornings like now seem like the movie Groundhog Day. The abuse replays every moment I’m alive. Every morning, the abuse starts all over again. I feel like, I’m stuck in survival mode all the time. Sometimes I feel like a victim and sometimes I feel like a survivor. I try and live life “one minute at a time” because “one day at a time” seems entirely too long, right now.

I’m very much a realist. I see things for the way they are, instead of the way they can be. The whole analogy of the duck is how I view even the simplest of events, ideas, comments, etc. So, basically I get in my own way. Part of this process is going to be to retrain how the brain perceives things, I think.

I also repeat things sometimes at different times. So, if some of the abuse stories seem to overlap, just ignore and keep reading. I’ll explain why this happens later.

Please try and understand that this is just where I’m at in my healing journey.

#Thispuzzledlife

May 30, 2019May 31, 2019 darnold1975

Tears Of A Clown Pt.2

Tears of a Clown Part 2

9.8.14

“The angriest and saddest people are hidden behind a mask. A mask of laughter and happiness. It’s amazing what you can fake with a smile.”

-unknown

Please forgive me for not having exact recollection of when things happened. My memory is somewhat different these days. Sometimes I remember parts of events that happen, but not dates and times that correlate. The more stressful the situation, sometimes I can have a very vivid or absent recall. As you can imagine this situation would be put in the ‘high stress’ category. I also want to point out that in calling Levi my ‘brother,’ I’m not negating the relationships that he has with his biological family. I totally respect the relationships that he has with them. I do know, that I could never replace his biological brother and sisters, like they would not be able to replace me in his life. I think that there’s definitely a mutual respect about that that was established that didn’t even need to be spoken during this particular incident.

At some point, I was sitting by Levi’s bed in a chair, with Charlene, Mel and Marshall in the room. His mom was under covers sleeping on a cot that made jail mattresses look like a Sealy Posturepedic. I looked over at her finally sleeping peacefully but scared that the cot might actually eat her. I hoped that I would actually get to spend some time with the mother of one of the closest people to me. Levi is in excruciating pain as you can imagine. He still tries to talk to me. Secretly, the nausea is creeping closer and quicker than I was prepared. I soon begin sweating which also led to chills. I wake up to Charlene and Mel wiping my forehead with cool cloths and fanning me. I had just passed out. I tend to get up and leave when friends or family are in a lot of pain. The energy that they put off is too much for me to handle. I absorb every emotion. This time, though, as hard as it was, I stayed right by his side. I couldn’t do any of the nursing stuff like his wife and brother because well….I’ll start throwing up.

His family, my family and I were just about to go through a 6 hour waiting period while he was in surgery known to me as “purgatory.” Prior to him going to surgery, though, someone looked at me and asked, “Are you Dana?” Immediately, that usually means I’m in trouble for something. I was secretly trying to figure out if it was the hairstyle or the lesbian part that gave me away. Instead, I was told, “It’s so good to finally meet you!” I was completely taken aback in amazement. Another person said, “Yes, we’ve heard so much about you.” Inside, I remember thinking, “What did that nut throw me under the bus about?” I figured he had told some of both our funny and serious childhood stories. So, I slowly begin doing for his family what he would do for mine….MAKE THEM LAUGH!

You see, for clowns, everyone else’s needs are always put before your own because our job is to keep people happy. It’s as natural for him and me as breathing. When feeling uncomfortable, always make someone laugh…Rule #1. Rule #2….Never let them see how you really feel. Yea, I couldn’t hide how I felt for this guy.

My #1 goal then was to take care of and support Charlene while we were waiting these agonizing hours for our brother, uncle, poppa, daddy, friend and husband to go through the start of a long recovery process. There were many people who were waiting with us that I curiously wanted to meet. But, my protective instinct took over for Charlene without her ever knowing. I was ready to support her like Levi would support Mel if the tables were turned. And I can assure you that her anxiety was minimized very quickly. Marshall was playing with his new friend Boudreaux who is about 10 months old. He is also the grandson of Levi and Charlene. They were having a great time playing when “Nurse Ratched” told us to keep it down. She said that they don’t usually have children in that area. There were children’s toys and furniture place all around the waiting room. So, I start having an allergic reaction to a sudden case of stupid. I’m thinking yea, just waiting until Marshall gets in the zone, he’ll show you loud. I honestly wondered if maybe they trained monkeys since all of that was not for children. Maybe it was just intended for immature and very small adults. I knew what time it was and started counting down until Marshall was getting ready to have a full meltdown. Marshall was getting into full ‘toddler psychosis mode’ so, Mel took Marshall back to the motel for a nap. Then, it was just me and the Pierce family. This could be good or bad, I didn’t know.

I already was very comfortable around Charlene and Chris. I have known Chris as long as I’ve known Levi. So, I knew I was safe with them. Marshall was actually an ‘ice breaker.’ I started out slowly and then came the stories about being a toddler mom. We were all laughing in the end. In the meantime, I was internally trying my best to protect by heart from crumbling under the intense fear of losing him during the surgery. I was also able to spend some time catching up with Chris after 20+ years. We both had some good laughs all by ourselves.

After a very short time of being around his friends and family, I heard what both of our wives have said, “You and “Spunky” are way too much alike! Are you sure there’s no DNA?” But, as a family, they were able to witness that connection that’s unexplainable. I’m sure some thought that I was just an old ‘buddy’ from school. We will argue with each other like an old married couple while you would be watching and laughing. But, he’s also like a sibling and a ‘soul mate’ all rolled up into one. (It’s not the same type of ‘soul mate’ like a spouse.) I know… I know….. It sounds weird. To me and Levi, it’s weird also, but we accepted the relationship when we were kids. I know some people thought that God broke the mold when he made me. Wrong! He needed one of each gender.

His mother looked at me and said, “I didn’t know I had a daughter. This whole time I thought “Spunky” was getting into trouble all by himself.” I was like, “I only helped him through middle school and part of high school. The rest of it, he did on his own.” Then I felt bad because I had just “thrown my buddy under the bus” to his momma. I remember thinking, “Really, Dana? Ummmm….you’re both almost 40 years old.” I chuckled at the thought of what he would say if I told him that. I wondered if they knew how terrified I was that they wouldn’t like me. One similarity between us is that we both have a huge hang ups about how things appear vs. how they actually are. Like I said, he and I were fighting the same types of demons at school with teachers. On the inside, I was shaking like an abused animal. The outside, I appeared ‘cool as a cucumber’ while bringing a much needed distraction from the current situation. I think some were just watching me and wondering how they are so much alike. You really would have to see us together to understand.

I’ve thought about how our relationship has remained so strong even after 20+ years. I was finally able to unravel and understand that for me he is a ‘safety blanket.’ Not in the sense of being needy…..ewwwww. When I’m around him even the first night we reunited, I feel emotionally just like I did as a teenager. With him, I was always felt ‘safe’ even when it wasn’t. But, I knew that everything would be ok. He always tried to protect me even when he couldn’t. He would even go, as far as, intentionally getting detention so I wouldn’t have to be there alone. We both are still attached to each other like we’re kids. Trust me, when we get around each other, WE ARE KIDS!

With what seemed like forever, the doctor came out to speak to the family about how the surgery had been very successful. He now had 7 plates in his face and his jaw was wired shut. The eye socket was not as bad as they thought. And there should be no problems with his vision long term. We could all now breathe a sigh of relief. I wanted to vomit but I had to maintain a consistency in presentation. My guard was finally able to be lowered and we could all relax a little bit. That’s what I needed to hear to make it through the night.

Later that night……the “Tears of a Clown” began to fall again.

#thispuzzledlife

#Thispuzzledlife

May 27, 2019May 28, 2019 darnold1975

More Traveling

8.19.14

“She was a stranger in her own life, a tourist in her own body.”
― Melissa de la Cruz, The Van Alen Legacy

I always feel the need to speak about toddler events in the mornings because well…..sometimes they’re just funny. So, I was doing the usual getting Marshall ready for school and loaded in the car. I asked him if he would like some cheetos since that’s what we had in the car for him as a snack. He shook his head and said, “Momma D, no cheetos…only toes!” “Ok, Marshall, mommy will only call them ‘toes’ from now on.” Sometimes this kid makes me really laugh.

The term “traveling” has a much different definition to me than the general public seems to understand. When “traveling, “I’m definitely anywhere I want to be. I could be on the beach somewhere enjoying the sun or checking out the lesbian buffet. Every place can be new or one that seems to bring much emotional comfort. However, sometimes the memories of abuse invade and I to go elsewhere without even knowing it. To the average person, a function such as this doesn’t seem that different from seemingly “ignoring” the spouse or a boss. Everyone at some point wishes they were somewhere different especially when at work or just needing a vacation. Most people don’t use this as a defense mechanism but rather just ‘daydreaming.’

As a child, throughout my molestation, I was mentally forced to be somewhere else. I couldn’t possibly deal with things as they were. Each time I knew of another “episode,” my mind would go elsewhere. I had no idea that the ‘dissociation’ had occurred. I just knew that I couldn’t physically and mentally handle the situation at hand. The specifics about the molestation are going to be left to my very brave therapists.

Over time, this natural and sometimes forced dissociation becomes second nature. Just I like said in an earlier post about with PTSD symptoms happening when there is an actual or ‘perceived’ threat, this has now become an automatic type of coping mechanism. Since, I have apparently been doing this since very early childhood even without my knowing, this behavior has become a daily response to anything ‘perceived’ as threatening. To put these ‘threats’ in perspective for you, I can give you examples of ‘perceived threats.’ Things such as: loud noises, too many people in one area, too much visual, tactile and auditory stimulation, social situations, being by myself, being touched by someone, hollering, bad weather, and many more situations. As you can imagine, I have varying reactions to therapy because I’m processing everything that happened on different levels. So, seeing me as the person you know is completely different from what and how they see me as a person. I’m still the same person you know and grew up with if you see me. You probably won’t know anything has ever happened or is wrong. After all, we are taught from a very young age to keep things in the family even if the family doesn’t know.

Dealing with the trauma on such different levels, my therapists and wife get to see very unique sides of me. Dissociation is very natural for me especially while in therapy. Sometimes I can stop it and sometimes I can’t. This can and does present problems in therapy at times, but we work through it and figure out what’s happening. The goal is to try and minimize “traveling,” while getting use to not using it at all to function daily? Is this possible? Really, I don’t know. I am trusting in the people that I work with to guide me through this healing process. I have to admit that I wish there was some kind of ‘rapid’ trauma treatment that I can do while under sedation. Almost like processing without being conscious of what is going on. This, unfortunately, isn’t part of the process. The part of the process I’m currently in is one of both mental and physical chaos. I do the best that I can because that’s what I was taught by both my parents and coaches even when it’s scary as hell.

I write because everything else scares me to the point of vomiting. I have lost 40lbs because of the stress on both me and my family. I’m not currently restricting in regards to eating disorder behavior. Even though, I definitely have a lot of “eating disorder” thoughts and some behaviors especially in public or with certain people. But, I go sometimes for days without knowing that I haven’t eaten. I have even overdosed on medication and had no idea until a couple of days later that this had occurred. I go for minutes, hours, day and sometimes weeks with not knowing what has transpired. I simply understand this as “traveling.” Sometimes I have done things in that ‘state’ that I am and will continue to be embarrassed about. Things are said and done are like a game that I think people are playing with me to make me feel bad. I have bought things, gone places, eaten, not eaten, had conversations, had arguments and have had ‘rage’ events that I have no memory of happening.

I carry a lot of guilt and shame once I understand days later what has happened. Does this sound like a quality of life to you? My perpetrators have left a war for me to deal with everyday. I simply try to win one battle at a time until the war is over. Medical marijuana just helps with a lot of the horrible physical and mental symptoms that I have from all of this. It doesn’t take back anything that happened. I have to take a lot of this medication to be able to go out in public or therapy because everything’s so painful. For those that think that ”a drug is a drug,” you’re right it’s just like insulin being used as a medicine. And sorry my disordered behavior has nothing to do with marijuana except to keep both the public and me safe. I have a quality of life now that I haven’t had before. Not everyone uses this plant as a medication or recreationally within limits. There are actually people who no longer think about suicide because they the government has made a medication legal that can also give them a quality of life that they never saw possible. There are a lot more people that use and die from prescribed medications that the trusted doctors administer. Please educate yourself on this, someone you know might can and could benefit from this plant one day. It just might be you!

#Thispuzzledlife

May 27, 2019May 28, 2019 darnold1975

Traveling

8.16.14

“The trauma said, ‘Don’t write these poems.
Nobody wants to hear you cry about the grief inside your bones.”
― Andrea Gibson, The Madness Vase: By Andrea Gibson

This morning begins as usual just stirring in our bed trying to wake my senses up. Automatically, I look around the room to see if I should be alarmed by anything new or out of place. I sit up on the side of the bed and soon the physical symptoms are on me like a ‘pit bull on a steak.’ The horrible headache that is becoming increasingly worse by the minute is initially unphased by my medical marijuana lying close by. My body feels pain down to its cells. I’m having muscle cramps making me question if all of the effort to get better is actually worth it. Why do I hurt like this? If my body is purging itself of the poisons created by the trauma on a cellular level, then I wish it would hurry the hell up. I did notice that I started getting sick yesterday afternoon. I discounted it from being in public for a few minutes yesterday. Today is different….every morning that this is happening has me feeling that I’m paying penance for something. When is my next acupuncture session? At least, I get a couple of days of almost no physical symptoms. Alas, the marijuana is working well enough for me to get Marshall dressed and taken to school. This morning is all about physical symptoms. The feeling is not consciously about social anxiety. But, rather…”Don’t let me puke on the way or when I pull up at the daycare.”

I think to myself…

“I finally make it back home. Now, I’m locked in and safe. But, now I’m alone. Anything could happen. Instant ‘shock and awe’ stomach cramps. Can I ever have a day, that for most people is just a mediocre ‘ok day?’ My body and mind is on fire! The feel of air on my skin is like hot tar being poured on me. My back feels like I was impaled with something sharp. My muscles all over my body feel like they have begun disintegrating. My jaw and teeth feel like they could fall in my lap at any moment. My body must be detoxing, but from what? It must’ve been something I did yesterday. But what did I do and where did we go if anywhere?”

Losing time for some people is nothing more than daydreaming, missing an exit on the interstate, or getting enthralled in a good book. However, the term “losing time” for me and my family can have very scary and unique meanings from the average family. Everyone, at one time or another, forget your keys or something that you meant to take with you to the store. You suddenly remember, that it’s the list that you have made with what you needed. You go home, find the list where it was left, get back in the car, and head off to the store. No harm, no foul. You don’t qualify for a diagnosis because of it. As a former therapist said to me, “Welcome, to the Human Race!”

My first memory of losing any type of time was in the 8^th grade. While being in that closet, I went elsewhere. It seemed somewhat familiar but ‘safe.’ I don’t remember what the scene was or where I went, it just wasn’t in that closet. I seemed to be locked in a type of paradise. Every once in a while I would hear, “Are you listening to me?!”

By the time I got to high school, I felt like I got a new start. I was now 20 lbs lighter even though I did it unhealthy. I was excelling in the sports I was playing. I was dropping weight seemingly every day. No behavior problems reported by teachers. I was pushing my body passed its limits but I was ok or so I thought. This was the first year that I actually remember ‘losing extensive time.’ What is the difference? Well, instead of a few moments that we all lose naturally. I had lost an entire week. I knew that I had ballgames that week so, how did I not remember how I played? I was doing a lot of diet pills at the time. So, that was the answer. I remember thinking, “It’s nice to be back. But, where was I?”

Skipping a few years, to when I was married to my now EX-husband. There were times that I remember seeing his mouth move but not hearing or knowing what was said. That was fine with me. I didn’t know why it was like that but I was completely ok. There were also those times when I would hear his first loud venomous word and then I would slowly fade away. I could see him hollering at me but not hear or feel any of it. My cutting really took off in this relationship and I realized that the same mental and physical stuff happened then too. I didn’t think anything about it but I knew that my thoughts that I had were very, loud and continuous. I couldn’t dare mention this to the narcissist. Everything that ever happened to me was a joke and made fun. I would just keep my comments quiet and assume all the blame which is what they want. Feelings belonged somewhere, but on my sleeves… VERY UNSAFE.

Several years later, I meet Melody and other things begin to happen. Why would this happen around her? I didn’t understand and she surely wouldn’t either. I just played everything off like, “I did a lot of drugs and they fried me.” I didn’t tell her about what seemed like separate conversations to myself in my brain. Everyone, surely has “loud” thoughts. Heck, I wasn’t even divorce yet. This type of stuff sometimes happened when he hollered at me or I was cutting. Why with Melody when she was a ‘safe’ person? I was still watching and waiting for her true colors to come out and hurt me. In the 7 years that I’ve known and loved her, I have the opportunity to see her true colors every day and they are a beautiful rainbow. She’s genuine and I think somehow I must’ve known that back then. We were in graduate school together and taking the same classes. So, to be able to pay attention, I would have to play games on my phone while they were lecturing. I explained this to my professors before hand and they completely understood. We thought that we were dealing with a college ADD thing. Mel still had to re- explain the lecture once we got home. Once I got it and was able to ‘feel’ the connection of the material, It’s locked away. So, graduate school was a bit more difficult for me, but that makes me no less of a graduate. I just had to do things a little differently for me to be able to comprehend the information. Even back in elementary days, I remember crying because I couldn’t answer the questions about the story that we had just read. Trial and error is how we acclimated to our situation and we do the same thing now.

My physical symptoms have me very sick so I’ll continue tomorrow. NAMASTE!!

#thispuzzledlife

#Thispuzzledlife

May 7, 2015August 10, 2019 darnold1975

Hello world!

I initially started blogging about 5 years ago. I’m originally from the deep south in Petal, MS. It’s exactly half way between Gulfport, MS and Jackson, MS and just across the bridge from Hattiesburg, MS. Petal has a population around 11,000 now but growing up as a small child and teenager there were significantly less people. Small town USA complete with the noisiness, conservative politics, religion, strong beliefs, great food, respect taught through the generations, southern hospitality, friendly neighbors who are loyal as family, resilient, head strong and loyalties within a “good ole’ boy network.” No more loyalties than any other small town I’m sure. But this “loyalty” hurt me and changed the course of my life forever.

Me and my wife completed Master’s degree in Couseling and then moved to Albuquerque, NM to begin our careers and start a family. But as life would have it, Mental Illness began to effect our hopes and dreams one day at a time. A few years later I would be diagnosed correctly….finally…with Dissociaitve Identity Disorder. We would eventually have two little boys that we adore and make you want to keep going with things get difficult.

My writing is about the struggles of living as an individual and LGBT family with a parent with severe mental illness. The sometimes the humor of it all and the often heartbreaking reality of the effects of abuse and mental illness on the indivial and family unit as a whole will keep those that struggle from feeling that you live on an island. And the families will see that you can love someone with a mental illness without becoming a prisoner to their behaviors. And maybe you will also see that the struggle for us as your family memeber have more struggles then what we let on at times.

Anyway, enjoy the laughs and tears with our family as they support me while I search for the puzzle pieces of an abusive life. I will say this…I don’t sugar coat anything. Sometimes my blogs can be graphic but abuse isn’t pretty. I’m in the process of healing so topics are frequently repeated and attitudes change from positive to dark. Either way, this is MY life and MY therapeutic journey towards healing. Hold on because this ride is bumpy.

Hit the “Follow” button and watch us grow. I don’t write every day because my functionality can change on a dime. I cover many different topics related to abuse and mental illness. This blog builds so read from the beginning and see Where we were. Where we are now. And where we are going. Happy Reading!

#thispuzzledlife

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