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 9, 2019 darnold1975

Shattered (Poetry)

Shattered

Life began being ripped away,

how that felt I can’t begin to say.

With no voice I lie and wait

Someone? Are you there? Touch is what I crave.

As a little girl touch was what I got.

I didn’t understand. It was painful and hot.

Teen years rolled around and I was locked away.

All I did was cry and pray.

I wanted to disappear in every way.

Everything has a price that must be paid.

She hated food and she hated life.

You did everything possible to make her your wife

You always promised you’d never hit her.

But oh those words were so strong and very bitter.

You cut her down and again she was little.

Take her fears and insecurities and made her very brittle.

She refused to leave and would not go.

All she was to you was a legal ho.

To substances she turned to dull her pain

Given the chance she’d do it again.

Many losses and now a new wife.

With two little boys and a new life.

The old life hangs on and the fears are great.

Everything about life she has learned to hate.

Friends and family she’s lost most but not all.

She’s somehow trapped again by four walls.

If they all knew what all it takes to live every day.

Forget the fact that she loves weed or that she’s gay.

Because of you A shattered psyche and a shell is all that is left.

She gets up every day wondering is this the day she will taste death?

By: Dana Landrum-Arnold

#Thispuzzledlife

June 8, 2019June 8, 2019 darnold1975

Inside The Rage

Inside the Rage

November 15, 2016

“Rage — whether in reaction to social injustice, or to our leaders’ insanity, or to those who threaten or harm us — is a powerful energy that, with diligent practice, can be transformed into fierce compassion.”
― Bonnie Myotai Treace

Explicit and detailed rage scene!

I peer through the widow making sure I’m at the correct house. I spot her sitting in her living room with that same scowl on her face from 27 years earlier. The memories of her hatred flood back with the force of Hurricane Katrina and almost paralyzing. This is the moment at which she would experience the same fear, humiliation, belittling and taunting that I once received from her. I have prepared for this moment my whole life. “Be strong, Dana. It’s now our turn” I tell myself. I knock on the door knowing that I would be recognized immediately. She opens the door. And before she can say anything I rush the door pushing her off balance back into her house and onto the floor. I pull my 9mm out and point it at her saying, “What you thought I forgot?! Now it’s time to even the score. Please I invite you to take a trip down memory lane with me. You might’ve forgotten what was said and done but I never did. And I never will.” I quickly tie her hands behind her with rope and lock the doors. I make her sit in a chair where she’s tied and threaten to be killed if she says anything without being asked. I tell her, “So this is what it’s like being one up on somebody. No wonder you like that so much.” With the “deer in the headlights” look on her face and tears welling up in her eyes I say, “Oh is the baby going to cry now? Bitch suck it up! I had to and I was a child!!!!”

I start pacing with adrenaline and anger at a level that I’ve never felt before. I feel certain that I’ll probably have a heart attack at any moment. But I don’t care. I tell her, “Think to yourself why are you and I back in this position?” Her breathing has become rapid and erratic. Tears are now flowing down her cheeks and she’s shaking with fear. “Hey you little bastard! I asked you a question!” I said as I threw something across the room breaking it against the opposing wall. She starts trying to talk but it sounds mostly like babble. “Shut that hole in your face and talk normal you little idiot! Is it all coming back to you now? Where is everybody to save you? Come on! Say something or do something so I can send your little unwanted ass to the office again. Hell, no wonder no one wanted you. I wouldn’t have wanted you either. You’re just a little piece of trash that no one will ever want” and with that I slapped her as hard as I could across the cheek. A whimper and a whence she continues to cry but now sobbing. “Suck it up, fish sticks! We’re just getting started.” I chuckled and say, “Look on the bright side….at least this won’t be every day for a year in a secluded storage closet.” “I didn’t do anything wrong!” she says. “Wrong answer, dumbass!” and I slam into her throat with my forearm knocking both she and the chair over with a thud. “IT AIN’T FUN WHEN THE RABBIT GOT THE GUN, IS IT?!!!!” She slowly shakes her head and starts sobbing louder. “You know what? I don’t give a fuck what you have to say right now!” I tell her. I rip a piece of duct tape off and put it over her mouth. “You should see how pathetic you look. You could dish it out to a kid but you can’t take it? This time I have a smile on my face and YOU have the tears. How does it feel now that the roles are reversed? Who gave you the right or idea that it was in any way ok for the way you treated children? You fucking disgust me!” As I look into her eyes, I can tell that she is experiencing the depth of fear that I did. The feeling I got was something of validation.

I slowly walk behind her and whisper in her ear….”No Child Left Behind” and “Teachers touch lives for a lifetime.” I ask her, “Do those statements mean anything to you? Because they mean everything to me. Remember when I fell through the cracks and had to endure your abuse by myself? Remember how you would embarrass me in front of my peers with your hatred? Do you remember any of the things I said to you being said to me? And I find out through the years that you’ve said similar things to other children? So why are you so surprised that I’m back? The guilt of not having found a way to stop you so no one else got hurt is why I’m back, bitch.” All she can do is look at me knowing well what I’m talking about but not knowing what I’m fully capable of doing. “You altered the course of my life forever with your abusive hatred! You took my fears and insecurities and used them as a weapon by making them public through humiliation! Your words and actions have left me unable to deal with life and on disability now. I got me degrees to prove you wrong but you still managed to raise your ugly head and cripple me this many years later. I survived you and your abuse. Will you survive mine?” I turn around facing the wall instead of her and I felt a small tear streams down my face. I turned around. I pointed the gun at her and hearing her muffled screams I say to her, “They say the root of all evil is money. But it’s not. The root of all evil is the abuse of power. You don’t matter to anyone. You never did.” As I’m starting to pull the trigger I’m startled by a loud noise. What I soon realize is that the loud noise was the ice maker in the refrigerator here at home. And I’ve been sitting in my recliner for a couple of hours looking at a chair on the other side of the room.

A flood of nausea from a now raging and might I say, angry, migraine is now plaguing me physically. I quickly try to figure out the current situation, time and place. My heart is pounding and adrenaline is rapidly flowing through me veins. I grab my pipe with my medical cannabis needing some ‘hurry up’ relief. I’m already having to play catch up with this migraine. My legs feel like they have been set on fire. And I’m doing my best to hold down lunch. I feel like something is trying to crawl out of me and run. From deep within I hear and feel the panic of “Let me out! Get away from me! Let me out! Get away from me!” This calls for a dab of wax. But not before I realize that the belt is wrapped around my arm as a tourniquet in the familiar preparation for cutting. I just lay back and let it happen. She needs relief and so do I. Several minutes go by and I slowly begin to reorient to my surroundings again with a neatly bandaged arm. I’m weak and exhausted but I now feel now, as though, I might not die. I look around the room and see that it resembles somewhat of a ditch house for drug addicts or the homeless. Things are broken that I have no memory of doing yet I was alone all day. I quietly begin to sob by myself partially out of fear. But also out of relief that this time no one was home but me. And I say once again to my internal guys, “Thank you for keeping me safe yet again.”

“I finally understood what could drive kids to show up with guns and shoot up their schools.”
― Nenia Campbell, Freaky Freshman

#Thispuzzledlife

June 8, 2019June 8, 2019 darnold1975

Back In The Saddle? We Think Not.

Back in the Saddle? We think not.

November 14, 2016

“Somehow the disorder hooks into all kinds of fears and insecurities in many clinicians. The flamboyance of the multiple, her intelligence and ability to conceptualize the disorder, coupled with suicidal impulses of various orders of seriousness, all seem to mask for many therapists the underlying pain, dependency, and need that are very much part of the process. In many ways, a professional dealing with a multiple in crisis is in the same position as a parent dealing with a two-year-old or with an adolescent’s acting-out behavior. (236)”
― Lynn I. Wilson, The Flock: The Autobiography of a Multiple Personality

Since my last blog, life has hit both me and my family like a tsunami. Attempting to live with Dissociate Identity Disorder has become a bigger challenge than either my wife or myself could’ve ever imagined. The agony of trying to find a therapist in the state of New Mexico who specializes in this disorder has been nothing less than impossible. The lack of knowledge on this disorder by therapists that we have dealt with has left my wife and I in tears and shaking our heads. We have decided that New Mexico has given us the best it has to offer….our boys. As far as competent mental health services, it like the rest of the country it leaves a lot to be desired.

I like many other clients resort to staying away from the therapy field, for the most part, because of the additional damage that has been done. There just aren’t enough therapists who are competent enough treating severe trauma related disorders. Let me lay it out….so, when an individual goes to a community mental health therapist they are usually being seen for depression, anxiety, OCD, eating disorders, phobias, etc. Where all of these are often seen in trauma related disorders the thing that sets this apart from DID is the fact that there’s often one issue that becomes problematic. In DID, there are often numerous issues that on a 1-10 scale are all busting out at a 15 at any given time. Additionally, my psyche has compartmentalized memories of the traumas which has created alters all with their own personal needs, fears and individual diagnoses. There are times throughout the days and weeks where I have absolutely no memory of anything. I or shall I say some part of me could’ve been having a conversation and interacting with you as though I was completely coherent. Trust me…being told I’ve done things leaves me just as stunned as telling someone that I have no idea what had transpired during my encounter with them. As frustrating as I’ve seen therapists get while attempting to blindly treat this disorder, what has been the most damaging are uncontrolled egos. Where there might be a lack of knowledge of specific trauma related issues, whatever happened to genuine compassion instead of therapeutic arrogance? Luckily, there has been only a one, thus far, that hasn’t jumped out of the pot just because the water got hot. Personally that has done more for peace of mind than any therapeutic relationship in the past.

Slowly, I hope to fill in some time gaps from the last 1-2 years. Our boys are what seems to propel this family into continuing the often heart breaking and gut wrenching symptoms and effects that this disorder is taking on both me, Mel and our kids. They keep days when smiling isn’t possible at least somewhat tolerable. The purity of love between a child and a parent is one that’s individual and impenetrable.

I won’t lie and pretend that everything is Ok because it’s not. Bad experiences therapeutically has left me incredibly rigid from the sting of unethical behaviors. Physically I stay sick every single day in some way. But truthfully, fear keeps me paralyzed. I have in many ways become a prisoner to my house. Driving has become too dangerous because of uncontrolled dissociation and switching. My eyesight changes as alters change making being able to see while driving anything but safe. Getting lost while driving and not knowing where I’m located and, at times, not knowing the city or state where I’m located presents its own unique hurdles. Sometimes daily migraines up to 17 hours before any relief is achieved. And, well, after the previous 3 year battle to prove my innocence in a DUI case because of a dissociative episode while driving has left me quite shaky when it comes to driving by myself.

Going into public now requires that I be heavily medicated to keep the pure terror and panic attacks to a somewhat manageable level and keep anything unpleasant from happening like vomiting; or a terrified and paranoid alter from appearing; or not being able to complete a sentence because too many are trying to talk and I sound like I’m stuttering. I also seem, at times, to not be able to count money or to be able to answer routine questions asked by anyone at a business without little beads of perspiration on my brow because I can’t comprehend what they’re asking or what the conversation consists of. With Mel by my side the help is there but the embarrassment is often times unavoidable. When I’m by myself , I’m socially a wreck. I make it out the house and into my vehicle only to turn around within a couple of miles because the anxiety gets intolerable. I then retreat to my life behind the walls of our house wondering if and when this nightmare will ever end.

With so many stigmas surrounding the disorder and myths about how it should present itself, it’s no wonder so many professionals haven’t the slightest idea what small glimpse of a world they might see before them. Strictly based on the ideas that Hollywood portrays is another reason so many have the opinions that to have DID you must resemble Sybil Dorsett in the movie Sybil. When, in fact, switching can be very subtle and unnoticeable. There is also the ongoing debate about whether or not Dissociative Identity Disorder is an actual disorder. This disorder has been in the manual since the DSM-III (Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, 3rd edition, 1980) when it first called this disorder Hysterical Neurosis, Dissociative Type. Since then, the sometimes strange and hurtful behaviors and complications of this disorder have been studied. The knowledge and reasons for the disorder forming are of a much higher prevalence than once thought. But an even higher prevalence of misdiagnosis sometimes for many years due to the lack of education about how to diagnose properly. This disorder is very complex, perplexing, frustrating and at times damaging both physically and emotionally to the patient and the families. Very simply stated….. Dissociative Identity Disorder is very much a reality for our family.

#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

June 6, 2019March 2, 2020 darnold1975

420: Not Just A Stoner’s Holiday

420: Not just a Stoner’s Holiday

“If the words “life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness” don’t include the right to experiment with your own consciousness, then the Declaration of Independence isn’t worth the hemp it was written on.”
– Terence McKenna

This time exactly one year ago I was attending the High Times Cannabis Cup in Denver, Colorado. I didn’t view it then as a ‘get high free-for-all’ but rather as a ‘looking for new meds adventure.’ Believe it or not, there is a difference in marijuana and how it affects the body based on what type of condition that’s being treated. Yes, I did happen to run into Snoop Dogg at one of the dispensaries. And yes it was awesome! This year, however, since our little boy is on the horizon, my wife advised that I stay close to home. Notice I said my wife advised me. So, I…..took her advice.

Anyway, I think one of the common misconceptions about those of us who use cannabis whether as a medicine or recreationally are seen as the stereotypical ‘stoners’ like Cheech and Chong. I also think that most people’s perceptions are that most consumption is through smoking out of a pipe or a bong (water pipe). I’m not going to attempt to go through all the specifics about the different strains because there are more than I can count. I will say that this medicine in made in the bud, edible, wax, shatter, tincture, salve and pill forms.

Why do I seem to harp so much about this medication? It is also helping me to survive the wounds from the past. The addiction community, depending on the area of the country, are usually not in favor of any ‘mood altering’ substances. Think about this…..ever been around your spouse or yourself in the mornings before you’ve had your coffee? I’m just sayin’. Yep, very mood altering. Now, I’m not making light of the concerns. That was just something I thought of that I personally found amusing.

In earlier blog posts, I’ve stated my concerns about being a former practicing drug addict and being suggested to use cannabis as a medication. Not everyone’s situation is the same and I get that. I can say that my wife and I felt like we were in a ‘do or die’ situation. Is it mood altering for me? My wife would tell you, “Thank God it is!” With everything that goes on in my brain on a daily basis, vaporizing some medical grade cannabis can actually bring me back down to reality and into a much calmer state.

Now, some of the arguments I’ve heard against medical cannabis is, “not everyone is going to have a legitimate medical condition.” You know what? That’s true. How many prescription drug addicts have legitimate conditions that require the AMOUNT of medication that they’re taking? I would much rather all the prescription pill drug addicts trade all their pills in for a designated amount of weed each month and see how far down the death rate goes and the overdose rate goes. All of those amounts will correlate to the amount of Cheetos and Girl Scout Cookie stock rising to an all time astronomical high.

These are very ‘tongue n’ cheek’ views but getting heated usually doesn’t help much. I just know that I was very closed minded and had very tunnel vision on addiction and how it MUST be treated before moving to New Mexico from the South. My former clients, additional recovery services and my own struggles with mental illness have led me to a less rigid view on this drug. I still maintain a somewhat rigid view on just about any other drug. The benefits of marijuana are seen and felt everyday in the LIVES of the LANDRUM-ARNOLD FAMILY. If this medication can bring me this much mental and physical relief from PTSD and other complications associated with a lifetime of abuse. Surely, our soldiers should be handed an ounce and a card when they step back on to U.S. soil from having to kill people and see their buddies killed just so I can be free.

Let me wonder just for a minute out loud about things in the elusive ‘perfect world.’ I wonder if cannabis were available to everyone how many people would still be on social security disability long term. I wonder how many suicides could or would be prevented. I wonder how much the crime rate would go down. I wonder how many soldiers would actually be able to adjust to civilian life instead of living with an ongoing war between their ears that, from personal experience, is unbearable. I wonder how many more people with physical disabilities could get the relief the need and beg for daily? I wonder how many children could have a better childhood free from seizures. I wonder how many people would and could live instead of dying from cancer. I wonder how long it’s going to be for others to have a quality of life also.

I guess I should get you a little bit of information about how the term “420” became the big “stoner’s holiday.” So, here’s a little explanation from good ole Wikipedia which is NOT a scholarly source, I might add…..

A group of people in San Rafael, California, calling themselves the Waldosbecause “their chosen hang-out spot was a wall outside the school”, used the term in connection with a fall 1971 plan to search for an abandoned cannabis crop that they had learned about. The Waldos designated the Louis Pasteur statue on the grounds of San Rafael High School as their meeting place, and 4:20 p.m. as their meeting time. The Waldos referred to this plan with the phrase “4:20 Louis”. Multiple failed attempts to find the crop eventually shortened their phrase to simply “4:20”, which ultimately evolved into a codeword that the teens used to mean marijuana-smoking in general. Mike Edison says that Steven Hager of High Times was responsible for taking the story about the Waldos to “mind-boggling, cult like extremes” and “suppressing” all other stories about the origin of the term.

Hager wrote “Stoner Smart or Stoner Stupid?” in which he called for 4:20 p.m. to be the socially accepted hour of the day to consume cannabis. He attributes the early spread of the phrase to Grateful Dead followers, who were also linked to the city of San Rafael.

Now wasn’t that just the most profound information you’ve ever read? Sounds like a true stoner story for sure. Some say that ‘street weed’ and ‘medical grade’ are the same. They are NOT. Medical grade is governed so closely as to what they can use on the plants to make sure they’re safe for the public. Street weed, well…..is not governed and is often sprayed with chemicals which can cause paranoia, psychosis, etc. depending on the chemicals used.

The medication I use today has three side effects: eat, laugh, and sleep. Yep, that’s about it. I still have other conditions that require additional medications. Let me remind you that marijuana is a medication not a ‘cure all.’ Therefore, there are some conditions that still are unknown or cannot be treated with marijuana that is known at this time. One thing I do know, for ME, all of my psych meds are rolled up into one vaporizer.

420 the ‘stoner’s holiday’ is written a few different ways such as: 4/20, 420, 4:20. Most see this just as another day for people to get high. But for those of us who depend on this “weed”, “flower”, “medication”, “bud”, “ganja”, “herb” or whatever you want to call it to simply have a quality of life. We see this as a day to celebrate this medication that helps make life worth living again.

#Thispuzzledlife

June 6, 2019June 6, 2019 darnold1975

“I Believe You….”

4.12.15

“I Believe You. It’s Not Your Fault.”

—-Anonymous

Ok, so just maybe the quote isn’t one from a famous philosopher, actor, psychologist, theorist or author. Technically, anyone could say those two sentences. After thinking about some of the words for the past couple of weeks, I have come to the following conclusion. We’ve all heard the saying that something can, “make or break someone.” Well, here’s a rather stunning example of just that. In the therapeutic world these two sentences can, in fact, ‘make or break’ a trauma survivor.

There was someone that I was working with recently that I asked, “Do you believe me?” This had been a question that had been gnawing at my insides for a long time that I never voiced until then. The response was, “It doesn’t matter what I believe. It’s about helping you deal with the feelings.” Now, why is this significant? Firstly, I would like to point out that I do not believe in any way that this was said maliciously. However, something within my internal ‘system’ just wouldn’t let it rest. I instantly my anger grew by the second. The anger was not creeping but sprinting straight from my gut to my brain at a speed that I was, unfortunately, extremely familiar. All I wanted to do was get out of where I was and get as far away as I could. At the same time, I was very confused at how very angry I was becoming over seemingly something so insignificant. I just wanted to get out of the situation. I felt as though there was about to be collateral damage.

Later, once I’ve had time to allow the physical feelings to subside and for my brain to return to the typical crazy norm, I search inside for answers. What could’ve possibly triggered me so badly? I didn’t know but….it didn’t feel good. My body had exploded with tension in all of my 2000 parts. And the only way, I can describe what my brain felt like was like an earthquake had shaken everything into disarray. Once again, I sit and listen to the ranting and raving of some of the ‘insiders.’ I just try to remain a by standard and listen.

I also can’t help but to feel a very overwhelming sense of fear that has me partially paralyzed. I’m trying to sort through everything while trying to maintain and it’s not working. Me and the medical marijuana become rather close friends for the rest of the day. My mind and body was screaming for relief. I talked some to my wife but kept a lot inside to try and sort out on my own. What had just happened?!

I was looking for a great big ‘a-ha’ or ‘bright light’ moment and it came down to something this simple, yet, very important. Perpetrators are master manipulators in every way possible. The two most significant things I was always told was that, “No one would ever believe me and somehow it was MY fault.” While I was not outright told that I wasn’t believed, I was also told that it didn’t matter. I was beyond crushed. Alters in my system went ballistic. There were ‘internal’ tears, anger, screaming, raging, blaming, hurt and pain that was resulting in a chaotic mess. Each day, I find out more and more ‘triggers’ that can lead to a reaction. It looks like we found another one.

One of the advantages of being a trauma survivor is hyper awareness of surroundings. Advantages how? I notice everything that is going on around me down to minute details. That’s how, in some instances, I was able to stay ahead of my perpetrators and stay safe. Also having a degree in a behavioral science helps understand behavior as well. Therapeutic relationships of any kind especially with someone in power can only thrive if there is trust that has developed. Once that is gone so is the relationship. What if you were someone’s one and only contact and they came straight out of a lifetime of trauma and abuse to someone who doesn’t believe that it matters whether or not we as trauma survivors place a high importance on being believed about what has happened to us? For this brief moment in time, my abusers seemed to be correct, we didn’t seem to be believed. Does it scare you? It did me.

#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, 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, 2019May 30, 2019 darnold1975

And So Our Day Begins….

And So Our Day Begins…..

1.29.15

“All men make mistakes, but a good man yields when he knows his course is wrong, and repairs the evil. The only crime is pride.”

― Sophocles, Antigone

My body awakens with a severe headache. Legs slowly begin to cramp. Body aches with a detox feel. In my heart I know it’s my body releasing trauma that’s been trapped for many years. I don’t freak out about it because I know what it is. However, it doesn’t make it feel any better.

Session is later this morning. Everyone inside is always on edge. It’s like being in a classroom hoping and praying that your name isn’t called. Somehow the topic turns down a familiar road. Except this morning there is extreme nausea. I now regret driving here but beg for more at the same time. I medicate have taken my pre-therapy dose of phenergan. I also have been sitting outside the office listening to my music and smoking cannabis wax waiting for the relief from some of the nausea and anxiety. I always arrive early just to take time to prepare for what could possibly be discussed. My goal for the day: Don’t puke in the therapist office.

Eating disorder came out unscathed again! Wheww!!!! And none of the ‘yuckies’ today either. Just an intense amount if physical pain with a brain to match an out of control daycare center.

I tried the best I could to comprehend my therapist’s end of the session instructions. I felt like I was in a spinning tunnel. Insiders were really upset, some were mad, sad and/or both. Recent life events has been both a blessing and a curse. My system’s walls have been dropped now leaving me emotionally very vulnerable. Driving has become a topic of concern the last few months. This morning, I can say that I was actually scared to drive. This is the one thing I feel I have left is driving. I don’t do it much anyway because of the symptoms of the condition. This is hurting my heart with this realization of possibly losing some of my independence.

Where did the session go? I was just talking to her.

Right now, my body and mind knows the torture of flashbacks, and the repeated screaming at the top of their lungs. I’m nauseous and mentally I leave there saying, “I’m ok.” Knowing I’m not. There’s a little pride issue I have so there I said it. That’s why I didn’t say anything.

I sit in the car trying to gather my bearings. My head is spinning. People are yelling from the flashbacks. Alters are in an uproar. And all at once, my body begins to cramp all over. I have my music blaring trying to keep me grounded for the moment without drawing attention. I sit for a few minutes and it turns into____? I don’t know what time I left. 5 minutes? 20 minutes? 1 hour?

I back out slowly like a shaky toddler. I know instantly something still isn’t ok. To save my pride, I pull out safely into traffic. But can’t quite understand where I’m going or how to get there. I look up and I’m turning onto the base. Yay! I made it home but how? Wow! Having a moment like that can wake you up. The rest of the day….yea not sure about it either. I’ll get the daily recap later this afternoon from Mel. As far as the rest goes, brief notes telling me what topic was discussed in therapy are all I remember from the day.

So much to discuss, so little time. I feel like I’m doing everything I can. I have even told my therapists which topics I will try to ‘crawfish’ out of because of the uncomfortability. I write on this blog because everyone one of us deserves to be heard fully for once. Hopefully, better days ahead.

#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

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, 2019August 10, 2019 darnold1975

Winners

8.14.14

“It isn’t the mountains ahead to climb that wear you out; it’s the pebble in your shoe.”
-Muhammad Ali

Today is one of those days where I regret being able to open my eyes. I rolled out of bed this morning and felt like I had been at war all night. My body feels like I’m detoxing from a chemical that I haven’t taken. And it’s already begun happening at 6:00am. I feel the overwhelming sense of sadness mixed with anxiety. The nausea is hitting like a gulf coast wave from Hurricane Katrina. I feel that overwhelming sense of needing to vomit. Halleluer! I must not have eaten before I went to bed last night! I didn’t see any remnants of anything. So, I grab my cannabis wax pen and take a couple of hits off it to settle my entire system down. This has also helped to combat a horrible headache that was beginning to hit like a thousand hammers. Then the diarrhea hits like some kind of ‘shock and awe’ attack on Iraq. How soon until I have another acupuncture session?

I’m actually catching a break from these symptoms right now. The medical marijuana is just like any other medication, it too has its limits. However, the combination between both mmj and acupuncture and a drastic slow down in therapy seems to be slowing everything but my mind. What was started about a month ago and was exacerbated when we traveled home has continued to plague every inch of my mind. This blog, no doubt, is an exit for both frustration and education on certain topics. But, for now, certain things must be kept hidden to ensure safety on several different levels.

Am I just trying to have a “poor, pitful me” moment today? Hell no! You’re just getting a ‘firsthand’ look at what some people’s days are like. Like I’ve said before, “writing about these topics on my own abuse has had numerous effects on me both mentally and physically.” Yes, I realize that I had an awesome life up next to others who have had some horrific things happen in their own lives. I’m not going to compare stories because this blog is not about minimizing anyone’s personal traumas. Have I cried about feeling so guilty about being upset over seemingly insignificant things? Absolutely! But, the fact is that things did happen. I’ve held that shame and guilt so long that my mind and body feels like I’m melting. And I’ve stuffed and stuffed feelings for so long that I’m not only nervous….I’m terrified to work with them.

The “special” people helping to guide me through this process must either be angels from God or “gluttons for punishment.” LMAO!!! I feel like I’m really just beginning this treatment even though, I’ve been in therapy for a few years now. I just don’t have the ability to keep my defenses up like I use to.

As an athlete, “YOU NEVER GIVE UP!” You play until you hear the whistle blow. This drive is not one that can be taught. You must be born with a love for the game and the athletic ability to become the best ballplayer you can become. I got my softball playing nickname ‘Charlie Hustle’ from one of my earliest and dearest coaches assigned to me by Nick Kolinksy. He always told me that I played a lot like Pete Rose and never gave up. I smile every time I remember as a kid playing ball for him and always feeling a sense of ‘safety’ around him. He would tell me sometimes, “Dana, that was a $100 catch and a .10 throw.” He made his point very clear but didn’t crush my self esteem as a ballplayer or as a person in the process. He and other coaches are on my list of ‘special’ people that had a dramatic and positive impact on my life from a very early age. I never complained about going to practice or games. That was a way out for me. Playing ball was my life. Pete Rose said it the best way that I know how to describe the love that I had for the game.

“I’d walk through hell in a gasoline suit to play baseball.”

—Pete Rose

Occasionally, that old, washed up athlete comes alive in me again with reminders about how “putting one foot in front of the other is still considered progress.” I get caught up a lot on what the definition of ‘progress’ or ‘winning’ is about in regards to therapy. Sometimes, the best I can do for that day is just get out of the bed. Even doing that means that I made progress because one foot had to be put in front of another foot for that to be accomplished.

Sometimes people ask me what it’s like to process trauma. To me it’s all about going to war, except this time, I know what I’ll be faced with. I have survived it once so, it can be done. Do I have the strength? That remains to be seen. I relive everything all day everyday anyway. What makes this situation different? I have actively made a choice to volunteer to go through it again. The fear can make me angry, frustrated and paralyze me at times. I must admit that it’s very unfair to be almost 40 years old and still paralyzed in many ways by what others have done. I can hear some of the old, southern biddies saying, “She made her bed, now, she can lie in it.” And that’s fine, if that’s your reality. My reality is this….”I don’t care what the circumstances were…No one deserves to be abused in any way….EVER! My ex-husband, teacher, baby sitters and birth mom didn’t deserve the abuse that they suffered at the hands of their family and people they trusted. When the effects of the abuse begin affecting them then, the new generation of abuse is born and is taken out on other people who become their victims just like I did.”

This time….”I WILL NOT ONLY SURVIVE, I WILL WIN!”

#thispuzzledlife

#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, 2019 darnold1975

Fears And Anxieties

Fears and Anxieties

August 4, 2014

“Of all the liars in the world, sometimes the worst are your own fears.”

—-Rudyard Kipling

Most people who know me would say that I’m very much a “social butterfly.” I loved being around people. Hell, my motto has always been..”The more, the merrier.” These days I would rather have my uterus pulled through my nostrils than to be around people. Being on the opposite side of the country from where my abuse occurred definitely helps. Regardless of whether or not they are “rational or irrational” they are still fears that I face every single day. Some of the fears and/or phobias, I haven’t had to deal with in a very long time. Not all of the fears do I know the origin? That, I suppose, is what is happening through this therapeutic process.

So, on our latest trip to the small, southern town everything that had already been opened was immediately exacerbated by being back in the town where the abuse occurred. Our little family, drove back there in search of some specialized treatment. I was nervous, but desperate……so I agreed. What I encountered when I arrived was a host of feelings and emotions that I couldn’t handle. Even the thought of going back to that town can trigger lots of anxiety, nausea, vomiting and migraines. Being there in the flesh, I’ve realized causes more harm than good. We are considered a “minority family” and I have always expected the looks and comments when we go out in public. I also wear a haircut that’s not considered “normal” there. So, this also brings about stares and comments. Remember, that with PTSD, situations can be perceived as a threat even when there isn’t one. For me, being in public and around people is like lighting my skin, mind and body on fire. I can’t possibly keep an eye on everyone and their actions to assure “safety” for both me and my friends and family.

When I was married to my ex-husband, the how I ate and what I ate always came under great scrutiny. So, many times, I would wait until he would go to bed and eat what I wanted. My greatest fear was that he would see me eating and make his venomous comments again. My weight was always monitored in some way by him. So, going back to visit has very, much intensified my fears of eating. I don’t like eating in front of people I know for fear of judgmental comments or thoughts. These fears are what fueled my eating disorder when I was a teenager. Eating in public, now only happens with shades on and Ipod going all while having just “medicated” before I even leave the house. That is the only way that makes being in public even possible, at this point.

Another thing that I have realized is a HUGE trigger for me is change. Keeping things the same in my surroundings is very safe feeling. I hate it when I walk into an area that I’m very familiar with and it has been changed. This sets off “red flags” about my surroundings being different and thinking that I should be very concerned that something or someone might harm me. This is also why I do very well with a rigid schedule. If my schedule is going to change in any manner, I have to know ahead of time so, I can mentally prepare. I don’t, however, do well with rigid people. Once again, I’ve been perpetrated by very rigid/narcissistic people. Any hint of this from a person, sets off fireworks throughout my mind and body.

I told you earlier that music got me through a lot of abuse. And now, it’s helping me while I’m attempting to heal from the abuse. Music always spoke for and to me in a way that I can understand. My music choices are very eclectic and for a good reason. If you’ve ever been around me much, you know that my moods are just as eclectic. Lmao!!!!

#Thispuzzledlife

May 30, 2019May 31, 2019 darnold1975

Just Another Day

Just another day…

8.3.2014

“Long as you been living, you ain’t NEVER heard of anyone overdosin’ on marijuana. You might-a thought that he was dead. He ain’t dead. He gonna wake up in 30 minutes hungry enough to eat up everything in your house. That’s the side effects: hungry, happy, sleepy.” That’s it.

—Katt Williams

Yesterday was a difficult day. I have a lot of “social anxieties and phobias” these days among other things. Sometimes, I try to dismiss this notion and go with the “bright ideas” in my brain. Yea, didn’t work out so well yesterday either. So, I said that I would reveal something new about me when I posted again. Let me clarify that this is “new” to this blog.

I am a “medical marijuana” patient. While there are still mixed feelings about this particular “medication” and whether or not it’s an actual “medication”, let me try to explain what it does for me. So, for the time being, just put all of your preconceived notions about cartels, societal issues, addiction and anything else that might interfere with you actually understand what it’s like to take this as a medication.

I must admit that when, I first encountered this topic with a client of mine at the time, I was very skeptical. He spoke about the relief he got from this medication for chronic pain. I was working at a methadone clinic when I met him. Coming from a very conservative area of the country that is very 12-Step based on the topic of addiction, I too was very leery to say the least. I didn’t make a big deal about it because, I knew by that time, that every recovery model doesn’t fit every client. So, I kept my eyes and ears open about the topic of marijuana as a medication.

At the time, I was currently, carrying a diagnosis of Bipolar II and PTSD. So, the regimen at the time was counseling and Lithium among many other medications. I was taking medications to counteract the side effects of other medications. I genuinely just felt bad from all of the side effects of everything. I soon developed lithium toxcity as a result of having no blood work done in 4 months of taking this medication. So, after hallucinating at work and looking and appearing that I had had a stroke, I was rushed to the local ER. I was terrified! I couldn’t determine whether or not I was hungry, if I had to use the bathroom; I couldn’t walk properly and had very slurred speech with facial drooping. My wife had to bathe me and take me to the bathroom because the effects were so severe. She was also 8 months pregnant at the time of these events. I soon lost my job because I couldn’t control the effects that was happening.

My psychiatrist continued until September of 2013 to try every combination known to man to help settle the emotional and physical stress that I was experiencing. After 4 years of trying any and every medication combination and always seeing very minimal relief for a short period, he suggested medical marijuana (MMJ). Being a recoverying drug addict, I was scared because of the lack of knowledge that I had about the plant and its benefits. my medications were already being dosed to me by my wife because sometimes I wouldn’t remember taking medications and would either take too much or none at all. Her dosing me was something we put into place early on due to my addiction history. So, really, this was going to be nothing different. Luckily, New Mexico is one of the few states that recognize PTSD as a worthy diagnosis to receive such medication.

I do understand the argument that one can make the outcome of any study be biased in results. I have to go off personal experience and information from scholarly journals about different problem areas. Some people think that PTSD (post traumatic stress disorder) is a disorder that is somewhat meant for soldiers that return from war or veterans. No, I didn’t serve in the military. But, trust me, I’ve been in a “war” the majority of my life. These battles, I fought alone.

PTSD develops after a terrifying ordeal that involved physical harm or the threat of physical harm. People who have PTSD may feel stressed or frightened even when they’re no longer in danger. The areas of the brain that are affected are the amygdala and the pre-frontal cortex (http://www.nimh.nih.gov, 2014). PTSD from the many years of trauma have all but crippled me. I am in constant fear of any and everything. I have struggled a good part of my life with suicidal ideations and feelings of worthlessness. I have physical symptoms that can be debilitating every single day. I have flashbacks every single day. I have basically become a shell of the person that I was even in high school. Some days…I’m just lucky to get through the day without vomiting.

I have essentially “glazed” over the full extent of my life of trauma. Certain information will be reserved only for the professionals that work with me. I am currently on a few typical medications, as well as, the MMJ because my physical symptoms or psychosomatic symptoms are so bad. When you get to a point sometimes, it doesn’t matter what people suggest, you’ll try.

Since being on MMJ, I was able to return to feeling like I could get things accomplished during the day. From who and what I used to be, I’m completely different in several ways. Even 6 years of a college education, isn’t bigger than what was done to me and many others. So, say what you want about “medical marijuana” but it keeps a bullet out of my mouth everyday so far. Not every medication, even when it’s considered ‘alternative’, is used to just get high. i have been off the MMJ for several days at a time and there was no withdrawals either physical and/or psychological. My intention on trying to change your views on “medical marijuana” was never here. I just wanted to let you know how just maybe this ‘evil drug’ has helped me. Medical marijuana and “street” bought marijuana is completely different. The controls on what can and will be used on the plant in regards to chemicals is very heavily governed. Insurance doesn’t pay because politicians are still in bed with the pharmaceutical companies. But, we can file what we pay in a year on taxes for medical purposes. Even so, it’s a small price to pay for me to be able to try and aid in helping me to learn to live life and to be able to watch our son grow up.

#Thispuzzledlife

May 30, 2019August 14, 2019 darnold1975

Tears Of A Clown

Tears of a Clown

9.7.14

“The role of a clown and a physician are the same – it’s to elevate the possible and to relieve suffering.”

—Patch Adams

This post is one that I need to write but also dread. Why? Because, I’m about to unmask the ‘clown’ that so many have known from both me and my brother, Levi Pierce. I can’t describe what the last week or so has been like for both me and my little family. I’ve been from one end of the spectrum of feelings and emotions to the other end. My body feels like it has been in a war where I got my ass kicked from just the stress and trauma of the situations. My heart feels like a shredded mess of suicidal rags. By the way, that was just a metaphor. Don’t get all excited about how I word things. The subjects that I will be discussing are very emotional on every level.

There are very few people that can make me tear up just by hearing their name. Levi Pierce, Melody Landrum-Arnold and Marshall Landrum-Arnold are three of the people that if I remove the mask and tell you from an emotional level how I feel, you’ll definitely see the tears streaming down my face. It’s automatic. I can’t stop it unless I switch back to talking about them from my head instead of my heart. All three of these people hold very special places in my heart. I also have a very deep love for all three individuals.

I’ve already told you what an abnormally normal and spiritual connection I have with my brother. On the morning of August 28, 2014, Marshall and I woke up and were in our morning routine which includes calling Momma Mel. So, when I called she told me that there was a message from Levi’s wife that he had been in an accident. I briefly check facebook messenger to see if there was a message from her on my phone. I didn’t see one from her but there was a message from his brother that said, “It’s about Levi please call.” And instantly, my heart began to break and my soul began to die. I had not called yet but I knew it was bad.

With tears streaming down my face as I write this, I was terrified to make that call. I felt in my body and mind nothing but horror. I finally picked up the phone and made the dreaded call to his wife. She said that he had been in a bad motorcycle accident and that the right side of his face was crushed. There was a possibility that because the eye socket was crushed that he could be blind in that eye. He had a broken jaw and needed facial reconstruction. They couldn’t do surgery because his blood pressure and other vitals wouldn’t stabilize. But, for the moment, he was alive. She and I disconnected the phone call. I did ask her to please keep me posted.

I call Mel at work and instantly fall apart. I couldn’t think, breathe or feel anything except the pain similar to what I felt when my Nannie died. She told me she would make arrangements to come home. I said, “We’re heading to Arkansas because there was still a chance.” All I hoped was that somehow he would at least wait for me to arrive to say goodbye since nothing was for sure. I was utterly devastated already.

My wife and his wife are so understanding and respectful of the relationship that he and I have. There’s never been even a hint of jealousy from either one. Even though I’m very much a gay and he is very heterosexual, both of them know how very close of a relationship that we have a very special connection that they also see but can’t explain. The subject of making the trip was never a question. That’s just what we were going to do. I began vomiting and tried to start packing. I knew that I was walking but I couldn’t feel the ground. I couldn’t even understand what I should put in the suitcase. My “core” had just taken a heavy hit.

We end up leaving somewhere around 2 pm that afternoon. I was smoking weed like a chain smoking cigarette junkie. I was getting no relief from the physical pain. And nothing was going to be able to touch my emotions now. This is the part where Mel could’ve given me arsenic and I would’ve never known. I was such an emotional mess that she gave me what only God knows really? From what she’s told me, I slept the entire trip. We arrived sometime around 3 am in the morning to the motel in Arkansas. She said that I wanted to go then but she was exhausted too. And yes, Marshall was with us. I have no recollection of anything except arriving at the hospital on a mission to see my brother.

When we finally, find the floor where he was, I started making some mental notes about surroundings and people there. I look off to the left and I recognize a face, it’s his dad after 20+ years. I see a couple more people who look at me for just busting up in his room. I see his wife, Charlene Pierce and his brother, Chris Pierce. Mel was somewhere trailing close behind. I don’t know if I even said hello before turning and finally making eye contact with him. He still had not been able to go to surgery because of his vitals. We both teared up and he says the most precious words that I could barely understand….”Hey, sis.” I couldn’t help but be able to feel his fear for what he was about to face. I cried for him, his wife and his family. There were a lot of people in his room that I didn’t know. But, I hugged him what I could and just held his hand and cried. I wasn’t ‘snot crying’ then but I felt it creeping. The nurse comes in, takes his vitals and says, “You’re vitals have returned to normal. We’ll get you ready for surgery.” I can laugh about it now, but I think I was like, “What does that mean?” Normally, I would have the best time with people who asked questions like that. Today was different. I couldn’t comprehend anything other than an all over fear that I had never felt.

Now, let me take just a second and let you know that I don’t take any credit for how his vitals were able to almost instantly return to normal. All I know is that we have such a very powerful and spiritual relationship. But, this time, I couldn’t get his back like when we were kids. I just had to be there for he and his family.

At some point, the surgery technicians came to get him. The staff were letting some of the family give him good luck wishes and kisses. I took a moment and went outside the room to try and pull it all together. Yea, that didn’t work. His brother and I are a few of the last to see him. He’s shaking all over and told me, “I’m scared.” I said, “Me too.” I told him, “We’ve always shared the load for each other. Let me take your fear and pain off your shoulders. I love you.” He simply said, “You better be here when I get back.” That was one thing he need not worry about, I wasn’t going anywhere. He wanted me to hold his hand and walk him down to surgery. I kissed him on him forehead and told him that I loved him. And that day you would’ve seen the “Tears of Two Clowns.”

#Thispuzzledlife

May 27, 2019May 28, 2019 darnold1975

The Simple Things

8.24.17

“You know all that sympathy that you feel for an abused child who suffers without a good mom or dad to love and care for them? Well, they don’t stay children forever. No one magically becomes an adult the day they turn eighteen. Some people grow up sooner, many grow up later. Some never really do. But just remember that some people in this world are older versions of those same kids we cry for.”
― Ashly Lorenzana

I must admit how very frustrated and tired of feeling so bad every single day. Is all of the pain worth the alleged outcome? I’m not trying to be just nasty and negative. I have always doubted thinking that things could and would turn out good. It has always been easier for me to be able to accept things better when I view things as having a bad outcome so, that I wasn’t disappointed from what I see as unrealistic expectations. If things turn out good, well now, that’s just a bonus for the day.

Having never worked at this deep of a level processing trauma, I don’t really know what to expect. However, I know what is happening physically and the answers for relief haven’t been found yet. Acupuncture does work for a couple of days on most of my physical issues. However, I’m looking to be able to have normal aches and pains from being close to age 40. Not protests from my body as a result of abuse.

I’m actually taking somewhat of a break from individual therapy for a few weeks. Having the blog has been a good “out” for me. However, no matter whether I’m processing on a deeper level with a therapist or just documenting my daily struggles through this life of mental illness, I wake up most mornings wondering when relief will arrive. When will I feel as though, I’m strong like I use to be to seemingly be able to handle anything that came my way?

I have a very loving and caring wife. I have the most awesome, sporadically psychotic toddler that between he and I we understand that we both “hung the moon” for each other by just existing. I would love nothing more than to be able to fully accept and be able to “feel” love without questions and wondering about people and their intentions. I would love to be able to be hugged by someone and not have the feeling like, “they have me now! Back away, back away! They’re going to hurt you!” I would love to be able to except someone’s kindness and feel that I deserve someone being kind to me without feeling embarrassed and wanting to hide.

I’m not so calloused to think that everyone walking the planet is bad. I’ve met some truly AWESOME people in my life. There are some individuals that I’ve met here in Albuquerque, which I love dearly. Relationships regardless of what kind of relationship they require work, trust and communication for them to be both healthy and rewarding. I learned some hard lessons about being in a very “unhealthy” relationship that I continue each day to pay dearly as a result.

When do we as victims begin to metamorphosis into just another survivor with a story? When do I and many other people get the “peace” that we deserve? When is the high price that I’ve paid for many years for decisions I’ve made finally reach the part where “enough is enough?” When, where and how do I get to reap the goodness from the universe for always pushing myself to be the best I can be?

Some days are more difficult than others to experience for everyone. But, imagine this……..

“The same daily struggles that most families have. Except that when you open your eyes, you have visions of being touched inappropriately to the point that you seem to feel it. Voices telling you, “you’ll never be anything without me!”; “I would’ve given you away too!” “You’re a nasty little girl!” Visions and sensations of things you were made to do and did not choose to do. Being able to take your child to daycare and return home without feeling like someone is following you. I just want to be to able to go in public without the use of both typical and alternative medicine just to keep from vomiting because of anxiety. Or just being able to give and experience a “genuine love” from your soul mate.

All I wish for everyday is to be happy. I would venture to say that most people want that as well. Instead, I live in both physical and mental misery. I see, hear, smell and fear things from my past all the time. I have always believed that someone or something else that I couldn’t see was there for the events. But, having a very minority view of these events, I DON’T believe that God was there. Someone was for sure, but it wasn’t GOD!

Some people might say, “What are you griping about? You have weed legally now.” I wish I could say that medical marijuana is a “cure all” for abuse. What it does is help to minimize symptoms compared to what they can be without it? That gracious plant can’t take away what a human has done. It can, however, slow things down where they aren’t as frightening and allow me some form of respite.

It’s a very lonely world to live in on the inside. Life on the outside is one world. But, life on the inside…….It’s a different galaxy!

#Thispuzzledlife

May 27, 2019May 28, 2019 darnold1975

Balance

8.22.14

“PTSD is a whole-body tragedy, an integral human

event of enormous proportions with massive repercussions.”

― Susan Pease Banitt

I always like to start things off very light because some of the subject matter can be difficult. So, being one of two mothers to a toddler boy age 2.5 years can be quite funny at times. For instance, Marshall has this new thing about wanting us to read his books before he goes to bed. No big deal, right? But, now he wants to read them back to us. The other night I was the chosen parent to listen to him telling a story about a truck. Story goes like this……”Vrrrrroooommm Vrrrrooommm a mess, bath, clean…the end!” I couldn’t help but to laugh and tell him, “That was such a good story.” His response was , “Truck dirty.”

We have also realized all of his creative ways to manipulate his mommies when it’s time for bed. The other night Marshall convinced my wife, Melody, to do a full and complete room check for monsters. I mean, if you think about it, what kind of price would Ghostbusters charge for a service like that? Nevertheless, eventually, he ended up in the bed between his moms.

In the morning, I have one of his feet on the side of my head. Apparently, he’s going to be a soccer player because I must’ve taken kidney shots from him all night. But, what made me chuckle was that he was lying across our pillows at the top of the bed. I think Melody is in a coma from pure exhaustion from having to hang on to the 3 inches that Marshall allowed her to use as her bed for the night. I was laying face down in what seemed like a weave that belonged to a cat right next to the concrete wall. I start sneezing like I had just snorted some kind of deadly allergen.

Kids are so innocent. They understand what is in front of them and don’t worry about tomorrow. They call it like they see it until they are conditioned by parents, friends or society to try and conform otherwise. That’s where my job comes in for him as his parent. I worry about things all the time concerning him.

I have said that I was going to take a break from blogging because of my physical symptoms. But, mentally, I have to be able to process somehow. So, I’ll do the best I can.

Yesterday started off with me all excited to blog and do therapy assignments. One of the assignments, I knew would be difficult. Blogging has always seemed to be what I need for now. I took all kinds of medicine and smoked some as well. All day long, I would change my treatment approach to help defeat the “Atomic Migraine” that was forming. I already didn’t feel good but I finished most of both assignments. My wife reminds me that she has an acupuncture appointment later that day. No worries, I’ll get Marshall from daycare. A few hours when she got home, I couldn’t close my eyes or try to walk without feeling nauseous. I begin to think, “Maybe both activities were too much for me today.” I take stronger medicine and begin to smoke wax and keif for something stronger for the nausea and headache. Anxiety meds were added as well because my back hurt so bad. I tried to walk but looked like I had just left a bar that I had been at for several hours. The right side of my head felt like it was on fire and boiling. When I get severe headaches like that, sometimes I exhibit neurological issues. My brain basically turned off once we got in the truck headed to her acupuncture appointment. She actually let me take her appointment because I was so sick. After about two hours of treatment, I was able to walk more normally again. I was still shaky but much better. Most of the rest of the evening was and still is a blur.

So, I don’t know what my exactly my “balance” looks like or is going to feel like. But, I that’s what I keep striving to find. Life is about “Balance.” Right now….well….balance is like a word from another language that I can’t have translated or understand. Even my best day is a struggle.

Carpe Diem

#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 29, 2019 darnold1975

Back Again

8.17.14

“Triggers are like little psychic explosions that crash through avoidance and bring the dissociated, avoided trauma suddenly, unexpectedly, back into consciousness.”
― Carolyn Spring

I wake up this morning sadly realizing that the nightmare every day hasn’t ended. This morning I wake up very startled that no one was in the bed with me. “Oh Shit! I have to get up! What if he’s already home from work? Did I lay out anything for dinner? Has he already fixed his dinner and is patiently waiting to berate me for sleeping? Why had I been sleeping?” Something is telling me that things are going to be bad when I walk into the den. I’m instantly nauseated by the heavily approaching headache. Stomach cramps have begun to let me know of their existence. I have to face this to figure out what has happened.

I stand up and my body feels “disconnected” but has a severe pain in my chest. This feeling is surely to lead to total annihilation of my mind and body. With my “insides” beginning to shake with fear, I make the dreaded walk down the hall. I notice nothing but the task before me. Everything sounds like I’m in a cave. I notice nothing but the familiar way that my body prepares for his emotional venom. Just get ready to disappear! I say to myself.

I walk into the den where Melody and Marshall sat watching TV. A sigh of relief hits my body when I realized that I must’ve been in a really bad dream. It was a bad dream that happened several years ago. My body seemed to somewhat relax as much as it could. The build-up of tension from my scare had already activated my autonomic nervous system. ‘Shock and awe’ hit instantly. I can tell that everything inside of me was all out of whack.

Just another day that started off with a flashback. What did I do? I survived to be able to tell you about it. Trauma can manifest in many different ways. This way, unfortunately, is a frequent side effect of PTSD that I experience. Sometimes, it can manifest with pictures, sounds, etc. that can trigger a painful event. There is the also, just as disturbing, the feeling of being in the situation right at that moment.

It is nighttime as I’m finally able to write about the event this morning. Mentally and physically, I have well……been somewhat of a ‘mess.’ That doesn’t mean lying around ‘snot crying’ all day. Sometimes one can bounce back from remembered event and not having anything more than a few feelings that they feel. However, for me, I have very little memory of anything since it happened. Had you been right here when it happened, you would’ve had no idea that I would be as affected as I was today. I have been fighting severe anxiety all day with no success. I have smoked weed, taken all kinds of medicine with no relief. I haven’t been that scared in a long time. Maybe all of my ‘insides’ just got upset and haven’t had enough time to settle down.

I have a thousand different thoughts that run through my head like it’s on a marquee and never stops. This event has rocked my world today. All I can say to any of my perpetrators is…..”THANKS FOR THE MEMORIES!”

#Thispuzzledlife

May 27, 2019May 29, 2019 darnold1975

Morning Monsters

8.15.14

“Your mind is your prison when you focus on your fear.”

—-Tim Fargo

I woke up this morning just feeling discombobulated for no reason that I can understand. I know that my stomach hurts and I’m nervous to the point of almost being scared. I just have that deep and dark feeling that something bad is about to happen. I check the house for intruders with the toddler by my side thinking we are hunting for Scooby-Doo (doo-doo-doo toddler version). Everything seems safe but very unsettling. I found nothing in the house to signify any breach of “safety.” Marshall, however, did find Scooby Doo in DVD format. So, I get the movie started and take my cannabis wax pen with me to the bathroom just in case I begin to vomit. The buildup of tension has led to another early morning bout of ‘shock and awe.’

The one thing that I have begun to do is listen to what my body is saying. This too is a relationship that includes work. My body, seems to know, even though my mind doesn’t understand, that something feels very threatening. I immediately, go to where my vaporizer is warming up and prepare to take my morning medicine. Scooby-Doo, a superhero toddler and medical marijuana sounds like a good combination to settle what’s happening in my body. After a few good vapes, I begin to feel my body and mind relax.

Ok, back to normal “mommy duties.” But, something still doesn’t feel ‘ok’ about this morning.

Anyway, said toddler grabs two “baby paws” full of fresh, cherry tomatoes from the garden bucket for a morning snack. I’m thinking, “at least he’s going to eat something healthy for breakfast.” I start getting dressed to take him to daycare and begin to revel in the moment of being by myself. I try to ignore the nauseating feeling creeping to a very uncomfortable level. I switch to my wax pen which is much stronger concentration than what’s in my vaporizer. I take a couple of ‘hits’ and within a few minutes the nausea begins to subside. In the meantime, Marshall has taken his paws full of ‘snacks’ and has begun shoving them ever so forcefully into a magnetic bottle opener on our refrigerator. I now have seeds and tomato juice on everything. I cleaned it all up but not before he starts screaming like I just set him on fire. Yes, what he wanted was to keep his squished cherry tomatoes, seeds and juice. I then remember that Marshall is meeting textbook criteria for a diagnosis I call “Chronic, Intermittent Toddler Psychosis.” This disorder is often exhibited most often while out in public. This is when everyone that is around now posts a new Facebook status about a crazed toddler. . My first thought was, “Why didn’t we use protection?” Next thought, “I hope like hell Comcast is working this morning and this child can watch Netflix.” I look over to our modem and “Halleluer! The angels are singing in heaven! I have a signal!” I find Scooby-Doo on Netflix and “Toddler Psychosis” appears to have forgotten about what activated the event.

I vape for a few more minutes just to make sure I don’t get sick while attempting to take him to school. Something is still very unsettling from within. I tell Marshall to come on so we can go to school. I begin turning off all the lights like I was so gently reminded, as a kid, about how ”leaving lights on costs money.” Marshall meets me at the door with a truck in each paw along with his blanket, sippy cup and Scooby-Doo DVD case. Telling him,” Scooby can stay here during the day was not working this morning.” Picking my battles, we take everything he has gathered to the car. I begin buckle him in and we head off to the daycare.

I begin backing out of my driveway, when I feel the ‘weight of the world’ hit my chest like a bullet in war. I sit there wondering if I was dying. My chest begins hurting to the point of tears. I take a couple of vapes off my wax pen hoping for quick relief. It takes a few minutes, but I now feel like I can get him to school. By the time, we start leaving the military base that we live on, I can feel the battle between the chest pains and mmj happening. I start heading in the direction of his school which is only about 5 minutes away from the house. The radio was playing some very familiar songs from my high school days and the seat heater was warm which seemed to be comforting. OMG! I forgot that some schools have started back. The panic has started.

‘There are too many cars. Something is going to happen to you because you can’t keep an eye on all of the people on the road. Everyone is looking at you. Everyone is judging you. You don’t know them, but they know you. If anyone steps out of line with a look or a comment…I’m ready! Be ready for any and everything! Please don’t say or do anything stupid!’

I drop Marshall off at school hoping no one notices how I feel on the inside. What would they think? Do, I look like I’m acting “normal?” So, I throw a few jokes and toddler stories out there for the employees to laugh at while I try to slide out the door without my emotions being detected. I make it out to my vehicle where I just sit and breathe for a few seconds. My body and mind feel like I’m on the run from a serial killer. I notice now that not only is my chest pounding. But, now my back hurts to the point that I feel as though I have been impaled with something. My jaw hurts and the rest of my body feels like everything is cramping.

Brief insanity moment thinking: “Go to Wal-Mart and go shopping.” “Are you kidding? I just barely made it to the daycare to drop Marshall off and stayed alive!” I notice the vehicle going the opposite direction from Wal-Mart. My body feels like I have just been beaten with something. I finally make it back home where all of the anxiety from getting out in public hits me. I now have to have mmj and the toxins (regular medication) to attempt to gain control over my symptoms. I realize that the symptoms from earlier are from the anticipation of going in public. You’ve just witnessed on both the inside and outside what point ‘social anxiety’ has its grasp has on me. All of the physical and emotional symptoms are because of the trauma that I experienced from someone who made the choice not to work on their own trauma.

This is a process that has no time limit. I have 30+ years of trauma to process. Even while writing this, my body still has not reached its ‘normal balance’ after almost two hours since being home from taking Marshall to daycare. I got lucky that I didn’t have to really interact or be rubbed up against like being at a mall. I don’t know about this process. I usually have everything mapped out and I now feeling like I’m going in blind. And that scares me to my core. My childhood coach, Nick Kolinsky, I mentioned in a previous day’s post told me about how a winner plays ball…..”Little things make big things happen!” This is how, I’m trying to face this big challenge before me.

#Thispuzzledlife

May 27, 2019August 10, 2019 darnold1975

Trapped Trauma

8.8.2014

“The conflict between the will to deny horrible events and the will to proclaim them aloud is the central dialectic of psychological trauma.”

― Judith Lewis Herman, Trauma and Recovery: The Aftermath of Violence – From Domestic Abuse to Political Terror

People who will read these posts are wondering about, “How I’m able to write about this trauma if I have such adverse effects?” The truth is that, I’m able to discuss this because I’m talking completely from my head. Emotionally, I have a very difficult time staying “grounded” around these topics. It’s the same concept as those that work in the emergency services field (EMTs, fire fighters, police). And let’s not forget our soldiers that return from war. I worked only for a year on an ambulance but saw enough to last a lifetime. You operated solely helping with the gruesome scene before you. Feelings must be put on the “back burner” in order to get the job done.

Once upon a time, a few years ago while in graduate school, I would do presentations to help explain/educate those going into the therapy field on the topic of “Self-Harm.” I had to be able to give some background information in order for the students to grasp the concept of how this behavior can develop. However, emotionally the topics, even more vague than I talk about here, would, at time have me vomiting by the end of the presentation. So, I had to completely detach emotionally to be able to speak.

The problem is afterward………”What to do with all of the feelings?” Everything emotionally gets stored and trapped unless properly released. Within the animal kingdom, all prey animals go through the same thing we go through as humans. Some of these symptoms include but definitely not limited to: heart rate changes, immobilization state, shaking, trembling, shivering, temperature changes, breathing changes and more. The animal then returns to a “normal” state of being and goes on about its business. We as human beings have a much more complex emotional, psychological and physical systems in operation on a day-to-day basis. However, if we could learn how to just ‘sit’ with these trauma responses, be able to release the results of this ‘normal’ type of physical and mental responses safely and fully. We could also just move on to the next task. However, most people don’t know how to completely and safely release these ‘trapped’ feelings and emotions. Therefore, people either find and work with a therapist often many years after the event because their behavior becomes problematic in every aspect of their life. Most people don’t realize that they’re actually looking to be able to have this release so that they are able to function more normally. This state of unresolved trauma can be the underlying force that drives the elusive symptoms such as panic, depression, migraines, irritable bowel, ME, chronic fatigue, fibromyalgia and chronic pain.

Those that choose not to work on their issues can lead to an unfulfilled life never truly happy because of an event or series of events that could’ve happened 20+ years ago. And some well….they re-perpetrate another victim and the cycle continues. This is where having a trusted therapist is very crucial. Releasing the trauma through both the mind and body is a very intimate area that most people aren’t allowed to know about much less hear how the trauma really affected us. Often the additional re-experiencing that can come with therapy, can actually be more painful than the actual events. For me, my body and mind can feel like I’m detoxing from some type of drug. I wake up vomiting, diarrhea, body aches, sweating and emotionally a mess. Sometimes it can take until noon time for me to be able to somewhat function.

Because of my trauma, it takes me a long time of watching and interacting with someone to feel that comfortable to work with someone on that level. Remember….the times when I initially going through the trauma, I was either alone or made fun of for natural feelings for the situation. Therapy is one of those professions that have a very fine line between ethical and unethical behavior. I know and totally respect this from having been in the field at one time. However, without some type of human and/or animal connection……I, personally, cannot process. I have to know and feel a ‘therapeutic’ relationship with the person or persons that I do this work with. This is a very scary process for me to find those people that I feel that level of comfort being around. Also, because they have the title as “therapist,” automatically my mind and body scream, “Harmful Authority Figure Ahead! You Will Get Hurt!” So, it has taken me over a year working with therapists every week for over a year watching EVERYTHING about them to determine whether or not they’re a “safe” people. Even with determining that these people are “safe” people, showing an emotion besides anger often leaves me feeling embarrassed and shameful. Even the anger, leaves it’s on mark of shame on me.

These (psychosomatic) reactions wear both the mind and body down. The medical marijuana actually helps me to be able to persevere through these reactions by helping with both the intensity of the flashbacks and pain. I also go to acupuncture every week which seems to, at least, help with some of the physical symptoms. Not everyone is going to have the same reaction to processing or experiencing trauma. Unfortunately, this is sometimes just part of the process. It’s definitely a “marathon not a sprint.” I didn’t reach these extremes in behavior overnight. So, to even remotely think, that seeing a therapist and being able to resolve everything in a couple of weeks is a very unrealistic expectation that will set one up for failure.

The time in my life where I remember actually feeling truly “safe” in a relationship with someone outside of my parents is my wife, Melody Landrum-Arnold. She has been nothing less than a ‘trooper’ while in this arduous process. This feeling of “safety” has also come with some complications. This will be explained later.

#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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