Marshall’s Birthday

“We never know the love of a parent until we become parents ourselves.”
–Henry Ward Beecher

The doctor walked into where Mel and I had been sitting waiting for the ultrasound. The doctor takes the apparatus and gel and moves it over her belly. Looking at the monitor he said, “Do you see that little blinking light?” Mel and I both shook our heads yes. The doctor said, “That’s your baby’s heartbeat.” For a moment the feeling was surreal, but it soon changed to excitement. This was our baby and we would be parents in less than 9 months.
The next few months we would be preparing for our little baby to reach the due date. At 12 weeks the doctor would tell us that our baby would be a little boy. We were both beside ourselves with excitement. But in a few months Mel would develop pre-eclampsia and be put on bedrest. This would make me extremely nervous, but I was still hopeful that everything would be alright.

The days came and went but our baby’s birthdate would change from a date in January to December 3. This meant that he would be a preemie and would have to go to the NICU. The day of his arrival Mel was in labor 36 hours. I was just a ball of nerves waiting and hoping that both Mel and our baby would be ok. I eventually fell asleep on a couch in the room from sheer exhaustion. The next thing I know a nurse or doctor was trying to wake me saying, “Ms. Arnold your baby is about to be here.” Mel was also yelling, “Dana wake up!” I wake up quickly and head over to where everyone was scurrying around. Within a few minutes Marshall Lake Landrum-Arnold would be born and he was beautiful.
The team would whisk Marshall away to the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit and Mel wouldn’t get to see him for the next 24 hours. It also meant that we would have to leave our baby at the hospital when we went home. That must be one of the most agonizing moments of my life. So, our routine would be me going to work and dropping Mel off at the hospital to be with Marshall in the NICU in the morning. And when I got off work I would go by and pick her up from the hospital which we renamed Camp Marshall.
I can honestly say that those days were some of the most stress of our lives. Leaving your baby at the hospital while you go home no matter how well things are going is very hard emotionally. The level of worry isn’t one I can put into words. But eventually on Christmas Eve of that year we brought our little baby home. Marshall was making our hearts beat then and he still does. The Christmas of 2011 was one of the most special Christmases on record. Because he was and still is one of the best presents, I’ve ever received. Happy Birthday, Marshall!!!!!
#thispuzzledlife

November 30, 2019December 3, 2019 darnold1975

I AM THANKFUL

At times our own light goes out and is rekindled by a spark from another person. Each of us has cause to think with deep gratitude of those who have lighted the flame within us.
—Albert Schweitzer

With the Thanksgiving season here I couldn’t help but think of things that I’m thankful for. The transition back to living in Mississippi is one that is still in process. I’m grateful to be back around family but living in solitude for so long has left its mark. Still amid some of the frustration I’m incredibly grateful just to have another day to wake up to every morning. Everything I learned in Texas is being put into practice which includes everyday frustrations and the sometimes overstimulation of being in public and around people daily.

My heart has longed for several things over the past couple of years since being in Texas and this thanksgiving my heart was warmed by not having to spend the holidays alone again. I was able to spend the day and night with my two little boys. I can’t explain to you what healing effects that had on my heart. I finally got to show them that I could be around little boys without freaking out. More than once both boys were in my lap while we were rocking and snuggling. And we were able to go to Walmart shopping hand in hand amid the holiday crowd.

It wasn’t comfortable but there were no cold sweats that day. Texas taught me that not all situations would be comfortable, but I would be ok. And that’s exactly what’s happening. I have been preparing for two years for the days and things that I’m currently experiencing. But when my little boys told me that they loved me and are happy that I moved back home that was all I needed to hear.

I still had to dodge nerf bullets and some of those might not ever be found again. And a trip to McDonalds and all the squealing and stimulation was enough to make the hair on the back of my neck stand up. But I got to enjoy the boys being able to just be kids without feeling like I would snap from all the noise. Instead I was able to enjoy the chaos that I had missed. Me, my boys and my family could tell that my hard work and healing was paying off and that brought the tears to my eyes.
Those that say, “Well, that was just one time.” I say, “I remember the times when a day and a half of being around my boys squealing and playing without snapping wasn’t possible.” I did it and I’m still doing it. My hard work is paying off and for that I AM THANKFUL.
#thispuzzledlife

August 16, 2019August 17, 2019 darnold1975

Through The Eyes Of A Child (poetry)

Through The Eyes Of A Child

We Started our lives tiny and cold
Bright lights and loud noises only a few days old
We would have two mommies and the world to see.
One of our mommies would come with an extra scoop
of “special” the one called Momma D.

We know that you love us and most of the time you’re fun
But momma you scare us when you talk about guns.
Your scars we would notice and excuses we would hear
We saw the blood on the floor and your
yelling would hurt our little ears.

Momma Mel cried a lot and things you said weren’t nice.
You had expressions that scared us because your heart seemed cold as ice.
We didn’t know who had hurt you

because we didn’t understand your tears

But we did understand on word and that one word was…FEAR.

We were both born into this world for you to teach us and to guard
Why does this concept seem to be so hard?
Many times, we ran to you because kids get scared.
But the one we looked to for protection, only her body was there.

As a child we need protecting and that’s your job to do.
If you had looking into your own eyes would you
Know who was looking back at you?
One minute you were our mommy acting like a funny clown
But a lot of the time you wore a big frown.

We don’t know what they did and we’re still too young to know.
The big, scary figure we just wanted it to go.
We know you didn’t mean it but if you could only see.
That the people that hurt you were now hurting me.

If you could only understand how much we love you and
Know that our love is free
We are not the ones that hurt you, momma, open your eyes,
break down those walls and see.
Our names are Marshall and Copeland we are ages 7 and 3.
Please momma get help and be who we need you to be.

We are separated for now because there’s work that needs to be done.
And at the end of this time we will still be your loving sons.
But at the end we will proudly say, “Look at Momma D now and the person
She has become!”

You’re setting for us an example about how we should live
The ones that look up to you are two little kids.
And once day your tears will be nothing but smiles
Because you learned many lessons through the eyes of
Of a child.
#thispuzzledlife

June 10, 2019 darnold1975

Tears Of A Mother’s Heart

The Tears of a Mother’s Heart

“There is no greater burden or torture in this life than for

a mother to live without one or more of her children.”

—A Bed for My Heart

In this blog entry, I’m going to talk about something very near and dear to my heart. I’ll talk about the unsolved mystery of a classmate of mine named Angela Freeman. At Petal High School in the small town of Petal, Mississippi most of us had grown up with each other and Angela was no different. I had always known her and had been in several classes together. Me being busy playing two sports and trying to maintain my drug addiction and eating disorders seemed to alienate me somewhat emotionally from a lot of my high school days. However, my humor and fun loving personality was typically my norm. But the disappearance of Angela was anything but normal.

Just 3 years earlier I had undergone some of the worst abuse at the hands of a teacher. Our class also lost another member at the age of 13 to suicide. Still seriously affected by some of these traumas I was left no room for recovery because sports took up all my time. That busy daily schedule might have been the one thing that saved my life as a lost teenager. I didn’t have answers for how to deal with this and neither did anyone else. By our senior year our graduating class had been pummeled by tragedies. But the disappearance of Angela seemed to rock everyone to their core.

On September 10, 1993 when everyone was doing after school activities and at home with their families Angela was fighting for her life, the life of her unborn child and would have spent her last days at Petal High School. She was last seen at the local Pizza Hut and her vehicle was found in a remote area of Perry County by a well known bridge in the Mahned community known as the Mahned Bridge. I thought about the parties that had been there many years prior and chills ran up and down my entire body. Because that day could’ve been anyone of us teens from any of the surrounding communities and cities.

1993

Age Progression

Current condition of the Mahned Bridge is impassable

Evidence of no closure

The local news channels were covered with pictures and the latest information about the case. There were also many different fund raising events. Soon, though, the hoopla would die down and many years later Angela’s case would become a cold case and would be featured on the television series Unsolved Mysteries. Her case could also be seen on different news channels and those I won’t even begin to mention as I don’t want to leave any out. But the fact of the matter is that 25 years later Angela still has not been found.

As of 2017 the following was released by a FOX 25 News Channel….

“Perry County authorities say Angela was last seen at the Pizza Hut in Petal on September 10th, 1993. Witnesses say she was arguing with her former boyfriend in the parking lot around 1 a.m. That same morning, only hours later, Angela’s 1984 Honda Accord Hatchback was found abandoned at the old bridge over Leaf River. Angela’s mother Debra spotted a puddle of liquid beside the car. Police told her it was transmission fluid. They assumed the teen was just another runaway. But when Monday passed and Angela didn’t show up for work, Debra called her local TV station. It was then that authorities began to believe the clues were leading them to something much more sinister than originally expected. “Forrest County dogs were down at the bridge and people were starting to look for her and that puddle that was so fresh on Friday that everybody had parked in overnight, the dogs went straight to it.”

“That puddle would turn out to be Angela’s blood and the search intensified. K9 units were able to sniff out Angela’s keds, one in the tall weeds near her car and the other beyond a locked gate on private property. After multiple searches through Leaf River, Angela’s body never turned up, leaving an entire family without closure. Her grandmother said, “My late husband, which was her paw-paw, she loved him to death. He passed away in ’96 and he never knew what happened and at my age, I would just like to find out before my time.”

—FOX News 25

And 25 years later I’m now a parent and I cannot begin to comprehend what it’s like to lose a child in that manner with or without closure. Heck, I can’t imagine what it’s like to lose a child that’s already been born. The fact that her parents have found the strength to get up each morning since her disappearance just to put one painful foot in front of another shows their personal strength and level of love that they had and still have for their daughter Angela.

The answers to Angela’s disappearance have never come to light. But the painful memories of her disappearance still burns in the minds of those who loved and cared about her. I can tell you that 25 years later that the trauma of her disappearance has remained alive and well in my psyche. And anytime I see a reminder of this horrible tragedy I get the same sick feeling as when it first happened. Whoever committed this crime has not only effected a family but they also have effected an entire community. And truthfully, it has made me draw my own children in closer and my defenses as a parent have become detrimental in ways because of my own fear of some sick individual trying to get their hands on my babies.

I send out a plea even now that cries for the life or remains of Angela so that her family and friends may have some form of closure. My heart cries for her mother, as a mother myself that has cried for her children in ways they also didn’t know. Angela would now be 42 years old. If you have any information regarding this case please contact Crime Stoppers as soon as possible.

“Before you tell a grieving parent to be grateful for the children they have, think about which one of yours you can do without.”

—Unknown

Here are some links that cover her disappearance and subsequent investigation. Copy and paste the links in your browser.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w_cSIj0NKKc

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=epFJR9CEmm8

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=27pWLTxJxqo

#Thispuzzledlife

June 9, 2019 darnold1975

The Healing Has Begun

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

— Hippocrates

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

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

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

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

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

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

#Thispuzzledlife

June 9, 2019 darnold1975

Who Really Cares?

January 11, 2017

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

— Elizabeth Cady Stanton

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#Thispuzzledlife

June 6, 2019 darnold1975

Wolves In Sheep’s Clothing

Wolves in Sheep’s Clothing

8.3.15

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#Thispuzzledlife

June 6, 2019 darnold1975

The Chaos Of Life

The Chaos of Life

8.2.15

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

Viktor E. Frankl

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

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

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

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

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

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

#Thispuzzledlife

June 6, 2019 darnold1975

She Will Always Be Her Daddy’s Little Girl

“He sweeps her hair back from her ears; he swings her above his head. He says she is his émerveillement. He says he will never leave her, not in a million years.”
― Anthony Doerr, All the Light We Cannot See

Call this a typical Father’s Day post, but you can’t call him a ‘typical’ father. This man that I’m going to talk about is a man that he and his wife were and have been and continue to be diligent servants of their Heavenly Father. As a result, in December of 1975, after a grueling 8 years of red tape and frequent hoop jumping their dreams of being parents and for him being a father came true.

This was a job that he rejoiced in and fully embraced through both tears and laughter. Even though some of my childhood memories evade me these days, I can still smile at some of the memories I have of my father. As a small child, he would often become a regular jumping and punching bag in exchange for instantaneous tickle torture moments. There were also those times when he would take me on Saturday mornings on the lawnmower while he cut the grass only to have to stop to put his soon sleeping daughter in the bed.

During my younger and developing ball playing days, he would almost daily throw the ball with me in the front yard. I must admit that before I developed control in my throwing he would frequently travel to the jungles of the azalea bushes to retrieve a wildly thrown ball. He never complained but I think he secretly celebrated each time he didn’t accidentally stumble upon a water moccasin. Yep, he feared those dreaded bushes.

When it came to basketball, well, he tried is about all I can say. I think he mainly just wanted to make sure that there were no unneeded dents left in the vehicles. The job of playing basketball was turned over to the neighborhood kids. Really? You didn’t think I noticed?

When I hit my teen years, he prayed, like my mom, without ceasing. My mother told me that once I became a teenager that something took over my mind and body that was not of God. I cannot tell a lie. If I asked my father that now he would very calmly say, “Why yes, sis, that might’ve been correct.” Now you have to imagine that my father gets about as excited as a basset hound. And most of the time you need a cattle prod to check to make sure he’s still breathing. Nope, it’s not a deformity, that I know of, it’s genetic. He didn’t ever say a whole lot when I was younger. Now, he just claims that with 3 females in the house, he couldn’t get a word in. All 3 of us were just hormonal as hell is the way I still see it.

If there was a downfall, I would have to say that I didn’t learn to fix ANYTHING. I know what a hammer is. Isn’t that good enough? Granted, I was always playing with the neighborhood kids, but he was always fixin’ things or doing projects for or with momma. These days I just hope my wife can YouTube a video of how to do something and fix things. I’m just not one to be able to fix things. My job is to tell you when something doesn’t work. And to provide motivation through entertainment.

He has seen me take some extremely difficult roads in life and has had to sit back and watch with tears in his eyes as his daughters were having to learn some heartbreaking lessons. There have only been a handful of times that I’ve see him cry. But, the tears I haven’t seen, I’m sure number in the millions and likewise the prayers. He has watched me waste away from addiction and abuse and is currently seeing the severity of the effects of mental illness. He also sees me continuing to battle my abusers through memories that can be paralyzing. He watches as I continue to move forward even if that is a crawl. With both he and my mom, there’s never a shortage of encouragement.

I can personally count on one hand the number of men that I consider “safe.” My #1 started with my father. I have never feared him in any way other than maybe another lecture on the power of positive thinking. He never drank, smoked, cussed, hollered, screamed or anything remotely aggressive in our house. Heck, a basset hound doesn’t have the energy to do that. He taught me what love, honor and respect are all about. So, when I encountered some of my predators, my brain was seeing behavior that I couldn’t understand. And it was at that time, that he held and comforted me as I cried about some of the evils of people and the world.

Everything that he has done for me cannot be conveyed in a post nor can the true emotions. Even through just the little bit that I shared you can tell that he’s not my father. He’s my DADDY!

#Thispuzzledlife

May 31, 2019May 31, 2019 darnold1975

LGBT And DID

LGBT and DID

4.3.2015

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#Thispuzzledlife

May 31, 2019May 31, 2019 darnold1975

It’s Not Easy Being Green

“It’s not easy being green”

3.18.15

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#Thispuzzledlife

May 30, 2019May 31, 2019 darnold1975

Silencing The Lambs

The Silencing of the Lambs

3.16.15

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

—Sandra Brown, Women Who Love Psychopaths

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#Thispuzzledlife

May 30, 2019June 1, 2019 darnold1975

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 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

Lessons From 2014

Lessons Learned from 2014

12.30.14

“Tell me and I forget, teach me and I may remember, involve me and I learn.”
― Benjamin Franklin

The year 2014 while very trying has taught me many lessons…..

1)Toddlers tell their teachers at school that while their mommy is pregnant that really their little brother is locked in a closet at home.

2) Sometimes potty training is just not possible with some kids.

3) Loyalty while detrimental at times reaffirms you as a person and your dedication to friends and family.

4)After 20+ years after all the grime and muck of life, people’s hearts can remain the same. I said HEARTS not behavior. These are two completely different things.

5) One of the most important lessons I’ve learned this year is that life can vanish in an instant. And the world will continue moving on.

6) Sometimes people are actually sicker than we know at the time.

7) Stopping the ‘trauma cycle’ is an option instead of a requirement. Just because someone was evil to you, doesn’t give you a right to spread that same evilness in a different way.

8) When you look up and no one is around, first look in the mirror.

9) Being loyal doesn’t mean leaving those behind who have supported you from the beginning.

10) Being a mommy is an AWESOME and very difficult job.

11) Why some animals eat their young has become more clear with a toddler in the house.

12) Realizing that sayings your parents have told you throughout life are true is sometimes a bitter pill to swallow.

I’m quite sure that there are more lessons that I’ve learned this year. The memory I once took for granted is no longer there. However, lessons were learned and taught this year and yes they were are still are very painful.

The time with my brother, Levi Pierce and his family were probably some of the best times of my life. He and I stayed up late at night talking and crying together. He comforted me as I did for him. After 20+ years, he’s still the same soft hearted guy that I knew as a child. Make no mistake, you will never see that if you disrespect him in any way including through his family.

I have lots of difficulties because of my own trauma and he has his own set of issues. The love and the friendship have never diminished. The stars realigned at a perfect time once again. I can only thank the universe for allowing me to learn these lessons even though they were and still are very difficult. My loyalty to people hasn’t and will never change. However, those that I trust with that very intimate part of my life have. Both me and my family/friends have suffered because of my view of “loyalty.” This is something that I must also work on for myself and those around me.

It has finally become very clear to me how very dangerous “black and white” thinking can be. There has to be grey areas. Through both therapy and life, I’m learning some very difficult lessons. All I can do is embrace these “gifts.” Right now they feel like spears have been impaled in my head and heart. To me, I find truth and lessons in both the journey and the destination.

I was told by a therapist several years ago, “That everything that happens is a gift. It doesn’t always come in pretty packages with big beautiful bows. But, it’s still a gift.” Right now, I’m trying to dig through some things and find the ‘gift’. Maybe just maybe if I just continue to do the right thing that these gifts and purposes for these trials will reveal themselves to me. And through this my heart will not change but I will grow.

“When we acknowledge it was our bad decisions we made that put us in these bad situations, only then can we accept them, get over it, and move forward.”

–Anonymous

#Thispuzzledlife

May 30, 2019May 31, 2019 darnold1975

Three Years Of Life

Three Years of Life

12.3.2014

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

—-Anonymous

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

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

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

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

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

#Thispuzzledlife

May 30, 2019May 31, 2019 darnold1975

The Birthday That Will Never Be Forgotten

12.4.2014

“How much tragedy has to happen before I slip wide open?”
― Alisa Mullen, Unrequited

As much as I want to celebrate another year of survival from both physical and mental issues, sadly it has been overshadowed by the loss of one of our twin children. My wife, Melody and I weren’t really concerned about the doctor’s visit because there was never a problem with any of the previous visits. She is considered high risk every time because of us doing invitro fertilization. We see the perinatologists which basically knows every time the babies hiccup. We are also at about the 12.5 week stage so, chance of miscarriage was much lower.

My brother Levi Pierce and wife are in the exam room while I’m frantically trying to get there in time for the measurements and everything that entails. We had been preparing Marshall for two babies while he was trying to reassure us that there were four. Toddlers are just funny. I get there in time for the technician to tell me that she was waiting to take all the measurements until I got there anyway.

After having my regrets about not really knowing how to bond as a first time parent with Marshall, this pregnancy was just different. I could feel it so strongly on an emotional level that I had never experienced. It was so beautiful. It wasn’t something that I ever discussed with Mel or anyone else. For some reason because that level of emotion and bonding with such little creatures I wanted to enjoy all by myself. I had already completely embraced the reality of us having twins and the ways that we would have to work even more as a team. We hadn’t told anyone yet for some realities just don’t match our realities. Nevertheless, these babies already had our hearts.

With all three of us eagerly waiting for all of the measurements, I was so excited to get to have my only somewhat physical contact with our children. She goes through each thing she measures, stomach, legs, head circumference, etc. “Baby B” as it was named by the doctors for twin pregnancy, was measuring a little smaller but not a big deal because this is a twin pregnancy. And then even though she passed the words off as really no big deal that the doctor could probably detect it, the words “I can’t find a heartbeat came out of her mouth.” My heart hit the exam room floor. I could only think, “Did she just say that one of our babies is dead?” In my heart, though, I knew. Neither I nor my brother could hold the tears back as my extremely emotionally strong wife did. Hopes were there but the doctor also confirmed that there was no heartbeat.

I will forever remember December 4^th not only as my birthday but also the day one of our children was born in Heaven. 2014 had been an extremely emotional year but this, I must say, has knocked the wind out of me. This venture was new and I didn’t know how to comfort me or my wife. All I could think about was, “Our baby will never get to meet any of the amazing people in our lives.” I was a snot crying mess to say the least. I had never allowed myself to be this vulnerable in public. It felt as though, I had just been shot in the chest. My brother just simply got up and left the room. Mel was able to hold it together until we left the doctor’s office. And then it was my turn to try and comfort my grieving wife. Any additional information they might’ve given us, I never heard. I could do nothing but feel my own soul crying out for our baby.

From that day, the term “miscarriage” will never been the same as it did before it happened to us. The few that knew were trying to be encouraging by telling us that we had another baby still left to take care of. The anger that flew all over me was the thought that the statement meant, “You can just go get another one at the store. No big deal.” My initial thoughts were, “That was our child, not a broken toy.” That instant reaction was valid but completely due to grief. I don’t remember the rest of the day. And really, it’s ok with me. In the following days, I laid my head on her stomach and sobbed. I realize that “this is just part of life” and “lots of people have miscarriages.” But, we still just lost OUR child.

We will no doubt love this other little baby and welcome him into the world with open arms just like we did Marshall. Our hearts will never forget the day we lost our precious little 12 week baby. Happy Birthday to me.

#Thispuzzledlife

May 30, 2019August 10, 2019 darnold1975

And 2 More Makes 3…..

And 2 More Make 3……..

10.21.14

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

~Author Unknown

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#Thispuzzledlife

May 30, 2019May 31, 2019 darnold1975

Illusions of Halloween

10.21.14

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

—-Margaret Atwood, The Empathy Trap book page

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#Thispuzzledlife

May 30, 2019May 31, 2019 darnold1975

The Day Time Stopped

9.17.2014

“Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.”

—-Ian Maclaren

I usually try to start of my posts lighthearted or a good toddler moment. This post I cannot seem to find anything to joke about. I have searched deep within me and all I find is tears. I have questions but no answers. My life has been changed yet again forever. The quote above couldn’t be more fitting for this life event.

There are many dates that are in my little book of life that I keep tucked away in the deep recesses of my mind. The day September 3, 2014 is another day that will never be forgotten. That day was the Wednesday of the same week that we got back from being with Levi and his family in Arkansas. I was slowly beginning to decompress from that situation. Adjusting back to daily life in Albuquerque was underway. I missed him more than I ever imagined. It was back to being a long distant relative.

I was trying to get the house back in some type of order from us leaving in such a hurry. I was washing and folding clothes with nothing specifically planned for the day. I recognize the sound of facebook messenger alerting me to a message. A mutual friend told me that she needed to talk to me ASAP. So, I half way drop what I was doing and said, “What’s up?” Not knowing or worrying about the answer that would come back. “Hey, I have a friend that said that he wants to ‘end it all,’ she said. I said, “What’s going on?” I didn’t ask for a name because I didn’t see the relevance at the time. Instantly, the therapist side of me is at attention. She asked, “Do you know a guy on facebook by the name of Kyle Brewer?” I told her very quickly, “Of course I do. We went to school together some in elementary and middle school, why?” Apparently, I couldn’t seem to do math because I didn’t see the correlation as to why the question was asked. She said, “It’s him that’s saying that.” I still didn’t worry because we had just spent some time with him as a family on our recent nightmarish visit to Petal, MS. We had gone out to his house and spent time talking and laughing. I told her not to worry that he would respond to either me or Mel.

Kyle and I were also alike in the sense that we both love to find the funny in just about anything. We were always finding rude, inappropriate but yet hysterically funny things on Facebook and sharing them with each other. He had a some

what perverted style of humor that most would find distasteful. He and I were able to enjoy some good laughs over a snow cone or two. He also adored Marshall.

He wasn’t responding to me or Mel in any way. I instantly knew that my friend was in trouble. I’m usually not very ‘jumpy’ about suicide threats. But, in my gut, something told me this situation was different. This mutual friend of ours had also been trying to get in touch with him all morning. She was in another state and so was I. Why did he pick her to tell? Because he knew she was too far away to do anything about it. That’s just my hypothesis. And he also didn’t specifically mention wanting to ‘end it all’ because he knew what profession and obligations I would have if he did say something.

We began discussing what we needed to do. In the meantime, the only thing I could think to do was to grasp at straws by putting a message out on Facebook for him to call me. I think the message actually read something like, “Kyle Brewer, pick up your damn phone and call me right now!” The minute I hit send and it was posted he contacted me through messenger.

I told our mutual friend that I was currently talking to him and to go ahead and call 911. I told her, “If he gets mad at you, then he’ll be mad at me because he knows you don’t know where he lives. And if he gets mad, as long as, he’s alive he can get over it. But, if he was dead he would no longer have that option.” I tell her that she has to tell the dispatch verbatim the way I tell her to tell them how to get to his house because it was located way out. She calls and soon tells me that dispatch is heading out there to do a welfare check just to make sure he’s ok. They also tell her that when they know something they will let her know.

While all of that was going on, I was desperately trying to talk to Kyle. What was said between us is something that I will only discuss with my therapists. The point is that as long as he’s talking, he’s not dead. I share some very personal stuff with him and ask him questions. He finally tells me, “I’m tired. Thanks for the talk!!!!” It was at this point, that I knew that Kyle was no longer able to keep the mask that many of us use everything we have to keep it in place anymore. We were both talking from our hearts without humor. That was the last time I ever had contact with him.

It was a couple of hours later when our mutual friend messaged me and said, “Dana, we need to talk.” My blood ran cold; my heart began to shatter and my stomach was turning like I was on a ride at a theme park. I already knew. She said, “Dana, he’s dead.” At that moment, time seemed to stop.

Fortunately, Mel was here with me and Marshall was still at daycare. I began sobbing like a small child. I couldn’t make sense of anything. My greatest fear was that the emergency services wouldn’t make it there in time. This seemed to be the reality for the moment. All of my senses seemed to disappear. My tears felt like they were coming from every pore in my body. Mel just sat, held me and let me cry. At that moment, there was nothing else that could be done.

We did find out later that the emergency services did make it to his house in time. He greeted them in the yard like nothing was wrong. There probably didn’t seem like a reason to stop him from going back into his house. He told them he had to run back inside and would be right back out. He went back in his house, locked the door and shot himself. He was one of them. He was a volunteer firefighter that probably knew many of the people that arrived to check on him. He used the mask to both his favor and detriment. I lost my friend to a term called PRIDE.

Kyle Brewer was like many of us ‘clowns.’ We all seem to have it together because we can make people laugh. Take a moment and try to imagine what my friend Kyle would’ve looked like if we had been able to turn him inside out. I bet you wouldn’t see anything but a heart full of love for those he loved mixed with the tears of what he knew was about to happen. EVERYONE has demons and secrets. He just didn’t see the other side where there could be light instead of darkness.

Even now, I selfishly shed tears because I’ve lost yet another friend by violent means. I also cry for his family of EMS workers and biological family. He will never be able to carry out his duty as an uncle, son, brother or husband because of one decision. I don’t hate nor am I mad at him. He was my friend and I will continue to grieve his loss.

I have now been involved in just about every angle of suicide as both a teenager and as an adult. Has this one event changed me? You bet it has! I question everything I said to him. I’m constantly re-reading our last conversation. And, I question my ability as a professional. What my head understands, my heart can’t comprehend.

I’ve had people contact me through various ways thanking me for what we did to help. I can’t help but to very angrily think, “I did nothing! He’s still dead! We all lost!” I wish I could see things differently right now, but I can’t. I take their nice comments and say thank you like I was taught many years ago. But, I will probably be forever haunted by “The Day Time Stopped.”

#Thispuzzledlife

May 30, 2019May 31, 2019 darnold1975

Family Day

9.8.14

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#Thispuzzledlife

May 30, 2019May 30, 2019 darnold1975

Who Am I?

Who am I?

9.8.14

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

Think more than I speak,

& notice more than you realize.”

–Anonymous

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#Thispuzzledlife

May 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

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 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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thispuzzledlife

Mental Health Blogger #dissociativeidentitydisorder

Parenting

Marshall’s Birthday

I AM THANKFUL

Through The Eyes Of A Child (poetry)

Tears Of A Mother’s Heart

The Healing Has Begun

Who Really Cares?

Wolves In Sheep’s Clothing

The Chaos Of Life

She Will Always Be Her Daddy’s Little Girl

LGBT And DID

It’s Not Easy Being Green

The Levees Have Finally Broken

Out Of The Darkness, Into The Light

Lessons From 2014

Three Years Of Life

The Birthday That Will Never Be Forgotten

And 2 More Makes 3…..

The Day Time Stopped

Family Day

Who Am I?

Balance

More Traveling

Morning Monsters

Hello world!