It is 4:00 a.m., and the house is nice and quiet.
This might be an excellent way to slowly step into my body and consciously decide how to map out my day. Larry (My altar, obsessed with making lists) is very happy about making a list or two without distraction.
I have been off of my meds for one month. The headaches and nausea are decreasing, but the anxiety is going off the charts. Until now, I was getting quite comfortable with the medication’s ability to keep me even-keeled while dealing with all the other things that life and DID deliver daily.
Yesterday was tough. I struggled so much in the morning. It sent me right back to images of me standing beside my stove and hanging on for dear life, hoping the anxiety and panic would pass.
There really should be a rule that says you do not have to deal with 1) complex childhood trauma, 2) the reality of having a system of altars inside your head created to help you survive, and 3) anxiety, all the same time. Is there such a rule? Apparently not. There definitely should be. And yet here we are.
But today has to be a new day, a new effort, a new perspective, a new something.
There must be a way to grab this anxiety bully by the short and curlies and let them know, in no uncertain terms, that I decide when it comes out to protect me. Could it be that simple? How ridiculously ironic that someone with DID may have the resources and understanding to deal with this anxiety beast.
This little idea got some well-needed confirmation yesterday when I found a website by Anxiety Canada that talked about naming your anxiety. Give it a proper name and call it that, just like we do with our systems.
That is a perspective and a strategy I have yet to hear about. But at this point, I’m willing to try anything not to go back to how I felt pre-medication.
Okay, let’s sort out the actual day and how we will use this new strategy.
There is s*** I want to get done. This anxiety … named, named, okay, let’s just go with Chuck. So, Chuck, here we sit, making a plan for the day, and you are sitting quietly in my gut, getting comfortable. Soon you’ll start moving around and poking at me. Poking for my attention, overriding everything else in my environment, in my head, in my plan. Let’s say I decided that that is not cool.
At this very moment, at 4:50 a.m., you are tiny and not at all powerful. I want to keep that status quo for the rest of the day.
Today’s experiment: I will acknowledge that you will hang with me. Today, you are free to do that. But you are not allowed to bully me. When you need my attention, raise your hand, and I will come to you. Please do not try to get my attention by banging on walls, yelling to drown out my music playlist, or poking around my stomach until it is a whirling mess. If you do it that way, I will have no choice but to be very angry at you. That is not why you exist. You exist to help me. You exist to warn me of danger. You exist to help me spring into action when danger gets too close.
Chuck, I appreciate everything you are trying to do. Sometimes you simply screw it up and make a big damn deal out of nothing. Let’s not do that. Let’s work together to survive this big, screwed-up world and come out of it in one piece.Published in