Buckle Up

This is what mental illness looks like.

This blog is my story. From the start, every trauma, bruise, concussion and scar. All the way to me learning that healing can hurt just as much, if not worse than the damage. To know why I am writing you need to know something about me, and I need to explain how it affects me. Only then I can tell you my story. I can't promise it will be pretty. I also can't promise that it will be told in order. I cannot promise you that because I cannot remember it all. I cannot remember a lot of things.

3 years ago, I was diagnosed with something I am still struggling to understand, despite being one of the only people who possibly could. I was diagnosed with Chronic PTSD, adjustment disorder, and dissociative (or psychogenic) amnesia. All three of my diagnosis were a direct result of experiencing repetitive trauma. As my therapist so eloquently put it, I had never, in 30 years, known what it was to feel safe. And my brain had rewired itself to handle that. There is very little known about psychogenic amnesia. What I can tell you from personal experience, is that it is one of the most frustrating disorders. The best way I can describe it would be to break it down into it's two parts.

The Amnesia I have not forgotten my past. Well, not all of it. Amnesia is hard to describe. The kind I have is so unique to every person who has it, and I believe something like 4% of the population does, but I can't remember where I saw that so don't quote me. Basically my memories are stored in a big house with hundreds of rooms that all have doors. Most, I would say about 60% now, of those doors are locked. I am hiding my own memories from myself. Frustrating. I think I don't remember what happens while I am dissociating. But there are other things I cannot remember as well. I have "met" people that I have hung out with before, been to "new" places I've been before, and sat for periods of time digging in the attic of my brain for a memory I know is there but I can't quite get the door all the way open. I have my memories. My brain is just keeping them from me.

Dissociative, or psychogenic.

Dissociate is a scary word. It evokes images of cuckoos nest, if anything at all. When I was diagnosed I was dumbfounded by the description of the disorder my doctor gave me. She said that people who dissociate often feel as though they are watching a movie rather than living life. This confused me. How, on this earth, could a sane person think that they are watching a movie rather than living. I ignored her obviously ill informed analogy and moved on. Only years later did I start to understand. During a dissociative episode no less! Let me tell you, she was closer to being accurate than I thought she was. With one small modification, her description was accurate. Rather than saying it is like watching a movie, I will tell you that it is like being dropped off in the middle of a movie, right smack in the middle of the set. Actors are everywhere, and they all have a part. Every one knows their lines, and has somewhere to be. Except me. I do not feel a part of this. I do not know my lines, and I do not know my marks. I do not want to interrupt the actors for fear of making a mistake, or saying the wrong thing. I sit there in awe of their assurance as they go where they need to go, with nobody telling them what they have to do next. They are comfortable in each other's presence, and make small talk and eye contact. How the hell do people do that, by the way? Just look at someone in the eyes without the overwhelming urge to inspect your foot? I am not sure I will ever be able to do that. I digress. The point is, when I dissociate I am not in a Breaking Bad type fugue state. I am here. I see you. I just cannot connect with you, for you see, I have no lines.