Told Karen about waking up feeling not quite myself, unfamiliar, on two days. Yesterday morning I realized I am in transition — letting go of the old trapeze, new one not yet visible in the fog. Karen said that’s the hard thing about letting go. I think about Dr. Fried telling Deborah’s mother “We are chipping away at the old foundation — she has nothing else to stand on.” (I Never Promised You a Rose Garden.)
Talk with Erica. She says I’m “extraordinary”— “Your wounds don’t inhibit or limit how extraordinary you are.”
“You have joy and receptivity, curiosity, you come to each new encounter open.”
The talk with Erica was amazing. I came out of it thinking “I’m extraordinary.” with a sort of surprised delight. “I have a lot to give. Just as I am my energy is a gift.” I walked around in joy all day.
Even now I feel like a whole different person. I think this is the trapeze I’m going to catch, this is where I’ll be when I finally land.
The session with Erica was good. I told her about my two days of being “extraordinary.” How right it felt in some ways — “this is who I was supposed to be.” Like Jalaja’s words “passion, devotion, creativity and sweetness.” I could recognize them as being “really me,” even though I can read them now and wonder how that can be. How humble and yes comfortable I felt. Didn’t need to brag, or care if others noticed it.
I see that I’m still in the transition zone and it’s still disconcerting. Today I feel really lonely, but I need someone to talk to who would understand.
How to describe the transition? The old self is selfish — self-involved, not helpful to others, has nothing to offer the world, OR what she has to offer is too esoteric and people don’t want it. She has a small shrunken closed heart. She is too shy and self-absorbed to make friends easily. The new person is “extraordinary,” has a lot to give, is making a difference in the world. Lots of people like her and she is able to be nourished by their affection. She has a big heart. She is able to share all the odd and unusual things she knows about, people get a lot out of it, and she gets satisfaction.
I talked to Karen about being in transition, how uncomfortable it was. About Erica saying I’m “extraordinary” — Karen immediately began to smile — I said do you think I’m extraordinary? She said “Absolutely.” Do you think I have a lot to give? “You’re already giving a lot.” Do you think my energy is a gift? “Yes.” I talked about creativity, that I wasn’t making things, she said creativity isn’t about making things. I asked her what she meant by “extraordinary.” She said I was very sensitive, I feel things deeply, I care about things… She said I was not like most of the people she knows. I told her about Angela saying I talked way outside the boxes her therapy group lives in. She said yes, you are way outside all the boxes. I told her I somehow knew I was extraordinary, at least for two days. She asked how I knew it. I tried to bring back the feeling and couldn’t. I said there’s a resonance, but not really physical — maybe a very tiny vibration.
Sitting here now, feeling so odd, I think about my idea about how the different parts of Multiple Personality Disorder are different electro-magnetic fields. So when I feel “extraordinary” I’m actually in another field. There’s something that feels really right about it — just now I thought it was the sense of being “at home” — just as the words Jalaja used: “passion, devotion, creativity and sweetness,” resonated immediately, I know they were “me,” almost an exact picture of “me.” See Comment. The old self — the mother-conditioned self — is “familiar” because I’ve been there for so long. But it’s not “home.” The house I grew up in was never “home.” I’ve been in exile for a very long time.
Who am I? A being with two states — maybe even more because the dance teacher and the astronomy teacher and the story-teller are also different states — who varies between them: popping instantaneously back and forth. Other people perhaps can see these beings, but when I switch into them I’m not aware of me, but of the dance, or the bit of astronomy, or the story that I’m telling.
It’s like I’m dissociated from these states of happiness, authenticity, giving, etc. Other people see me, but I don’t see me or feel me, I feel useless, a nobody.
This is characteristic of the personalities in MPD. They don’t know about each other. They have total amnesia. That’s why I can’t bring back the feeling of being “extraordinary.”
Now that I’m actually about to publish this, I’m terrified. I’m afraid my friends will all disown me for bragging and being conceited — two total sins in the house where I grew up. I’m going to put it out there anyway, because this is a true part of my story.