************************************Denial covers the pain of the past * A blanket over the world * Lift a corner * Don't be afraid * Your life awaits you*************************************

Monday, May 25, 2009

Identifying a Disociative Part that Reacts to Men.

I've found Alternate handwriting (or left/right writing) very helpful in identifying parts-of-self when I'm working on my own. The DNMS is still my favorite way to find my way through the past, but this is a close second.

Here's one from last year when I was trying to understand my distrust of men.

Right hand: Hey, I know you’re there. What’s going on?

Left Hand: I hate him. He doesn’t care about me.

Right hand: Who?

Left hand: It doesn’t matter. They’re all the same.

Right hand: Who?


Right hand: Where are you?

Left hand: I’m at home. I’m always at home.

Right hand: What are you doing?

Left hand: Nothing. I should be doing my chores, but I don’t want to.

Right hand: What do you want to do?

Left hand: Go outside. I want to get away. Go anywhere. Get out of here.

Right hand: How old are you?

Left hand: Almost 12.

Right hand: Why are you so sad?

Left hand: I’m ANGRY!

Right hand: Why? Who are you angry with?

Left hand: Everyone. I just want to run away.

Right hand: What made you angry?

Left hand: My father was being an asshole. I hate him. I don’t need him. I
don’t need to talk to anyone.

Right hand: What was he doing?

Left hand: Oh God, the usual stuff. He says things and I have to listen. He never listens to me. I don’t tell him anything anymore, anyway. I can get by on my own.

Right hand: I know. I remember. It’s ok. You don’t have to tell him. You can tell me. I’ll

Left hand: I’m stuck here. You can’t help me.

Right hand: Maybe I can. I want to help. Come out where I can see you.

Left hand: I cut myself. I scratched letters in my arm. 

Right hand: It’s ok. I remember. Those letters are the initials of a  man you've never even met. You don’t even know him, you know that, right?

Left hand: Shut up. You don’t know. Nobody knows. He talks to me on the phone. I hate being alone here.

Right hand: I do know. I remember. I hate being alone, too.


Right hand: I know it feels good to talk.


Right hand: I’m here. What do you want to talk about?

Journal Entry after the left/right writing:

I had nearly forgotten about that whole thing. I was in 6th grade, and I used to call this guy every day when I got home. It had been just a random number, I used to do that a lot, call random numbers and try to get people to talk to me. Usually people just hung up when they realized they didn’t know me, but he talked to me.

I haven’t thought about that in years It went on for several weeks. I thought about him all day in school and called him as soon as I got home.

I never even met him, but he knew me well because I was not afraid to tell him things. The phone was safe.

I scratched his initials in my arm.

Then, I said -- something… what? Something that made him angry. I remember being surprised that he was so angry. He said I couldn‘t call him anymore.

The marks on my arm were there for a long time.

What did I say? I told him about my arm!

That’s what it was. I told him that I had scratched his initials in my arm and he
freaked out and told me not to call him anymore. He hung up when I called after that.

Wow, I went overboard and then when I told him about it, I felt completely cut off and rejected.

But, it wasn’t real, not a real relationship, just like this. This attachment to Dr. M is no more real than the silly attachment I had to that guy on the phone in 6th grade.

But it’s still really painful. I feel like I lost something important.
That’s all I wanted. For someone to really know me and think I was ok.
I guess it’s all I ever wanted but I am too afraid to let anyone in. But somehow I always take it too far, I always screw it up.

Damn it. I made a mess of everything again.

Maybe it is really not safe to know me.
Maybe my father was right.
When people get to know me, they will find out how bad I really am.
At my next session, we began the DNMS process with the new part I had identified through the left/ right writing -- the angry twelve-year-old.
I no longer felt alone.

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Co Creation

Co Creation
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Love your inner child...

...for she holds the key...

...to your personal power.
A lesson is woven into each day.
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