I return to my blog today to find that I’ve been on a political tear.
I am the Matt part of Matthew.
I go to therapy and make sure we get help in a crisis.
I write about DID.
The best way to understand this blog is to think of it as a group effort.
It’s really a dozen blogs all mushed up into one.
The part of me that blogs politics freaked out so now I’m back
to try to make sense of why we’re still so switchy and losing so
I’ve mentioned that I am in EMDR therapy.
In my last session, I approached a memory hole.
A memory hole is a gap in time.
I know something horrible happened but I don’t know what it is.
My memory of the events that lead the gap is clear:
I am five and my Sister is almost two.
Mother takes us to an apartment building in a seedy part of town.
She has left my father.
A man sits on the porch: his testicles hang out of his shorts.
We go down a dark hallway and I see another man through
an open door.
He reads at a kitchen table.
He looks up and flashes a tooth-less grin.
We enter a furnished room.
There is a bed, a couch and a small kitchen with a table and two chairs.
Mother has purchased pots, pans, and other kitchen supplies.
She intends for us to live here.
The next memory is that of waking up on a king sized bed.
My Sister sleeps next to me.
The babysitter is on the couch having sex with her boyfriend.
I know who she is but I don’t know him. It looks like he’s
Then, I hear a tap at the window behind the bed.
I look up and see a man’s face.
He has a gun—and nothing.
The next morning a social worker from the Jewish Family Services
takes my sister and me to a foster home.
I don’t know why.
I hear a child’s voice in my head say the man killed the babysitter
but I don’t know if that’s true.
Psychotherapy affects every domain of functioning, even for people
who do it for simpler reasons.
Psychotherapy to treat a complex defense mechanism like Dissociative
Identity Disorder can make a person feel like he’s going crazy.
I sense an atmosphere of violence and implied threats in our
national politics and it’s triggering.
It feels like the South of my childhood.
This is part of why I’m so destabilized.
I feel as if I have to tell everyone that we’re in danger but I don’t
know if that’s true.
I do know this:
I’m haunted by the ghosts of armed white people
who flew confederate flags.
And I was in danger.
This is part of the reason I’m losing so much time.