Mental Health: The Struggle to be a good person

People have described me as flaky, high maintenance, difficult, hysterical, confusing, compulsive, and dishonest.

That last one, dishonest, is a common reaction to people with DID.

People tend to go with what makes the most sense based on what they know.

Most people know nothing about the mind, much less states of mind.

The other words on that list are alternate descriptions of the symptoms of DID.

Gaps in memory look flaky, but they’re more than forgetting. These gaps
are the same as not knowing.

High maintenance means I require more medical supports and more patience from friends and family.

Panic attacks look like hysteria.

Personality switches are confusing because my alternates have different interests.

However, the words people use aren’t all negative.

People also describe me as loving, intelligent, empathetic, compassionate, loyal, strong, and honest.

That last, honest, means I say what I think is true based on what I know or think I know.

The goals of treatment for dissociative identity disorder

My ultimate goal in life is to be a good person; it’s an ongoing project and a choice I have to make every day.

What are the words people use to describe you?

(c) Rob Goldstein 2019

Dolls: A Nice Little House

Peter draws a skinny little boy named Tony and puts him in a cell.

Tony is more like his Mother than his Father.

Tony is more like his Mother than his self.

A doll’s eye fades to black.

Tony’s cell is really a nice little house in a forest of pink trees.

These things sometimes happen:

A garden of morning glories never opens.

A dead bee stabs the sole of your foot.

A giant toad leaps on your chest at midnight:

all the months of August in a row.

Rob Goldstein 1985-2019

Dissociative Identity Disorder: Learning to Trust

The patients’ job in intensive psychotherapy is to ask why.

Why do I seek out women who are devoid of the capacity for love?

Why do I veer from an extreme identification with the middle class to an extreme identification with the poor?

Why do I force myself to fail economically just as I get closest to winning?

Why do I sometimes behave as if I hate myself?

I first grappled with the problem of internalized stigma during the early days of the AIDS epidemic when I wondered if the AIDS was God’s judgment.

None of the intellectual and political constructions that served me as gay activist in the 1970’s could defeat the internalized homophobia unleashed by AIDS.

I watched men die from grief, self-hatred, and fear and I was nearly one of them.

This was when I realized the true function of any ‘ism’ is to convince the target to self-destruct.

This was why any novel written about gays before Stonewall usually ended with suicide or the impoverished death of the gay character.

AIDS was the greatest tragic ending, infused with the dissonant myth of a loving, yet vengeful God.


Internalized homophobia was the least of my problems.

AIDS was trauma on trauma.

I didn’t know I had a dissociative disorder.

I was living in the worst possible place at the worst possible time
for someone with Dissociative Identity Disorder.

Any spot on my arm sent me into panic, so much, so I became a frequent
flyer at the local crisis clinics.

The shrinks eventually gave me a prescription for Xanax.

Xanax
                                 Xanax

The only thing I knew about Xanax was it made the fear go away.

The pharmaceutical industry reported Xanax had an anti-depressant effect.

By 1986 I was on a prescribed dose of eight milligrams a day.

A seizure when I decided to stop the drug was how I learned  Xanax is addictive.

2011 photograph of a mannequin in a shop window on Mission Street taken in 2011 with a Blackberry
Xanax

My DID allows parts of me to form attachments while protecting the parts that are fragile and afraid.

One goal of my treatment is for me to learn to trust a woman.

This process of building trust with a woman who wants what’s best for me and who acts in my interests is a path to becoming whole.

John C. Calhoun Homes
A digitally altered snapshot of one of my childhood homes.

As I enter my 8th year of intensive psychotherapy, the questions I must
ask are less confounding.

When I entered treatment in October of 2011, I felt like a helpless child.

It is now October 2018.

I feel more whole.

(c) Rob Goldstein 2015-2018
The Photo of Xanax found on Google Images

First posted November 1, 2015-updated November 8, 2017 – Rewritten and Updated October 21, 2018

 

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Poetry: In the Dark

Warning: content may be triggering

Digital painting based on a wall mural in San Francisco
In the Dark

in the dark

in my bed

by the wall

his tongue

my ear

his tongue

my mouth

his head

my thighs

wet silence

red blood

he enters

he fills me

my mouth

his breath

my face

his knife

I wait

in the dark

in my bed

By the wall

 

Rob Goldstein (c) 2015-2018

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