Friends who were healthy one week and dead the next were triggers.
Any spot on my arm sent me into panic, so much so that I became a frequent flyer at the local clinics, which eventually gave me a prescription for Xanax.
I did not know that Xanax was addictive; I only knew that it made the fear go away.
The straight psychiatrists I saw were completely removed from the Gay Community and the AIDS epidemic and didn’t understand why the panicked
patient whose friends were all dying was so distressed and unstable.
The pharmaceutical industry reported that Xanax had an anti-depressant effect.
By 1986 I was on a prescribed dose of eight milligrams a day.
Everything that happens during the course of Psychotherapy is a representation of the trauma, its affect your life, and the meaning of your symptoms.
For adult survivors of abuse a common theme in therapy is mistrust and the fear of forming an attachment.
DID allows a part of me to make friends and to form an attachment while protecting the parts of me that are fragile and afraid.
My task in treatment is to intentionally make all of myself vulnerable to another person; in my case, a woman therapist, since most of the damage was done by my Mother.
This process of building trust with a woman who wants what’s best for me and who acts in my interests is the path to becoming whole.
In the Hell of my childhood nothing about me was acceptable.
I was a show-off, too sensitive, too feminine, too much of everything that people in my ‘class’ had no right to be.
In the world of my childhood, God rewards the Godly with a good Christian family, white skin; and money.
A lowly birth meant your place in God’s plan was bondage.
The idea that all Americans have a right to a stake in the wealth of our nation was deemed an absurd fiction, a delusion foisted on good people by damned Yankees.