dissociation – Ritual Abuse

A Hard Christmas Season for RA/MC Survivors

December 31, 2022 by Jean, posted in Christmas, dissociation, perfectionism

I have heard from way more than one RA/MC survivor that the 2022 Solstice/Yule/Christmas/New Year’s season has been harder than usual.

It was for me. I have been spoiled by the last two years. To my amazement, I sailed through all the holidays just as if I were not an RA survivor. I still was aware of memories and feelings about my family of origin – dislike of holiday feasts and other forms of jollity and deep disappointment in presents. Of course, all my childhood memories of holidays were tainted by cult experiences. Many gifts were triggers (like taxidermy baby chicks at Easter) or chosen to make me feel fat, stupid, unacceptable, unheard, misunderstood, and unloved.

This year, I was caught unawares around the middle of December. Suddenly, my senses were dulled and it was extremely difficult to enjoy anything whatsoever. Not my friends, not the cat, not even coffee or chocolate. I felt unconnected to others and to everything inside and outside myself.

For about two weeks, I felt like a half-ghost, floating through the days, not thinking about what was coming. Not connected to much of anything, certainly not to my fear. I was in flashback, a feelings-flashback, a flashback to childhood dissociation.

I told myself I would get my energy back after the first of the year, but I woke up on the 28th feeling “normal.” I have more energy and I once more care about my friends and my projects. I have no idea why there was a two-week flashback this year and not last year or the year before. I have no idea if I will greet all the holidays in 2023 with flashbacks or whether I will once again shrug them off.

But I do know that whatever happens, I will cope.

On Comparing Myself to Others

I subscribe to Anu Garg’s “A.Word.A.Day,” along with almost 4,000,000 other people. You can subscribe here: http://wordsmith.org/. Archives are here https://wordsmith.org/words/today.html. It’s free.

Today’s email starts with these words:

“I’m such an underachiever.

“I don’t have a single world record to my name. Not only that, I have not even attempted one.

“Make it, underachiever and unambitious.

“I was reminded of this when I read about a man named Ashrita Furman. (https://www.ashrita.com/) He has made more than 700 world records. Imagine when the number of records you have made needs to be rounded. To the nearest hundreds!

“Furman has another record I had not even thought about: Having made the largest number of world records.

“That makes me: underachiever, unambitious, and unimaginative.

“…. well, I sit here in my corner of the world, playing with words.

“This week we introduce you to five words that make a record of sorts, let’s call them word records.”

I love this guy, who gives me a word every morning for six days and on the seventh gives me readers’ comments, limericks, and puns on the week’s words.

Today’s word is eunoia, the shortest word in English with all five vowels. (A word record!) It means “a feeling of goodwill” and has inspired a really odd book. https://www.amazon.com/dp/1552452255/ws00-20. Peek inside: you will be amazed.

At the moment, I am not ashamed to say I am an underachiever, unambitious, and unimaginative. Everybody I know is. I may have met a few people in Ashrita Furman’s league, but I can’t recall who or when. And yet I keep scolding myself for not being perfect…yet.

One of my core beliefs is that I am incompetent, not good enough. No matter how hard I try, I will never be good enough. Unless I am the best in the world, I am second-rate.

With standards that high, it is a self-fulfilling prophecy. How would I even know I was the best in the world at something? If somebody told me I was, I would assume it was a trick and they were lying so they could laugh at me when I believed them. And even if it were true, and I knew for sure it was true, I would also know that somebody better than me would come along, and I would once again be second-rate. One little moment of success, snatched away almost immediately.

Looking at this situation with a jaundiced eye, I conclude that it is ridiculous to compare myself to others. It’s a no-win situation, a waste of time and energy, and a drain on my life force. I’ll never be the prettiest, the smartest, the best educated, the most accomplished, the most original thinker, the best dancer. If that is to be my life’s goal, I will fail dismally. It is better to be content with being mediocre.

It’s no secret how I came to believe I was doomed to fail over and over. In the cult, children were set up to fail and then blamed and shamed for not succeeding. We were placed in double binds, and whatever path we took, we were punished for taking the wrong one. Stripped of all self-confidence, our minds were ready to unquestionably obey any order given. We were trained to obey without thought or resistance.

At home, the methods were different, but the message was the same. My mother had a beautiful, accomplished older sister, and, on a good day, she felt second-best. I was supposed to have the life she should have had – or rather, her sister’s life. Unfortunately, it doesn’t work that way. My genetic makeup was different and I was not born in 1895.

There was less pressure at school – until I got to college. I had chosen an Ivy League co-ed school with a ratio of ten boys to every girl. Standards were high, and competition was fierce. Girls didn’t shine in that atmosphere.

Over the years, I learned to let go of perfectionism. If a job was worth doing, it was still worthwhile, even if it had errors. A typo was not the end of the world. It was good enough, and good enough was good enough for me.

Now that I have lowered my standards, I find I am far less anxious. Instead of being mortified by everything I do, I can take pleasure in it. I enjoy the process and care much less about the finished product. And the finished product seems better to me because it is created in a calm atmosphere, not an anxious, chaotic rush.

And guess what? Now that I don’t compete with others, I enjoy them a lot more. I appreciate who they are and am happy for their success. I like myself more, and I like other people more, too.

Spencer’s News

In the olden days, I would blame myself for neglecting my cat. If I only paid enough attention to him, he wouldn’t be invisible most of the time. Now I enjoy discovering his personality in the few moments he makes a guest appearance.

He comes up to me while I am at the computer, stands up on his hind legs, puts his front paws on my knees, and waits for me to scratch his chin. Today, for the first time, he jumped up on my lap. He stayed only long enough to jump down off the other side. I took that as a great compliment.

Some nights he comes and licks my neck for a moment. Now and then, he adds love bites. Last night, he crawled under the covers and settled next to me with one paw on my arm. He didn’t stay long, and he was completely invisible under the covers, but it made me happy.

My timid, invisible cat with soft shiny fur and pale yellow eyes is showing more and more affection. It’s slow-going, but that’s good enough. Actually, it’s great.

Thanksgiving and Dissociation

November 21, 2022 by Jean, posted in blog writing, dissociation, satanic holidays

I’m sitting here not knowing what to write. My mind feels blank, empty. I’ve been in this place before, many, many times. I have always come up with something, and most of the time I was satisfied with what I had written. That doesn’t mean I’ll be able to pull it off today, of course.

It’s a very familiar feeling. There is a pane of glass between me and the world, and whatever is “me” has stepped back, several steps behind the glass. Quiet, unengaged, just looking outwards toward the world. No judgment, no reaction, no words, no thoughts.

It’s dissociation, of course. At this time, for whatever reason, I am more dissociated than usual. If I fight it and scold myself for being so unengaged, so uncaring, it is unpleasant. I start brooding on what might be wrong with me, and why I haven’t fixed it once and for all after all these years. This leads to a fair amount of self-hatred.

If I just experience it without all that useless self-improvement chatter, it isn’t all that unpleasant. It’s nothing – no pain, no anxiety, no pleasure. Isn’t this what you are supposed to achieve when you empty your mind during meditation? Just observe the thoughts as they float by, don’t try and catch them and remember them, just observe without judgment, and then let them go. When the thoughts have gone, isn’t this what is left? Probably not, but it’s the closest I can come to describing what being dissociated feels like to me.

Dissociation, of course, takes many forms. It simply means that things that were once together have gotten separated. One’s self can be split into separate parts, each holding a part of the original self. A memory may be split, and parts stored separately so that only a smell is recalled. Or an image, like a still photograph. Or the emotion that was felt at the time the memory was formed.

We all learned to dissociate as very little kids. It was the only way we could survive what was done to us. We learned how to ”leave our bodies;” that is, we separated our bodies and our minds so that we could be unaware of the pain and the threat to our very lives. We floated up to the treetops and looked at the stars, or floated into an angel’s arms, or became a little bird perching on a branch, ready to fly away at any moment. Or, like me, we became nothing.

Thanksgiving has always been difficult for me. I think that is why I am so disengaged. I am re-experiencing the state I was in during those childhood Thanksgivings.

It’s interesting – I only have one memory of a Thanksgiving up until my twenties. A little glass bowl was filled with celery stalks and olives. I have memories of Christmas, Easter, and my birthday, all difficult days for me throughout adulthood. But Thanksgiving remains a blank. The celery and olives have no meaning, as far as I can tell. They are neutral, neither liked nor disliked, with no attached symbolism. Probably that is why they are remembered. I focused on something banal to protect myself from whatever was happening around me or to me. As neutral as leaves on a tree.

Today, despite feeling totally detached, I am making a point to see that the plants are watered. The cat will be fed every day this week, and the litter box will be cleaned. I will pet him every time he asks for attention. I may feel that I don’t care about the plants and the cat, but the plants won’t notice, and the cat probably won’t either. I will try to get a few things done, just not as much as usual.

And I will try and accept this eerie, quiet feeling. Not accept as in, “fuck it, it’s here, so I shall put up with it until lit goes away.” More like, “Gee, this has some advantages. The little voice that says, ‘hurry, things need to be done, important things. Stop daydreaming!’ is quiet. It feels sort of nice to float along, not caring or worrying so much.”

Thursday will come and go, and I will come out of this stasis and start feeling again. Meanwhile, I have ordered 120 bulbs on sale for my spring garden, cooked four artichokes, and eaten one. I made my bed and my laundry is done. I have actually been taking care of myself without thinking about it. Friday, I will feel good about the things I did while I was sleepwalking. Today, it is enough to just notice them.

Categorizing DID

October 31, 2021 by Jean, posted in alters, dissociation

Poetry Reading News

The Poetry Reading was pretty cool. This time, we invited people to bring one of their poems to read and about half the audience accepted. People loved it, just like the first time. I wasnt nearly as anxious as the first time, so there wasn’t that sense of relief when it was over. Can’t argue with that!

We are doing it again on February 19th. Same co-hosts, different poets.

Call for Editor of a RA/MC Online Poetry Anthology

We have had requests for a website where we could publish people’s poems – an online anthology. I think I have somebody to design it and do the layout. Would somebody like to be in charge? If so, contact us at: https://grassroots-ra-mc-collective.org/contact-or-express-your-interest-in-running-an-event/

Categorizing Dissociative People – People with Parts

I wrote last time about realizing that all multiples are different – all systems are unique. Now I want to talk about how dissociative disorders are categorized.

I’ll start by quoting the DSM-V, which is used to code diagnoses. It doesn’t really relate to what I want to say, but it is interesting to read about it.

I got the text from traumadissociation.com, which has a lot of good information and discussion on such things as differentiating dissociative disorder from bipolar or borderline personality disorder.

http://traumadissociation.com/dissociativeidentitydisorder.html#differential

“A. Disruption of identity characterized by two or more distinct personality states, which may be described in some cultures as an experience of possession. The disruption of marked discontinuity in sense of self and sense of agency, accompanied by related alterations in affect, behavior, consciousness, memory, perception, cognition, and/or sensory-motor functioning. These signs and symptoms may be observed by others or reported by the individual.

B. Recurrent gaps in the recall of everyday events, important personal information, and/or traumatic events that are inconsistent with ordinary forgetting.

C. The symptoms cause clinically significant distress or impairment in social, occupational, or other important areas of functioning.

D. The disturbance is not a normal part of a broadly accepted cultural or religious practice. Note: In children, the symptoms are not better explained by imaginary playmates or other fantasy play.

E. The symptoms are not attributable to the physiological effects of a substance (e.g., blackouts or chaotic behavior during alcohol intoxication) or another medical condition (e.g., complex partial seizures).” [3]:292

Quick Comments on C, D, and E.

C. Quite a few people with DID are very high functioning and show little or no impairment. They also are not significantly distressed. What deficits they have are well hidden from others (and themselves), and there would be no need for treatment at this time.

D. Why do you have to choose? Surely some people with DID are part of a culture or religion that values spirit possession. Surely there are children with DID who have imaginary playmates.

E. Again, why do you have to choose? Having two separate conditions is called “comorbidity.” The rate of alcoholism and drug abuse in RA/MC survivors appears to be similar to that of the general population (around 10% – 15%). Eating disorders, however, are far more frequent in RA/MC survivors (around 50% – 60%).

Looking at A and B: “Discontinuity in sense of self and sense of agency” plus “recurrent gaps in recall” (e.g., amnesia). Does this describe people with DID? I’d say it does. However, it doesn’t give an idea of the variation found in any group of people with DID.

How many parts are there? How often do they switch? Do child parts come to the front? Do parts present as the same person at different ages? As separate from the person? As human, animals, inanimate objects? As something less defined, like a gust of wind, tiny pieces of sand or glass, or just a feeling of something different?

Do they know each other? Talk to each other? Talk to you? Are they organized? If so, in what way? Are they part of a rigid hierarchy? Of an organization with a name, history, and goal? Do they live in a place with houses, trees, ponds, etc.?

If children are subjected to repeated extreme trauma that seems random, with no justifying ideology, they will split into parts that will organize themselves organically. The abusers do not attempt to isolate and train any part. Organized groups, however, will either formally or informally train a child to behave in certain ways. Repeated actions teach the child that certain behaviors are expected at certain times.

The start of the ritual, for example, would serve as a trigger to bring out a part that knows what to do at each stage of the ritual. It is only one small step for group members to train an already-formed part, refine the behavior, and teach it to come out when cued. This happens in child prostitution and pornography rings as well as in cults.

In government/military mind control, training of the parts is more intense, more frequent, and extreme torture is more common. The programmers pay close attention to each part, assigning them roles and jobs within the system. They have groups of parts trained to be back-ups to other parts, just in case something happens to them. They do everything they can think of to make sure that their programming doesn’t break down. It seems to me that they delight in the complexity of the systems they create – perhaps competing against other programmers.

There is overlap between cult groups, prostitution and pornography rings, and government/military mind control. Programming customs and techniques travel between groups, especially at the higher levels. You can’t easily put your finger on differences between groups – you can’t say, “Oh, this person has a part called X who interacts with a group composed of A B and C. They must have been abused in Southern Idaho.” When abusive groups were first migrating from Europe, you might have been able to, but not these days.

Looking back over the years, I can see patterns in how survivors understood their systems. In the early years, the ’80s and early ’90s, people with DID were thought to have a few clearly defined parts with little communication between them. “Three Faces of Eve” influenced the development of this model. As survivors got together and started talking, they realized that most people were more complicated than that. They had far more parts than was originally thought.

The more people compared notes, the more they learned about themselves and other dissociated people. They learned that some people’s parts were extremely varied – there were babies and dragons and demons and mother cats and kittens and robots and soldiers and magicians and CEOs and many, many more. They also learned that these parts were in complicated relationships with each other and that “system maps” could be very useful in understanding how things worked together. Knowledge about government/military programming grew out of familiarity with these complicated systems.

Now I am seeing a growing interest in parts that are vaguer, less defined, less animate than clearly defined parts with emotions, histories, and jobs. “Polyfragmented,” for example, once meant more than 50 or 100 parts. Then it came to encompass people with thousands of parts. Now there is interest in fragments as small as shattered pieces of glass or grains of sand. How do these tiny fragments come together to do something and then dissipate? What programming caused this to happen?

At the same time, there is a growing awareness of “shell alters” – “front parts” who serve as a container for other internal parts who step into the shells and speak through them. And how are these two phenomena related, if they are?

I’m sure that DID is even more complicated than it seems today. Who knows what we will be puzzling over in five or ten years!

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