Dark part.

Halloween in Australia is stupid. It’s hot here and for anybody silly enough to dress up, their makeup would be all runny and the costume would make you sweat. Gross.

I woke with a headache and it is still throbbing in the background.

Went to therapy this afternoon. My T is getting old. That saddens me. One day she will be too old to see me. She spoke to a part, who I have felt reveal herself recently. This is a very dark part who wants to destroy. She sees herself as powerful, evil and manipulative. She thinks the world is full of darkness so it is better to be cold and emotionless and be on top. The part hates me and wants me gone. The part thinks it controls me. Sometimes I would say this is true. I don’t like having this part inside me.


Tonight I had a big project launch, in my other world. I was together and relaxed and gave an effective speech and people laughed and I was on show and it was a massive achievement and it feels good. I felt good all night and proud of what I have done. It’s nice to enjoy life tonight given I have been so up and down. It’s nice to feel centred and grounded and joyous.



No idea. Nicer title than alcoholic or sex addict I guess.

Difficulty identifying feelings, separated from self, seeks identity/ validation in others, avoids or minimises how they feel. I am all these things and more.

Mental illness.

Not me. Prefer idea of mental injury or just survivor of ritual abuse – which caused dissociation and separation of self, which has led to a past of addiction, depression and suicidal ideation. Normal result of adopting maladaptive behaviours to survive an abnormal childhood.


Existential. Otherwise I refuse to feel it. I split. Actually I think I have a high tolerance to pain, but emotional pain is indescribable. It is silent torment, it is discomfort and bathing in shame. It feels… its way around my body and seeps into my skin, after dark and during day hours. I can wake with it. It can catch me off guard.


Desired it for years. It’s faded somewhat over the last eight months. It’s still an option. I keep it on the table. I understand why people do it. What’s the worst that could happen if I dared to live my dreams, given death is not the worst thing? Perhaps an easy question if I knew my dreams. I hate questions like that. They are privileged and new age oriented.


Much needed. I used to think I needed to drink to get to sleep. Now I just read. I’ve never had insomnia, except when I used to take drugs. I sleep well. Occasionally I remember my dreams. I can wake to nightmares. Mostly I sleep fine. I hate napping in the day. I find it hard to relax and maybe I feel a bit scared.


Distorted. The programming kept me so dissociated I struggled for years to coherently express my thoughts. I would do so in my head but aloud, things always sounded different. I kept to sarcasm and witty one liners. I used drink or drugs to form conversation. My first girlfriend was very intelligent. We talked a lot, I’d never talked with someone so much before. I found her easy to talk too, she helped me unpack my thinking. Stopping drinking cleared my head. Reading and studying helped me express my thoughts.


Confuses me. I do trust, I think. It’s easy to say, think and feel, but it’s surface. Trust was broken from an early age. Trust no one. Not even self. Without that, what am I left with? Isolation? No one. You actually can’t trust no one. Not even self. God? Maybe. We are considering it. If there’s anyone worth trusting, it is Him.

A new day

Back to normal. It’s good to write it out I guess. I won’t lie, I feel shame in admitting how I feel when I am running rough. I went to gym class this morning, prayed, did all the right things and now it’s just head down, meetings and marking and be kind to myself. It’s okay to entertain the notion that I can love me. I love me. All of me.

Fragments of feelings.

Feeling very out of sorts. Disgusting, negative, distorted. I am close to having micro panic attacks, then I disconnect, get distracted and forget about it. Lots of chatter in my head. I’m angry, it’s parts, I’m ashamed, it’s parts, I’m stressed, that’s me; I’m depressed and full of self loathing- it’s parts.

My body is tingling, my breath is shallow. I hate me – it’s memory. I can’t put things into perspective; of course I can, I keep moving don’t I? I will wake tomorrow, go to gym, go to work, do committee meetings and marking and inside my head will be the dissociated chatter that shames me, points fingers at me, keeps me on edge and paranoid.

I, I, I, I wish I could say words of meaning and shout what’s inside my head, I wish I could shake out the internal pain. Why can’t I? Perhaps if I was alone. I desire to be alone so no one can see me or bear witness to this disgusting self that carries me. Yet I can’t be alone. I would seek distraction very quickly.

It’s shame. What a toxic beast that rides me. It’s shame shackled around my neck, whipping me as I go faster, bringing welts to my back. Last night I dreamt of my father as a pedophile.

Who knows what my story is, the Lord won’t give it to me. He leaves me in blankness, scrounging the internet for an identity. I’m angry at Him. He hates me anyway, I’ve forgotten why though.

It’s not nice when the angry parts abuse me. They tell me I am so bad and disgusting and dirty and a worm. It is hard to listen to that you know and find compassion. I do my best to ignore, but they find me, press me, repel me.

I’ve got sabotage on my brain. She distances me. She sets out to destroy. I had parts who wanted to hurt my ex husband so bad- punish him the way they were punished. It is so hard to sit with that knowing; that inside me lives abuser parts who want to hurt others so bad like they were hurt. I hate that about myself. I work diligently to keep them down. They keep coming up and calling out. I want them gone. They want to destroy.

I am confused by the concept of victim. I listened to a YouTube video of a survivor and she said when she was in the states I describe, she was being a victim. It’s a loaded word and I feel bad for being one. I am a victim to my victim hood. I can’t locate compassion or sympathy in this space. I wish I hadn’t of listened to her. The things I am not ready to here or are my feelings valid?

God. Hoping He rescues me someday, just don’t know from what. Have no idea what it means to believe in God these days or be a Christian. I feel so drawn away from mainstream Christianity (not that I was particularly pulled towards it in the first place), and more pulled towards radical teachings of inclusivity and queer theology that embraces difference, yet torn because I still shame myself for being wrong and on the dark side. Still dying to be saved without having accepted I am already. I cannot fathom God has love for me. The script is old I know it, but I cannot hear the new one.

Halloween month. There is so much spiritual shit going on and I hate it. I would prefer not to leave the house. I am under attack, but of course it is my mind making it all up. Best not to talk about it, just hope it passes soon. Must talk about it- what? That demons walk the air, fill my head with toxic thinking? Nah girl, you just getting your period and are having a breakdown. I want them to stop hurting me. I am too weak too call out. My mind goes blank if I think about it too much. I am afraid and sad.

Tomorrow is a new day. The week starts. I go again. It’s good to keep record of the craziness.

Warm evening. bed writing.

Ugh. Kinda all over the place. In head, out of head, like me, hate me. Plagued with resent, caught in it; a distraction no doubt to some hidden thing that I refuse to look at. One minute I think I’m gonna be this inspiring change agent who helps transform lives, the next I’m stuck in my head dreaming up simple, but effective ways to die. Everything is annoying me. Discovered parts who are really resentful at God. I thought I’d dealt with that. Nope. Every bad thing that happens to me (it could be as simple as not getting a car park… stupid I know), is evidence that God is punishing me. They feel like He hates them and wants them to suffer and fail. Programmed parts, I would say to someone if they told me this. Yeah, yeah I get it, but what do I do about that. Talk to them. I don’t want to. I don’t want to hear them say nasty mean stuff but I think I have to. I’m pained. Nothing else is working. It’s hot tonight. Thank goodness. I love the warm weather, this place is gonna get real hot this summer. One bedroom apartment. I’m going to buy a ceiling fan. A necessary event. A standing fan won’t fit in this room, they get dusty and where do I put it once the warm weather passes? These are my privileged woes. I sit in judgement about every thought or feeling I have, every sentence I say. I watch me from a distance, sometimes I don’t even know who’s speaking. Works been hard. I am efficient and it is showing people up. I have had some good stuff happen recently, stuff I gotta keep separate from this blog, two worlds haven’t collided yet, but sometimes I think when good things happen those around you aren’t as happy for you as you might have thought. I’m not doing things for their validation. I do things because I like to do things. Dammit I’m a programmed doer. It’s rather annoying at times. It can show some people up at work, but frankly these are people that just don’t “do” – anything. I bear the brunt of their blame. They fake happy for me. Who cares what they think? I just got to keep focused, keep things light and fluffy and be nice. Pray for protection. Head down, do the work. I wear myself down with these swarming thoughts. It’s good to get some out of my head. Last night I dissociated. I was feeling stressed. I told S I needed her to help clean up more (she is super clean, but I don’t know, I’ve felt taken advantage of lately). Like I don’t know whether I’m making things up, or trying to cause drama, I don’t even think I have a right to feel this stuff. It’s my apartment, I pay the mortgage but I also pay all the bills etc and I think that weighs me down sometimes. It is an unfair and uneven arrangement I get it. Age is a factor here and she is just finishing up at uni. I’m happy to help out, it won’t always be so uneven, I am just not used to being that person is all. It’s weird and sometimes I like it, a lot of the time I don’t. I am mindful it can cause resentment. It’s not like I expect her to be my cleaner, I just want to feel as though she is maybe more grateful. Or is that unfair to think? I have no idea what’s right or not. Not that it’s about being right, just valid. Like what is a valid way to feel. So I expressed this last night and immediately I just felt bad and it got weird for us and then she asked if I could check something on my phone and I said “pass it to me” and she threw it from a short distance (which is normally cool when we r in sync), but I wasn’t all together present and the phone whacked me in the face. Smack bang on my nose and it hurt and normally it would be funny, and she was laughing and usually I would laugh too, but i just switched and my Little’s came out and cried and were so confused as to why she would try and hurt them. Of course S said sorry and that she didn’t mean to but it took a while for them to understand it was an accident. We watched an episode of “Unbelievable” (terrific detective series on Netflix about serial rapist and the effects of trauma) and eventually went to bed, but man my head was very jumbled and dissociated. I want to know how it makes her feel. She must think I’m real weird or something. I need to ask for validation the next day. I need her to ask me if I’m okay and to say that it’s okay I dissociate and she loves all of me because right now I don’t know and sit in embarrassment and weirdness. It takes a while to feel connected again each time. It’s always been like that. It’s a pattern.

Quick change.

Just as I was feeling all loved up and good, I’ve switched and gone away. I don’t really know how to get back. I just feel all dead inside and distant. It’s triggering to S, who gets all needy and worried and stuff, but I don’t really know what to do about that cos I’ve said I have gone away. There are some moments when I come back, but it’s pretty brief. I just want to be left alone. I’ve got things to do anyway.

Ticking along.

Back from Moscow and hit the ground running with work and life. It’s been the smoothest transition back home for some time now. I can’t believe how less triggering it is with S and how crazy in love I feel. It is good, healthy, beautiful, supportive, normal/ yet of course, not within the hetero normative paradigm. When I let that go, I feel strong and whole. When I sit in the perceived shame that is reinforced through many faith based discourses, then I feel guilty and bad. I believe God wants me to be strong and whole and to make Him the centre of my identity. I get that. I don’t feel like being in a same sex relationship is my identity, it is just part of me. I don’t see it as a bad thing anymore, although I know I am still shaking off old belief systems, many unconscious. My little ones came out last night. I was so tired, probably a bit of jet lag. They come out during stress and tiredness. They just want to say hi sometimes and think about my furry doggies.

Positive vs negative

Last night of conference in Russia and it was a big gala dinner. Everyone was drinking lots of vodka and wine and there was so much food. It was a little hard being around so much alcohol and part of me wished I could drink, be like others. But the truth is, I would be sick, might make a fool of myself and I certainly wouldn’t be at the conference in the first place. Drinking didn’t do me favours in the end. This conference has really blown my mind, at the same time I keep meeting people who challenge my thinking even further. I just met a danish man and he was so negative. We laughed as I proclaimed I was an optimist and he said matter of factly he was a pessimist. I talked about all the things I liked from the conference and he talked about all the things he disliked. It was a good conversation and I enjoyed hearing his alternative perspectives on the way the conference was run, the various speakers and the topics.

I just feel as though I am not very smart and that perhaps my optimism comes from stupidity. I’m not critically engaging enough or asking the right questions. I do have God in my heart and I know He makes me joyous (I often don’t know where the heart felt joy comes from, other than a sense it is God working in me), whereas it is unlikely this man has faith. Maybe that’s the difference and it’s okay to sit with that. I would rather be positive than negative, but he sounds like a terrific educator and would be very impressive to listen to as he is very knowledgeable about the world. I just feel like I am at the beginning of my knowledge journey and learning how to articulate my thinking. I hope I can contribute to the world one day instead of feeling stupid and worthless.

A poem with no title.

I am dirt, richly covered, dense and moist. My hands knead it like floury dough, caked in sugar. Knees scratch on gravel.

I am dirt, roots trapped within, branches shaking at the top, leaves melting. Sun scorched, red dirt, black and brown, earth dirt, metal hands comb my hair.

Dirt I am, no longer stained, now a deep Mother Earth covering, giver of life, bedroom for seeds.

Dirt arms, dirt legs, dirt teeth. Strong arms yank weeds. The sky remains a blue blanket that pours down heavy droplets. The earth has bore me. I am cleaned by Great tears, threatened to drown me, yet they lovingly caress.

I am dirt – no more – now, wrapped in white sheets.