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Warning: Suicide attempt mention
Ughhhh one thing that really rattled my mind about being in such a big fandom space like this again is just how weird people are about things like DID or OSDD, it’s like they treat it like some magical thing that lets them interact with their favourite characters. “OMG YOU FORMED _ FROM _ ?!?! NO WAY!”. Even then, when I am interacting with other people who DO have dissociative disorders, I feel so out of place! It’s not something I talk about often, and it’s not particularly something that’s been affecting me as much since dropping out of high school, but still…
It’s just me, her, a small fragment of them still left and tons of small pieces of myself that come and go, but to better simplify I would just count us as two people. Just the two of us. No more no less (if there were any less then obviously I wouldn’t be in this predicament) I don’t have 100+ alters, I don’t have fictives that think and believe they’re exactly like their “source”, I don’t actively seek out these kinds of communities or spaces, I don’t go parading around to every place I go that I have DID (sorry if that sounds passive-aggressive I really don’t mean for it to be)
I don’t know…It’s just that in a space where everyone preaches how every system is different I can’t help but…feel so alone for BEING so different. I can never truly talk about it to anyone, one half being that only few of my close friends are too familiar with the nitty-gritty details, or the other half being that for the few who do understand, I simply don’t want to think about it so that it doesn’t trigger itself into happening or they're the exact people that talk down to me in a consecending tone for even implying we're similar.
Back when I first explored the possibility of a dissociative disorder (After many years of knowing of what they were, but denying the idea I could have one of course), I did everything in my power to trigger it as much, as often and as long as possible, a really messed up way of trying to prove to myself that it was real and I wasn’t just making it up, like a scientist testing out their hypothesis and writing the results down to form a conclusion. I finally had the answer to all l sorts of problems I’ve lived throughout my life : Looking back at photos of myself, knowing it’s me but feeling like I'm looking back at a stranger, forgetting my first language, forgetting most parts of my life, forgetting…well ironically I’ve forgotten what I’ve forgotten. I know for a fact there was more, but I won’t push my luck.
Anyway, back on point, I forced it onto myself a ton for those reasons, but also to try and “fit in” with my community at the time. And then afterwards it just became a habit, and then it quickly became a big problem. It got more frequent, and more frequent, and even more frequent to the point it was utterly ruining my high school education, my social life, everything. It was and still is mostly a blur.
I completely tanked my first set of exams. It was actually so horrific my art teacher scheduled a meeting to talk to me about it…All I remember is her writing something along the lines of “Obama was the president of America” on the exam paper and that was it, plain and simple. Thinking back, there were also the frightful times of forgetting my name, the date, suddenly finding myself in class wearing a skirt and makeup, or looking back at my notes to see my handwriting was completely different, almost impossible for me to read.
…I still have all of my old school books. After I dropped out I marked all of them with sticky notes at the top of the page to denote times where what I wrote wasn’t mine. I was truly hoping I could use it as physical evidence for the day I’d finally be psychologically evaluated. My reasoning for leaving high school at 16 isn’t related to any of this, but when I did, I was in really rough shape. I think it was the first time I really felt any support from my family, including my dad (I’ve not really known them most my life and I tend to keep my mental state to myself) but I had also made the call to my GP after I had nearly attempted.
Six-ish months pass, and I’m notified that because I dropped out, I need to be transferred to the adult’s waiting list. There were…other things said during that meeting, but that’s for another day.
Over a year passes, I’m in a zoom call with two mental health professionals. At this point, I’d already found a new purpose on life. I’m in college, spent lots of time with my family (sort of forced to since I wasn’t allowed to be home alone anymore, but I didn’t mind it) and so I told them that. I told them I wasn’t suicidal anymore, that life was finally starting to kick back up. But, I did warn them that as fine as I am now, one small thing happens and I’m back to square one. I am dangerously prone to plummeting straight down to rock bottom and I did my very best to make that clear. The meeting ended and…some days, weeks—I don’t remember—passed, and after all this waiting, preparation and hope, I get a call back.
…
I got booted off the waiting list to be psychologically evaluated.
“Third time’s the charm”, they say.
Well for me, that‘s never been more wrong.
