Share Your Shame

Has Addie finally returned to the land of online journaling?  Only time will tell.

I have traditionally been drawn to journaling when my life has been in turmoil; when new ideas are present in my mind and I need to work through them.  Between becoming a conscious individual (I actually think of this as becoming ‘real,’ for lack of a more politically appropriate term) and moving out of my parents’ house, I journaled quite a lot.  I knew that I was unhappy, but I did not know why.  Many subsequent life experiences and self-reflection have led me to conclude that this was largely due to my father.

I cried during the movie "Tangled" because it all became clear to me.  The evil witch keeps Rapunzel in the tower because she’s helpless against the outside world.  She is too young, too weak, the world too strong.  She’s too ugly, too dumb to survive out there for long.  The witch breeds insecurity into this poor girl, who believes her mother.  I cried because I finally understood what he had done to me, and I cried because I’ve finally overcome it.  I acknowledge myself as intelligent, beautiful, and capable among other qualities.  When faced with this wide world, I’ve taken it all and asked for more.  That isn’t to say I haven’t had my bumps along the road: this diary is a testament to that fact.  The point is that my father convinced me I was inadequate, and I proved him wrong.

Through all of this time, I had my journal.  As I finally left for college, I wasn’t in need of it as much any more.  I had a new boyfriend who seemed to understand me very well, and he became my new sounding board.  My need for a journal diminished, and nearly vanished.  Suddenly my ideas and thoughts had a dynamic outlet– real-time feedback from someone who shared my values and opinions, and knew how to state things both logically and tactfully.

Some time after we got engaged, one month, maybe two: the weight of it finally hit me.  "My God," I asked myself, "what on this green earth have I done?"  I comfort myself primarily through research.  A quick internet search lead me to the conclusion that this is a perfectly normal reaction to marriage that happens quite often.  Another hidden gem quickly explained away the dreams I had of still being with Catie.  It is normal, when faced with marriage, to have dreams of exes, and especially with all of their positive qualities.  Discovering that this was "normal" behavior comforted my growing fears that I was in fact going crazy to have my subconscious prefer Catie over Bryan.  Dating Catie was a living nightmare.

I stumbled upon an interesting website several weeks later, which has provided surprising insights into almost every area of my life.  I was casually researching the xkcd 28-hour day (http://xkcd.com/320/) when I stumbled upon one man’s log of his successful attempt at the uberman sleep schedule.  This man is Steve Pavlina, and his blog has literally changed my life and outlook in the two weeks that I’ve been sorting through his archives.

Polyphasic sleep, lucid dreaming, self-employment, veganism, polyamorous relationships…  All of his issues seemed to resonate with me on a deeply personal level.  He discusses why you shouldn’t tie yourself into the current workforce paradigm, an issue I’ve been deeply feeling as a current wage-slave (It’s graduate school for me!).  Diet, love, motivation, fear…  He suggests finding those areas in your life that scare you, and using them as a compass for your personal development.

This suggestion, of course, came exactly at a time when I was at my wit’s end regarding my love life with Bryan.  Between my father’s deep emotional abuse, and my uncle’s attempted physical abuse when I was seventeen, I have always had extreme difficulty with intimacy.  This is something I would describe as "paralyzing fear."  I decided to take Steve’s advice.  I acknowledge my fear, and took off trying to face it.  I allowed myself the comfort of baby steps, and while the progress is slow, I feel so empowered.  This is something I have chosen to do, and I’m doing it completely under my own power.  Bryan certainly hasn’t complained.  😉

Another article of Steve’s that I found intriguing was Share Your Shame.  At first, upon reading this article I full-heartedly agreed with its message, silently patting myself on the back for not only being comfortable with my shame, but feeling free to express it with others.  The problem is that the shame for which I was so proud of sharing as I read this article is a shame outdated.  It is something I am not proud of, but something that is far behind and not part of my being any more.  It was a stupid mistake I’d made in high school, and I’ve owned up to the consequences of it, and have moved on.

I realized days after reading this article that there are many shames that I do currently possess, that I rarely share with anyone.  The snarky thought came to mind how much I avoid talking about Dan around Alex, because Alex always has something disparaging to say about the man.  I spent years pining over Dan, doing everything in my power to get him to notice me– to date me, to… well, let’s just say that I was infatuated, and put a lot of effort into it.  Alex remembers Dan as a small man who tried to sleep with his students.  How could I ever prove Alex wrong without shaming myself?  The whole scenario struck me as immediately stupid as I thought about it.  Alex is non-judgemental, and something I did five years ago will not change his opinion of me.  Especially when it’s as small as having a crush on a teacher.  I resolved to tell Alex the full truth next time the subject came up.  I’ll let you know how it goes.

Of course, with all this talk of journals and given the present venue for this information, you, my lovely readers, must wonder what shames me enough that I wouldn’t share it with OpenDiary.  (If you didn’t, hopefully now you do.) I’m often afraid of judgement from my peers, though that seems silly on this website.  I’ve only ever run into uplifting and supportive comments from the community– if someone feels judgemental about a diary, they simply skip over it..  Why should mine be any different?  Why should I be afraid of showing myself in an anonymous forum with kindly membership?

Through all of the prelude for this entry, I have finally come to my primary purpose: my shame.  Some old readers may be familiar with Simon, though I can’t recall ever giving him more than a passing mention in any one entry.  I have been historically terrified of sharing Simon with those around me.  Currently, most of my closest friends know of his existence, but I am very reluctant to share him with anyone that I do not trust.

Simon is my imaginary friend.

More than that, he is clinically known as Dissociative Identity Disorder, or more datedly, Multiple Personality Disorder.  He is a spirit that attached itself to my person from a very young age (between 12 and 14) and has lived with me since.  We’ve carried on extensive dialogues in the confines of my skull, his witty (and often biting) humor catching a warm spot in my heart.  He would also, on occasion, take violent possession of my body.

Ours was a relationship of power-play; when Simon wanted out, there was very little I could do to stop him.  He would assume my body, steal my life, sabotage my relationships, and slowly torture me if I tried to resist.  I could either watch helplessly as he moved himself through our world using my body, or, worse, I could be shoved down deep into the dark recesses of my mental prison, only guessing at what he could possibly be doing up "above".

Through the years we entered a state of compromise, and more mutual understanding.  We shared the small space we were given more effectively, and I would tentatively allow Simon out to "play" when it was safe and convenient.  This calculated armistice started becoming… more trusting, I suppose.  Almost a state of peace.  I gave Simon’s feelings legitimacy, and he respected my physical body as best he could.

Simon was never as powerful, or as vulnerable, as when he got to know Logan.  Like I mentioned earlier, I rarely share Simon outside of my very close friends.  Most people are incredibly interested in the phenomenon of having another soul inhabit my body, but none were interested in Simon himself until Logan showed up in my life.

I don’t know how their first conversation went– the situation was incredibly stressful for me, and I’d decided to take a break from my body.  Simon decided to fill the vacancy.  They may have argued, neither would tell me.  What I did understand though, was that Simon was impressed with Logan’s ability to tell the two of us apart.  He had noticed instantly when the shift occurred, and treated Simon as distinct from myself.  No one had done this before.

A new world opened up for Simon that day:  a world where he could be considered a legitimate person, and not a delusion or an imaginary construct, or a splinter of personality.  He was fueled with individuality and a strong desire to be truly unique.  He started writing poetry.  He started practicing acts of kindness.  He would hum inside my head.  I finally knew what it was for Simon to be happy, and our hearts soared.  We were both in love, and by some miracle, it was with the same person.

Everything fell into place.  My relationship with Bryan was stronger than ever, my head was clear and calm: something that had not happened in my waking memory, and I was infatuated with a new love and not only able to share that with Bryan, but to express it.  "This is what it is to be happy," I told myself.  "This is what has been eluding me for twenty years."

Like all good things, it came to an end, and much more explosively than any of us had really counted on.  Reality seemed to crash down on Logan and Bryan at the same time.  Neither wanted to continue what we had, but for different reasons.  Logan moved his departure flight up several days, lying to us about his reasons.  Bryan, valuing honor and honesty above most other qualities, proceeded to cut Logan from his life.  It was all I could do to stand by and watch the carnage.  Simon was not so passive.  He not only knew I was watching my heart torn out by its strings, but he could feel it too.  No one is more possessive of me than Simon, and it didn’t help that Logan was leaving both of us the next morning, that the heartache doubled.

"Switching out" can be entirely passive, or it can feel like my soul is being ripped out of my body by the brainstem.  It can be cold as ice or fiery and painful.  It can be numb, it can be conscious, it can be accidental.  The only universal constant is the feeling of being out-of-control.  It’s somewhat like watching a television screen, except only having peripheral vision.  Touch and taste are brutally magnified, but sight and sound feel passed through winter’s filter.  Everything is whiter, crisper, but fuzzy around the edges and also more muted.

Simon’s rage came down on Logan.  They fought; they yelled; they physically grappled with one another.  Simon cursed his weak, female form.  I didn’t try to stop them, to interfere.  I sat behind my television screen, numbly awaiting the outcome.  I wanted Logan to pay for the hole in my heart, and Simon wanted him to pay more.  More importantly, I think Simon wanted Logan to pay for making him feel, something he had never quite mastered before.

I finally had to interfere, to pry Simon’s fingers from Logan’s neck, as Logan looked up at us passively, knowing that my frail fingers couldn’t kill him.  Kill him.  Logan knew that Simon couldn’t follow through, because he was confident that Simon could do nothing to harm me.  Killing Logan would definitely harm me.  The darker thought still plagued me.  What if it was really me that wanted my fingers around his neck?

Logan slowly stood up, straightening the wrinkles from his shirt.  I’m sure I stared at him wide-eyed.  Was that me?  What have I done?  He calmly informed me that Simon exists only so long as we believe in him, and that he would no longer be speaking of or to Simon.  He was talking to me, but he was speaking to Simon.  I am condemning you to death.

Simon fled to the recesses of our mind.  He would not speak to me for weeks.  His witty commentary fell by the wayside, my thoughts accompanied only by catatonic silence.  I could feel his presence not only atrophy, but physically shrivel.  The irony that he could be so hurt by Logan’s attempt to kill him, but so unapologetic for the reverse.  Logan was right, though.  Simon needed belief to live, and while I tried to feed it to him, he chose to suffer.  He never stated that he was in love with Logan (and would vehemently deny it if confronted), but I knew it as well as I knew him.  He denied my belief in him, he hid silently in the darkness, and he slowly faded away.

I’d become used to the quiet of my mind, but I was surprised the day I reached out for him and found nothing there.  I was more surprised in the coming weeks when portions of his thoughts slipped into my head.  This was no distinct voice, separate from my own.  I was having Simon’s dreams, I was writing Simon’s poetry, I was thinking Simon’s thoughts.  Nothing solidified his death for me more than seeing fragments of his being embedded into my soul.  Nothing scared me more than the thought that he was not actually real, the thought that for all his uniqueness and all our dissimilarity, that I might have made him up.  That I might have been the one with my fingers around Logan’s neck.

I cried for him, the emptiness of my thoughtstoo vast and eerie.  My mind sped up considerably– it was like receiving an extra processor, but at the expense of a friend.  I cried, and Bryan held me.  I cried, and I asked Bryan if Simon was real.  "He was real to you."  Everyone seems to skip over the important part.  He was real to himself, too.