Category Archives: Journaling

Suddenly I Am

Sometimes, I am the wise woman. Inside, I am a college sophomore, though on the outside, life has moved on. I call myself Clarissa. I can talk up a storm about psychology and psychiatry, arguing that, yes, in fact autistic people can have multiple personalities. It’s a shame people tell me they can’t just because that person’s psychiatrist has told them so. It’s nowhere in the DSM-IV or DSM-5. In fact, autistic people are quite a bit more likely to suffer from trauma-related disorders like this.

Then suddenly, I am that autistic teen. Inside, I am 19-years-old, though on the outside, life has moved on. I call myself Carol. I am not your typical intelligent Aspie. In fact, I am quite severely autistic. I use repetitive language and engage in self-stimulatory behavior all the time. I can barely function at a day activities center for people with severe intellectual disabilities, even though I’m not intellectually disabled. I’m not gifted either, no matter what some people like to believe. I’m just average intellectually, but emotionally, I’m severely impaired.

Then suddenly, I am a little girl. Inside, I’m a shy and scared five-year-old, though on the outside, life has moved on. I call myself Little. By the time I first emerged, it was thought I was the youngest alter. I am not. I can’t breathe sometimes. Sometimes, I have to color inside the lines, and I can’t, because I can’t see very well. I am very scared.

Then suddenly, I am a precocious seven-year-old. Inside, I take care of the baby self (with help from the inner mother figure), though on the outside, life has moved on. I call myself Suzanne. As much as I want to help the baby,I also want my stuffie sheep meh-beh and beh-meh.

Then suddenly, I am that mother figure. Inside, I am 28-years-old, though on the outside, even now life has moved on. I call myself Esther. I sometimes go on Mommy forums as a child advocate, even though in real life, I don’t have any children. I grievethis fact, but don’t let it show.

Then suddenly, I am a childfree woman. Inside, I am 35-years-old, t hough life hasn’t caught up with me yet. I call myself Annemiek. I like to craft and like my childfree life with just my husband and Barry, our cat.

I don’t know whether switching several times a day, like I described above, is common in people with dissociative disorders. I don’t have a diagnosis of a dissociative disorder anymore, after all. To be honest, I don’t care. I have been told, when I write on this blog about my parts, that I’m obviously a really bad case of borderline personality disorder (BPD( trying to fake having dissociative identity disorder (DID). I don’t care. This is my experience and I don’t care what label best describes it.

This is not always how switching happens either. Usually, one of the functional adult parts is out in the body or “in front” about 80% of the time, though it depends which of the functional adult parts is. I didn’t describe either of the two current main fronters in this post.

It is also possible that multiple parts are out in the body at the same time. This can lead to what psychiatrists call identity confusion and also depersonalization and derealization, where you feel as though your body, mind or the world around you is unreal. The switchig I described above is called identity alteration. Then there is amnesia, which is a hallmark syptom of DID we don’t experience that often at all (so I don’t believe we actually have DID).

With this post, I didn’t mean to give you a thorough overview of dissociation. In fact, it was what randomly popped up in my mind when reading today’s prompt on The Daily Post, which is Suddenly. Like I said, I am not claiming that my experience is representative for those with dissociative disorders. It is just a tiny part of my experience, too.

How Our Cat Barry Became Our Pet

This week on Mama’s Losin’ It, the Writer’s Workshop prompts were beautiful. One of them is to share eight things you accomplished in the last week. I may write on that one later, but today, I’m writing on another one, which is to tell the story of how our cat Barry became our pet.

My husband had always recommended that we get a cat to be my companion when I’d go live with him. In the summer of 2013, he had settled in our apartment and hoped I’d soon join him. His mother, who works for the animal shelter, at the time was raising two kiittens, who were too young to be kept at the shelter at only a few weeks old. One o them, the most hyperactive of the two, we named Henk, while the other we named Harry. My mother-in-law recommended we get Harry, the quieter – or should I say less hyperactive? – one.

We got Harry when he was three months old in August of that year. As it turned out, he was rather the slightly less troublesome one than the quieter one of the pair, as he still ran around the house all the time, threw our belongings from tables onto the floor and climbed into and onto furniture.

In the spring of 2014, my husband figureed that maybe a playmate for Harry would help him calm down. His oldest sister, who also works at the shelter, went on the lookout for another cat for us. This became Barry. Yes, we purposefully named Barry this to rhyme with Harry. In fact, my husband half-jokingly gave me the choice between naming him Barry or Heinrich, and I obviously went with Barry.

Harry and Barry didn’t get along very well from the beginning. My husband thought of rehoming Harry to his sister a few times, but often missed him when he was away at hers. So Harry and Barry both moved to our current home with my husband in December of 2015.

The next spring, Barry got a non-bacterial UTI that was most likely stress-related. At first, we thought Barry’s stress came from wanting to go outside and not being allowed to, as he’d go onto the roof and not get off again. This probably was a factor indeed. It quickly becam apparent though that Harry was the main source of stress. While Barry was still recovering from his UTI, Harry started a play-fight with him that was rather bad. This led my husband to finally decide enough was enough. Harry was rehomed to my sister-in-law. She also has two other cats, but they apparetly don’t mind hyperactive Harry and one of them in fact plays with him a lot.

I finally moved in with my husband last May. To be honest, I’m so relieved to just have Barry with us, as Harry was a lot more of a handful. When I first got my iPhone, I worried that Barry would shove it off my table, but he never did *knock on wood*. With Harry on the other hand, I had to pack away all small-enough-to-shove items of value when not using them. That would’ve been quite a stressor to me now that I live here full-time.

Barry was a rather reclusive cat when we first got him and for a long time after. Not the ideal companion for lonesome at home me. Now though, he likes to keep me company even if he still isn’t the kind of cat to like being picked up. He even likes sleeping in our bed at night.

Mama’s Losin’ It

Seven Things to Do More Often

Seriously, I’ve been wanting to write more often. Writing helps me, or it used to. Also, it’s not that I’m uninspired. A dozen ideas to write on float through my mind, but once I sit down to actually blog, it seems all pointless. Today I feel relatively well mood-wise, so I’m just forcing myself to write. I am choosing to write for Mama’s Losin’ It’s Writer’s Workshop on the prompt of seven things to do more often. There is also a prompt to write on seven things to do less often, but I couldn’t think of that many things to do less frequently.

1. Write. This I explained above already. Writing used to be a way of helping me process stuff and at the same time a way of distracting me from my depressive thoughts. Now already for nearly two years, I seem unable to write as often as I used to. Whether depressive symptoms are the cause or the effect, I do not know.

2. Move. Last week, I finally bought myself a Fitbit activity tracker. It’s a cool gadget, but so far, I’ve not been able to get moving nearly enough to meet the recommended targets. For example, I average about 3000 steps a day, while 10000 is recommended.

I don’t think my depressed mood is the reason I’m not moving. I just don’t think I can find the opportunity to. I mean, I shouldn’t go running up and down the stairs for fun, should I? And since I can’t leave the house without assistance, going for a walk is rather hard. The weather lately obviously hasn’t helped, as it’s freezing and feels even coldre. I hope that, once the temperature rises, I can get my support workers to take me on some walks again.

3. Meditate. I have two meditation apps on my iPhone but havent’used them in weeks. I really would like to practise mindfulness more.

4. Do sensory-friendly activities, like melting a wax melt or listening to soothing music.

5. Read. I don’t just mean books, but blogs too. I after all don’t seem to have the attention span to read a book most of the time, but I can usually read blog posts.

6. Show my love to my husband. This has been hard lately because of my depressed moods.

7. Focus on the positive. I really want to seek out emotionally positive experiences more. The above six practices will help me achieve this. If I can appreciate positive experiences for what they are, I’ll hopefully feel even better soon.

Of course, these seven things won’t magically make me feel happy, but they will help me move in that direction. Depressive symptoms and inactivity make each other worse, after all.

Mama’s Losin’ It

Friendly Fill-Ins #1

A few weeks ago, I discovered the Friendly Fill-Ins linky hosted by 15AndMeowing and McGuffy’s Reader. I loved the idea but wasn’t inspired to write then. Today, I rediscovered the linky and the questions were rather interesting. Therefore, I’m participating now.

1. My Chinese zodiac animal sign is Tiger. I don’t know anything about Chinese astrology, so I googled it. They are said to be independent, courageous and powerful but arrogant too. I can see how that applies to me and definitely how it used to apply to me before I was institutionalized. Tigers born in June, like me, are said to have a life that twists and turns around a lot. That’s so true for me too. They also may be ambitious but won’t achieve their goals without support and financial resources. Those born on the 27th, like me, are said to have the perfect husband (or wife).

2. My zodiac sign is Cancer. The Cancer personality also definitely applies to me. That being said, I was born prematurely and should’ve been a Libra. I don’t believe in astrology, so when I read my horoscope and Cancer doesn’t seem to fit, I look at Libra.

3. Income tax season is confusing. I hate having to file for income tax, so I usually have my husband do it for me. Once, in like 2009, I filed for income tax for three years at once, since I hadn’t done this the two previous years. I wasn’t required to, but got a lot of money back when I finally reported my income.

4. In hindsight… Well they say hindsight is 20/20 but I’m still unsure about many decisions I made in the past. Usually, I know that I made the wrong decision but don’t know what the right decision would’ve been. I try not to dwell on regrets, although this is pretty hard.

Do you relate to your astrological sign?

Agree to Disagree

Prologue: two weeks ago, it was decided that, for two weeks, I would not be allowed to attend my day activities center in the afternoons. The reason was three new clients would be joining us and that would mean there’d be less support for me – at least while they get used to the day center. This made me quite unquiet. I wrote about this for Five-Minute Friday last week too, struggling to write a long enough, contextual enough post to be search engine-friendly within five minutes. Then I saw that people did prologues and epilogues to their posts that apparently do not count towards your five minutes of wrting time. So I decided to do this too. Here is my actual piece.

Yesterday, my staff asked me if I’d been feeling calmer now that my day activities hours were cut. I didn’t respond initially. Later, I did, assuming she had said, not asked, that I was calmer now.

I told her I feel awful each afternoon. Of course, the group is quieter without me, so I could see where she’d be coming from if she wanted to keep me out of day activities longer. I didn’t assume she had my best interest in mind – or at least the manager, who decided on these matters, didn’t. I’m not intellectually disabled, so I’m not the day center’s primary target population. As such, if there’s a disruption in the group that involves me, I’m the one who is out.

Indeed, today, I was informed that my day activities hours will remain as they were for the past few weeks. It was all in my best interest, the staff tried to say. Well, agree to disagree.

Epilogue: I was quite distressed by this whole thing during the day. Then I remembered someone’s comment on my FMF post from last week, that God never closes a door without opening a window. On Thursday, I will have a meeting with my day activities and home support staff, my community psychiatric nurse and the local authority social consultant. I hope this meeting will yield some positive results.

Linking up with Five-Minute Friday again.


Last week, it was decided that, for a while, my day actvities hours will be cut. It was also suggested that my current day activities center, which caters primarily to people with intellectual disabilities, may not be the best fit for me. I’m not intellectually disabled, after all. I’m autistic, but if you’re of at least average intelligence, somehow that doesn’t count as a developmental disability.

I had to accept this, to surrender to the decision made for me. But I decided not to give up. I am okay with this being a temporary thing, but I don’t want to be shoved around like a cart. I’m a person, after all. I know I don’t fit neatly into one dsablity label box. I am both blind and autistic and have mental health issues.

Over the past week I alternated between fight and surrender. When surrendering, I was depressed and didn’t feel like there’d ever be a place for me. I even pushed my husband away, because I wasn’t sure I could choose between him and proper care. Now I know this is a false dilemma.

When in fight mode, I felt energized. I’ve been making phone calls, thinking up next steps. I have an appointment with my community psychiatric nurse on Monday to discuss how to proceed.

It doesn’t help this wasn’t the first time I fell between the cracks care-wise, but in a way, it does. I know how to navigate the system, after all, and I know not to surrender to a poor quality of life.

I am linking up this post with Five Minute Friday. The prompt this week is “surrender”.

My Word for 2018

It’s already the second week of 2018 and I haven’t written about my goals or hopes or dreams for the year yet. Last year was a productive year, mostly because I finally moved out of the mental institution after 9 1/2 years. From there on, I’ve been attempting to move forward and live a healthier life in many different respects. Physically, I embarked on a weight loss, healthier eating and fitness journey. I was also referred to an occupational therapist for help with my mobility and fine motor impairments. For my mental health, I started dialectical behavior therapy.

I also started day activities once out of the institution. This is a huge accomplishment, as I could never handle the pressure of going to a day center for any prolonged amount of time. At first, I went to an industrial group, but I was later moved to a sensory-based group. This has been a very positive experience. I also started horseback riding in September and swimming with my husband in November. Lastly, I got an iPhone. All in all, I did a pretty godo job of ticking off the items of my 2017 bucket list.

It doesn’t mean I don’t still struggle. In 2017, I took two overdoses which required a night on the internal medicine ward. As I mentioned last Sunday, on Wednesday, I engaged in pretty bad self-injurious behavior at day activities. I’m still often very much stressed out.

On Writes Like a Girl, Nicole shared an interesting take on the cycle of life: she theorized that one year is for action and the next for maintenance. Her 2017, like mine, was totally about moving forward. She deliberately chooses 2018 to be a year for rest and calm. She will continue to move forward, but at a slower pace than she did in 2017. Same for me.

My word for 2018 is a word that fits in nicely with dialectical behavior therapy. The first skill we work on in DBT is mindfulness. Mindfulness is pretty much hyped up and I’m not too sure I fully understand it. Even so, I think it’s an important skill. Like Nicole, I need to do less and be more. My word for 2018, for this reason, is simply (or not so simply): be.

This doesn’t mean I don’t have goals for 2018. For example, I do still want to continue my healthy living and weight loss journey and set myself a new goal weight for the end of the year. However, I’m taking this slowly. After all, I’d rather lose the weight slowly and keep it off than lose it rapidly only to gain it all back.

Other than this, I don’t have any goals that require me to reach a certain end result. I mean, I’ve set myself a goal of keeping a jornal, but I’ve not set a requirement of how often or how much I need to write. I also really hope to blog more this year and I think I’m finally ready to ditch my mediocre Dutch blog and move my focus entirely back here.

What is your word for 2018?

Food Plan: A Week of Healthy Eating

It’s been six months since I embarked on my weight loss and healthier living journey. It’s been going with ups and downs. I lost five kilograms in my first month of attempting to lose weight. Then, I slowly lost more then gained it back. At the end of October, I was at the same weight I’d been at in early July. IN other words, while I had maintained the loss of those first five kilograms, I hadn’t lost any more. Now over the month of November, I lost three kilograms again. I now only need to lose two kilograms to no longer be obese. This means that the goal I set last June, which was to be just plain overweight rather than obese within a year, is still within reach.

One exercise I came across when reading journaling guides for overeaters, is to imagine one day of normal eating. The idea is to imagine what it’d be like to eat normally for a day, then put that plan into actual action. The thing is, even when I was still deep in disordered eating, I usually had a few days of mostly normal eating before I’d down a whole bag of sweets and/or a bag of crisps and/or other unhealthy foods wthin half an hour. For this reason, I’m going to change the exercise a little and create a food plan for a week. Most things I have already implemented, in fact.


I will eat a healthy breakfast each day. This means I’ll eat lower-fat yoghurt with muesli. I used to eat crunchy muesli most days, but I changed that to regular fruit muesli about a month ago. This contains significantly less calories than crunchy muesli, but it does seem to contan somewhat more sugar. Last week, I bought muesli with nuts, which I think I’ll like better than fruit muesli anyway and which is less sugary.


I used to eat two slices of bread with peanut butter. Last month, I decided to get sandwich spread instead, which is much lower in calories, although some people tell me it’s not necessarily healthier.

In addition to bread, I started eating a few carrots, tomatoes and cucumber slices for lunch each day. I love to snack on vegetables and particularly the carrots make me feel full too.


My husband cooks and serves my food, so I generally trust him to make me relatively healthy meals and limit my portions. Each Friday though, he gets us fries with a snack. When I restarted my weight loss journey a month ago, I thought I’d have to let go of this, but I don’t. Weight loss doesn’t mean never eating any unhealthy food, after all. That’s why I’m pretty wary of Overeaters Anonymous’ idea of abstinence as a goal. I much prefer Eating Disorders Anonymous’ idea of balance.


I can have fruit or rice crackers as snacks when I’m home from day activities in the afternoon. During morning coffee at day activities, I should try to turn down the gingerbread, as it’s pretty high in calories and I don’t even like it very much.

On Wednesday, we have a cooking activity at day activities. I love it and am so glad I have been able to fully participate in it, including eating, while still losing weihgt. The staff usually serve it, so they decide on portion sizes.

Every other Friday, my mother-in-law accompanies me to the pharmacy to pick up my medications. I have decided that I can still buy myself something to snack on at the grocery store that’s near the pharmacy, but it needs to be something relatively healthy. For example, the last time, I had chicken bites. Then, I ate them all in one sitting, which I’m not planing on doing tomorrow. I’m still undecided as to whether I can get myself the chicken bites again and hope I’ll restrain myself and leave some for my husband, or whether I should get something else. Here, the goals of abstinence versus balance are competing again.


I usually have coffee, tea and water throughout the day. I can have a fizzy drink or juice every once in a while. I should aim for at least two liters of fluids each day. Not even so much for weight loss purposes, but more to prevent getting constipated.

Doctor #WotW #PoCoLo

So I had two doctor’s appointments this week. First, like I said last Monday, I was seeing my GP on Wednesday regarding my mild motor skills impairments. A little explanation is in order. I have always had fine and gross motor skills impairments. Since they are so mild, they have always seemed practically non-existent in the face of the major disability of my blindness. As a child, I held my parents’ hand till I was at least twelve. This was however seen as a lack of self-confidence. I did use my white cane when prompted, but since I had trouble accepting my deterioratng vision, I apparently chose dependence on others over the white cane. When I did use it though, I often used it as a walking stick.

Now I’m no longer ashamed of the white cane. I in fact prefer to have it with me even if I walk sighted guide, because then at least people will see I’m blind. Still, despite having had countless orientation and mobility training sessions, I still cannot seem to use the white cane in its proper way. Even so, I feel very unsteady when walking independently. I would love to learn to improve, because, even though there is no route in our village I’d like to learn to walk without anyone accompanying me, I’d love to be able to walk without holding onto someone’s arm. That would enable me to go to events on my own by accessible transportation, which I now avoid due to not wanting to ask strangers to be my guide.

As for my fine motor skills impairments, I cannot eat neatly no matter how hard I try. I find this terribly embarrassing. I also struggle with preparing my own breakfast, pouring myself drinks and other skills that require the use of both hands. I can perform tasks that require just my right hand just fine and I can use my left hand for support, but activities that require coordinating both hands, just don’t work without adaptations. I’m curious to know whether such adaptations exist.

My GP looked up what seemed to have been a letter written by my previous GP in the institution. It said that I was born prematurely (correct), had a stroke as a baby (not correct, it was a brain bleed) and developed hydrocephalus as a result (correct). The resulting impairments are diagnosable as acquired brain injury. I seem to have read that when a person sustains a brain injury before age one year (or three in some countries), it’s not diagnosed as an ABI. The correct diagnosis, well, I don’t know. Motor impairments are, or so Dr. Google tells me, often diagnosed as cerebral palsy, but then they have to be severe enough, which I doubt mine are. I didn’t question the doctor though, although the confusing diagnosis did frustrate me more than I’d hoped it would. After all, my intention was to ask about treatment options.

The doctor told me that, if I’ve been stable for over two years, there’s no hope for neurological improvement. This timeframe is longer in children, but since I’m now 31, I’ll pretty much have to learn to live with my impairments. Still, I might benefit from occupational therapy and possibly a little physical therapy to help me learn to use adaptations and learn compensatory strategies. The doctor is going to contact the nearest rehabilitation center to ask whether an occupational therapist can take me on. My blindness may be an issue though, in which case I’ll need to see an occupational therapist at the blindness agency. They don’t often know acquired brain injury though. Seeing both is not an option insurance-wise.

I also saw the mental health agency’s general doctor on Thursday. The physical health screening with the nurse and all the things I didn’t know about my childhood conditions, were what had prompted me to see my GP. I discussed the GP visit for a bit. Then we went over the lab work the doctor had ordered. Everything was within the normal range except for one thing, creatinine, which was a little high. The most likely reason for this is that I don’t drink enough water.

With these two appointments and my having been having them on my mind all week, my word of the week is going to be “doctor”.

The Reading Residence
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A Place to Belong

When I saw this week’s Five-Minute Friday prompt on Saturday, I just had to participate. It is hard, because I usually take much longer to write my blog posts, so I kept delaying this post. Here is it. It’s a short one. The prompt is “Place”.

I have always longed for a place to belong. I don’t think I ever felt quite “at home” anywhere. I’m still getting used to that feeling now that I’m in fact home.

I mean, when I was first admitted to the mental hospital in 2007, I longed for a supported housing place to call my home, yet none could be found that suited me. My last psychologist at the institution said this was because I just wanted to remain institutionalized forever. There may be some truth to this, in that I fear independence and in some ways long to be taken care of.

However, another facotr is I feel out of place everywhere. The grass is always greener on the other side of the fence, so to speak.

I am trying to make myself at home now in our house, but I’m constantly worrying that this too will not last. Like, we might be moving to our own home someday withint he foreseeable future. I always said we’d buy the home we now live in from the housing corporation and
I’d still be living here in fifty years. I guess not. This is hard. I hate change and yet, I cannot settle anywhere.