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Among those with Dissociative Identity Disorder, there's some debate about whether it should be called a disorder at all. Some even view DID as evidence of mental health. When you consider that its development is regarded as an example of adaptive functioning by many of both those who live with it and those who treat it, it's easy to understand why some might dispute the mental illness label. Mental illness by definition implies maladaptive functioning - it interferes with and disrupts daily living. But Dissociative Identity Disorder is often described as life-saving. Which is it?
There are a few things that most people tend to avoid like the plague: anything with a runny nose or a cough, sticky chairs, and getting into arguments with your partner. The former has terribly banal consequences (catching cold and getting a sticky seat), but the latter is often wildly unpredictable which is probably why we tend to avoid it. Who knows exactly how a supposedly innocent conversation turns into a full-blown screaming match? Who can predict exactly how we or our partners will react after hearing criticism?
“You have to take care of yourself in order to take care of your kids.”
We hear it all the time—but do we really listen to it?
Reading some of the comments left here, I don’t think so. I admit I am equally guilty. As parents of mentally ill children, we spend plenty of time talking to therapists and psychiatrists, but very little of that talk involves our own mental health. So often, we find ourselves completely embroiled in our children’s mental illness and treatment, we end up neglecting ourselves.
Why don't joy and serenity keep? No preservatives added? They take manufacturing, and time. It's costly - the emotional equivalent of organic, artisanal goods. And boy, they're a must to be locally produced. Anxiety and depression, however, they pack pretty well. Available in store now.
Clearly, this is one of those comorbid days. I had, honest I had, written some (semi-)coherent posts about theoretically helpful things. Right now I'm too restless and moody to care for how-to tips and things I've been reliably informed by people who've never suffered from an anxiety disorder. Yeah, this is a bit beyond blue. Grr.
No, that isn't a real word. No, I still don't care how totally un-Zen this post is. (Not a word either.)
Bipolar disorder, by its very nature, is not routine. People become manic unexpectedly and people get depressed unexpectedly. And during depression or mania, people become even more erratic in all areas of their lives.
So if bipolar disorder exists outside of a routine, what would happen if routine were applied to bipolar disorder?
I Can't Tell You I Have DID. You Don't Understand.
I no longer hide the fact that I have Dissociative Identity Disorder. The major players in my life know I have DID. When it comes up in conversation, when not mentioning my diagnosis would require lying or warping the truth, I tell people I have DID. It's a new way of living for me and it's teaching me a lot about myself and others. One of the most surprising things I've discovered is that just as there are assumptions about DID in the general public, there are assumptions about the general public in the multiple community. Those assumptions obscure the potential for acceptance and support, and create barriers to understanding dissociative disorders.
Sometimes the worst stress comes from the things that are all too terribly familiar. There are times that anxiety can make even daily tasks seem insurmountable, even though I've done them countless times before. I know it's something I can do, it's just that in that moment it's implausible, nigh on impossible I could do it again.
What makes simple tasks so hard?
Ah myths, we love them, don’t we? Friday the 13th is unlucky, Canadians live in igloos and drinking Coke and eating Pop Rocks will make your stomach explode. (Your stomach might not, but your pancreas is another matter.) People buy into myths all the time. When enough people say them, especially if the people are holding microphones or best-selling books, people assume they must be true.
But as a good friend of mine always says, trust, but verify.
I am a working parent.
Some parents work because they love their work; others because they need the money. I’m a little of both—I don’t love my work, but I value my sanity and indoor plumbing. Without my income, we’d have neither.
Being a working parent is a juggling act under the best circumstances, but when your child has a chronic illness, it’s virtually impossible. Sadly, parents whose children have a psychiatric illness (like my son, Bob, who has bipolar disorder and ADHD) struggle with all of those difficulties--and then some.
Yesterday was a big day for me and my son. He started middle school. I received a painful reminder that I'd be a better mother if I didn't have Dissociative Identity Disorder and the unique memory problems that go with it.
Where do we go from here? Most of the family thinks just to let her hit bottom and then if she reaches out to help any we can. Some want to just keep paying her bills and just let her sit in the house with no responsibilities. Never been on medication and impossible to get to her when she refuses to talk to ANYONE.
Help.
On the day we agreed to videochat to make things less awkward IRL she woke up with a migraine so we rescheduled to the day after, I made sure to assure her that it was okay and to take her time. Later that day, in the late evening we had a nice chat but suddenly she stopped replying, even though nothing had happened. The day after I texted her good morning and said I hope she was feeling a little better. she wouldn't open my texts.
A couple days after I sent her a longer text saying that even though I had only known her for a short time I care a lot for her and would like to know how she are doing, telling her I'm there for her, assuring her I'm not going anywhere even though things might not be very easy. She wouldn't open it.
A week later I sent a text saying not to feel bad about not answering and that I will be there when she is able to answer again. It's been two weeks since this and she still hasn't opened my texts. She hasn't been active at all.
I don't know what else I can do. I assumed she might have fallen into a depression. I have tried to just not think about it anymore, and I haven't that much but when I do it sort of kills me inside...