Fault Lines

Photo Credit: Krzysztof Maksimiuk

“Stories create community, enable us to see through the eyes of other people, and open us to the claims of others.” ~ Peter Forbes

This month I’m sharing stories written from my heart and in today’s blog I hope to open readers to the challenges of living with mental illness. The scene that follows is taken from my psychological drama, The Trials of Alex Anderson. Alex suffers from a plethora of struggles, many of which are related to having Dissociative Identity Disorder. Written from his perspective, I hope it ignites feelings of compassion and empathy in my community of readers. As always, I look forward to hearing your comments.

A memory returns to me, of the time I broke my father’s crystal Taylor Llorente table lamp. It was an accident. I’d been practicing with my new hacky sack in his office, a gift in my stocking that year that I was obsessed with, and when I reached out to retrieve the errant leather-skinned toy, I’d knocked the lamp over, chipping the elegant crystal base. Dad was working at his desk at the time. He let out a roar as loud as thunder, then dragged me to the kitchen by my earlobe. He stood me in front of the stove, then turned the front burner on high and forced my hand flat on the burner until the room filled with the smell of my own burnt flesh. There were third degree burns that erupted into painful boils that became infected.

I look at my hand, the scars now thin, faint lines. I drop both hands into my lap. My head falls forward, onto my chest. I let out a wail that comes from the pit of my stomach. As I sit there, I know I have to find my resolve and try and fix things as best I can. I force myself to finish writing the email to my boss and press send. I call Judy and she answers. She tells me she has a cancellation, if I can be there in an hour. I take it.

When I arrive at Judy’s, she opens the door, takes one look at me, and breaks her no-contact rule, giving me a quick hug. She leads the way into her office while I blubber on and on about my current predicament. I’m not finished recapping the call with my father when she interrupts me.

“Accepting responsibility for your situation is key, Alex,” Judy says.

            “You’re kidding me, right?” I say. “I can’t believe you have the nerve to even suggest that any of this is my fault!”

            “That isn’t what I said,” Judy says. She sets her pen down and leans back in her chair. “It isn’t about fault-finding. That isn’t helpful. You know that I believe one hundred percent that your dissociative identity disorder is a direct result of the many traumas you endured at an early age, over an extended time. It was actually a successful survival response. But now, it’s getting in the way of you living a full and meaningful life. You can’t change the past, Alex. The only way forward is to accept what is and learn new ways of coping and adapting to triggers. And that means taking responsibility for your behaviours, even when they’re Alan’s.”

            “That doesn’t seem fair,” I grumble.

            “Life isn’t fair,” Judy says. She laughs softly and my hurt feelings begin to disappear.

“You’re carrying a greater burden than many of us,” Judy continues. “But you’ve also been blessed with some incredible gifts. I think you will do better to focus on those.”

            “Yeah, sure, I know, the whole positivity and manifesting the life you want gig,” I say. “It’s not as easy as it sounds.”

            “I know, Alex,” Judy says. “That’s why I’m here. To support you. I know it must feel like this latest hurdle is a mountain too high for you to climb and I’m not going to play it down.”

“I was making progress,” I say. “I just don’t even know where to begin this time.”

“It’s true, you’ve got a massive challenge ahead of you,” Judy says. “I feel the best way is to break it down into baby steps, then tackle them one by one, until, before you know it, you’re in an up-swing again.”

            “Sure, yeah, but where do I even start?” I say.

            Judy uncrosses her slim ankles that peer at me from under her desk. She pauses to swipe a silky strand of hair that clings to her cheek.

            “Well, first of all, since your dad claims you were evicted, you need to follow up on that,” Judy says. “How about if we work together to compose a letter to your landlord?”

            All of sudden, snippets from our last EMDR session start to flicker into my consciousness. I’m assaulted by a barrage of sharp images and senses. The smell of baby powder overpowered by the stench of soiled diapers. A whiff of mother’s Chanel No. 5 interlaced with vodka. They say you can’t smell vodka, but they’re wrong.

            “I’m feeling overwhelmed,” I say. “I can’t stop thinking about how awful my mother was to me when I was a baby, and how I had the strongest urge to protect baby-me in our EMDR session. I’ve never felt that before. The urge to protect or help someone else.”

            Then I remember. He was me, and I feel ready to completely unravel.

 COMING UP…

Books & Projects:

·      All four of my books are available online at Amazon, Chapters-Indigo, and Barnes & Noble. You can also find them at select Chapters-Indigo and El Hombre de la Mancha bookstores.

·      I am pursuing representation from a traditional publisher for my fifth literary fiction, a psychological drama that explores the complexities of mental illness and trauma. Stay in touch by signing up for my blog or following me on social media to find out when it will be published.

Reviews & Interviews:

·      You can read, listen, or watch a large selection of reviews and interviews on my website.

Events:

·      There are no events currently scheduled in my calendar.

YouTube Channel:

·      Watch The Rogue Scorpion trailer.

·      Watch The Holding trailer.

·      Watch The Healing trailer.