I have been in the Clinic for two weeks today. I am desperate to go home as I am feeling very homesick but my psychiatrist wants me to stay another week and my psychotherapist agrees.
If I was honest the ‘present day 2018 Erin’ is homesick and wants to go home to the farm and her husband and therapy dog but the alters are wanting to go home and self-harm. Some progress has been made there and the psychiatrist is brokering a deal for no self-harm for two months or it’s admission to the Public System which he knows the alters hate. So do I !!!!!
The objective of getting my ‘mother alter’ on board with this plan is tentative. She is considering it. She does not trust the professionals. They have told her they don’t want to get rid of her but want to use her strength to benefit ‘2018 Erin’ to heal and grow and deal with the traumas of the past. She is very skeptical of this reason. She is sure they are trying to get rid of her. The’17-year-old alter’ is in the same boat and both these alters are responsible for the self-harm so it is vital to get their co-operation. It’s slow progressive work using a combination of EMDR and COPIS. I find it hard not seeing my regular psychotherapist but am in contact with her by telephone so that helps. Hearing her say that she is still there for me upon discharge reassures the ‘4 and 8-year old alters’ who depend on her. They have learned to trust her. That is big progress. The fear that I want to go home and self-harm is ever present but one that must be faced.
The group therapy session this morning was very interesting. It focused on ‘lament’ as faiths alternative to despair. Very topical for me. He defined lament as:
- An honest acknowledgment of the present situation
- Remembering what you know to be true
- Building from that to construct a new beginning.
He ended the session with a beautiful poem:
Strangely, lament is born in the fertile soil of suffering.
The winter of despair,
whose cold and darkened days weigh heavily upon the weary soul
shutting out the sun’s rays
like a thick drape pulled tight
darkened room, heavy heart;
with that all too familiar aroma of decay
But lament keeps pulling at the drapes
knowing, sometimes choosing to believe,
often without any compelling evidence, it may seem
that outside, other voices beckon.
Inside hopelessness is n incessant nagging
buy outside beyond this room
a faint whisper breathes hope.
That is almost
a steadfast refusal to give up on hope,
a stubborn holding on that simply will not let go,
a patient waiting
not one that is resigned to fate
but a watchful waiting
that holds in tension the unanswered questions
believing that eventually spring will come.