Arduous, Low Oxalate Diet, Bipolar

I'm not sure why life continues to throw more strife my way. I find day-to-day life a series of small challenges and lately, the difficulty has increased.
I discovered that I am sensitive to high oxalates and the majority of my daily foods were, indeed, medium to high in oxalates. I've had to give up spinach, my daily coffee, almonds, chocolate and peanut butter. In addition to the reduction in available foods by being gluten free and sulfate free (think eggs, wine, preservatives in canned goods, sprayed on fruits and vegetables), I know must add high oxalates to the expansive list. My food choices have diminished dramatically.
In addition to reading research and looking up foods lists, I have to pay acute attention to everything I ingest and how it makes me feel. Spaghetti sauce upsets my stomach, as well as hot dogs, bananas and kefir. I'm not sure the reason for these foods being irritating, nonetheless I have them on my "eat sparingly" list.
It's frustrating to have to spend so much time just finding a meal or even a snack that's compatible. I'm at that stage of early major dietary change, again, so I know that in weeks and months I will have discovered enough foods to eat and this frustration will abate. I never thought so much of my daily life would revolve around something as simple, as mundane and as necessary as getting enough to eat.
It does feel like punishment in some way, having so many foods that I liked being dramatically taken away. Most people don't have to give so much thought to something as bland as finding out what can be eaten and what can't.
After seeing my acupuncturist today, we figured out that I had another manic episode last week. Sigh. It's looking like bipolar is something I'll have to add to the mix of daily dealings. It complicated things.
I don't understand why things get harder, more complicated. I really don't get it. I feel the daily challenges are daunting enough. Why more???????.?.
The other arduous task, that I thought should be a so much easier, is trying to get a myoelectric for my one handed son. I spent hours today with a health navigator just trying to find the right person to talk to or even the correct agency. Didn't happen. Dead ends. Major frustration.
Isn't it enough, please. Can't things go smoother instead of continually increasing the level of difficulty? I don't understand. I really don't.
Life should not be this hard.

What does it mean to be a Multiple with Dissociative Identity Disorder?

It means that you will spend half your life hiding hideous events that could not be tolerated and the other half uncovering them via flashbacks and trying to assimilate the unimaginable.
You will spend hours or days (today would be a prime example) finding reasons to keep on living in the face of disturbing revelations that are truly disgusting, hard to believe and deeply troubling. You remind yourself that the events that created an individual with Multiple Personality Disorder do not Define you or your values.
You remind yourself that you were powerless and forced into doing things that you would normally never do of your own free will.
Then you take a few days, a week, a month and realize that this is just a small part of your past and talk yourself into being okay with this newfound fact; this little piece of you, your childhood that can help put back all the missing time and blacked out areas on your timeline.
It means being hypervigilant in avoiding triggers, aka everyday life events like crowds, darkened theaters, people laughing, crying, screaming; small children that may remind you of how young you were when you were such and such an age triggering a flashback; alterations, disagreements and any dissension are too be avoided and given a wide berth; playgrounds or children playing that make you both puzzled and jealous at the same time.
You'll spend twice as much time doing everyday chores because you switch and/or dissociate. Starting dinner in the oven is one thing but will you still be present to eat? You'll start laundry and switch. Turn on a movie only to miss the first half because you spaced out.
You'll find strange clothes on your body that you didn't but or put on in the morning. You'll have reminder notes everywhere and at least two calendars and then, some days, you just don't make it to an expected appointment.
So you get good at reasoning, making excuses, actually it's kinda like guessing why you weren't at a certain place at a certain time because you weren't conscious at the aforementioned time and the alter who was out forgot, overlooked or just plain wasn't interested in going.
I could go on and on...but I don't want to.
Today, today was the copious weeping, suicidal depressing, revelation disturbing, rotten kind of day.
I don't know how i live with myself but I somehow try and make it work.
It's a day where I want to scream My Life is a Thousand Times Worse Than Yours, you fucking little panywaist complaining about your burnt toast and 500$ car repair bill. My life is nothing like the majority. I'm really seeing that now, at the moment.
I'll never be able to write about some of the things that were done to me because they are so disgusting, grotesque, vile and, yeah, hard to believe a father would do that to his own toddler daughter, you know.
Then I'd worry about other sick, twisted perverts getting ideas, outlandish, decrepit ideas and hurting someone. I don't want that.
I'm so different, the rules don't apply to me. I don't need to seek or make myself ill by trying to conform to societies ideals, expectations and guidelines. I don't seek out or give a rats ass about what someone else thinks of me. I avoid people for the most part, without feeling an ounce of guilt. People did bad shit to me, okay, so fuck off. Alone is safest, and the least amount of stress.
I deserve...now, I deserve, want and seek a life where the abuse stops, the traumatic experiences are accidental and highly infrequent and the flashbacks happen with greater understanding and ability to handle them...and the information that they share. Flashbacks aren't bad things...just my brain and body trying to heal. And I'll continue to require hours, days, weeks to process the new information and to get okay with myself again.
It can be quite horrid. I think I've cried more in the past two weeks than all of last month. It's the rainy season, you know.
I'm learning to be nicer with myself. To give myself the quiet time and alone space, rest and extra downtime I need right now.
It is, it's um, hard to believe some of the experiences in my past that I see and feel. I know, it just is. Processing

I'm tired a Lot

Everything I've read regarding Autism, CPTSD and Multiple Personality Disorder, indicates that excessive fatigue, entire days whereby I'm a veg and do nothing but lounge spacily on the sofa, is perfectly normal! Something about lowered immunity from all those years of flight, fight and freeze, overstimuli, the energy expounded in switching and heavy emotions can make one highly tired.
I oft feel guilty like I should be doing something productive with my time, dishes, pursuing a special interest, getting caught up on books or the mail, but, alas I am in a days long stretch of rest and unfunction. Sure, I could push myself and get up, however, this old dog has been learning to listen to her body especially when it needs quiet, solitude and naps.
I may not be high maintenance but I sure am high rest.
This Is normal, this is normal, this is normal. I'm not sick or something. This is my overworked, overly traumatized body's basic requirements.
I get the reasons I am unable to hold a job, take classes, go to group functions, date or social get togethers. There is a reason my weekly calendar has no more than three appointments a week...It's all I can handle.
Yeah, I'm a quiet, introverted, healing being, I am. Zzzzzz

Feeling Fear

The very thought is an automatic recoil, right? I've been sequestered, hiding, drapes drawn since last week. I think I've figured out that it's because last week, in therapy, I finally got in touch with the place where I had always hidden fear. And it's out!
I have felt like a terrified 3 year old since then. It's automatic with most people, I believe, to try not to feel fear, to avoid and sidestep it whenever possible. I can't do that, anymore. My cavern of fear is chock full up to the top and someone has stumbled in and left the door open.
I'm scared. I'm afraid that someone, anyone, a stranger walking by, a person I know and trust, is going to hit me in the head, grab me from behind or knock me down. Every minute I'm watchful, nervous and wary. But, you know what? Truth be told? I spent hours like this, days like this and weeks feeling terror in my skin crawling, muscles twitching and clenching and the urge to duck and cover my head even when there is no one in the room.
Admitting your scared was never allowed. Showing you were afraid invited ridicule or pain. I just hid it inside, so no one would see. And, I guess, the hiding is over.
It doesn't feel good. By any stretch of the imagination feeling scared is awful.
I have a choice, laugh out loud, I think not, about whether to try and to restuff these feelings or ...sit with them, allow this torrid river to flow and experience all I kept hidden from myself.
I don't want to. I don't want to but, yeah, I have to do things I don't want to to get better.
Sorry for the vile graphics...it feels like being skinned alive, as if someone has a bottle of acid and is slowly pouring it up and down covering every inch of me, it's like being in a blizzard and being pelted by a non-stop barrage of burning ice chunks, it's like standing alone on a mountain top and waiting for that push you know is going to come, it's watching a truck roll over back and forth over your toes and you can't stop it you just watch and wait for it to be over; it's like being trapped in a room that's on fire and the windows and doors are locked and someone is laughing from the outside.
Fear is being pummeled with fists and being forced to say nothing; it's wanting to yell, to scream, to tell someone but there is a knife at your throat; it's being thrust into an anonymous crowd by someone you love and watching them walk away, never caring, never even turning around; being alone in a room beside a whip and a chair and waiting to hear the footsteps that always come; it's being set adrift in a boat with no oars by the one person you thought loved you; it's being told how worthless you are and how you won't ever amount to anything and no one will ever want or have you because you are ugly, pitiful and damaged goods.
Fear is thinking everyone else can see your worthlessness and they hate you and are free to strike, to slap, to grab whenever they want. Everyone is actively trying to hurt you because they can see that you are weak and deserving of it.
Fear hurts because it makes you withdraw, climb inside yourself, cry and whimper to yourself and you fear letting anyone see...what they have done to you and how deeply they harmed you and how truly damaged you are, a piece of discarded garbage, nobody wants, nobody wants to see or hear or touch or be near.
People enjoyed inflicting fear, looked forward to it...it made them smile, after all.
Fear feels bad. It's all shaking, queasy and wet. It's the melting of hardened, old feelings. It's the opening of a smelly, musty, stench sweat chamber that's been hidden for 40 years.
The fear is part of me. It's pieces of my past that are now free to roost.
God it sucks sometimes

I wonder....

If I'll ever fully realize how amazing I am.
If anyone can appreciate this war.
If I can marginally grasp the magnatitude of creativity, energy and determination that has allowed me to get this far.

When Autism and CPTSD, Complex Post Traumatic Stress Collide

Autism and CPTSD share the common characteristic of hypersensitivity to sounds, in this particular incident, loud, sudden vocalizations, aka screaming. I currently wish for nothing more then a heavy-duty pair of noise cancelling headphones securely affixed to my head.
Both conditions recoil at loud human noises that are fairly random, unexpected and could strike at any time.
In addition to being on high alert for humans getting close, anywhere near my personal space, Autism and CPTSD are close kin. It's impossible to separate which condition is causing my leery distress. And, in a way, it isn't necessary to figure out.
I believe these two together are formidable cousins to work to deal with due to their closeness. Both crave safety and silence. Two things that vanish the minute I walk out my front door. Agoraphobia springs from reason and often it can be quite healthy, nay, life and sanity saving, to remain indoors.
It's an interesting awareness that I thought I'd share.

Post Trigger Recovery

I belong alone, within, in my home. I'm dealing with the after effects of being triggered and emotionally overwhelmed due to an incident Tuesday night at a movie theater. I'm realizing the importance of having a safe place to withdraw, to hide, protect myself while I destress from some truly awful, unsettling experiences. I know I'm going to need some time to recover. Don't know how long, but I'll take it one day at a time and monitor how my body, mind and heart feel each day before venturing out into the jungle.
I feel lost and small, constantly on the verge of tears. I'm unsteady, shaken and swimming in low self-esteem.
What's happened... I attempted to join an autistic group only to find that it surely wasn't for me. The outing was an ordinary R-rated movie that was filled with horrific screaming and grotesque scenes. I'm horrified. The sounds triggered memories of torture and disturbed my fragile soul. Being amongst others, I'd deemed it improper to leave. One of my problems being around others, especially unknown others, is taking action that I felt I needed to do. So, I couldn't leave. Couldn't put my fingers in my ears or show any signs of distress. Sigh. Childhood again. Helpless again. Overwhelmed and scared, again.
Haven't recovered yet. Just haven't.
It's these seemingly innocuous events that shock and propel me into regretting leaving the house. I never know when I'll be hurt, by sights, by sounds. It all feels so unsafe, out there, past the front door.
And right now, it is unsafe because I'm not put back together yet.
Try explaining that to the friend you're supposed to meet for lunch or while cancelling that appointment you'll get charged for and you've waited a month for.
The explanations are a secondary hardship to the first one of trying to process and get over the trigger. It's a double whammy.
My brain, nervous system, everything is overwhelmed. I'm on timeout and it's a good thing, a healthy thing and the only thing I can do right now.
I'll be okay again when I'm okay again. Whenever that may be.
Peace

And with that she had had enough, the curtains closed, the walls came down, enough enough enough