Shutdown, there are times when no one can help me and I can't help myself

Currently in Autistic Shutdown
A few days ago, I had a traumatic experience behind the wheel of my car. Once safe I had a meltdown. After 20 or 30 minutes I realized I had a blackout again. I can't remember what happened after I got out of my car until I was walking down the street hearing myself screaming, cursing at the top of my lungs. It took a few more minutes for me to regain control of myself. I'm still unclear whether or not my blackout is due to my Autism or my Dissociative Disorder.
Needless, either way, I've been shutting down since then. I'm very tired. I can't really think. And my functioning level is "barely". Everything is Shutdown.
If someone asked me what they could do to help, if I had the strength to speak, I'd say nothing. There is nothing that changes the trajectory of a shutdown. I just have to ride this out. Wait for my body to neutralize all the stress hormones. Get as much rest and sleep as possible and DALAP, do as little as possible. That's the quickest way back to the real world.
I don't like it. My life suddenly stopping like this and not knowing when I be up and running again. It is what it is. I can't change it.

I have Multiple Personality Disorder, let's talk

No One Asks to Become Multiple It is my belief that MPD is one of a very scant number of mental illnesses that is created by intentionally inflicting severe, interpersonal harm onto a helpless, completely innocent human being. I wasn't born Multiple. While I may have been born with a predisposition to dissociate, my Multiplicity was created by my biological father's immense capacity for cruelty. I did not ask for this. There is no accurate information available that states how many Multiples there are. Based on childhood sexual abuse statistics, there are at least 3 million of us in the US alone. Most Multiples live hidden, deeply secretive lives pretending to be normal whilst an inner struggle battles, tooth and nail, every day. Many Multiples live with their perpetrators, their parents or close family members, the people that hurt, abuse and molest them. The close family friends that stop over for coffee or sleep over on weekends, the aunts and uncles that are in charge of babysitting them. See, a Multiple isn't severely molested or beaten just once. To qualify, to "come down with" Multiplicity, the MPD individual had to have been egregiously injured more than once, often more than dozens of times. In my case, TRIGGER WARNING TALK OF SEXUAL ABUSE I was raped 3-5 times a week, living under the roof of my parent's house. MPD occurs when the child has no supportive caregiver. My mother knew full well what my father was doing. MPD means their is neglect and Co-perpetrators. Multiplicity does not occur in isolation. There are Co-perpetrators, family members and close friends that intentionally look the other way. It means a child has no safe adult to turn to for stability, care and comfort. The abuse has to start in a child whose brain is still in the highly developmental stage, before 5 years old. When I was diagnosed, conventional wisdom was that the abuse had to begin under the age of 3. Later, I read it had changed to under 5, then, later still, the abuse had to begin before 9 years of age. Pick your number. Any childhood sexual abuse is an egregious, heinous act whether the child is 3 or 10. My abuse started at or before 11 months. Knowing my father as well as I do, I find it difficult to believe that he could wait until I was 11 months old before he began sexually molesting me. I'm sure he most certainly did not wait that long, it's just that that age is my first clear memory of abuse. A perpetrator rarely has just one victim. It just goes against their very nature that molesting one child could satisfy all their sick, sadistic sexual needs. My father molested at least 7 other children that I witnessed, that I personally saw take place. Frequently, if not always, perpetrators are childhood sexual abuse survivors themselves. 1 out of 3 children who are sexually abuse grow up to sexually abuse children. 1 in 3 Childhood Sexual Abuse, CSA, survivors are at risk of offending. A paltry 1 in 3 grow up and do not molest. Think about that. Hurt people hurt people. My father assuaged some of his hurt and rage by assaulting me. If we can slow the child sexual abuse, incest epidemic, and get quick and appropriate psychological treatment for those kids, we can put a dent in this ongoing crisis. But we have to be willing to talk about this most disturbing and uncomfortable subject. We have to be willing to admit what happened to us, get treatment so we can heal, grow strong and find our voice. Then, and only then, can our sufferings have not been in vain. Once we heal ourselves, we can help others, those children currently in great pain and other adult victims burdened by unwarranted guilt, shame and great pain. Multiplicity is created. That means it can also be stopped.

The Multiple Autistic

Being Multiple with MPD, Multiple Personality Disorder,  I only am aware of a small piece of my personal history, as my extensive trauma memories are walled away from me within my alter personalities.
I only know a fraction of my life.
Being Autistic, I am unable to comprehend and interact with others outside of myself. It's like there is an invisible wall which keeps me separated from everyone outside of myself.
In addition, being Autistic is like having no reflection in the mirror. I can't see myself or how I am the same, or different than others.
Add to this the fact that my traumatic life experiences which engulfed my first 26 years,  are prevented from being shared because society cannot tolerate or stomach the true life events rampant with incest, child prostitution, torture and hideous sexual abuses. There is a wall of taboo that encircles me.
Then there is the fact that other victims, you know, the one in 5 women and 1 in 6 men, that would be potentially triggered by my stating my truth. Thus they avoid me.
Plus there are the perpetrators and coconspirators who are made uncomfortable with the mention of acts that they themselves committed in similar fashion.
I am a pariah. I am avoided, blackballed and hamstrung.
If I were to write an actual post about one of my incidents, it would be disturbing, unsettling and unpleasant due to it's very sick nature.
I cannot write my full life story as no one has the stomach or emotional stability to be able to read about the things that happened to me.
My life story is too much for anyone. It is too much for me, hence I have alter personalities whose job it is is to keep those memories out of my consciousness so that I am quasi functional.
I have wall within. There are walls with out. And there are societal walls.
My life story is about sick, depraved acts that I was forced to keep secret to protect my family and to allow me to live.
Here's the thing...even with all these walls, barriers and social taboos, I refuse to be Silent. My story, as distressing and hideous and vile as it is, will be written, read and heard.
Part of this ongoing project involves finding the words to convey the unspeakable. To that end I have started working on a glossary of terminology to help me understand myself and to inform, enlighten the public.
I've started a facebook page called Living With Multiple Personality Disorder and I have condensed definitions as well as other insights on that page.
I'm working all the time to survive, become aware, maneuver within all these walls and get my story out.
My life has revolved around pure survival and maintaining sanity after having been dealt a huge ration of the unimaginable, the most depraved of criminal, in human acts. I will write and speak about these disturbing events.
It's no wonder I feel invalidated...my story is hard to hear...but I'm real...my story is real...what happened to me happened and Is happening to others...and I Will Be Silent No More.

I don't know how to play with dolls, autistic me

I don't understand dolls. I don't know what to do with them. Never have.
As a kid, I'd watch and wonder as my sisters would ask for and receive dolls for Christmas or a birthday. It just didn't make any sense to me. I figured something must be wrong with me as television advertised dolls all the time.
Oh, I understood those green Army men, even GI Joe's, I could play with and be entertained for hours. But around girl dolls, I was clueless.
I decided to try and fix myself. Around 9 I asked for a Mrs. Beesley doll, you know, the one that Jodi had from the tv show "Family Affair. I carried her around. Took her to bed with me but for the most part, I'd set her on the floor across from me and just stared at her.
I think I expected something magical to happen or for Mrs. Beesley to tell me her worth or what I should do with her. I was perplexed, stymied and at a loss.
Maybe I asked for the wrong doll. Maybe I needed a Barbie or a baby doll. Something just wasn't right. I wasn't like other girls. I went back to playing with my brother's Army guys. Them I understood...
I think one reason this topic has come up is because I'm enamored with the new Barbie Frida Kahlo doll. I want one! I am a big fan of Frida the artist, her colors, fashion and her life.
I'm sure if I gave in to my childish whims, I'd buy a Frida and she'd sit in her box and we'd have a series of stare downs. I'm not sure she'd make it out of the box or maybe she would and then sit stoically on my shelf. I'm not sure I'd do anything more than that...but maybe it'd be a start. Maybe it's okay to have a doll just to admire.
Thinking about it...

Bad Love

There are people out there, or that you live with, that say they love you buy they surely don't mean it.
I lived with someone for a few years and she said she loved me, wanted to marry me and treated me like crap. She looked at me with cold, dead eyes, never smiled at me or asked me how I was feeling. For two years I was bedridden and couldn't even care for myself and she completely ignored me.
I had a friend who was our housekeeper. This friend would wash my hair for me as I didn't have the body strength to do it. My ex never offered to help me at all. In fact, she would leave work if the cat was sick and needed to go to the vet but when I had to go to the doctor, she couldn't leave work.
Her words said one thing; her actions said quite another.
There are people out there who will say they love you but they do not mean it.
There are people that will ignore you and walk all over your carcass; you need to recognize them and leave.
I didn't leave because I believed her, that I was nothing and nobody and totally invalid.
These are sick, sad, toxic people.
It took me years of therapy to realize that I was being treated like less than a begging mongrel dog. Years.
She thought I would be nothing without her. But she was wrong.
Be aware of the signs of disrespect and narcissism. Don't believe the words. Watch careful and analyze the actions.
There are bad love people out there. I recognize that, now.

The Grimace, My New Facial Tic

Argh, this is the first time that I've noticed my tics changing. I added a new one a couple weeks back. Completely unintentionally, mind you. It just dramatically surfaced at a therapy session.
I Grimace. More precisely, I grit my teeth and grimace as I shake my head three times. This has got to be one of the least attractive tics! I so dislike the look that I imagine I'm making. Its disturbing to my logic and sensibilities but after I do it, it feels amazingly good!
The feeling exceptionally good part after a tic is new for me, as well. Autism is proving to be a dynamic not stagnant way of being.
Sure, most of my tics have remained the same for years at a time. But at 55, to gain a new one surprises me a great deal.
Why? Is a big question I have. Why a new tic? Why a more intense pleasure factor? Why now at my age?
I have many questions. But for now I'm just enjoying And being repulsed by my new friend, Grimace.

I Bolt, Runaway without Thinking, Meltdown... and I ran, I ran so far away

I have moments wherein I'm confused and overwhelmed and I Bolt, run very fast, without thinking, banging doors, knocking over things, as I run to the nearest exit.
I don't know if this could be classified along with an Autistic Meltdown but it has similar characteristics.
For one thing...I cannot control it. Damn, it brings a tear of realization to mine eye as this is one aspect of my Autism that I need to be acutely aware. I lose my sense of time, place and space as I plow through anything in my path. I have dented walls, almost run over other people and have definitely knocked over stuff more than once.
Bolt is a blind, physically running away type of rage and confusion.
It hurts my head. I ended up bolting at therapy this week and I've been trying to analyze it. I need to know the triggers and how I handled myself because this is one of those times I become a danger to myself and others.
I remember feeling overwhelmed emotionally. I felt trapped, sad, mad, let down, disappointed, hopeless, like I'd lost. All these emotions leaked out of the corners of my eyes, and emotionally soaked words came out in sputters. I couldn't say what I wanted. I really wanted to keep repeating the same thing over and over but I felt stupid; I sounded stupid to myself.
It's like the boat overturned in deep water and no matter how much I tried, I couldn't right it.
I knew everything that I had hoped to accomplish in that therapy session had scattered in the wind and was completely lost. My agenda, my words escaped me and all I could do was cry and want to leave. When overwhelmed I just want to get somewhere safe; I need to get home, fast.
I just grew more agitated the longer I tried to make sense of things. My head swam and I was completely lost within my self.
Finally, I bolted. It felt like a cannonball being shot. Almost more of a reflex, definitely a reflexive action as I did Not plan it. Nor could I stop it once the Bolt mechanism "fired" in my head.
It felt like I needed to run for my life. It felt like an innate survival reflex. Looking back, there wasn't anyway I could stop it, but I did try to slow myself down. I was barely aware enough to try and slow my footsteps. Funny, I do remember paying attention as I opened the doors in my path. Something in me remembered all the things broken and busted from my slamming doors.
Wow, that's the first I've ever been able to write about such an emotionally charged event. It's really quite an intense experience. That would explain why I've been down and out on the couch these past two days. With meltdowns its exhausting and I'm in recovery time, sleeping for insanely long hours and having no energy.
I don't know if other Autistics Bolt or if it is considered a meltdown. Anything that is out of my control, emotionally charged and violent or potentially violent, I call meltdown.
Once I've Bolted from a place, I sometimes have a difficult time returning to that place. I'm not sure if it's because I'm ashamed or embarrassed, or if being in that same place triggers all the overwhelming feelings that precipitated the meltdown. The thought that arises as I write, maybe I avoid going back to places I've bolted from because of the survival instinct; because if I ran away like that, it means I was in danger. Yes, the theme of imminent danger keeps coming up.
Bolting, Meltdown, Survival and Danger are the four words that seem to sum it up.

I've seriously turned invisible

If there's one thing the holidays do, it is to remind me that I'm invisible and no one is missing me. That feeling has been reinforced twice now.
First, my chiropractor couldn't hear me, then his assistant couldn't see me and today, my therapist forgot me. So, three strikes and I'm out.
I can't blame others as the invisibility syndrome has happened more than thrice. Yeah, I get it. I don't matter cause I'm not really here and I have zero impact.
I'm nobody, nothing, just completely alone for zero reason.
I get it, ok.
I can't go back to those places because I'm invisible.
There's such a thing as being alone and then being completely inconsequential. I get it. Message received. Can't go back. Just alone. I get it.
It's like I write people and don't hear from them for days and that's it, ya know. I'm not waiting to hear from them anymore and I'm not looking for their replies after x number of days have gone by.
Forget I'm done. Stick a fork in it.
Don't know why I'm here but it's not to be trampled on.
Just ignore me. Move on. I'm invisible. Message received