Another Visit From Giant Despair

I get that singletons can’t truly comprehend what it’s like living life as a multiple. There are many life situations I’ll never understand, either, simply because I haven’t experienced them. I don’t know what it’s like to have a child murdered. I’ve no idea what goes on in the mind of a schizophrenic. Being a man is foreign to me, as is being 100 years old, living as a black person in our society (or anywhere for that matter), or being a conjoined twin. I’ve never been tall, spent my days as a bag lady, or taught school. I don’t know what it’s like sporting a facial deformity or speech impediment. How would it feel to be a “little person”? I wouldn’t know, but I can at least guess at some of the challenges and frustrations inherent in going through life shorter than most of the adult population.

I hope I never discover what it’s like serving time, dying of cancer, or losing my home and belongings in a house fire. Because I’m human like everyone else and therefore vulnerable to threats to my life and well-being (and to those I love), I can imagine to a certain extent how it must feel to experience just about any type of physical, emotional or mental pain. I don’t know exactly how it would feel to have a child dying of leukemia, but as a human being and a mother, I know it would be devastating. I’ve never been imprisoned in a closet and fed like an animal for years but I can well sympathize with anyone who’s suffered such abuse and indignities. I don’t think I’m exceptional in my ability to put myself into someone else’s shoes. Most of us, if our consciences haven’t been dulled and our hearts hardened, are well capable of doing so. Which leads to the whole point of this post: why oh why is it so hard for (some) singletons to get that if they mock me, they are being abusive?

I wrote about this not too long ago, and it’s only getting worse. For someone to start out expressing compassion for my DID and the unfortunate series of events which led to it, only to turn around and express total insensitivity—-well I just don’t get it. Nothing has changed. I’m not less of a multiple than I was this summer when I spilled the beans. I haven’t “adjusted” more to my disorder and it certainly hasn’t simply vanished for the convenience of others. If I’m insulted for, say, my fear of driving on the freeway, it hurts. Especially because when I first explained this fear months ago it was met with concerned compassion. Now it’s a joke, complete with the miming of playing a violin. As if I’m only out to get sympathy!

I’m weary of this whole thing. The person doing this has told me many private things about himself over the years, and I wouldn’t think to tease him about them. Wouldn’t think of reducing some of the most harrowing happenings of his life to mere comic material. When I see him being sensitive to others and compare it to how he is with me, I just don’t get it. I tried this evening while he was playing his pretend violin to express how I felt about his constant razzing, and that only made it worse.

I feel myself slipping into depression and for once I don’t even feel like fighting it. I’m flat out tired from having to explain explain explain what anyone with half a heart should be able to understand: that I have many wounded parts inside of me and if you abuse me in any fashion, you’re abusing them and making my life so much harder. That’s it, it’s that simple. Doesn’t take an Einstein does it?