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Accidental Happiness ~ the meaning of the Ghost Girl

Well today has been terribly interesting, and it’s only 8:30 am!

I’ve gone through a lot this morning, and I suppose I’ll start at the conclusion and work backwards:  I am a ghost.

Facebook is many things, but for me right now it has been validity.  I’ve had a number of people over the past year get in touch with me, and tell me how much I mean to them, and reach out to re-establish a friendship.  This has been wonderful and made me feel loved.

And confused.

I realize that having my situation – for those of you new to the Denelle-Experience, I have DID/MPD/aka: multiple personality disorder – might be difficult for people to deal with.  I have been very fortunate that the good majority of people I have come out to have been unphased by my declaration of insanity and have embraced me as the same old me I was yesterday, before they knew I was crazy.  But there is always that fringe element; the people who curl up their lips in distaste, the people who think I’m trying to be “special”, or the people who say “let me process that and I’ll get back to you” and then don’t get back to you.  But as I’ve said, I’ve been lucky most of the time.  And especially fortunate for these people that have come back into my life and said “I don’t care.  Have what you want, I still love you”.

And that’s the issue at hand for me;  grappling with this idea that people can love me regardless of my wonky eyebrows, or my love handles, or any of my other oddities.  Not because I think I am not lovable, but because I have trained myself to be invisible.

They say you establish your personality by the time you are five, and today my sister helped me understand why I so often feel like I’m invisble, or feel unloved even when people love me very much.   It’s because I trained myself to be a ghost.  Messages from my surroundings and actions from others bombarded me in my childhood, feeding me information that told me I was disposable, invisible, or ethereal.  Here are a few of those things:

my father left me in the mountains when i was 3 or 4.     my mother sent me away to Mexico when i was 8, without telling me why or if i would be coming back home.     i used to hear a song a lot as a kid that talked about Jesus, and how it’s too late for you, he left without you and “you’ve been left behind”.      my mother sent me to live with my godparents when i was having nervous breakdowns and was suicidal.     my uncle tried to kill me with an axe.      my mom used to leave us occassionally, when she’d had too much of our family, and i never knew if she would come back, which made me feel unimportant, and somehow invisible.     my father abandoned my family to go to another country and help them in a crises, meanwhile leaving us with no money, food or heat in the house.      i was missing in my sixth grade class picture-the year i started feeling strong and powerful and my own person-and there i was NO ONE and INVISIBLE not standing next to my best friend Mary, because i was mysteriously missing.  a ghost of a person, and it’s hard to take pictures of a ghost.        i lost my 7th grade year book full of signatures of all my friends that remembered me, had fun with me….almost as though that year never happened.

For a normal sane individual these things might not make you think you are a ghost.  You would say something like “shit, i hate it when i lose something” or “who keeps old yearbooks?”   For me, this is life.  My life.  This is how it has been for me since the dawn of my time; I seem to evaporate until no memory of me is left, and I was never there to begin with.  Sort of like the movie “The Butterfly Effect” which I won’t even link to because it upset me so much.

I have struggled with feeling like I had no particular place in life, in this world.  Detached.  Dissociated.  But my sis sort of brought that into perspective this morning, when I fretted about friends who loved or didn’t love or remember me.  We came to the conclusion that I am ghostly, and have ghostly work to do.  I have work to do between the worlds, between the realms of the living and dead, between the realities of possible and imagination, which to me are the same damn thing.  It’s become clear that all the things that happened in my formative years instructed me to be a ghost;  and so I must have been training myself in this field for some phantomly lifetime purpose. 

Either that or I’m just not very memorable.   I’ll stick with the ghost-mission.

back to bed

i’m touchy today.

i’m highly sensitive and over stimulated.  i haven’t been getting enough sleep, there are too many kids next door screaming bloody murder, and dogs barking incessantly reminding me that i have only so much patience in my being.  i’m not perfect.  i’m not a saint.  some days i find these little things charming, sweet and adorable.

today is not one of those days.  today the high pitched squealing of small children is about to give me a migraine.  the barking dogs remind me of my time in mexico, when i thought i’d been kidnapped and might be sold as a child slave.  the beautiful summer day doesn’t remind me fondly of my grandmother, like i would expect, but of smog, fear, tension and the overwhelming nervousness i became used to when i lived in LA.

all in all:  it’s a great day to go back to bed, if i could.