I am fractured. Split into pieces due to years and years of trauma and neglect with the pieces of myself hidden away in dark corners of a room in my mind protecting me so that I can keep going. With guidance, I have discovered at least five pieces:
- a young girl who sits on the floor across from me with her knees up leaning sideways against the wall holding her head and gaze down not talking, because there are no words (I have written about her before),
- a young woman standing in the corner full of shame with her head and gaze down but facing me while holding her hands up to her chest, the one who will comply and do as she is told, the one who feels broken and invisible,
- two others with adult female bodies who are ageless standing in opposite corners
- one stands closest to me frozen, arms slightly out to her side, unable to speak, or move, disconnected from her body, but is aware of everything around her staring at the wall but glancing sideways towards me mouthing “help”,
- the other standing in the darkest corner facing away from all and will scream and lash out if anyone comes near her, the one who rages and is in so much pain, but remains almost catatonic when left alone,
- and finally the current part, the mother who sits in a chair at a table under a light in the middle of the room seeing all these parts, reaching out and wanting to connect, but is unable to.
I am the mother, the one who keeps going, the one who always finds a way no matter how many times I have fallen. At least, that is what I tell myself. I feel exhausted and helpless and so very frustrated. I reach out to those parts to comfort them, trying to make them feel whole again, but I can’t. These parts took the burden of life’s pain off of me so that I could keep going. I survived, because of them. I made it through, because of them.
Now I am a cracked version of myself with each part interacting together at various levels and reacting to specific triggers that I encounter in my life, but at the age at which they fractured. I feel I am working through the many layers of trauma while seeking refuge at the same time. There are times I want to hide in a ball in a safe place in my room away from everyone and everything. This part frustrates me. I struggle to function when this part activates. There are no words. I feel useless, overwhelmed, sad, and alone. The anxiety is debilitating. Then there are times when I want to lash out kicking and screaming and pummeling, but I don’t. I am afraid of this part of myself, so I freeze instead. I am crying for help in my head, but I can’t do anything and it feels like no one notices how much I am struggling. I feel so alone and invisible, but I am expected to keep going. I have to, so I comply. I don’t know how much of that expectation is coming from me and how much of it was internalized throughout my lifetime.
I feel like I am disassociating as I type this. My head feels heavy, but a thought has occurred to me that all these parts sacrificed themselves so that I could keep going. The drive and determination that I have to keep going has been there for as long as I can remember. Did I really do that? Place that expectation on myself, that no matter what, I have to keep going?
I have written about resilience where I stated, “I know so many autistic individuals that have developed amazing resiliency. They have had to. Yet, this amazing ability seems to go unnoticed by so many. We understand what is being said about us, even if certain people do not notice that we are listening to their every word. We can read and understand what is being written about us, even though we might not be able to verbally prove this to certain people’s satisfaction. Resilience. We deal with a lot. Many of us crumble under the weight of the stress at some point in our lives, but many of us climb out of that rubble and continue on. That is what resilience is, the ability to keep moving forward despite adversity.”
I wonder now, how much of my resilience is based on being able to keep moving forward by unconsciously fracturing myself. Sure, it is great that I can keep climbing out of rubble and continuing on, but at what cost?
Two years ago I wrote a piece entitled To Those Who Still Don’t Understand where I discuss a study out of Sweden that was completed late in 2015 which “revealed people with autism died an average of 16 years earlier than those who do not have autism. Previous studies had shown that 30 percent to 50 percent of people with ASD have considered suicide at some point in their lives. Bullying, anxiety, depression, feelings of isolation and alienation all contribute to this. There is a high cost trying to cope in a world that is not designed for you nor is accepting of you.”
I turned 45 years old yesterday. As my son explained it, I have taken 45 revolutions around the sun. I have taken 45 trips around the sun and survived each one, but the thought of how many more trips I have left weighs heavy on me. I am tired. Not just everyday sort of tired, I am at tired at a level where there is no proper words to describe it. I have written many times over the years about this, including The Hidden Meaning Behind “I’m Tired”.
I fractured trying to survive in this world that I was born into surrounded by people who did not understand me, but expected me to conform to their standards and way of living. Now I am trying to create a world that is safer where I can become whole again and be seen and respected for the person I am. This process is slow, and my patience only goes so far, but I am determined to connect to all my parts again at some level. I want to keep making trips around the sun. I am not ready to stop being a traveler. My journey still has many, many miles to go, yet.