​Rage Train

Rage came through with claws today. One more task on top of one more task, with still the regular to complete. I went from 0–murder in 3 seconds, having to hold back at least one internal part.

Dealing with internal dialog: at least one, maybe two, raging, and a third trying to calm the lot—trying to breathe, take space, and not act. So happy I didn’t have to deal with customers in the room when I got there, as my civil part wasn’t on-board yet.

I cant control the parts take over so not facing people until the storm has passed is paramount. My threshold was reached and a part had to act fast to keep me dissociative enough to avoid acting out that rage. A lot of times I have zero fail-safe.

PMS hit too within that same window, and the rage train left the station on fire-shit got real and fast. I let the supervisor know I wouldn’t be staying to help others the way I normally do today after my work was completed. It was to protect my job, myself and others.

I was now PMSing, exhausted, and done, as my workload had been double today already.

I needed to find the laundromat in this bloody town before going home, too, due to the ones being broken at my apartment out in the woods.

I do know my tone slipped with her, and no matter how hard I tried to control it, empaths can still sense what you’re hiding behind the false calm.

I’d already got off at 2 a.m. and hit the second job at 8:30 a.m., so less sleep to start the day. I am hoping tomorrow is better. Starting to think I need to put in for a day off, as the next real holiday isn’t until March.

Sliding mentally back to the therapist appointment, and when she said, “You know all your identities are you,” my anger took over and shut her out. She was careful after that to not push or make eye contact with protectors.

Though cognitively someone with Dissociative Identity Disorder knows this, it doesn’t mean we all got the memo or want to be a part of each other’s lives. So, in theory, this reveal is truth; it is not, in fact, our lived reality.

I realized I missed a moment of humor however and should have said, “The least you could do is buy me a drink first!” to my trauma therapist.

Not sure her laughter has a button, but I suspect it does, though I imagine she, like I have, has mastered the flat affect and ability to not react outwardly.