Update from DelAlmo Stay

Well I it has been a while since I checked myself into Del Almo Mental Health Facility. Let me say it was one of the worst $10,000 I have spent in the last three years. Well, I really didn't pay them because as soon as I got out I put a stop payment on my check and have been fighting with their accounting department every since.

So, let me share my adventure at the mental institution. I flew down to Los Angeles from Salt Lake City onFriday May 2, 2008 and arrived in the late in the afternoon. The admission process took a couple of hours filling out paperwork, and receiving packets of materials about the hospital policies, the treatment program and having them inspect my personal belongings for contraband. The list of forbidden items was long. No razor, no hairbrush, no personal toiletries, nothing with strings like shoe laces, no cell phone, nothing that could be used to harm me or anyone else. It really brought reality home when they cut the strings off my sleeping shorts. I had brought my laptop, cell phone, wallet, checkbook, and some extra cash, which had to be inventoried and locked away. I know I was there on a voluntary basis, but it brought back memories of being locked up in Juvenile Detention when I was caught burglarizing Bradshaw Auto Parts the summer after I graduated from High School. It was very fortunate that I was only seventeen and ended up in Juvenile Court, unlike the kid I dragged along with me who had just turned eighteen and was thrown in a real jail.

Well, I finally got checked in and was taken to the Trauma Ward around seven o'clock. The cafeteria had already served dinner, so good thing I was not hungry. I was told during my intake interview that I would be staying on a different ward because I the Trauma Ward was only for the female patients. Bedtime was at nine o'clock, so I would be hanging out for a while.

The staff was a typical nursing staff, some very friendly and compassionate and some with that Nurse Cratchet demeanor more suited for a prison guard than a Trauma Unit. I had quickly learned when googling for mental health facilities that treated issues surrounding sexual abuse that sexual abuse, physical abuse and the like was grouped under Trauma. A good tidbit of information that could have saved me a few hours on the internet. Trauma, the end result of any traumatic event really, and I was to learn just how diverse these events could be when I met the other patients. When I arrived in the unit, several of the girls (really women, but I feel more comfortable relating to kids so I will stick with girls, no offense intended) were just finishing up on some pizza they had ordered. I soon learned that the food in the cafeteria was not even up to coffee shop standards. I was a nervous wreck but soon fell into one of my your child alters when the girls started making a fuss about me getting something to eat and clearing me a place to sit down with them and insisting I share their pizza.

Growing up, really most of my alters are still just little kids, in Salt Lake City in the 1960's and 70's I our family was one of two in the neighborhood that was not Latter Day Saint (mormon). I would not say it was the same as growing up as a racial minority, but in ways it was similar. Most kids were not allowed to play or socialize with us, even to the point of not being allowed to walk on the side walk in front of our house. To make it even worse, we were CATHOLIC, which was in LDS dogma the church of Satan. Now not every family was as 'temple worthy' as the next, and it is hard to keep kids from playing with other kids so I was able to have some interaction with kids sometimes. The fact was most of the kids who lived in my zone (within the cul de sac and 2-3 houses on each side) were girls, so my playmates from the age of 2-7 were 99% girls. I was sorta the token Ken to all their Barbies, literally, as I played with the Ken dolls as they played with their Barbies. It was also common to play house, which , surprise surprise I was the Husband. It was all mostly innocent, with only a few jealous fits when it was time to share the Husband. As we all became closer to seven, the girls parents were getting uncomfortable with this heathen boy playing dolls and house with their daughters. As I recall, some of the girls did start to want to kiss (pecks) and hold hands, which for me was odd, but really not sexual.

The sexual part had started when I was around four years old. There was one boy a year older than me who lived in the cul de sac, and would come and ask me to help him in the garage when i was playing with the girls. He was the older brother of one of the girls my age and their family was the most 'temple worthy' of the bunch, so they commanded a level of respect among the other mormon kids. Well, I didn't have any other contact with boys outside my household, I was eager to join him. Bart was a real character. He was infamous for riding around on his bike screaching like a police siren. He had them all down, the Sheriff, the Fire Engine, the Ambulance, Adam 12, Emergency, Dragnet, loud and obnoxious. I remember my parents and siblings making derogatory comments whenever he started making his racket. Well, Bart wanted to be a doctor when he grew up and would ask me to help him practice by being his patient. He would have a place set up where he would have me lay down and he would start giving me an exam, removing my shirt, feeling my heart, then he would undo my belt and unbutton my pants to feel my stomach, working his way down to my tallywacker. It was not odd to have someone undress me and touch me all over because my brother had started to do that to me around the same time and the next door neighbor had been asking me to pull on his tallywacker as well. The neighbor had a much larger tallywacker with hair all over it and a big sack under it with what felt like marbles. He would always lay out behind his garage without his clothes on and when i would look over our fence he would wave me to come over and then ask me to rub lotion on him. I was not aware of the reason, but he would ask me to keep doing it until lotion would squirt out the end of his tallywacker. At first he would give me a candybar or popsicle or money to get me one from the ice cream truck. Soon I was playing this way with four or five kids from the neighborhood plus the nextdoor neighbor and my older brother. Always alone and always told to not tell anyone. I had finally found out how to make friends with the boys, not all the boys, and none of the seven kids that were my age.

End of Semester

Well this semester has been the toughest one yet. I had a total melt down in my economics course during my first midterm. I totally forgot everything! The horrible part of my condition is the fact that when I got my exam back my answers were complete gibberish. As I read over the exam questi0ns I could answer each one of them accurately and completely, but whoever was out during the test didn't know a thing. This is one of my worst nightmares about school. I will have to take this class again in the fall.

Because I have been so out of control for the last month, and the outpatient therapy was so disruptive to my life I have made the decision to enter an intense inpatient program this summer. I had a difficult time trying to find a inpatient clinic that seemed like a match. I have called over a dozen hospitals in Boston, Washington D.C., Florida, Louisiana, Michigan, Texas, and California. I finally made the decision to go to the hospital in Los Angeles.


They have a DID ward that had available beds, and their therapy program will either kill me or really change things in my life. I leave this Friday, May 2nd to admit myself. My son has agreed to come live at my house to take care of my dogs, so I have one less thing to worry about. I now just need to get past a couple final projects for school and one final exam. I am hoping that I can keep things together and pull off some decent grades to make up for the "E" in my economics class. It is overwhelming trying to deal with school and preparing to be admitted to a mental institution at the same time. I am not sure how long I will be at the hospital. The nurse who conducted the intact interview said to plan on at least 4-6 weeks. That means that I will need to have all my bills and stuff taken care of for at least the next couple of months, as I will not have contact to the outside world. I am scared to death. But I am not one to shy aware from the difficult things in my life, and I do have a knack for rising to the challenge. Onward and Upward.

Finding that I am not Alone

One thing that I do when confronted with challenges or obstacles in my life is to seek out information and increase my knowledge on the matter at hand. With my DID this will forever be an ongoing exercise. I have currently sought out books written by others who have my same condition in order to gain perspective on dealing with the many challenges of life w/DID. The first book that I finished was 'First Person, Plural' by Dr. Cameron West. I don't remember ordering this book, but it showed up not too long ago on my doorstep. The strange thing about this book is that Dr. West ends up seeking therapy in the same city in California that I was first diagnosed, and where my ex-spouse still lives. It has been hard reading Dr. West's story because his wife did not just walk out of his life like my partner did. How things would be different if he would have stayed to help me through all this shit. (pardon my french). My quest for knowledge will continue, as I continue my college education as well as research on DID. I am not alone afterall. Onward and Upward.

A date

As part of my condition, relating and connecting with other people is almost an impossibility. Last night I actually went on a date, which is awkward I would guess with any 44yr old, but more so for me. This guy I went to dinner with actually approached me at the gym and asked me out. This was a first in my life, and even though I would guess (and later confirm) that he was half my age, he was damn cute and the whole episode was flattering. I readily accepted his invite, not at all playing coy.

One of the pleasures I have in life is good food. Since moving back to SLC, good food has been as scare as good company. We decided to go to dinner at Cucina Tuscana, which I had enjoyed previously. The placed was busy, as it was last time I had been there, which is always a good sign. When the waiter came over and asked if we would like something to drink, my date asked for the wine list and proceeded to choose a bottle of wine for us. This was a first for me, as I have always been the more aggressive in these situations. The part of me that needs to be in control, or I feel out of control. Overall the food was good, and the conversation flowed. Until, as I was talking about something, my date interrupted me and asked if I everything was alright. Puzzled, I said yes and asked why. He replied that he felt as though he has been talking to two different people tonight, and felt very uncomfortable. Needless to say at this point I was scared to death. I tried my best to explain that I was okay, and apologized that I made him uncomfortable. We finished up our meals, and he said he just wanted to go home. I drove him back to his place and we talked for a few minutes inside my truck. He said I was a cute guy and very friendly, but he really would rather not go out again. I thanked him for a pleasant evening, and said goodnight. I drove home shaking in a cold sweat and crying like a baby. This was the fourth person this year that I had met and who had told me that they didn't feel comfortable being around me. What can I do to fix me!!!!!

Life with DID

At the last minute I decided that I needed to have this blog about the challenge of living and trying to survive in life while coping (or not coping as is my current case) with DID (Dissociative Identity Disorder). Coping and functioning with a disability requires overcoming unique challenges. The class lectures this semester about blogging with a disability initiated my thinking about making my final project about my own disability.
War on WoMen-Domestic Violence (11-04) Photoshop CS

This blog will hopefully provide insight for those unfamiliar with this condition, and support for those like me that suffer from DID. DID was formerly known as Multiple Personality Disorder, and is considered one of the most challenging mental disorders to diagnose and treat. The condition has effected every aspect of my life, and has made it impossible for me to cope with everyday aspects that most people take for granted. There are great online resources that outline the legal aspects regarding some of the challenges that people with DID have to cope with handling both work and school.

One of the most positive things that I have done though is get myself back to college to complete my degree. The rigors of class work have been a daunting challenge to say the least. The effort it takes for me to be around other people at this time is emotionally devastating. I have not had the extensive therapy to identify all the alter personalities that reside within my mind, but know that I have only a few of these alters that can successfully deal with the challenges of school. If these personalities choose not to come forward on any particular day, then my time spent in class is wasted for that day. The memories of my life are fragmented within my mind, and none of my personalities have access to full range of stored memories. One can imagine if during a test or exam if you could not access the memories of what was covered in the classroom. I think I have roughly ten to twelve different personalities that make up the whole me. That means within my mind, there are ten to twelve sets of memories that are separated from each other. Onward and upward.