Dancing Voices
If only in my mind
 "My soul captured by words thus to be set free only through the telling of my story"

 

These pages are many faceted thoughts and memories of times in my life. They reflect the journey of discovery through the years that have brought me to who I am today.
Some are unsettling and for anyone under 18 should have a parent's authorization to read.
I have lived a life of many highs and lows but I believe this page shows that we have a choice to either be a victim from our life's experiences or be a survivor.
I chose and will always choose to be a Survivor.
These pages are meant to give encouragement and hope for those of us that struggle each and every day of our lives to overcome what we must,
yet possibly  more importantly to show that there is always another day to get it right,
another day to rejoice that we made it once again, and to show there is great strength in us all if we learn to delve within ourselves.

Thank you for allowing me to share and hopefully I have reached through the void of internet websites to someone who this might inspire to keep on reaching for what is possible.

 

The painting above is an ALDO LUONGO serigraph . Aldo Luongo's works have brought him great worldwide acclaim.
After graduation from the Academy of Fine Arts in Buenos Aires and a stint as a professional soccer player,
Luongo has enjoyed decades of success as a painter. His paintings are unique blends of the accessible with the sophisticated,
 the sensual with the cerebral. Thus they appeal to a broad audience. He has represented the United States as an official artist at the 1988 and 1996 Olympic games.
I have a personal interest in this painting, it depicts the emotional chains that have bound me to the darkness within my own mind,
Which though now is recognized and controlled, yet always ever present in my lurking deeply within my soul.
I hope you enjoy his work as I do, he is truly one of the most gifted artist's I have had the pleasure to find.

 

 

~ The Mirror Cracked. ~    It has long been my thought that we as dissociates are seen in many lights. Our eyes being the mirror that reflects back the secrets we carry within. We are chameleons in how we so deftly adapt to what is around us. By this I mean we change our outer layer of other's perception of us. Think of this as a mirror you would look into to see your image and behold there are several of you looking back at you. These are the fissures of living entities within the whole residing behind the mirror of protection. Most people do not understand that the change comes from a much deeper place. We shift into whatever persona is needed to keep all from questioning or looking to deeply. We are accepted in almost any venue readily. We are admired in how we so quickly adapt and are quite accomplished at almost any task. How intuitive we are. And envied by those that watch us. How bizarre this is to me. Yet true. We shift seamlessly into the Child who gives totally without fear and loves with the innocence that only a child can possess. Passionately, totally thriving on the passions given to them. Still believing in the fairy tales and all things are possible if you have the courage to reach towards what you wish. This part of us is fearless in the pursuit of experiencing all that we imagine. To satisfy it's curiosity and answer the needs of touch, feel, smell and sound. By this it is all about sensuality, it does not diminish in importance whether it be sexual, artistic or musical, it is all about creativity and expression. This is the one who dances in the rain just to feel the wetness on their body. This is the one who still slides down the slides even though 50 plus in years in the play yards. This is the one who delights in the taste, feel, smell of sex and has no inhibitions. This is the one who creates works of art whether it be just crafting or a higher art form it never matters they will accomplish all that comes to mind instinctively knowing how to transform what is an image in their imagination into some form of art. It is the freedom of sensor or inhibition from social mores that allows this. The child never conforms to other's they only follow were the heart and imagination leads them. Simplistic yes, but then the child is just that. Nothing touches the child who gives love, she is protected by all the others who let her run free when she can be safe to do so. This is the creative one as well, the philosopher, the artist, the writer, above all she is the dreamer of dreams. How delighted are the people who touch our lives, when given the love from this woman or man child. They run and play with them and for a time are filled with wonder and awe at how enlightened and vibrant they are. Being sensual and playful at all things, they embody the spirit these other's have long lost. Through touching the child in another they can allow the buried lost one's in themselves to come out and play. Holding hands, stopping to kiss at traffic lights, talking about dreams and love and possibilities, making love at anytime or anywhere, complete understanding and an intuitiveness of what lies within both for the new lover as well as the child man or woman themselves. The new lover's own sensuality re-awakens to something they had never known or if they had was long gone in a faded and long suppressed memory. After all society dictates growing up, putting away the child, banishing, impulse and spontaneity and above all to conform, conform, conform. In time the adult takes over once again in these temporary mates of ours, thinking what once was such a miracle, this child person, is now a bothersome creature, always demanding even though all is asked is for honesty, communication, and openness of spirit. To follow dreams and answer to the heart. These adult who will willingly sacrifice their own inner child to be accepted even if it is only amongst the social attitudes of the time. The dissociated child person is now only a reminder of what they can no longer sustain within their selves. They will in turn grieve for the loss of both children but will keep faith with what is perceived, rather than what is in reality the most incredible of gifts. Thus they admire but in the end choose not to understand. And in time they wish to rein in and control this creature of life. Instead of cherishing and encouraging this entity to thrive, always keeping it safe from harm, they become the one the child man or woman must hide from to survive once again. What comes to the surface then is the adult who I call the business persona. The unfeeling one who hides behind a mask, reflecting emotion back from the source. Never truly experiencing the emotions just reflecting back an image for the other to see. What they wish to see. Quite like a mirror. This personality is quite efficient and self reliant. But is truly sexless and passionless on any level. This one protects the child from social conformity. This is were in the business persona thrives. This personality will accomplish much. Rise high in the business world in what appears as being effortless. How easy it is to accomplish this when there is no emotion getting in the way. They don't care about others, so if someone must be sacrificed to further their goal, so what. There is no guilt nor shame, how can there be if nothing is felt. All there is, is a ruthlessness that carries this persona onward and upward. It needs no-one nor wishes to have someone to answer to emotionally. This entity can command, manage, teach, advise, and actually thrives under pressure in most instances. The business persona is always about control. Be it job related or not. It is the one who can open the mail. ( Another issue for another time) It demands respect and gets it. And all who come in contact admire and want to be just like this person. Again how obtuse people can be, the do not see the flaws or lack of any emotion. Again the mirror of reflection holds well. The only true flaw is it cannot thrive in an emotional environment. And if it is asked to, it starts to unravel and spiral down into places it cannot cope. Thus bringing another entity to the forefront. I call this one the Black Hole. Or the Old Soul, whichever you choose it to be. It is a personality of emptiness and hopelessness. Self destructive certainly. Depressed absolutely. Wounded and flawed true again. This is the one who keeps the secrets for me. The one who feels all the fear and trauma that life has given. The one who bleeds if not in reality, certainly from the wounds of life in a more symbolic sense. It withdraws from emotion as best it can. Drawing into itself to protect from outside demands which it has no strength to cope with. It is all about isolation, for purpose of self preservation, in an abstract world of darkness and emptiness of spirit. This entity is tired both physically and spiritually. An old soul of demons within. This is the one who reaches for help but can't trust the giving of it. Nor sees the worthiness of receiving same. Life has beaten and scarred, weathered and withered, tormented and discarded this old soul. Yet it survives, it will always survive, after all the secrets must be kept and guarded. It will always be the one who is forever fighting it's own destructive nature that pulls it towards the darkness within itself. Never underestimate the strength in this Old Soul. Thus the paradox. When feeling strong enough it will share with those that can be helped by the telling. The one who can empathize with kindred spirits and guide and nurture them is also the one who cannot understand anyone reaching out to help them and feels the draining of strength as they willingly reach outward to help those of kind. This one will never turn down someone in need. It also understands the use and necessity of therapy as a tool for it's own survival. That is another subject I will write about in greater detail than this piece warrants. If the Old Soul cannot cope and the Child is hiding, the Career entity does not come to take control, the next persona is Rage. This is a mindless, ruthless, determined entity who's only purpose it to fight back. It comes in an instant and goes just as quickly yet it answers to all the secrets the Old Soul keeps. It retaliates. The danger is that the rage can be triggered without warning and is deadly in force. The only reason for this to come forth would be if all the other's cannot cope and let it loose to answer to whatever is threatening the whole. I have been told that to look into my eyes as this takes over is to look into emptiness, darkness of soul, mindless determination to destroy all that dares challenge this persona. This is about self preservation and battling the demons of past who seem to have risen to threaten once again. It seems to only come to the forefront if physical danger is present. In time we learn the signs to physically leave a situation before this persona is necessary. As a young woman I did not understand this part of me as it emerged. Now through years of therapy and self knowledge I can keep this from happening. Or at least I have for several years now. I think what most people do not see is the shifting, between one and another of these personalities. Our mirror mask of protection works well in this. Though the shift sometimes is so subtle and the mirror would not be necessary, it seems easier to live behind the mirror. And if we are truly lucky we find someone who not only sees the mirror and recognizes it for what it is. Gently reaching through to the other side. Showing acceptance for all that resides within. Protecting the Child, respecting the Career persona, empathizing and understanding the Old Soul, and knowing that Rage will forever sleep if the others are at peace. I have found this in life. The mirror gave way to the beacon of light, and the lights name is acceptance. I will write more about this miracle that touched my life at another time. It needs to be written to stand on it's own.

 

 

~ Therapist's they call themselves  ~ Through the years I have seen several therapists. Most were not equipped to handle what they did not understand. I did not know I needed help for most of my life. Actually I thought sadness and disconnecting was normal for me. I did not know that there was such a thing as post traumatic syndrome then. I knew nothing about dissociate behavior. I did not know how typical I was for what life had been for me to that point. I first went into therapy when I was 31 years old. It was a matter of survival at that point. I had been engaged to a man who I loved very much or thought so at the time. This I will share in my relationship writings in more detail. His name was Marshall and we were inseparable from the day we met until his death. We had been at a club till closing and a man assaulted us with a baseball bat. He died six days later and I survived. The trauma of the assault and the aftermath including the murder trial following, opened Pandora's box. All sorts of memories suppressed from childhood reared their ugly heads. All the entities of protection were hiding from the trauma and I was spiraling down into the darkness without my normal shifting into emotional safety. The only one functioning was the career persona and she could only sustain herself during work hours. All other times I was at a loss to even know when to eat or sleep without being told to do so. I was struggling with suicidal tendencies. I needed to get help. Thus the search for a therapist began. I went to ten all told, but I will share the highlights as best I can recall. The first therapist was a woman. She was caring but totally unequipped to handle what she was seeing. She did not see beyond the mirror I projected and I found myself playing games with her. I could shift and she would not sense it. She tested me with the standard tests and was baffled by the results. They should have given her a clue to what I was but she did not see it. In the final results the graph showed I was at extremes nothing in the middle of the page only showing aptitudes off the charts. I excelled in art, music, philosophy, but did not show anything for domesticity or career in any form. Now how can that be. Well, it is simple the child was in control during the testing. Who she was seeing each session was the Old Soul persona. And the Career woman was the one who played the games intellectually with her. She was the one who would tell her what she wished to hear then at the end of the session tell her she lied all hour laughing and walk out the door. This poor therapist did not know what to do or how to help. The only true help she did supply was to give an open forum for me to talk in a safe place. It was the start of the journey in therapy for me and even her ineptitude was a catalyst to keep searching for someone who would see what I so desperately was trying to hide. The pain within the memories that were eating at my soul. She did put me on a suicide watch through the trial and I am thankful for that. Yet I have to give my best friend Andy the thanks for helping me not to give into the Old Soul's wishes to self-destruct. The next therapist worth mentioning was a man. Now knowing that I have had issues with men this was even odd to me. But he was close to were I worked and a nice person I had known socially through friends. He did sense the shifting but was again not totally equipped emotionally himself to handle what was needed. The first session he asked me to tell him the top trauma's in my life as best I could recall. Well, everyone hid but the career persona on that one. So she as a matter of fact told him a brief outline. As she feels nothing emotionally I was taken aback as she watched the therapist incredulous to the fact he was crying silently, while watching me recite the list. I asked why he was doing that. His answer was very simple and with much insight. He said; he was crying because I was not. That was the first time I became truly aware that I could disassociate from emotion completely. He himself after a few sessions suggested I find a therapist who specialized in post traumatic syndrome and personality disorders. The list as best I recall would be 1 My father left me with a mother who was emotionally gone and with a grandmother who reluctantly took us in. I had to at age 6 become the one my siblings had to depend on for emotional support. All were so young then ranging from 5 to newborn. 2 My mother married my first stepfather (I call him the stepfather from hell) and the abuse began. I was 11 years old. 3 First the emotional abuse, example holding a gun to my siblings and my heads making us say "Heil Hitler" to him 4 Waking up in the middle of the night with a gun pointed at my head telling me I must be awake when he pulls the trigger or it wouldn't count. 5 Hiding in the closet trying not to breath so the stepfather could not find me till my mother came home. Terror and feeling totally helpless. 6 When we left him after I had made plans to leave to Canada with a boyfriend at 13 after the stepfather beat me again for not feeding my younger brothers and sister molding food. My mother finally decided to leave instead. He came after us shooting a gun into the house, screaming he wanted to kill us all. Finally the cops hauled him away. 7 Memories though distant of my stepfather touching me and molesting me. Though vague at first most of the pieces were there to find. This beginning my distrust of men. (The last therapist told me I might never remember it all, and though hypnosis was available I might not survive what it is deep within, to let time give me the details. And if that did not happen it was my mind protecting me from what I could not cope with). At this time my memories were still beginning to surface. 8 Getting pregnant with my son, his father marrying someone else. Fighting my mother to keep him, even going to a doctor she told me was for a check up to find out it was an abortionist. I left the office with them standing there. I kept my son. I was 16. 9 My father's parents disowning me, with a letter telling me to never see them or contact them ever again. They did not like my keeping my son. 10 Getting pregnant again, trying to fight to keep my child but no-one would listen to me, they convinced me I was unworthy of raising one let alone a second child. I was 19. I grieve always for the loss of this child. This began me determination to never trust family to look out for my own best interests, to prove to them I would not only survive but I would show them I was neither a whore or a loser. 11 Marshall and the mugging and death. 12 The murder trial without justice. For the murder the man got 5 years probation and a three hundred dollar fine for leaving me dead. 13 My son James was charged with a crime he did not commit and was going to prison at age 16. I got a lawyer who kept him out of jail but did us no favors. I later got another lawyer who proved my son did not do the crime and should never have been charged. I already knew that as the boy's parents who did do it came to my house and admitted it to me. But they would not step forward to clear my son at the expense of their own. My mistrust for any legal dealings was forever etched in my mind and soul at this point. Though I felt comfortable enough with this therapist, I realized no real help could come from him. I could manipulate him too easily. The final therapist was a Russian woman who moved to the United States in the early 50's. I was recommended to her as she specialized in post traumatic syndrome along with abuse both physical and emotional, and also dissociate behavior and depression. I have the most respect for this woman, as within the first five minutes she had figured me out. I could not shift as she saw it and recognized it. She also was the first to truly convince me I was not insane. That life had been harsh and I should be commended for surviving not denigrated for how I did it. I learned much about abuse and how it affects our behavior when we are young and in our teens. How the anger and mistrust that was always under the surface. (Rage) was expected. I began my journey towards life again with this woman. She saved my life and my sanity. I later joined with her help groups and actually found I could help others. While under her care I became aware. Accepted and admired. I could finally say out loud what my fears were and talk about the shifting. How incredible this freedom I had found. As time goes on, I go in and out of therapy as I need it. But that gifted therapist taught me how to recognize the need and how to seek those that will not only understand, but reach a hand out to keep the light of sanity within my reach. I have only written about the three that symbolize the differences. I see no need to write about the more inept ones here. We all have stories on that subject I am sure.

 

 

~Darkness, Friend or Foe ??????~ I can recall a fascination with dark places to hide from the world as early as 5 or 6 years of age. The first memory is of my Grandmother’s baby grand piano. It was situated close to a wall away from the main part of the living room. I would get to the farthest corner by the wall and become invisible to anyone searching for me. There I would just let the sadness take over and be very quiet so no-one would see that I was not perfect. It was not allowed even if only in my thoughts to not be perfect and I equated happiness with perfection at that time in my life. The piano I am sure represented in some fashion a physical source to enhance the depression. As I had wanted to take lessons and was denied my request. Though I was teaching myself to play as best I could watching my friend practice then going home and doing what she did. It was the same with dance lessons, but there was no large place to hide under for that so the piano did for that as well. I also found a place in the attic to go if they found me too easily under the piano as well as a favorite tree outside way up within the branches. I had not yet learned how to hide behind the mask of acceptable behavior, to give the perception of a reality to others that they could accept. The mask was forming I would hide behind all my life at that point in my young life. I believe the loss of my father in my life awakened this need to hide when I felt threatened even if it was only my imagination threatening me. He always made me feel safe when he was there, his loss started the whirlwind of darkness, the fear of not being safe. He for some reason was the one I could identify with, who made me feel that it was all right to be different. He recognized the sadness and could always reach out to me and bring me to him from the darkness. Later in life we talked about this often. In my early teenage years this again was becoming more and more my reality. My mother remarried the man I refer to as the Step-Father from Hell. I will write more extensively on that subject in another chapter of my life. The terrors of what happened then made the darkness of my closet my safe place. He would not look for me there. I remembering hearing his footsteps and holding my breath trying not to breath till I heard his steps retreating back down the stairs. I even trained my dog to be quiet with me always guarding and protecting. I remember talking to my friend across the street on the phone hiding within the safety of the darkness in the closet as well. Even when going out with friends during all of my teenage years I would look for the shadows to dwell in whether outside or inside wherever I was. Knowing the shadows shielded my face from others to see what it was I was really feeling. This also became a way of interacting along with never looking into another’s eyes that this would cause them to see deeper within my soul and see what was lurking there. Thus a way of communicating took hold from then forward until I formed the mask of self preservation I would wear instead. Most memories of that time are vague and there are many I cannot recall at all. I am told this is for my own self preservation, which could very well be the case. And the entities that protect me are protecting me from them still to this day.

 

 

 

~Oh No!!!! The Mailman is coming again????~  Somewhere in my early thirties this began as a curious oddity to me not being able to open my mail. This began not long after the assault. Shortly after it started I actually became fearful for what was in the mail. The only mail I could open easily and freely was my personal correspondence between friends and family. Any mail other than personal became threatening to me. So what I did was schedule the opening of this mail for the 1st and 15th of each month which I could justify easily as I got paid on these dates each month. Avoidance of the problem thus became logical and a non-issue. At least in my mind anyway. I suppose my fear was that if I opened the mail I then had to address what it was that was wanted. If I had to pay a bill or answer to why a bill was late I became panicked. This panic attack would last until the piece of mail was resolved. To this day there are times I cannot open this type of mail, less often now because financially I can pay whatever is owed in the letter right away. But there are days I cannot bring myself to open the mail still. The obligation to whatever is in the letters and the fear of what I can and cannot do immobilizes me into a panic, thus the mail collects till the day I feel I can cope with it. I had been ashamed of this for a long time, and have never even told the therapists I have seen through the years. I always thought as our ego’s tend to do, thought that this is only happening to me. It was not so. One day not too many years ago, I was shopping in a small store in Texas and the cashier was talking to another person saying how awful it was for her to be afraid of opening her own mail. Now normally I try to avoid eaves dropping but this subject had my total attention that day. What a blessing this was for me, I was not alone, others had the same problem. How egotistical of me to think it was only me. So from that day on I started talking openly and jokingly about this phobia of mine. Perhaps I can be to someone else what this cashier was for me. A kindred soul who knows how truly a piece of paper can intimidate and paralyze even the best of us. Silly as it is to others, it is a reality to some of us that hate to see the mailman come.

 

~I can’t hear the phone ringing, you are mistaken!!!!!!~ I believe my phobia with the phones started at the same time my phobia about the mail did. I dreaded answering the phone if I did not know who was on the other end. This of course began way before answering machines were inexpensive enough to purchase or caller ID was even thought of for residential phones. If the phone rang I would begin dreading who it was anxious about what they wanted. If it was someone wanting money how could I tell them I didn’t have it. Money was so tight then and I was on the verge of losing everything so you can imagine how harassing the collectors were. I found I would say anything to get them off the phone and then be in a total panic as to how I could do what I said. I was raised if you give your word you are honor bound to fulfill it. So began the avoidance of phone calls. If it was family or friends wanting me to do something I did not want to do, how could I tell them without hurting their feelings I did not or could not do what they wanted. I could never say no to any of them. I still can’t. To call them is difficult as well, I am not sure why but a deep sense of anxiety begins at the thought of picking up the phone. To be fair after I force myself to call I am delighted to talk to them and make plans to keep better in touch. Well if it has nothing to do with making a phone calls it might happen. The advent of email helps with that. I am guilty of saying I will call on a certain day and then the cycle begins again. I try to call but then I look at the demon phone and just can’t pick it up. I know the phone is not truly a demon but it has become a problem I am trying to resolve. Before this problem manifested itself into my life, I was an avid phone talker. Calling people often and talking for hours to family, and friends. Yet there are still days that I look at the phone with complete dread even knowing who is on the line, just not wanting to talk on the phone at all, even though the person calling is someone I could spend hours just chatting with in person. So it is not the people that are calling it is the phone itself that has become a fixated inanimate object of dreaded phobic reaction. So I would venture to say most likely as of today, I owe several return calls and am feeling quite sufficiently guilty. And perhaps will pick up the phone and make that call.

                                                                                               

                               

                     

~The Bride Wore Black~ The year was 1975, and I was about to be married for the first time. I had a special friend, Sharon, who's dreams were something we all paid attention to as they always would be a warning of what was to come. She never was wrong about what was to happen, but she could not always tell when it would come to pass. In this instance the dream was about me. Sharon said she saw me plainly standing over a grave in a bridal dress of all black with a solid black rose. As I was to be married in a couple of weeks I thought this a strange omen. I wondered if it was telling me the marriage was doomed to fail and I would be grieving the loss much as I would the loss of my mate if widowed. The marriage did fail after six years and I remembered that dream. I assumed that now my karma was once again in tune with the universe. And it was until 1983. I fell in love with a wonderful man named Marshall, it was instantly an intense physical and spiritual mating. We talked of marriage and met each other's families. All was fine until three months into the relationship. That last night. I met him after work at a place we went to often, actually it was were we met. The night started strangely and ended tragically. As we left the club to go home we were mugged by another patron of the club. Both Marshall and I were left for dead. When I came to I went for help. Six days late Marshall died. So the prophecy of my friend's dream was fulfilled and at the funeral I was indeed dressed in black though not in a wedding dress. I remember though I was very much feeling the young widow who's mate was taken all too soon.

 

                    

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I'm A Survivor

The words of this song touch me as most all the verse pertains to how my life was in words it portrays
 much of what is needed to survive one's own troubles in life.
This song should be the anthem for women's choice to survive above all costs. I know it is for me.

 
 I am still dancing to the sounds in my soul even now. 

Marty Dusalt-Pinney

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