It is once again the Holiday Season. A time most people associate with joy, happiness, peace and family togetherness. The only part of that I associate this time of year with is the family togetherness, only it’s not in the good way most people do. I dread this time of year, because it means flashbacks of my abuse go into overdrive. We use to spend either Thanksgiving break or Christmas break (sometimes both) at my grandparents. If we weren’t there, they were here. Even though there where other times during the year that I was exposed to them, this time of year has the most triggers – commercials of happy families around a dinner table, decoration, Christmas music, etc. If I had my wish I would go to sleep about the middle of October and wake up in the middle of January. This year I forgot that I need to start gearing myself up for the whiplash that is the Holidays, because basically I forgot they were coming. I have been a little busy with having surgery, recovering from that, and dealing with the fact that the only mothering I was likely to get was the mothering I gave myself. October and most of November were gone before I was really able to leave my house, so I missed the early warning signs that the Holidays were on their way. If l hadn’t miss almost two months, I would have been prepared.
Then it happen last Tuesday, just 2 days before Thanksgiving I was in a store getting my prescription fill, when Winter Wonderland started playing on the over head speakers. At first, there was nothing, just me humming to the song, then the thought “Wait!!! It’s TOO early to be playing this song.” Then came the realization that no it wasn’t, and the shaking started. By Wednesday this had become a full blow panic-trigger-obsessive-mess. That’s when Sonja took over. Since this is only the second or third time one of my alters has completely taken over, to the point were I can’t stop them, it’s a little hard to explain what happen. It was like the “A” part of me was thrown out of my body. All I could do was scream and pound on an invisible wall as I watched in horror as Sonja took the electric shaver to my hair. Sonja parted my hair so that the top and sides were pinned up then she shaved everything from my ears down in the back off. It wouldn’t have been so bad except she shaved it to the skin. Then she let down the side and the front and took a pair of scissor to them. The more Sonja cut the more she wanted to cut. I finally broke through the wall that was holding me, “A”, back and got her to put the scissors down, but not before my hair went from shoulder length to barely covering my ears.
When I finally got Sonja to explain the mess she made of my hair, she told “A” that it was in the way. She was just following the example of the Amazon warrior women of myth who she took after, who were said to cut of their breast when it got it the way of them being better. Better fighters, better archers, better warriors, whatever. To Sonja, my hair was a hinderance, it was keeping me from being better. As a child it allowed me to be caught, easier. It allowed me to be controlled. Sonja cut it off so that couldn’t happen, any more, so I didn’t have to be afraid, so I could get better. It’s crazy but logically in its craziness.
You see I know that Sonja’s “job, reason for being” is to be my protector, my fighter, my avenging angel. I know that she switched on because she felt my fear and my panic. I just wish she hadn’t left me as bald as a baby’s bottom from my ears down. I also wish she would quit popping into my head and trying to take over ever time I’m trying to get ready to go somewhere. I’ve had to put away all the scissors in the house because Sonja isn’t done with my hair yet. She wants it to be even shorter, even though this is the shortest I’ve ever had it.
The length and the fact that the back of my neck is bald up to my ears makes me feel so many feelings but mostly, ashamed. My therapist suggested a wig or extentions but they are not going to stop the fact that Sonja feels an overwhelming need for my hair to be really short. I feel like I have a big, blinking, neon sign pointing to it and thus all my faults. It like a visual sign of everything that is F@(Ked up with me that the whole world can now see. Then there is a part of me that wants to let Sonja finish what she started because I am that F@(Ked up, so why shouldn’t everyone know it. I’ve got Becca cheering in the background, wanting me to let Sonja go with the scissor, because Becca is hoping that if I allow that, I will allow the purple and green highlights she wants.
And my new therapist wonders why I’m starting to fear my alters. I’m afraid I’m going to wake up one day with spiked green and purple hair, striped down to nothing, running around a public place, singing something stupid like “It’s a Small World After All” at the top of my lungs, while someone records it for youtube, and I have no idea how I got there.