Arriving to the house I was composed with my makeup done and ready for the gathering of people. Having had to talk myself out of turning around and heading home at least a dozen of times. The first step out of the car was mine and then Ray came forward and in excitement went through the door making her presence known. Thankfully I was able to play it off and asked Ray to please behave. Then again at the time to eat, Ray served herself a big hunk of cheeses cake dip with cool whip, and sweets galore. Looking at the plate my stomachs felt nauseous.
Shortly after, it was game time, and another alter lost her cool and went into panic-mode because a gentleman of great size sat next to her and his leg touched hers. She was so freaked out she grabbed her purse, stood up and was going to leave. This particular alter has an eating disorder. I moved seats and was able to play some games and had some fun. Eventually, severe anxiety rose up again and we had to leave the gathering and head home.
Several of my alters showed up to the gathering and some even came out but didn’t talk. It felt like I was on a spinning wheel that went round and round. Social situations are hard, but I survived, and I’d do it all over again.
Everyone’s dissociative to some degree. People daydream, fantasize, and distract themselves from the realities of life. People fall into addictions to get away from the world. We watch television and movies, listen to podcasts and music, all to find some temporary relief from the stressors of our personal existence. And some of us, like myself, check out altogether with D.I.D.
There’s a small social gathering coming up on Thursday. It’s a bring a Dip & Game type of evening. Could you imagine the reaction of others if I showed up with at least 15 different dips for 15 different parts—all with different tastes and personalities. So, I opted out to bring none. Maybe no one will notice.
A D.I.D. friend of mine asked if I was showing up and we looked at each other and laughed. Both of us laughed knowing how hard social events can be. Hopefully I’ll be the one who arrives and not a little one who has no filter or another that loves to dress up and is crazy for boys.
So, who’s showing up Thursday? Is it personality one or personality two, three or maybe fifteen? I’ll have to let you know.
The moon settles in as the sun majestically sets leaving a display of colors painting a picture of a thousand words. Shortly the adventures begin with Ray (a one-year-old part). The nightly fights of why we can’t wander around the house in our underwear with an adult male child in the house begin. Eventually she relents and the hunt for her amazing “blanky” goes on. This blanky is a miracle worker that puts Ray right to sleep—It’s better than cold medicine. Every day the blanky ends up in a different spot in my room due to Ray’s restless sleep patterns. Finally, her blanket is in hand and she is off to dreamland allowing me to go to sleep.
Morning comes all too fast as I wake up to crumbs sticking to the sides of my cheeks and broken morsels of food in my sheets. The crumbs of a half-eaten granola bar, wrappers of fruit snacks thrown to the side of the pillows and an empty box of frosted mini shredded wheat on the floor. When asked what happened? She simply replies “I hungy.” Somewhere between nightfall and the morning Ray woke up and hit the snack station blocking me in the process, leaving me to wake up for clean-up duty!
Answering the question of “Who am I?” can be very difficult. With D.I.D. we often lack the ability to say who we are with confidence. D.I.D. eats away at our self-esteem and self-worth because our identity isn’t easy to define, especially since we’ve experienced trauma. Knowing who we are is important in life as a human being and with D.I.D. who we are gets complicated.
Knowing who we are gives us a solid psychological (mental and emotional) foundation for maturing, changing and living our lives. D.I.D. forces us to define ourselves with multiple identities. It’s important to define ourselves in order to understand not only who we are but also where we are at in life. If our goal is full integration of identities (personalities, parts or alters), or functional multiplicity, it helps to know who those identities are.
I found that mapping my identities helped me to know more about who I am. I can get to know, understand, and relate to each of my parts because I have defined them. I can now explain and relate to my parts by name, personality and character attributes. This has laid a foundation for me to define and redefine who I am as I mature. The better I know myself the better my self-esteem and self-worth are. I can stand in confidence of who I am today, and I can look forward to who I will become.
The following is an excerpt from a book I’m writing called, 21 Pieces.
It all started at this house-church meeting I’d been attending for a while when the facilitator handed me a book on Multiple Personalities. He wanted me to read it to see if I connected with what it said from a ministry opportunity perspective. We had been discussing the idea of fracturing of the human soul and spirit that Scripture mentions, and the possibility that these breaks need healing.
I couldn’t put the book down.
The book began with a warning: “If you suspect Satanic Ritual Abuse in your past do not read any further.” Intrigued and a bit frightened I prayed for protection before reading more. That wasn’t going to stop me.
I never thought about SRA being a cause for DID. I had suspected the trauma of sexual abuse as a factor and this book confirmed it. But SRA is a possibility for me. I had some strange dreams in the past that made me wonder if I had any SRA in my background. That and my Grandpa was a Freemason; Grandma was in the Order of the Eastern Stars. Rumors say that these groups have connections to Satanism though I don’t remember anything like that growing-up. My Grandparents were more like my Mom and Dad than anyone else in my family. I lived with them off-and-on all the way through high school. They’re both gone now, and I miss them dearly.
Regardless of what my Grandparents may or may not have done, it was obvious I had generational sin and curses to work through. I know that for sure because my Mother was a New Ager, which brings its own bag of lies into my life. When I turned 16 my Mother gave me a Bible and her set of old Tarot cards, which I was good at using. Talk about confusing. I worked through deliverance and prayer to get rid of those influences in my life already. I thought that was enough at the time, never realizing I had more work to do.
Images from my dreams swam through my mind’s eye. Dark hooded figures loomed over my crib at night. I can’t remember what they were saying. I got the impression they were planning my future. And the devil is always there, sometimes as a handsome, desirable man and other times a bloody beast with long horns and a sickening grin I can’t forget. These dreams have come and gone my entire life. The book was getting more real as I continued to read.
The writing style of the book was clinical but easy to follow. I read about the history of dissociation, alternative personality systems, and various therapeutic treatment options. I was stunned as I flipped through the pages learning theories about fracturing and reading case studies of DID patients. I couldn’t ebb the flow of tears warming my cheeks. I thought, “This is it. This is me.” Nothing could have shocked me more. This was me.