One of the things I keep finding is, though I do have a talk therapist, we don’t tell her everything. I think it’s our extreme trust issues, it also explains quite a lot. Here no one knows who I am, or where I am, and I (and the others) can freely express and write things without judgement. My husband doesn’t even read this, though he knows I have a blog, I think we like a place we all just… can be ourselves without worry or harm.
Recently I was asked by my psychologist “Think about your feelings about each one of your alters, and think about there feelings about you. Do you share these thoughts with each other?”
At first I didn’t understand the question, but then I realized why I didn’t understand, it’s because where all extremely open about our thoughts and feelings. Sadly, it’s the only way we can co-exist up to this point. For me, I was never included into groups, family events, or any outings in general. I always felt alone in that regard, so one of the things my alters provide me with is friendship and trust. We hide no secrets from each other… we are all well aware of things each have done or think or even feel, even if I don’t remember, they tell me.
They tell me they see what little innocence is left, the non-corrupted small piece of my sanity that’s remaining, and they wish to protect it. There are evil and black things in this world, but there are also a small amount of good and light things as well, Una tells me they just act as guardians in a sense, protecting whats left (the core) from disintegrating anymore then it has too, and letting me be happy and loved.
My alters where my first real friends, the first ones who genuinely expressed e, affection, and even respect for me. Despite there kinks, they always tell me they love me before I have to part from our world. Even Khala, despite her teenager ways, hugs me and always tells me no matter how mad she gets at us, she loves us all like family.
The very sad part about that statement, is my alters where closer to family then my own family.
My father was a drug addict and drinker, his drug of choice was Demerol, a extremely potent pain killer. He would inject into his groin area to hide it, but when my mom laid out the bloody underwear, he stopped wearing underwear all together. My father was a very nasty piece of work back then…. when he was so high or drunk to where he didn’t know the difference between abusing his children or punishing them? Yeah… that was a very common everyday thing. The days he was sober where the rarities, and he would go out with us, play with us, teach us things…. my brother and I wished the day would never end. However, after he was diagnosed with NASH (which I call bullshit) and Fatty Liver, he sat on the transplant list for 5 years, and got a new liver. His brain was Swiss Cheese, all the toxins in his body just ate away at him, and now he has early on set dementia and can’t remember the past. I have managed to form a somewhat functional relationship with him, my alters understand that he can’t remember anything, and he is now serving his punishment.
My mother on the other hand is a nasty piece of work in an entirely different way. I love her, don’t get me wrong, but her passive aggressiveness and constant manic episodes where not only hard to understand, but you never could see them coming. She grew up in a family who saw mental health as a bad word, and it was never spoken about or even hinted at. Ever since I can remember, and from what the others remember too, she wanted me to be just like her. Straight A’s, popular, in all these clubs, class president, etc….
You name it, she’s been it. When I didn’t turn out that way, she’d find small little weak points, take out a very long and sharp rapier and stab you there over and over until you fall apart. She called me names constantly, I was ugly, fat, stringy haired, unappealing, disgusting, smelly, etc. Anytime she could throw an insult at me, she’d do it. She was the one who said ‘your going through a phase’, ‘your just being a teenager’, and ‘Just snap out of it’ to me as well…. phrases you really shouldn’t say to someone who had DiD.
She still to this day does not believe in my diagnosis, she has an extremely hard time coming out of denial about everything. She still tells me ‘Stop stressing out everything will be fine, your overthinking it.’ I’m sorry, but when does that help anything? I Stress because of Anxiety, I overthink because of that and depression, and when it build up to a point a switch is induced.
The rules and protocols where laid out years ago, if I like it or not, the switch happens regardless because that’s the way the system functions. The day Emily almost broke her leg was the day I think my mother truly had a small glimpse into what exactly my husband sees and deals with. Emily hates my mother, with an extreme passion
My brother and husband where the only two who ever believed me, and who stood by me. Despite my brother having his own issues, he fights with my mother tooth and nail about my diagnosis, whenever she says something under her breath or tries to talk down about it, he turns around and says “Don’t you even dare, you know better.” She has since given up the fight and retreats whenever my brother glares, but it’s hard. I only have a very very small pillar made up of 2 people, and that’s it. The pillar sways and cracks, shakes and titters. But for some reason, it’s still there, standing proud and tall as always. I wouldn’t trade them for anything in this life… not even a cure for this. My alters are my family and my friends, so are my brother and my husband.