Swept in to My Memory

I have been completely neglecting this blog for I don’t how long.  Literally.  Time has been optional lately, and even as I type this, I’m not at all sure what’s been going on in my life.

The major DID-related development has been this bizarre way of looking at memories.  I’m interacting with the person in those memories.  Yes, I realise I *am* the person in those memories, but this is odd.  The feelings still don’t belong to me.  I’m merely a spectator.  I enter in to this alternate dimension and am led about by the central character in this black and white biography.  She lays on a table, hides in a corner, waits silently in profound darkness.  She is beaten, burned, touched in private places.  Hurt in ways I knew about but never truly felt.

And now I feel it.  I’m still not her, but she describes her pain to me.  She tells me physically what she’s going through, and here, in my present life, my body aches.  She describes the way it feels mentally, how scared she is or sad or angry.  Sometimes she’s so full of disgust she wishes they would go ahead and kill her.  She doesn’t feel worthy of living.  Here, in my present life, I feel those things too, and I want to hide my head in shame.  Time moves in and out of time, and I end up living in this present-past, afraid of where she might take me next.

I know that she will eventually become me, but right now that thought is too much to dwell on.  Right now, I still need her to be somebody else.


4 thoughts on “Swept in to My Memory

  1. I can definitly relate to what your saying. On one hand I know that by embracing the different parts of me and what they have held, I move closer to healing and wholeness, on the other hand sometimes the remembering is so painful and scary that it takes everything I have to just keep holding on.

  2. It really is quite difficult. Interesting, too, from that distant perspective we survivors can sometimes take. It takes trauma to create DID, and it feels traumatic to try and make things more coherent. My therapist always tells me accepting your past means accept the reality of it. Rather dead-on for a therapist who doesn’t believe in DID.

    We’ll all get through this, even if it’s minute by minute sometimes.

  3. *nod* I feel like so much of the time I catch myself saying to someone “I’m so sorry that happened to you”, reassuring and comforting them and then thinking “But that IS me”. Then it’s like if that is me then what the heck does that mean to me? I have no clue I can’t connect to it. Frustrating, painful, scary, definitely.

  4. annenco– my best friend and I were talking about this very subject last night, being able to comfort alters but unable to incorporate that in to your *self*. I sometimes find myself feeling horrible for the alter, but then, upon realising that alter is me, justifying the abuse as something I deserved. The alter didn’t deserve it, but I did.

    Have you experienced something like that before?

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