The End

of my time with DID.  After eight years and a great deal of work– both internal and external– I am one.  And I’m okay with that.  It’s a choice I/we made a long time ago, and it is what’s best for me.

I know DID itself is not a choice, but the issue of integration is a huge choice to be made by individuals (collectively).  This is what works for me.  Your mileage may vary.


And Then There Were Singles

I don’t write alot about the personal aspect of DID any more.  Although the subject is a focus on this blog, it’s more a general sense.  I decided quite some time ago that the details of my particular experience are private.  Today, however, I’m breaking with that thought to make an announcement.  We’ve been busy over the past year or so, and the personalities have been reduced from 250+ to eight.  Imagine the difference.

A major decision was made, and therapy has been a major part of that.  The therapist isn’t too keen on DID, and I understand that.  To get the full benefit of therapy, though, I’ll need to work through the full extent of memories.  To work through memories, I need to be aware of them.  The process has been find person, write out objective accounts of memories, discuss memories in therapy, assimilate person.  This will not work well for everyone with my particular condition, but it has worked quite well behind the scenes for me.

No case of DID is going to be like the next, and I might catch some heat for this post.  For me, standing on my own is essential.  Some deal with co-consciousness and are fine with that.  Others, like me, are not satisfied with it.  I need to be able to stand completely on my own.  I don’t want therapy to continue for years on end, nor do I want to give up a single minute of my life to a personality that may or may not share with me.  This is a very personal decision that is right for *me.*  I do not in any way suggest that it’s the right way to do things (there isn’t one) or that everyone should follow my lead.  It’s simply what’s best for me and the general consensus for moving forward.

Eight remain, and the goal is for only me to remain by the end of the year.  My thoughts on that are varied, and my emotions are extreme.  For me, however, this is what needs to be done.

When Rituals Go Wrong

Cults, in spite of how in might seem, are not infallible.  Sometimes, rituals do go wrong.  The anxiety this causes victims is almost unbearable.

Consider the ‘normal’ injury.  Let’s say a child falls and scrapes his or her knee.  What happens?  Hopefully, a loving care-giver picks up the child, comforts him or her, and tidies up the injury.  The child won’t think about lasting changes.  The caregivers, however, will.  Even an injury as minor as a skinned knee will make a concerned caregiver worry for their little one.

In cult circumstances, though, people sometimes *pray* for lasting injuries.  At least in the cult that has damaged my life, marks are made on the skin to signify rituals and status.  Higher ups will have different markings from lower order members, for instance.  Those who have been through specific maturation rituals will have symbols on their arms.  Those marked for death will have symbols on their thighs.

So what happens when these rituals get bunged up?  They are repeated.  Cuts are deepened, burns are taken to higher degrees, and bones are re-broken.  For those living in cult environments, the knowledge that a ritual might be repeated until it is satisfactory is terrifying.  Going through rituals that leave permanent marks is hard enough.  When, due to their own healing mechanisms or the ‘help’ of well-meaning individuals, a cult member’s injuries heal better or before they were supposed to, they have to worry about when the ritual will be repeated and how much additional force will be applied.

Even more terrifying, rituals can be designed specifically around the individual who is healing too well.  In cult survivors with DID, insiders can even be brought in as helpers, destroying even the potential safety found in one’s mind.  Those on the outside pray for injuries to heal and fade in to the past.  Cult victims, on the other hand, sometimes pray for the marks to stay so that the never-ending rituals are finally done.


I have been so irritable lately.  I think, perhaps, it is because people keep trying to find excuses for me.  The food issues are excused as part of stress, the paranoia is strictly chemical, and apparently multiplicity rules my life in general.  Here, then, is what I call my justified rant.

Stress definitely doesn’t help the food issues.  However, stress is not the cause of it.  It’s an effect as much as a cause, actually.  The food issues are caused by a very complicated mix of emotions, flashbacks, and general lack of knowledge.

Yes, paranoia does have a chemical component, and I do take medicine to help control that.  Still, sometimes the paranoia is justified.  Given my cult background, I do have cause to ‘watch by back’ from time to time.

As for multiplicity, *I* control my actions (gasp from the crowd).  My thoughts are my own.  Discrepancies or changes in patterns do not equal new personalities popping out.  I’ve been doing this a while now, and things are organised.

The moral of the story?  My problems are my own, my behaviour is my own, and the responsibility of dealing with issues my issues is my own.  No excuses are needed for me.

And that is my rant for the day.

Name That Accent

I was born a Scouser.  For most of my childhood, I held that accent, and my sister *always* held it.  Our mother (the Geordie) made us take diction classes because she couldn’t stand the sound.  Whilst my sister never got rid of it, I learnt to speak the Queen’s English, and my accent has faded quite a bit in these past 11 years of living in America.

Enter the multiplicity bit.

I don’t write about that often anymore– at least from such a personal perspective– but the past few days have been hysterical.  Apparently there is a young Scot with a fairly thick accent who has started chatting aloud to my best friend.  Poor dear.  🙂  He says he can understand her fine, and she does speak quite slowly.  She only learnt to speak aloud about a month ago.

So far, then, there are two Scots, a fair few Irish women, one who only speaks Irish, one who only speaks Welsh, and a Cockney along with the 250 or so standard English speakers.  One of the youngest has started referring to herself as International Little Peoples, which is hysterical.  And just about right these days.

Name that Alter

I’m quite familiar with many types of alters, being quite familiar with many DID systems.  However, there is a specific alter type that I can’s seem to find.  This alter functions *like* and introject, but she doesn’t quite meet that criteria.  She follows a similar behavioural pattern to an outside abuser, uses many of the same phrases, and just seems to have the same attitude.  However, unlike most introjects, she knows she’s part of a system, and she doesn’t look anything like the abuser she seems to represent.

Here’s the issue.  This alter has absolutely no self-confidence and actually seems to think that her existence/the existence of the entire lot is damaging to everyone on the outside, as well as the inside.  Nothing she (or the host) does is ever enough.  Nothing anyone in the system does is ever enough, for that matter.  My best friend describes it as ‘damned if you do, damned if you don’t’  That sounds about right.

So we have an alter who is, in thought and behavioural pattern, just about identical to an abuser.  Classic definition of introject.  But she’s quite aware of her place in a system, and she’s 30 years younger than the abuser she’s imitating.  Any thoughts on *type* of alter?

My Alters…

…want to sign my cast.  Explain that one to outside people. 🙂

I had a bit of a disagreement with a cult member on Friday, and that left me with a fractured hand.  It’s only a minor fracture, and the cast should be removed on 6 April.  Still, I think it’s hysterical that a group of alters want to sign my cast.  Welcome to the more zany and humourous side of DID.


I’ve heard no voices in my head today.  I only heard a few yesterday.  It’s quite odd, this silence.  I haven’t decided yet whether it is good silence or bad.  It’s just different.

Friday, Little Peoples popped up to tell me they no longer existed.  By virtue of the fact that they could tell me that, though, they certainly do exist.  I just don’t argue with Little People logic.  The consensus seems to be that people do not want to be noticed.  It’s not a coincidence that this falls along the line of my last two posts.  Hyper-protection, maybe.  Just like with names- if you don’t know who the ‘person’ is, they can’t get blamed.  I suppose the same is true for activities; if you don’t know how an alter is reacting, you can’t judge that reaction.  Who knows.  It’s quiet confusion right now.

So what have I been doing with all of this silence?  I’ve been chatting alot with outside people, mostly online.  I’ve also been hearing one thought at a time, which is a first in quite a few years.  I know for certain that the others aren’t gone, of course.  Spontaneous integration of everyone is rather impossible, I’m guessing.  Maybe they are just giving me a break from all of the noise.

It’s not some bizarre and backwards breakdown, as I don’t feel a sense of fear or anger.  I’m no happier or sadder than usual, either.  I’m fully functional, no greater sense of agita or anything, really.  Just silence for the first time in years.  I think it’s a combination of my frustration with presenting symptoms of DID and the alters’ feeling of fear in being revealed that has led to this sort of backing off.  It will be interesting to see how this sorts out.  For now, I’m just going to make the best of having my mind to myself for a bit.


I’ve been thinking quite alot lately about terms used to refer to people with DID. The most common, of course, is ‘multiple.’ Being called that makes my skin crawl, though, so I’ve spent some time trying to figure out the cause of such an extreme reaction. Disclaimer: This is my opinion about my experience as someone with DID. It’s not meant as an insult to others with this disorder, nor is it meant to classify others. It is strictly about how I view that label as it applies to me.

In my mind, the fact that I have DID is my biggest flaw. It’s proof that I could not handle my own life, that I wasn’t strong enough to cope with the world around me. I feel like a silly little child who ran away in her mind to escape things she did not want to do, see, or feel. In essence, that’s what the condition is about. I can look at others who have DID as brave and strong people who did what they needed to do in order to survive. For myself, though, I simply see a raging child. I don’t want to be different. I’d like to think I have my life together, not that a group of alters are holding it together for me.

My best friend and brother-of-choice live their lives well. Both have had their struggles, but they’ve handled them all along without breaking in to fragments of personalities. They’ve made it to adulthood whole and have faced their issues head-on, by themselves, without the help of alternate selves. I admire their resilience.

So, yes, the label ‘multiple,’ when it’s applied to me really bothers me. I’d like to be one person living her life well and in control. By accepting this label of ‘multiple,’ I feel like I’m giving in to a weakness, allowing alters to run my life and face my issues rather than dealing with them myself. It’s frustrating and makes me so angry. I want to feel whole, but for now, I realise that I am broken.

After the Storms

We awoke to an odd sight this morning– sun.  It’s been a while.  In fact, the last time it was actually sunny was a week ago.  We had days of rain in London, too, but not usually with this kind of storms.  I’d never been in a flood til now.

I’m staying with a friend for now until our house become inhabitable again.  We went to check out things this morning.  There’s rather alot of flood damage, and the waters are still rising due to run-off.  It’s odd that, even though it has stopped raining, the waters are still rising.  The neighbour has a tree on his roof now, which is not likely the decor he was planning.  The strongest winds were south of us, but combine 60 mph winds with saturated and flooded ground, and some of the trees refuse to remain standing.  In another odd twist of events, many of the trees in our area that were already damaged from the ice storm of 2009 decided they’d had enough of this and tumbled over.

Lily lost her Pooh bears, which has been very hard for her.  The wind is still howling, which is frightening Little Peoples and Middle Littles alike.  I just keep reminding them that, even though the ground is still saturated and the wind is still blowing, there is nothing at all on the radar around us.  Nothing.  It’s clear.  Mairead, ever the optimist, keeps reminding *me* that severe storms are forecast for Sunday.

The internal cast really have been interesting with all of this going on.  Little Peoples were inconsolable through most of it.  When the worst of the storms started last week, they cried and cried.  My best friend and I were out during one of the downpours, and Lily squeezed my fists shut so tightly that she actually broke the skin with one of my thumbnails.  Kathy did her best to keep the little ones calm, but nothing worked.

The Middle Littles, a group of young teens and preteens, were terrified by the cult prophecy stuff.  Everyone is still upset by that, actually.  Now that we’re not in immediate danger, I have time to worry about prophecies and future storms.  As my best friend would say, I *have* to worry about something.  I’m good at it.

Oddly, I’m greatly concerned for Mairead.  She’s usually unflappable, but I have a feeling this upset her more than she’s letting on.  I heard her crying this morning, which almost never happens.  The flood waters coming in to the house really scared all of us, but I think it scared her most.  No idea why.  She might tell me at some time, but she might just keep it to herself.  I just hope she’s well.

Once the waters recede, we’ll start repairing what we can.  New furniture, new flooring, et c.  Maybe Mother Nature is some sort of twisted interior designer these days.  Until then, I’m staying with a friend and her 21 cats.  Interesting, but it’s a safe place and I am grateful.

Life is the good thing.  We’re all alive.