I have DID; Dissociative Identity Disorder. In short, my head is pretty much fucked up. I’ve functioned okayish for many years not aware of much that was going on. I’d lose hours, moments, days and weeks at time. I thought it was being very very forgetful. So I created many ways to keep myself informed. I write a lot. I kept a ton of To Do lists that cover typical routine months in advance. I used to use sticky notes all over the place. I enforced the idea that everything thing has a home; it’s proper place so I’d stop loosing my things. All this helped to keep my life from running off the rails.
Stress has a way of destroying the best of plans. I got worse. Blackouts more frequent. I was angry all the time. I didn’t understand the problems. I knew it was down right odd that me and my husband could feel and say the exact same thing. That is rather atypical. I knew I was stressed out. Body memory was over reacting and trigging way before real threats. I was a mess and I didn’t understand why.
It took getting caught switching for all of this to unravel; to have a chance to heal. Longer still for the other parts of me to start speaking up. Then it became more of a reunion in my head. My Peanut Gallery, always sitting on the bleachers of life, watching the game on a perfect summer day.
Acceptance is an amazing thing. My friends accepted me and understood what I was going though. They are like me too; kindred souls. Their trust in me and their acceptance allowed me to see, to learn how to accept myself, to face my flaws. It was my poly partners who saw and recognized this in me. It was them who helped me though the shock of this. It was also them who called out each alter and had a long conversation with each of them.
Trust is required for healing. I believe it is one of the things that broke me is that I didn’t trust myself. Trust is a risk. I’m not a gambler. I don’t like taking risks. And it’s very hard for me to trust. There are times that the possible outcome is worth the risk. I told my Master about what I had learned about myself. I was terrified that doing so would end the relationship. It didn’t. But I still kept my other parts away. It wasn’t like they weren’t interested in him. We were concerned that we’d confuse him or worse be wrote off as too much drama.
I don’t have tales of my alters going out and doing crazy things or claiming crazy things. We were always working to stay hidden, to not disrupt or get caught. Being labeled as crazy or being drama was the thing to avoid. Stepping out of the shadows is far more fearful thing than getting caught. It breaks the very rule of existence. So stepping out wasn’t really done. Being known and recognized was as good as it gets.
Telling my husband was a moment of healing for both of us. It gave us the chance to honestly work on our marriage. All that was unclear and muddled became clear. It was a true ‘oh shit!’ moment, ‘it all makes sense now.’ I didn’t know the hard work was just getting started.
Things get worse before getting better.
The odd part of being co-conscious is that in some ways it’s always felt that way. That the buzz in my mind were all the words I couldn’t hear before. I had rejected being split so I rejected the conversation that would happen but it didn’t prevent it. I’d freeze up, startle, choke on answering simple questions, always indecisive and close to perpetually confused.
Hearing them inside, it’s startling how familiar it was to me. My voices, my alters, my aspects of myself, each with a different voice, point of view, different motivations for life; fully formed individuals with an independence streak from hell. Team building was none of our strong points. Fights began.
It was ugly.
To be continued…