May 3, 1998; Sunday
As I struggle with the reality of the enormity of dealing with the convoluted interior of me, I race from one end of the spectrum to the other. Believing and denying. Wondering and knowing. Laughing and sulking.
I am no Sybil; this is certain. I never endured the kind of physical torture she did. My torture, as such, was undoubtedly emotional and more or less brought upon myself. I was always told that I had to be lovable to be loved. Well, I'm the first to admit I've been anything but lovable for much of my life. People get on my nerves. I have little patience for most people.
I don't know why I couldn't have a solitary life. I just don't know why.
There's little doubt, even at the lowest end of the spectrum, that I am dissociative. I am different people. And not just nice at church and serious at work and happy-go-lucky with my friends -- that, friends and neighbors, is normal behavior. No. What I'm saying is that I am different ... really different. My tastes change -- the music I like, the clothes I wear, the type of food I prefer. My thinking changes. My memories change. I lose time. There is undeniable evidence of this. Something that made perfect sense to me one moment, is incomprehensible the next. I can have a brilliant idea, then completely forget it. I will remember that I had it, but not what the idea was. As far as I know, I am basically always the same person, but my perception changes. I have not always been aware of it. I am aware of it now.
May 5, 1998, Tuesday
From what I've been able to ascertain, there's usually some sort of traumatic event which brings about the dissociative state. There's also usually another traumatic event which brings the dissociative state into the light. A person can go all of their lives without knowing they are dissociative, then all of a sudden, the bottom drops out and there they are.
Without a doubt, the second traumatic event for me was when "our grandson" was taken from his parents by the state. Not to say that I didn't know I was in major trouble before then, but I probably wouldn't have sought help had it not happened.
I was suffering panic attacks and devastating depression. I have been moody for as long as I can remember; and can remember being depressed frequently even as a teenager. It only worsened as I got older and my life became ever more serious. The joy I found in my children was clouded by the abusive relationship I had with the first husband.
I tried so hard to be "good". To be a "good" wife and mother. I meekly obeyed his every command. I would have been right at home in the Orient or the Middle East -- or in Africa, where a wife is nothing more than a possession. It sickens me to think of those years, but it seems as if it happened to someone else. It doesn't feel as if it happened to me at all.
And, so, here we are...
but where is here? And who are we? There's only one body here, but many voices ... many thoughts... many memories ...
How do you get through all the madness to find what is real? How do you survive all the chaos inside? How do you find your way through the endless maze of hallways and rooms? Who is in charge here anyway?
There's just too much to channel. too much to do. too much to ... live
Di - checking in:
Let's all just calm down here and take a deep breath. Turn on some music and dddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddissociate!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Just kidding, folks. Let's get it together here. We've got too much to lose to lose it. The dream has gotten us all upset, but there's really nothing we can do -- even if the dream comes true. We may not win. We may even look like a fool, but we've done all that we knew to do.
Besides, some of us are not so sure he *should* be placed with us. Some of us still hold out the hope that the sun is going to shine again some day and he will be with his parents. Others fret about the possibility of his going back to them, for fear that something else will happen to him. Paragon assures us that God is in control and we are nothing but His instrument in all of this.
Corrie's back
I just had a thought, gang. We're like a choir or an ensemble. We're all singing the same song, just different parts. I like that.
I'm so disoriented. So out of it. When I turned on the computer, there was an x-rated wallpaper there to greet me. How nice. HE's been out again.
Maybe I shouldn't journal today, but hey ... you gotta take the bad with the good. Eh? That's why I'm like I am today. I was taught not to deal with the bad; not to even admit that there WAS bad. But there is. There is a part of me that is very bad.
Is that true? Is it really bad? Or is it just human? It's true that I wouldn't purposely search out pornography on the internet, but curiosity would probably make me have a look, just to see what it is. You see, I'm very naive about worldly things, even at my advanced age of 40+ years and two husbands.
**Please note: major switching going on here.
Do I still consider DID a gift from God? Even when the body has been without sleep for days and the meds are completely forgotten and weight is being gained because everybody wants to eat their favorite things and nobody remembers that somebody else already ate?
WARNING. DO NOT CONTINUE READING IF YOU ARE NOT FEELING EXCEPTIONALLY SAFE. TRIGGERING MATERIAL AHEAD.
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Hi. I'm Corrie. The one this site was built for. The time has come for me to say something. Something unpleasant, but something that has to be shared.
The pornography is a part of a sexual addiction that is generational in the system's family. When Birthperson was seven years old, she witnessed an incestuous act perpetrated against her eight year old cousin. This has been the cause of much of the resulting dissociation in the system. Here is the story as it was told to me:
We come from a very big family. Our father has many brothers and sisters, who all have many children of their own. During the decade of the sixties, in the Deep South where we grew up, children were seen and not heard. When the family gathered for meals, the children ate whatever was left when the adults had finished stuffing their bellies. The matriarch of our family was an obese woman with a very sharp tongue. The cousins knew there were only certain areas where they were allowed to go. Mostly they stayed outside, playing in the yard or on the front porch. This was not one of our favorite places to go, except that we got to play with our cousins.
When we were seven years old, our aunt was visiting from up north. She had married into a higher class of society and had a pair of silver high heels she brought to give to our cousin. Our cousin was eight years old and the eldest female grandchild. As we all gathered at the grandparents' house, our aunt told our cousin to go upstairs to the bedroom and look under the bed for her surprise. The cousin did not want to go upstairs by herself. She asked us to go with her.
We were very close to our cousin, but we considered her a sissy. We, on the other hand, could best any of the boys and we were proud of it. We usually went along with whatever the girl cousin wanted, but we had a better idea this time. We told her no and ran from her to keep from getting pinched. We were going to teach her a lesson. We sneaked in the house, through the back door, through the kitchen and up the stairs like a flash. We went into the bedroom where our aunt's things were and rolled beneath the bed. We were going to give our sissy girl cousin something to be scared about. And how!
As practical jokes are wont to do, this one backfired on me. My memories are disjointed and out of sync, but I have no doubt that they are true.
At some point, I moved from beneath the bed to get between the bed and the wall. The feel of the bedspread on my face as I crouched and waited is as clear as anything to me. At last, my cousin came into the room. She was alone. I had to fight to keep from bursting out in squeals of delight at the very thought of scaring her silly. But, just as I readied myself to jump out at her, I heard someone coming up the stairs. I peered out from under the bed to see a man coming into the room. I thought my heart was going to burst. I did not understand what happened next, but I knew beyond any doubt that it was very, very bad. The worst. Unbelievable and unacceptable for me.
I remember the sound of my cousin whimpering, begging for him to stop. I remember the sound of his voice, soothing and trusted. I think I lost my mind that day. I know that I split into separate identities. The girl I was could not reconcile what was happening to make it fit with her concept of reality. Where uncles and fathers and grandfathers were adored and admired and, most of all, trusted. Yet, here was the most trusted man in her life -- in their small community, in fact -- doing unspeakable things to her cousin.
Over three decades later, we spoke of this event for the first time. We were in therapy. The memory had always been with us, but disconnected. In our adult memory, our cousin had been caught doing something very bad and had gotten a terrible spanking. We were hiding and witnessed it. That was our adult memory, but there was something not right about it. There was something that begged to be given attention and when we did, that's when the truth began unfolding. That was no spanking. That was a sexual assault against a little girl by an adult family member. And we witnessed it. And our cousin never even knew we were there.
End Trans.
October 27, 1998
My dear friends,
As you may or may not be aware, our duplicity was diagnosed only a few months ago. While in a way that dx is very free-ing -- yet in another way, it throws us into a panic. We have been accustomed, all of our lives, to being multiple -- without realizing it. The parts of "me" that were shut off, or cut off, or made separate, have been called everything -- including demons -- except a normal part of "me". Now, for the first time in our lives, we have found acceptance as "real" people.
It's hard to put into words simply because we aren't sure how to analyze it. Parts of "me" are purely analytical in nature; parts of "me" are purely creatures of impulse who never think things through. I don't have to tell you what sort of upheaval that causes within the system. If a problem cannot be analyzed and brought to a logical conclusion, the analytical parts of me are thrown into the deepest of depressions. Which leaves the more child-like parts of me to deal with the world. Again...I don't have to tell you what chaos that causes in my life.
Being a Christian, I have certain teachings that have been instilled in me from infancy. As an adult, I have discovered that not all of the teachings are Biblical. I must say, though, that for the most part -- probably 99% majority -- has been built on solid, Bible-based training of theological value. Recently, I have been preparing to do an in-depth, personal study of Jesus' teachings. I have not yet begun to do this. By immersing myself into the Word, studying the Word, and the words of the Word, I hope to bring a unity to the different parts of jcslf. (with love, from the Paragon.)
I hope that didn't freak you out. There was nothing supernatural about the Paragon speaking to you, as she is a part of "me". Just not the whole part or the sum of the parts. Sometimes I think our lives would be much simpler if she were. If the Paragon were all we were, seeing things in black and white, with no questions. Paragon has begun to be more realistic, though. She has much more humility and seems to have more compassion for those of us who are hurting.
As for our Maggie...she is delighted that you like her. You have to realize that for her entire life she has been looked upon as the "bad" girl. And she can be "BAD" -- very bad, but she's not without her redeeming qualities. Speaking for myself, maggie is one of my absolute favorite parts. She has developed more depth recently, of which I am thrilled. For a while -- several years, actually -- she was more of a character player than a real personality. She has her role to play -- as we all do. She just enjoys herself more than most. Now that she's being allowed more freedom, she's much more content.
My counselor, who I see every Tuesday night for 2 1/2 hours or so, is a very wonderful gentleman who has become a very important part of our lives. He is the first one to look us in the eyes and tell us that he loves us...ALL. Sometimes, he will speak to us individually, which really throws us into a tailspin! But he's getting very good at perceiving which one of us is presenting at the time. The other night, he stopped, mid-sentence and looked at me with a small frown. He said, "You're very beautiful right now. Who are you?"
Well, I'm not accustomed to men telling me that I'm beautiful -- no matter who I am. Whoever it was who was appearing so "soft and sweet", ran like the wind. I don't know and whoever it was ain't telling.
Love and hugs, corrie
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