Understanding my story

Around 2012, toward the lead up to the end of the Mayan Calendar, having been sparked by the rumour it was going to be the end of the world, I was compelled to materials that spoke of mind control, ritual abuse and the Illuminati. I started to wake up. Part of that was gathering information, stories and knowledge that was at that stage embedded in fear based programming. I had not yet found the true Lord God, but I was heading there. I hadn’t yet discovered I was D.I.D but I was edging around material that focused on this. I couldn’t stop reading and searching and whilst I was mindful my memories could be contaminated, I desperately needed to believe the unbelievable. I had to find others who had suffered extreme abuse and survived. I would read countless stories on my kindle, yet I barely remember them. It was like a part or parts were reading the material but nothing sunk in. I was in shock. It took me a while to digest the truth. It was like I had woken up yet was living in a dream or nightmare. I was attracting fear based content into my life. I could see the devils work everywhere. I can still see it now and be triggered by it, but I am glad I know the elite Masonic signs, I am glad I know when to avoid something or to not trust or put my energy into mindless celebrities or labels or businesses or new age beliefs. I am glad I am starting to focus on Kingdom thinking (we are saved, He loves us, we are strong in His Power, mind and spirit). I am glad I no longer believe that darkness prevails and that fear is the devil trying to disconnect me from the love of God.

Being well with D.I.D.

I was inspired by a podcast from “Surviving my Past”. Matt P. Interviewed Rob Goldstein and he said he “no longer thinks of himself as sick with D.I.D. Instead, as being well with D.I.D.”. I like that a lot and it made me realise how thankful I am that God has pulled me away from AA, which constantly reaffirmed the notion that I was sick. I am not. I love not drinking and I choose to believe I am getting well and I can be well with D.I.D. I choose to believe I can connect with my parts and we can live together. It’s happening. It’s been happening this week.

I am thankful for my parts and all that they have done for me and provided for me. They are fierce and brave and fascinating. They make up all that is me and I believe them and in them.

A very angry parts poem to a perp

*Trigger warning* strong Language and violent imagery. This part needs to speak.

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Get your hands off me. Your face out of me.

Don’t breathe into me. Don’t touch me.

You filthy f***ing dirty arsehole.

I want to smash your face in.

You render me powerless but my mind fuels with rage

I could kill you.

Rough hands. Old face lines. Murmurs of enjoyment.

You animal. They’re not mine.

You suck, you drink, you feast, you kill.

I hate you.

You split me once, twice, three times, four.

You split me five times, six times, seven times more.

I surrendered then. Bliss, followed by shame.

Blank mind, blank body, blank soul.

Chasing the tail. An endless circle. To find what?

Each level. What did you do to her at each level? Why did it take so long? What did she need to learn?

New parts at each stage. Designed to never ever love, breathe or feel romance. You destroyed it. We despise you. We want to run you over in a monster truck. We want the crowd to shout and roar. We want to enjoy your death the way you enjoyed ours.

Tried to find the “why” for years. Gave up searching and now I’m holding you to ransom. No longer will you take our life. You dirty, filthy f**ker. Get out of my head.

Blank

What a wonderful part is Blank. She makes everything disappear. The slate is wiped clean. I can’t remember anything. Vague recollections of a conversation, some importance, nothing important. Gone. The feelings, emotions, memories, connection. All gone. It’s a lovely feeling. Cold and disconnected, but at least I am not in the black hole of confusion. I don’t think.

Keep showing up.

Life feels very strange at the moment. As though it is creeping along okay… but at any moment it could all just fall apart. Despite a persistent desire to crawl into a ball and die, I have felt pushed along by an external force. I just keep moving, even though I don’t really want to. It’s like I am operating outside of myself- watching me doing life actively- but yet part of me is sitting opposite, unable to join in. Wondering when it is all going to stop. Blow up. Come to an end. Maybe it won’t and it will just keep ticking along.

Over the years, as I’ve aged, my confidence has taken a beating and I seem to be okay with that. I know it’s because I was operating under false bravado for so many years, it’s humbling to not have to put on an act, pretend to be better than what I am and just try and be. Within that though is a sense of loss- perhaps of what I could have been- what I could have become. But heck, I never thought I would live to 30, so much of this longing is delusional. Unfounded. The dream, the desires, the unstoppable freedom I once felt was fuelled by drink and drugs or promiscuity or just dissociatively living in my head. The worlds I created were safe. My mind felt impenetrable, until one day it didn’t. And I guess that’s when my confidence started to diminish. If I couldn’t find freedom in my own head, then where could I find it? If ever? I knew it wasn’t safe out there and if it was no longer safe inside my mind, then my security blanket was gone. Of course, when I turn my mind to God, He reminds me that He is my security blanket, but I’m still slow to trust. I still don’t fully believe I deserve His full love. I believe it for others, I just haven’t come around yet.

I know that when I fully surrender, God will endow me with the confidence I need. I listen to Godly women and they are powerful with His spirit. Man, these women are strong. Warrior women. And it is not them- it is God. They are a vessel. And you can hear it in their voice and their words and I want to be like that. I can feel God preparing me, i just want it all now, but I do think it is going to take time. Years. So I just have to keep rolling along, doing the things I do and remember to put my faith and mind and thinking in God, even though I get distracted. Even though the enemy tries to stop me from praying or believing or thinking I deserve Gods love. As I said, often I don’t feel like I am the one in charge anyway. Whether it’s parts or my spirit being led by God, I just got to keep showing up in the meantime.

Confused sexuality.

I experience internalised homophobia. Being a survivor of ritual abuse, I have lived with a pervasive sense of shame. The identity that I grew up with, difficult to shed, exhausting to confront. Self defeating. Not impossible. Just a lengthy process. So when I started dating a woman many years ago, it was like I had an arrow sticking out of my back. I felt even more different. I hated being looked at – perceived judgement. It was rare I ever felt comfortable. I was a drinker then, so the alcohol just satiated these feelings. I just wanted to be normal. On the flip side I often prided myself on being different. Compensating perhaps. Most people didn’t care I guess, but I cared. I hated being in my skin and this just made it worse. The lesbian women I met were mostly very smart, funny and creative- but I just always felt on the outer. I never felt gay, maybe a few times here and there, mostly I felt confused. I oscillated between this high ego and very low self esteem.

Later, when I discovered I was dissociative, I put the lesbian relationship, now ended, down to parts and most definitely the abuse. Everything was always to do with the abuse. And there’s a lot of truth in that, so it’s hard to muddy my way through this confusion.

I liked men. They were different and strong and safe, but then not safe lol! I had thankfully always attracted good men in my life, not all abused women can say that. When I met my husband he made me feel protected and feminine. For the first time, I actually felt like a woman. Even though there was a significant age gap, it was “societally acceptable” (for an older man to date a younger woman). I gave him a new lease on life, he gave me much needed security and protection. I felt strong and settled for the first time. I no longer felt like I was being stared at. It was a relief to not feel different. To just fit in for once. Normal; whatever it was- was one thing for me- freeing.

Now the “gay” thing has come up for me again. S is around and my deep attraction to her sits, somewhat dormant, but still there. Heavy. Pounding. Waiting. I can admit I am bisexual, but that still leaves me confused. I’d rather be one or the other. It’s just easier I think. And it brings up the shame again. The “I don’t want to be this way and have to come out and tell people and talk about it and be asked questions and feel strange if she and I go out for dinner etc etc”. “People think I’m her sister or her best friend, or worse, her mother”. All the seemingly little stuff that can amount to big stuff. Aagh, already such a process to be comfortable in my skin and now to have to face this, well, it’s hard to discern what is real. Do I have confused sexuality as the result of abuse? Am I really gay or has the devil got me? Can I live with Christ even though most Christians won’t agree with me. Shut out. Again. What if I am wrong? And they are right? What If I go to Hell? When i am with her, it all feels so right. The most normal, natural experience in the world. And it is an experience. Like time stops. And I am in the best dream imaginable. Safe, free, pure bliss. So I’m just riding out this confusion for now and trying not to get so knee deep into it. I am focusing on reading about faith based gay Christians (not all I agree with) and turning my attention to what I want. Accepting myself, despite the confusion, and despite whether or not I end up running off with a woman and being gay. All I know is that life is weird. Unstoppable and strange.