A dream of my grandmother and three corpses, swathed in white, beside her.
I feel less and less like I own this body and mind. I am just a member, one of many. As I gain this perspective more and more, I feel smaller somehow. But along with that I feel more a sense of responsibility, that I have my role to play and everyone expects me to do my part. I also must sit back more and trust what is happening, trust the directions we move in. It may not be me driving this vehicle and it may never be me but I realize now that I am an integral part of the whole and not insignificant.
Razor Man (3) calls me “Chatty Cathy”. The others tell me that I get information from within based on two things: one, that I can handle it, and two, that we are ready for at least one Outsider to know about it because if they tell me something, they know I will tell an Outsider. Thus – Chatty Cathy. I don’t keep our secrets very well. At the same time I am afraid of what will come out of this mouth. Terrible things about our past come out and about who “I” am, who “we” are.
A compulsion to tell. A terror of revealing.
A need to be visible. A fear of exposure.
A story to tell. A loyalty broken.
It’s as if the words have a life of their own. I cannot stop them. There have been times in therapy with Lyn that they have burst out of my mouth. I had little time to think what was coming. They were usually followed by tears and gut wrenching sobbing. The truth that sits deep in my gut explodes like a volcano, spewing hot lava on my skin and dense smoke in the air. I am one part Censor but I’m not sure how well that part of me works. Maybe it does subconsciously or in concert with others Inside. The information comes out somehow, some way.
Sometimes I can’t remember what I just said or what someone else Inside just said. I think those are switches and they happen so quickly I barely feel them. Are we out of control or in control?
Chatty Cathy – who has a compulsion to tell.
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There is too much going on Inside again. Othel (1) still working on his animal kingdom project. Tir (1) wants to work on shamanism. Ariel (1) simply wants to read a good mystery novel. The little ones want to make something for Lyn. And I want to do something for the housing co-op we live in. Sigh. I’m tired of being multiple. I don’t want all this chaos and confusion. Of course it could change at any moment.
I dream our uncle is raping us. I feel suffocated by the weight of his body on top of me. And another dream that a group of people are going to do things to me but I am not in my body. I am looking at a younger girl, yet I know it is really us, really me. The people are going to inject us with something and then do horrible things. In the dream I think it’s time to create another alter to deal with this. Lyn says these are probably memories.
And Tir is afraid of needles.
I am becoming an alcoholic. Trying to cope with everything. Two to three glasses of wine each evening. Something to see me through. I know I’m trying to fill up some gap Inside. A wound. A big aching hole. It hurts too much to just leave it alone. The alcohol soothes it and distracts me.
Sometimes when we are all together it creates a terrific energy. It feels like we can do absolutely anything then. We call each other like wolves howling to the moon. Come here and be with me. Don’t leave me alone in this war. Let’s form an army and slay the dragons.
One time Anna asked us to think back to a time when we didn’t know about the abuse, when the awareness hadn’t come to our consciousness yet. An alarming realization as I look back of over “my” life. I can’t see any time that I really didn’t know. And I feel as if I always knew about the others Inside as well. When we left Ottawa to move to Vancouver, sitting on the back of David’s motorbike, seeing our home fade into the past, I thought of a door closing on a dark place. I did not think about what was beyond it, only that it was black.
The support group for multiples ends and we have learned so much. We learned the role that Denial has in each of us, Denial as protection, Denial as the brake that slows us down. While it must be chipped away gradually we need to understand the safety it provides us, safety from severe psychological damage. We find out that we are not crazy, not delusional, that we found a way to deal with the insanity of others. Multiple personality itself is not an illness, but rather a coping mechanism, a strategy for survival. The real illness lies in the abusers. It is their insanity that needs addressing. Being multiple can certainly make us dysfunctional at times but it does not take away our competency. We know how to handle this. We are the experts here. We know what we need to do. And we need the support and help of others to make our way through an extremely painful process, to “undo” what has been done, and even, if possible, to understand why it has been done.
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WhisperHer (1) tells CF (1) stories when they are locked in the closet for punishment.
The Time Traveller (2) wears a silver suit and travels time like a superhero. She is the one who goes to Maura and asks for the boxes of memories from The Keepers (2). They give her one and she flies back to us. Here, she says. Here is a memory. Is it a good one, we ask hopefully. Is it from a happy time? She shakes her head, her eyelids heavy with sorrow. No. I’m sorry. We all exhale our disappointment. Another one. More pain. How long will this go on? She tells us, I think it will be a while yet. This is the Remembering.
Patience (1) has beautiful long red hair. Stunning. Sometimes I see her beauty when I don’t feel so scared of what she knows. She looks like an angel, her wings tucked back.
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It is only when we are alone that the gearing down can begin. Move into what’s truer. Closer to the Inside. Past even me. Into the Core.
I am like a little girl aren’t I but I am grown up. I take pills because I am crazy but I am getting better. (Tir)
We walk with The Beast (1), him trailing his slime behind him. Then his slithering becomes steps and the steps grow steadier. His pace becomes a drumbeat that reins all of us into a rhythm. The rhythm becomes a whisper that turns into a song. The song becomes a certainty and our purpose is reborn. We know where we are headed. We are sure of our path. This is rage released as it uncovers our soul.
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