Starting in the middle, with no sense of where I am going and little in the way of a coherent past...
2 years ago I started therapy at a rape crisis centre. 3 terrible counsellors and one breakdown later, I am now formally diagnosed with discociative identity disorder and I have found an expert psychotherapist to work with. Things are finally starting to heal, I think. This is going to be a long road. What I am going to write will probably sound crazy and unbelievable. I don't really mind if nobody ever reads it, or believes it, but I think it will help my own healing process to have somewhere to write freely.
My parts/alters/insiders/whatever you want to call the - my T calls them parts, and I kind of like that - are starting to communicate. At the moment there are several dozen I know of, but I think there may be many more. One of the discoveries I made in the first few weeks of therapy, is that my parts all seem to be in different parts of my brain. On the left side are parts that have been hurt and experience a lot of fear and sadness (most are children), on the right are parts that are very angry and protect and at the back are silent parts I call the shadow people who know things. In the middle is a room with a heavy, locked door. Nobody is allowed out and nobody is allowed in, but we hear the ones who are inside screaming sometimes. The door is guarded by a part who is simply called "boy". Hiding within the system is another group, called the demons, who cause havoc and chaos and destruction. We are all supposed to follow "the rules". But only the shadow people really knows what the rules are, and they aren't telling. But if we break one, we get punished. We don't know why, and we can't make it stop.
We are being punished at the moment because of the parts talking to our T. We are not allowed to tell. One of the demons is cutting.
And when I woke up this morning I found the word help scratched into my leg.
The problem is our T is so good and so knowledgable, that some parts are feeling very threatened and they want to push her away. They have jobs to do which they have always done, and they don't want their jobs taken away. They don't things to change. But other parts are feeling huge relief that we have found her, and are reaching out to her for help. So it's like my brain is in a state of civil war.
Amidst all of this are the fragments of memory that I keep finding, as parts come forward and talk. Memories of being gang raped by men in masks, being sold for sex, being filmed and photographed, being tortured with bright white lights and electricity, of having demons put inside me and told there were eyes everywhere watching me.
It's all so insane.