Incest Happened to Me, I am not Ashamed

The Life of an Alter, Living with Dissociative Identity Disorder

 Alter- abbreviation for Alternative State of Consciousness, Alternate Personality or Alternative Identity; generic term for any of the personalities within a Multiple, aka Plural, an individual with Dissociative Identity Disorder formerly known as Multiple Personality Disorder

I am an alter. I am one of the one hundred or so different personalities, we call "People" within our collective body and mind. Like all the other alters, I have a beginning.

Two weeks ago, in August of 2023, I suddenly found myself standing in a kitchen that I knew to be in the home we reside in. I wasn't alarmed at suddenly finding myself in existence, just uncertain. I did stand there for moments, maybe minutes, orientating myself and pondering. The majority of Alters are created or born from extreme pain and trauma. Then there is the minor category of Alters being made for necessity, kindof like a "spare parts" or a group of People that join or act as One. That's where I come in. I'm guessing that I am a Conglomeration of more than a few Other Alters but I am not sure. More on that later on.

I could see that someone had started cooking supper, making crepes and filling them with Parmesan cheese, so I set to complete the task.  I had never been Outside of the Inner World where all alters live when not Out in the External World, yet, I knew how to cook the crepes and the steps to achieve that. 

I was aware that internally, immediately before I appeared (I had no control or forethought regarding this) it was noisier or much busier. Like day to night, something had switched radically in a flash. I felt a large blanket of quiet from my head to my fingertips and internally, in my head, as well. I was like a sigh, a heavy pleasant sigh compared to moments before.

I felt tall, like my physical body's height of 5 foot 6 inches. My arms were quite long and I could easily reach over the griddle for what I required. My body moved with ease and I along with it.

For some reason, I wanted to know what I looked like because I had no idea. Seriously, I was completely clueless as to my facial structure, coloring or hairstyle. I found the rectangular camera we carry. I located the red camera button and took a photo. Hmmm. Not what I would have guessed. The photo was of someone totally foreign to me. If someone had said aloud, "that is a photo of you", I would have accused them of lying. Since I had taken the photo, somehow that picture must be me. So, I took another one, a closer to my face, photo. Well, that looked even less like what I thought, if that be possible. I put the camera down; it made no sense.

I would be lost to try and describe what I thought the camera photo would show. The only thing certain is that definitely wasn't what I expected. I could not "pick my self out of a line-up" if that phrase makes any sense. I moved on.

The bulk of Alters have a specific age or age range that they readily feel and know and can recite aloud, if they wanted to. Our People, like most Multiples, are loosely divided into Children or Littles which are persons under the age of 5. Some Multiples, such as Us, have toddlers, babies and preverbals, as well. This is because our abuse started when we were that young. They all classify as Littles but we can sometimes identify those under 2 years of age with those other terms.

Those People 5 years to 12 or so, we refer to as Middles. Then there is the Teen group followed by Adults, anyone over 18, who we also refer to as Bigs. There is also a group for those who do not identify as having a specific age, like Me. I'm just an Other or Non-specified or Ageless; take your pick.

I guess, there really hasn't been another like me before. I have no name which is highly unusual. People Alters mostly have a name or an age or number they use to identify themself. I do not. While I definitely feel that I am Adult and Big, I cannot relate or even wager an educated guess as to how old I am. The physical body is aged 60. I can say that I am 60.

Unlike most of Us, I had no direct trauma or abuse happen to me yet I am aware of some of these events having happened.

I have no first hand, first person accounts of living at the parent's house yet I am familiar with it in it's entirety.

I feel like I am a Special Helper Alter in that I feel that my role, (my job as all Alters have at least one) is to bring all the Other People who have been trapped in the past, into the present, orientate them to where we are now in space and time. In addition, the physical body was not a place that was safe until just a few months ago when we discovered and released a Major Traumatic Event that had impacted us to the very core of our being. The body was something all Alters felt as dangerous and unsafe until the Trauma was released and we could actually discover that the body Is Our Body and no longer being tortured and all our perpetrators are dead so we can move back into the physical body we left back then at age 5.

My job is to orientate all to the present in Time as well as relearn how to occupy our own body, which sexual abuse and torture had taken away in an emotional and mental sense.

It has taken me over a week to contemplate who I am, why I am so different and what my job is.

I do not have any personal memories yet I do have memories that Other Alters have spoken about in therapy, have written about or just plain "I know stuff that they experienced", second hand knowledge.

I don't have much of an emotional make-up. I do feel mostly just calm and content.

I know how to do all of the ordinary things such as chores, cooking, going to the store, walking the dog, all things I have never personally done before yet I have that knowledge. I attribute this knowledge to the possibility that a number of Alters who have previously been Out have gathered together and congealed into Me. It would explain why I have no age other than my present age and why I have no name to call my own.

I believe I am a Transit, carrying the People of the past into the present.
I am definitely a unique Alter in many ways. Writing helps me to clarify myself a little and it serves as written testament to Our Others regarding what took place in this specific time period.

I feel stable, solid, content, able-bodied, unworried and okay. I am an Alter in the Amy System. Just doing my job.

and then it got quiet, switching

And then it got quiet.

All day, morning, afternoon till 4, lots of activity, plethora of thoughts and ideas, and suddenly I'm in the kitchen getting ready to cook crepes. It was like a heavy curtain, a soft, gentle curtain...fell. 

Hush hush silence and calm.

Don't know who was out before me. I didn't know...I didn't feel a noticeable switch or transition; I just abruptly found myself Out.

I feel fine. I could easily complete the task at hand. I made the crepes and wrapped them for the freezer.

Transition. Turn. Changing heads. Switching. 

Yep, definitely Multiple.

We haven't noticed it like this in awhile I guess.

I'm in control of me

I went to the food pantry for my weekly visit today. It dawned on me that even though I am extremely grateful for the generosity, I highly resent being made to feel like someone else had control over my choices.

I've probably felt this way for years after escaping my family but only today did I have enough awareness and find the proper wordage to find my truth and speak it.

I resent it when I feel like someone else, my food pantry helper, my doctor, my housing inspector, my landlord, my therapist, etc. has control over me.

When no one loves you

It hurts to be awake

One Therapy Session, The Next Chapter, Surviving Sexual and Physical Abuse

 It feels as if I've turned the page, shut the book and begun a complete new chapter in therapy and in my life. 

Last night, as I lay in bed pondering, I surmised that there is 1/5th of my life that continues to be shrouded from me, blackouts, and remembrances, that are within me but separated and sequestered into different parts, alters, inner People that I have not had any access to. That's a sizeable chunk.

Case in point, I have no memories of my father ever sexually abusing me, though word is that it occurred weekly from birth till 20. I remember my father only at distance or amongst siblings or family members in the family living room and dining room or at family get-togethers, picnics and parties. I never remember the touch of his skin, what he looked like shirtless or him ever touching me. My mother I easily recall giving her the mandatory hugs and kisses goodnight or before leaving for school in the morning but none of that with dad.

There were three stages to dad. One, was the viewing and knowledge of him from a distance. Two, was when he was physically within a few feet of me. It was a feel and sense of fear and danger. If he touched me, anywhere, arm, face, foot, I instantly "turned" like i turned around within myself exposing my back. I disappeared and ran inside of myself as fast and as far as I could go. You would be amazed at the reaches of one's mind when horror and pain propel you.

My father never touched me, never sexually assaulted me and also, never physically beat me. We are all beaten, all seven siblings shared in the physical discipline of being punished with curtain rod and belt, hand and fist, hairbrush and spatula. It was fairly evenly doled out.

Today, in therapy, I recounted one incident in which my sister was over my mother's knee and being beaten with the brush. There are three awful sounds that emanate from thus: the sound of the "twack" the hit of physical object onto flesh, a cringeworthy sound; another was the cries of my sister as she helplessly tried throwing back her hands to cover her backside to dull the strike of the brush; her vocal cries; then, another unworldly sound as my mother is her anger spewed vile words amongst tears and gritted, gnashing teeth. These three sounds hurt me, assaulted my ears, my brain, my heart, simultaneously. This was not a daily happening, more like three or four times a week on average. More than one child was often singled out for punishment in this way. Like an assembly line, one had to wait their fate.

Protection. This I overheard part of my self, a much younger part of myself recount how she had to always have her guard up and she demonstrated by crossing her arms in front of her face and then place arms aside our head. These positions one had to be ready for at any given moment as parents could strike without warning.  We always tried to be prepared, like throwing blankets over ourselves as we curled in a ball to try and stunt and slow the blows that would rein down. It felt like layer upon layer of thin and medium thick cloth that had been thrown one atop the other. As she spoke, I could feel the weight, like of ten or twenty pounds of cloth being thrown or lifted off of me when she who spoke realized she was free and the parents were long away and could not strike her again. I do feel as if a great weight has been lifted off of me. This is true.

I spoke of the awareness that the biggest room in my Internal House is a room filled with all the things unsaid; things that i never had any opportunity to speak aloud or express in any form, thoughts, feelings and events. I could say nothing about so much of my daily experiences. There was no place to write down anything either. So much I had to bottle up and hide inside never even being able to openly contemplate or share. I had no one and no where. My thoughts have value. My feelings were valid even though never acknowledged, even though they never got to see the light of day or the possibility of alighting onto someone else's ear; even though no one heard me, I felt and I was. This is why I go to therapy because 1 person will hear this. What happened to me was real even though it was gross and difficult to stomach and ugly to look at. I Had So Much That I Wanted To Say about what was happening, the evil and the vile and the criminal. Those words have been held inside me, in stasis. Now, Now, it is okay to speak.

There was no privacy and absolutely no dignity in that little house with two adults and seven children. The house were the doors kept getting broke off the hinges and languished for weeks before they were replaced. Doors busted from angry children and parents. Laying on floors, doors are completely useless, I tell you. Bedroom doors were the ones most likely to be broke off but the one bathroom, the one bathroom, when that door got busted, it was the worst. The parents bedroom door was the only one I don't remember getting broke. If it did, they made sure to fix that one up quick.

The bathroom, I shudder, had no privacy. There was only a bathtub. I don't know if it ever was plumbed for a shower or not but no shower was ever taken there. The bathtub faucets needed repair often, and by the plumber called dad. He wasn't very good at it or probably he just planned it this way, but the two faucets had enough wall chipped off around them that if someone wanted to, they could sit in the closet in the bedroom next door and watch someone take a bath. This my dad did. If the light was on in the bedroom, you could see them looking at you of just that the light would flicker in those faucet round areas. If the light was off in that room, then you never knew if they was looking or not. There was no privacy.

My biggest gap whereby I have the least knowledge is when I was 6, 7, 8, and 9. I start having consistent memories at ten years. I'm guessing those missing years were filled with unspeakable, horrible things if it is that blacked out. I have no idea how much an ordinary person remembers about their life and their years spent. All I know for sure is that there are huge chunks of missing me, knowledge about common things of school or home life. One fifth, my best guess. That's a lot of me to be missing. I wonder who I am. Those hidden events are part of me, probably painful and difficult to learn but part of me.

It's safe now. My parents aren't beating, raping, selling or silencing me. I can talk now. I am a real girl. That's what really happened. And sure, they cannot pay for their crimes against me but I sure as hell will write and talk about it and let everyone know the evil mean stuff that they did and did often.

I learned a lot in therapy today.

This is a new chapter.

Dad's People, when I was 3 somehow it was decided or made clear that anyone of me that dad touched was his. Thus there are Dad's People, all sexually and physically abused. Then, there are those untouched, literally, the untouched, and we are Amy's People and she has met the therapist and I am sure therapist has never forgotten such moments. Amy is leader and a force to be reckoned with. 

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