Father

My father died from cancer when I was twelve. He was first diagnosed with cancer when I was about six I think, maybe, seven. I'm just not sure. I have very few memories of my dad except for one when I was two which my mother insists is not a memory at all but only something I was told and a couple of other odd ones thrown in there.

Overall, I really don't remember much about the man except what others have told me. I had a strong love for him as a child. I remember that feeling but no memories to tie that love to which seems really odd to me.

I think to have those feelings there should be memories of some sort of connection, a bond between us established by a real relationship. Yet there are no memories there. Even the few I have don't have any interaction between him and me. I have pretty much forgotten him, I guess, except for what I felt.

This blankness around him is not something new. It has been there for most of my life. At the time I did therapy I didn't remember anymore than I do now. Throughout my adult life I had no recall any different than now.

After my dad died I remember being devestated but I don't remember ever thinking about being with him or what specifically I might be missing. All I remember is about his illness and how he spent most of it in a hospital.

Even when he came home for a brief time not too long before he died, I have no visual memory of him in the house. I have the memory of the closed door to his room or the closed door of the bathroom because he was in there but no memory of ever crossing paths with him while he was in the house. I remember the priest coming to bring him communion and the door closing on him as he went into my father's room but I did not see my father.

My mother didn't want us to see him. She thought it would be too traumatic for us to see him so ill. I think this caused more problems than it helped..........at least for me. I have a huge hole in my heart where a father should be.

I suppose it's odd considering all the abuse in my background that this thing about my dad is so disturbing to me. I guess it's because there were those memories of home that seemed "normal" where I didn't know or remember the abuse and my father "should" be part of those. Yet I have this hole.

Others have fond memories of my dad. There were people who thought my dad was a saint. I don't remember him ever hurting me, nor do I have any fear of him. I sure had fear of my mother. deeply buried, of course, but just as deeply rooted. My feelings for my father are more like those for my grandfather but I have memories of grandpa.

I guess it's just another one of those complicated things about me. I wish it was different. I wish I could remember the man but all I remember is the hole left by his abcense.

I Found It!

Well, not really, I didn't find "the box" I have been looking for. The one that had all my journals and drawings in it. It turns out I'd taken those things along with the beginnings of my book out of that box several years ago and placed them, yet another place, for safe keeping. I discovered that location today!

Along with that discovery and my writings, I found a familiar heaviness. I had forgotten how intense that period in my life was. It only takes a glance at my writings to remember. I feel a little dread.

At that same time I somehow feel proud that I produced this volume of work with such raw emotion. I didn't know I had it in me.

As I read through what I intended to be the beginnings of this book, an exerp from a poem I wrote, followed by an introduction, I can't help but wonder if the world is ready to see this project. It is a dark black journey into an abyss. Can readers struggle through the horror to find the hope? I wonder..........

About OUR Programming

I recently received an email asking my why I had chosen to not work through some of my old programming. I want to make it clear that was never the case. I have worked through my programming very effectively. What I have chosen NOT to do is integrate.

There are still many parts of me where feelings and memories are walled off. That does not mean that those parts are governed by old programming. The nature of my system is such we were able to release the controlling buttons of the cult while not "remembering" each and every atrocity perpetuated on us by those evil persons.

In our journey to get free of them we went in search of the "key," the one thing that had convinced our system that we were indeed evil and just like them. Upon finding that key, we discovered it was just another trick. At the very moment the realization dawned on us this horrible thing was NOT of our doing, but theirs, we finally believed we were never evil at all.

That ephiphany washed over our entire system. A great dark cloud was lifted and we have never seen nor felt that cloud again. We no longer suffer from garbage feelings, nor do we feel we don't have the right to breathe........all those things left and our whole world changed.

There were a few loose ends that we had to clean up before we stopped therapy. We had battered parts exposed that needed some resolution and we took care of that. But we also had many, many more parts whose stories had not been told. We understood the gist of their stories, it was the pain that would go along with the reliving of those stories we chose to avoid.

For all intents and purposes the discovery of that key was the end of the Satanists' hold on us. Why should we continue this horrible journey? It was decided by us with the approval of our therapist that there was no longer any point in looking back. It was time to look forward to the future and live our life for us instead of having it dictated by our past.

We have so many parts that still hold memories......but not really secrets. Do you understand the difference? We may not know what their stories are but we completely understand the evil and the purpose of that evil.

We just didn't see what purpose there might be to subjecting ourselves to the lifetime it would take to open up all of those compartments.

If something gets triggered (which happened late last year), we work with it. Otherwise we live for us. If those inner children cry, we know what to do to care for them. We are capable of nurturing those inner parts when need be. We do not need more memories to understand the horror of the cult or what it did to control us.

While it might be true that continuing this journey would lead to integration, we saw nor see any reason that should be necessary. We are a very high functioning system. We are highly successful at whatever we decide to do. We do not loose time and we have complete acceptance of our parts. What we have to gain from integration just does not balance out with all the pain that we would have to endure.

If you read this blog regularly, it is obvious we struggle from time to time. But we do not struggle anymore than "normal people." Life can be hard sometimes, that's all there is to it. We have the skills to get through whatever life throws our way and we do it. So why should we put our self through all of that pain and miss the time we get to use living our life?



PS. For those who are wondering about our flooding. The waters are receding and we have some clean-up work to do. Thankfully, the raging creek did not take over our home or barns. We did get so much rain and melting snow that we ended up with some wet stalls but they will dry out in a few days and so will the horses. We are very fortunate.........many, many people were not so fortunate. Thanks for all the prayers. They are appreciated.

Sleep..........or Not

Saturday night I had an awful night trying to sleep. While I used to always have problems sleeping, I haven't been plagued with sleep issues for a while. It's been not only nice, but a real relief, to be able to go to bed at night and actually get some sleep. So Saturday night's change from that now normal routine was neither welcomed nor appreciated.

I'm not even sure why but as I struggled with sleep, I couldn't help but reflect on those former sleepless nights of mine.I thought I had posted in some detail about them here but in looking back through the archives I find that's not the case. Maybe a little bit of history is important before I go on with Saturday night's issues.

I have always had problems with sleep. Most of my life I have lain in bed at night trying to shut my mind off to go to sleep. Most every attempt to change this pattern has been unsuccessful other than the use of hypnosis. That was successful for some years but therapy is what really did the trick for me.

Before that time, I would struggle to sleep until the sun began to rise. Once the sun was chasing the darkness I could fall straight away to sleep. I have been that way as long as I could remember. And truthfully it was more about the end of the "witching hour" or what some part of my mind considers that to be........anytime after dark until about 4:30 AM were the magical numbers for me.

It wasn't until therapy and the emergence of these memories So What Did Ritualistic Abuse Mean to Me, a Victim? that I began to see a reason for my sleeplessness. It certainly made sense that my system was on high alert during those dangerous hours. So many times I had been snatched from my childhood bed and dragged off for rituals or other madness. Why would anyone feel comfortable sleeping under such circumstances?

Since that discovery and my release from those powers over me, I have had little if any trouble sleeping. Sure there has been a occasional night when I had too much stress and I allowed myself to get bogged down where sleep would not come. But I have found when that happens usually getting up for a brief stint on the computer allows me to fall back to sleep.
That has been pretty much the case until Saturday night.

What made Saturday different was the pain that accompanied and maybe caused my sleeplessness. It wasn't just the pain I have been experiencing from my recent surgery, I had pain all over my entire body. Some was concentrated in my joints.......all of my joints. It seemed like no part of me was exempt from hurting.

I could no find a position to get more comfortable. There was absolutely no relief. And my usual comforting weight of covers was actually making things worse.

As I lay there tossing and turning, I found myself remembering the torture that had caused that kind of pain in my joints. That led me to thinking this might very well be old Body Memories Then when that witching hour arrived the pain stopped. I easily dropped off to sleep. I couldn't help but wonder what had triggered this in me.

That brings to mind another thing I have recently noticed. As the time nears for me to turn 62, I am aware I tried to skip the age of 61 just as many years ago I managed to skip out on old programming by never being 27 by telling myself and others that I was 28. With as determined as I seem to have been to NOT be 61 this year and understanding what I did in the past, I can't help but think this current age issue is cult related. I have to wonder what plan there was for me this year what programming I have circumvented...........

Then there are more questions. Are these body memories? Was this a little reminder of the consequences for allegiance not honored? I can only wonder because in all honestly, I do not REALLY want to know? I would just as soon this stuff just leave me alone forever and a day...........but looking back it would certainly be an explanation for this very difficult year. I have not experienced this much "trouble" within my system since my therapy.

I have tried to find other reasons. A different explanation might be things had been stirred up since my mother's death. However, that happened a whole year before so that explanation won't hold water. I could blame it on the book but I have not worked on the book so there are not memories popping up because of that. And then there was my resolution to get the book finished in that year, it really was my intention and I am not know for putting such important things off to this extent......a little procrastination maybe.........but certainly not out and out avoidance. So instead of finding reasons to believe it's me, I find myself thinking it is related to that old programming. Looking at the dates, it very much has been since my last birthday that I have struggled.

I do know that there were important plans for me. It may well be those were to have happened when I turned 61. I guess there are no real surprises. I have known all along because I chose not to work through everything, I would have things come up. But that's ok, one miserable sleepless night isn't going to change my outlook or the way I live my life. I slept just fine on Sunday...........and I look forward to many more of the same.

Old Feelings Revisited........or maybe finally felt

I don't remember what the term is for someone like me but there is one. I know because I had the therapist in Denver mention it to me before I left there to return home those many years ago.

You see I tend to allow myself to access my feelings through things that happen to others. From the beginning of therapy I used that technique to get stuff done. I guess my inner therapist personality thought that's how it should be.

The therapist in Denver thought I needed to be aware that I was doing this. When she pointed it out, I told her that I knew. She was not only surprised but seemed a little concerned. I think she thought it might cause problems for me and I guess it would if I took on the feelings of others.

I'm not really sure that's exactly what I do or did. It was more like an incident with another might trigger old feelings in me. But then as I've said before I've always used triggers for my own benefit. They helped me find a lot of stuff that otherwise would have stayed dead and buried. For me it was the only way I seemed to be able to find those issues within myself.

Why have I decided this topic is important to me now? Well, Friday morning a friend of mine lost her father. He died after a long, difficult, ugly struggle with cancer.

When the email came in, I didn't even have to open it......I knew. The tears immediately fell and my heart tied up in a knot. I knew what my friend must be feeling..........I was feeling it too!

You see my father died from liver cancer when I was twelve. His first diagnosis I think I was six. I remember little of my father through that time. My memories are filled with things about his health but there are no real memories of him.

I remember riding the bus home from school (even though it took three times as long to get there) just because that bus stopped at the Veteran's hospital my father was in. That was the closest I could get to my dad. I'd looked up acroos the windows of that building wondering which one was his wishing I could catch a glimpse of him.

I remember clearly the day my father died. We had come home from our lake property the night before after a two week vacation. The two weeks weren't up but the weather was so bad we came home anyway.

When we got there we found our basement flooded. A pipe or something broke in the water heater. There was water everywhere. I remember my mother saying it was a good thing we'd come home.

Then the next morning the hospital called to say my father had finally died. My mother came into my room and told me I need to be brave. Then she told me my dad had died and left the room.

I'd had a cousin staying with me at the lake so she came home with us too. She was kind of a brat, very spoiled and my grandmother loved her way more than me. I was constantly getting dumped by my grandmother for over-nights because this cousin decided to come.

But she and I got along ok most times. As it turned out this wasn't one of those times. The minute the door closed and I knew my mother was gone, tears began to roll down my cheek. My cousin said "WHAT are YOU crying for! YOU KNEW he was going to die!"

I doubled up my fist and punched her in the face. It's the only time in my life I can remember ever doing a thing like that. I wasn't sorry then and I'm not sorry now. I'd do it again if given the chance!

Of course, she immediately began crying and screaming like someone had killed her. My mother came flying back into the room to see what had happened and, of course, my cousin told her.

I don't really know why my mother didn't punish me that day. She just took my cousin by her hand and led her from the room. Then she called my aunt and told her it would be a good idea to take the cousin home. We never spoke about the incident again.

From that moment on I was FINE I did the whole thing.......funeral and all just like I was taught. I was "brave" for my mother and didn't shed a tear.

I've wondered for a while now if I had unresolved feelings over the death of my father. Friday morning when I got that email, I also got my answer. Finally for the first time in my life I am grieving the loss of my father fifty years ago. Strange how things go sometimes..........

Old Christmas Expectations

Sometimes soap operas can hit the nail right on the head. As I was watching One Life to Live this afternoon, a character was selling off all the stuff that was important to him to buy a fancy gift for his kid for Christmas. Feeling inadequate as a father, he was wanting to prove something with the gift.

I can't even tell you how many years that Christmas was just like that around our house. Certainly before therapy it wasn't whether we could afford it as much as what the kids wanted that dictated what we got. Wanting to prove that we were good parents and make our kids happy was more important than any budget.

I remember the year it finally dawned on me that we were killing ourselves with debt and our kids didn't even appreciate it. I can still see the sweet angelic face of my son looking at us after opening a mound of presents saying, "Is this it?" with intonations that said somehow he had been robbed.....

I've never been dumb about things. I've never had to be hit over the head with a brick or run down with a truck to see that I was in trouble. That single incident was enough for me to get the picture.......and I was done with indulging my little monsters for Christmas.

Even long after I gave up this practice, my husband clung to it like a a drowning man does a floatation device. If he couldn't spend whatever he wanted on Christmas presents for the kids, he got very depressed and felt like a failure.

I can't even tell you how many fights we had over this. I set a budget and he went against it hiding things as he went along. I finally gave up doing anything with our finances. It wasn't worth the fighting to me but eventually it all caught up with him and he had to quit.

Funny how all of that sacrifice didn't "change" things a bit. Those kids still grew up with issues just like the rest of the world. And from what I can tell they didn't even end up with any particularly great Christmas memories from that time because they didn't appreciate or really understand the message of Christmas at all.

If you asked my kids about Christmas memories, I'm pretty sure they would tell you about a Christmas after this practice had been stopped. They would tell you how we (meaning my internal we) adopted a family from the mental health center and played Santa Claus for them.

It was the first year of the Cabbage Patch dolls. They were the hot Christmas item and nowhere to be found. Mothers and fathers were on the news for beating up each other over these dolls. ToyRUs was selling them in advance and giving people tickets to claim them when the shipments arrived. The dolls were stored with the video sets and games to control the masses.

We had our own secret stash of these dolls in our closest. Brand new in their boxes, hiding them from the rest of the world lest they find out our secret and think we were weird.

When we heard of this homeless family with a little girl wanting one of these dolls, we gladly shared. We also got the Barbie doll her older sister wanted even though we've never been fond of Barbie. I don't remember what we got for the mother of those girls, but we thought she deserved something too.

All of those other Christmases didn't mean a thing to my kids. Just like the character on the soap opera even though he didn't realize it..........he was trying to buy the kid's love, we were trying to do the same thing. Trying to be the best parents in the world with material things instead of real love.

That Christmas with the Cabbage Patch dolls is one of my favorite Christmases too. Actually it's really the only one, other than the one of my great epiphany, that I remember any details at all.

The Aftermath of the Child of the Self-Portrait

It has been a difficult week. Along with posting the information about the child in the self-portrait came lots and lots of flashbacks. Sometimes the flashing is so fast that I can't even make out the images, other times they are so slow but consuming that I'd like to disappear underneath the covers and not come out for weeks.

I'm used to days, weeks, even months like this. It doesn't get me down like it used to but I do find myself filled with an incredible sense of sadness that permeates everything I do. My husband asks regularly if I'm OK but I just nod my head. I don't really want to go into it, I just want to feel what I need to feel and be done with it.

I am long since past dredging up these old memories and dissecting them trying to understand what they mean and the hold they had over me. I'm no longer caught up in the Satanist's tangled web and I no longer feel the need to know. I understand as completely as I think anyone can what happened to me and how it affected my life.

I function pretty well as a multiple now. I live my life on my terms. Even this remembering is something I've allowed myself. When that flicker first happened I could have ignored it, but I chose to bring it to light because someone inside needed to be heard.

My system is very adept at taking good care of the inner children. Those old negative messages from my family of origin and the cult don't rule me. I'm pretty effective in living my life in ways that care for the whole system. On those days when what I need to do is remember, that's what I do.

I know that keeping in touch with what happened to me directly influences who I am today. I don't have to be swallowed up by the pain anymore but feeling it every now and then reminds me of my humanity and what kind of a person I want to be. I don't ever want to take for granted how far I've come and somehow lose myself in the process. Remembering those bad times helps me relish the good ones.

So while I have a heavy heart right now for that little girl who will not speak, I know that someday.........and maybe even someday soon.........she might just feel safe enough to take a peek at this world. I can't even express what a gift it would be to someday be able to relate to having ever been a child. So for now, I'm going to let her rock just as long as she needs. Offer her a teddy bear or two or three and appreciate that I can chose to deal with her instead of being forced or manipulated into doing it.

Those days of memories spinning out of control because of cult programming to self-destruct are long since over. While I still may have several hundred little alters running around inside holding secrets, those secrets don't rule my life or my system.

Those little alters are welcome to make an appearance at any time even if doing so means that there must be periods of more flashbacks and sad memories. My value as a human being is directly related to their stories. I am who I am because of their experiences and that includes each and every part of me no matter what their story.

Through this journey I have learned great compassion and tolerance and a lot of other important things both for myself and others . I have learned not to judge harshly and to let others follow their own path. I can put myself into the shoes of most any one's journey and understand the mistakes and the pitfalls of travelling life's road. I can be there for them and be supportive because it gives my past new meaning.

I am grateful for each and every little part of me that has taken on a portion of the great burden that was my childhood. Without their sacrifices, I know I wouldn't have survived.. I will welcome each part and each secret for the liberating experience that I know it will be.

So I may have be having a difficult week and be much more quiet than usual but I know that this is just another part of my process. As I rock this child and comfort her and feel pretty darn lousy, I accept her as the gift that she is so she can learn to accept herself. Despite the pain and hardships I celebrate this journey that has set me free and given me the courage to live my life for me.

The Child of the Self-Portrait - Triggering

I came across this Self-Portrait the other day in the very messy bottom drawer in the master bathroom. I was looking for a small container of baby powder to fix a squeaky saddle and instead I found this picture.

The drawers in that bathroom are a clutter. Used for dumping all kinds of strange things, those drawers are not a place I would want anything important to wind up. Yet there in the bottom drawer with the scoop for the cat's litter box (YUCK!) was the picture of this child.

Last time I saw this picture it was hanging on the bathroom wall. I always felt a bit odd about this child being exposed in that way but somehow it was important to me she be hidden no longer. With her bubbles and magic carpet, the bathroom seemed to be a place no one would question so that's where she ended up.

But finding her in that bottom drawer with that icky scoop immediately sent a rumble through my system. I retrieved the picture. Gave it a thorough cleaning and then posted it as I was told.

I really had no idea nor inclination to do anymore than scan the painting and put it up on the blog. It was nothing more than a thought that crossed my mind. I tried to put it off and was gently nudged from inside so I posted thinking that would be the end of it. Instead it took on a life of it's own.

Partially that life got fueled by my own thoughts about the expression on this child's face and partly by the comments. Then the memories started to trickle in and I began to remember when I first met this child and pieces of her story. I think those pieces will help you understand her expression more. Keep in mind that even these pieces may be triggering.

Before I tell you about this child, I guess I should first tell you about me. I am a historian. It is my job to know the stories behind the children. Not all the children..........there are too many of them and I wouldn't be able to keep them straight.........but I have my group who talks to me.

I came about during therapy. It was my job to tell the stories of the children who talked to me. I can feel their pain.........but it feels like it's theirs and not mine. I suppose that gives the system some distance from being totally overwhelmed and triggered out of control. These safeguards were necessary so we didn't self-destruct as we were programmed to do.

My sense of this child is that she is a toddler. She is about two years old. She has never been allowed to wear any type of clothing or cover herself in any way. Even though naked is the only way she's ever been, she feels exposed, uncomfortable and dirty. She also feels threatened to the point of near hysteria by the thought of covering up. She knows that to cover her body in any way would cause bad things to happen.

She cannot speak unless spoken to and that must be simple one word answers. No sounds of any kind are allowed to cross her lips or stir in her throat.

Her mind races trying to make sense of her world and she refrains from testing the rules. She studies everything around her trying to make sense of it but does only what she is told. She would never physically explore anything. The only exploring she can do is with her eyes and that must be undetected. Too much curiosity could kill her.

She doesn't know where she came from. She doesn't know where she belongs. She lives in a cage. She spends a lot of her time rocking, holding her knees, silently rocking back and forth for hours and hours on end trying to loose herself in the monotony of the motion, trying to avoid the pain.

She thinks maybe she belongs to the rich old lady that lives in the mansion. She knows that woman is in charge and that she mustn't make the woman mad. She also knows the expression on her face can make the woman furious. She practices turning her face into a blank slate.

Sometimes people come to watch her in the cage. They look at her. They talk about her. Sometimes they take their clothes off and they do strange things but they never, never touch her. They aren't allowed. Only the old woman can touch the child. Once in a while someone the woman directs can punish the child but mostly only the old woman has any kind of physical contact with her.

This child can make no sense of the world she lives in. Other than feeling cold, hungry and alone everything else feels crazy to her and she's not even sure why. She's just too young to understand.

As you can see, I've relayed her story in the present tense. That's how it feels to her. She's never come to the forefront...........probably never will. Just allowing her picture to be painted was enough for her. She's content to hide in the shadows. Her only need is the rocking, as long as that is fulfilled she stays just the way she is.

There are internal pictures of the life of this child. I have not painted them but if I did, it would tell all the details of her story. From those mental pictures I can tell what the plan was for this girl. My adult mind can make sense of those things that she could never figure out. That helps to keep my system free of the tricks used to keep her trapped.

Today, she is not trapped keeping hidden is a choice that she makes. The rest of the system honors that choice and nurtures her as best she will allow. There is always a great sadness that comes with her presence. I doubt that can be relieved without painting those pictures and allowing her feelings to come out. So until the day comes that she decides it is ok to do that, she will remain in the darkness and only show her face as a picture on my bathroom wall.

More on Confrontations

I have posted about confrontation and the difficulty that victims have in standing up for themselves. I even posted some about how terrified I was of my mother and how immobilized I could be in her presence. Now I'm going to post about the times I have confronted her.

The first time was not long into my therapy. I was still working on the issues of being molested by my brother. I hadn't planned confronting my mother, in fact the opposite was true, I was still in that place that I really didn't want to upset my mother. All I really wanted was to heal and get free from the depression that plagued me. I had no idea of the repercussions to the family.

My mother came by and asked me to go for a ride with her. I should have known then that something was up. I can't recall a time in my life when my mother ever wanted to "talk" with me, let alone do it going for a ride. It caught me off guard without time to think so I agreed.

Once we had gotten moving down the road, my mother began to make it clear that she was not happy that I was delving into my past. While she was willing to admit that I was molested by my brother she didn't want anyone else in the family to know particularly my step-father.

Since my step-father already didn't care much for my older brother, my mother knew that this information would cause problems. She was adamant that I not rock the boat but that's not all she wanted. She wanted me to quit going to therapy altogether. She said it was only causing problems for our family and she ordered me to stop.

I tried to explain to her why I needed therapy but she wasn't listening. As far as she was concerned, I should just buck up and and put the past behind me. The more she talked the more agitated I got. I knew I needed therapy. It was life or death to me and I kept trying to explain but she just would not listen. Things were escalating and my fear level was rising exponentially.

I felt trapped. Riding in her car moving down the streets of our neighborhood, I thought if I didn't get away from her I would not survive. I tried again to stand my ground and convince her that I needed therapy that my very life depended on it but she kept insisting that I must do as she said.
For the first time in my life I was trying to stand up to my mother and it wasn't going well. Those old feelings that I would die if I stood up to her grabbed me by the throat I swear. I felt like I was suffocating and had to force words out of my mouth. I knew if I didn't get away from her that I would give in and then I would be dead. I had to escape.

As I opened the car door, I choked hysterically to my mother that I could not and would not do it her way. Then I stepped out of the moving car. My foot hit the ground and threw me into a tumble that I couldn't control. I rolled head over heals, I don't know how many times before I stopped.

By this time my mother had stopped the car and gotten out. She was trying to come towards me. I got up sobbing hysterically and ran off down the road towards my house screaming at her to leave me alone. I stumbled several times as I ran towards home but managed to get to my feet and keep on running despite my injuries. I couldn't take any chances of her catching up with me. I didn't stop until I crashed through the front door and into the open arms of my husband.

He had heard the commotion of my hysteria and had come to see what was going on. He arrived at the door just as I broke through it sobbing "Keep her away from me!." My mother was directly behind me wanting to follow me in but Dave pulled me behind him and told her to go away even when he had no idea what had transpired. For the first time in my life I was protected from her.

As my mother left, she said that she would tell my step father that my brother had molested me. That was the first time in my life that my mother did something that I wanted but she didn't. I still don't understand why she did. It was the only time it ever happened and is one of those things that doesn't fit with the rest of her behavior. I'll always wonder why she did.

I probably suffered a concussion from the fall. I had trouble seeing and my head was spinning. I also had multiple lacerations and contusions. I wouldn't go to the doctor because I was afraid they would lock me up for having jumped out of a moving car. I knew it sounded like a crazy thing to do, but it hadn't been crazy, jumping for my life was not crazy, but I doubted that anyone would understand how my life was at risk. But I knew, if I had stayed in that car I would have done what she said, I would have quit therapy and I would not have survived the depths of my depression.

While I'll admit this isn't the best way for a confrontation to go, it certainly made a big change in my life. The message travelled throughout my system that I could stand up to her and survive. I think that this one act is what allowed the abuse I had suffered at the hands of my mother to surface.

Is There a Link Between Child Abuse & Sexual Violence - My Story

Today is another blog carnival about sexual violence. This edition is hosted at Marcella's blog, Abyss2Hope In keeping with the occasion Marj Blog Against Sexual Violence: The Link to Child Sexual Abuse posted a personal account that clearly shows the link between being a childhood victim going on to be victimized as an adult.

That has been my history as well. Just growing up and getting away from an abusive home did not save me from being abused. It set me up for further abuse. Until I learned how to undo all of the old programming that came along with my victimization, I was helpless. I didn't have the skills to help myself but I had a fully functioning set of old messages that kept me trapped and set me up for further victimization.

My adult history with victimization is extensive. Not only did I marry two different men who turned out to be batters and child molesters, I have been raped many times. All of those were by men I knew. I'm actually not even sure how many times I was raped.

I believe the reason for this extensive history is directly related to the extremes I suffered as a child. I learned that shutting down when trapped actually served me the best as a child. Fighting off any assault would only make matters much worse for me. So as an adult if I felt trapped, I shut down and let whatever happen. I was totally unable to protect myself.

Reading Marj's post and her feelings of guilt that some how this was her fault reminded me of one specific incident that has been particularly hard for me to come to terms with. Just like Marj, I thought it was my fault. It is a particularly convoluted story that maybe even some will see as my fault because of some of the details. I assure you, this was not then and never will be something that I wanted to happen to me or that I would have participated in willingly.

Not long after I got out of high school, I met a young man at a club. He was a professional baseball player with our local team, the Seattle Rainiers. He walked up to me and asked me when I was going to marry him. From there he spun of web of deceit that totally sucked me in. Only after I was well ensnared in his web did I learn this man was married.

Even then, he told me lies and I believed them. I was so desperate for someone to truly love me that I couldn't see the truth. I continued to date this man (until this incident) even though I knew he was married believing that he was in the process of getting a divorce. Of course, it turned out that I found out later that nothing was farther from the truth.

One night he talked me into bringing one of my friends along as a date for his best friend (also a ball player on the team). I don't even remember what we did that night until the part where we went back to their place. The baseball player's friend was pressuring my friend to have sex with him. She was adamant that she didn't want to. He wasn't happy so he complained about it to my date.

I can't even tell you how it got from there to my date throwing me onto a bed but it did. The other player grabbed my friend and forced her to watch as my legs were yanked apart and the crotch of my slacks split wide open from the force. My "date" then threw himself on top of me and had sex with me telling my friend that I liked it.

I was appalled! BUT some part of me had sex with him. Some part of me kicked into gear and protected me from further harm by pretending it was ok when really it was never OK. The coping mechanism of going along with whatever happens no matter what kicked in and sold me down the river. The whole time the only screaming and fighting that happened was in my head. I was unable to move but the noise in my head was deafening.

I believe my friend ran from the room. I really don't know. I believe for many years she thought I was ok with the behavior in that house that day. As much as I know I did not fight him, I also know it was never OK with me, not even the part that took over and didn't fight thought it was OK. She knew it was wrong and she felt humiliated as well.

This was one of my best friends in the world. We didn't talk about that incident for many, many years. I can't even remember how it came up but when it did, I told her I was raped. Being the friend that she is she never doubted me for a moment, but I have doubted me. Even understanding that I am a multiple and how my system works has not helped me put this memory away where it belongs. I know in my head that I wasn't responsible for this but I still feel like I am.

Incidents like this are the legacy of abuse left untreated and unhealed. As extensive as my healing is, I still struggle with healing from this thing but I no longer am victim of situations like this. That, to me, is what is so important about the healing work and getting through all of those old messages. I may still feel guilt about something that wasn't my fault but I no longer experience those kinds of situations. I know have the skills to protect myself and there will be no more episodes like this in my future.

Another Look at My Depression - Part 3

At some level, I managed to stay focused on that light and finding my way to it. It wasn't strong enough to keep me from falling back into the darkness of the pit called depression but it was strong enough to keep me from staying there.

Sometimes I couldn't see the light at all. Some tiny little thing would happen in my life that pushed all of those old buttons and I would tumble back into that deep dark hole. The light would be totally out of sight but every now and then it would flicker within my mind with just enough light for me to pull myself gradually back out of the darkness.

At first anything at all connected with those "negative" feelings we all feel and fear, could turn out the light. It was a roller coaster ride plummeting out of control, only to catch myself before I hit the bottom of the pit and pulling myself back up to the brink again.

Sometimes I would play that Neil Diamond song, the tears would flow and I would be overcome by pain. The message in that song seemed to speak to me personally. Despite all the desperation and loneliness I felt, I heard maybe I had the right to be alive. That possibility would rekindle the hope and the light it represented and I could pick myself up and go on for a while more.

I feed on books, magazine articles and television shows that spoke about victims and their innocence. While in my head I was discounting everything I was hearing as not applying to me, somehow the message was still managing to get through. Maybe, just maybe these things applied to me too.

Finally I was so ready to be done with that darkness and that roller coaster ride, that despite my fear, I forced myself forward into totally uncharted territory. I began spilling my guts in therapy. Every secret I could remember, every thing that happened at home that I thought was normal but made me feel bad, I coughed that stuff up like the vomit it was.

Gradually, my self esteem grew to the point that I really did believe that I had a right to be free from the darkness and depression. I still had no idea what all that darkness represented but I was convinced I was up for the task. As determined as I was in my pursuit of the light and its source, I finally reached that point where I managed to keep myself from falling back to the depths of that hole at all.

This post, A Little More History covers how I got to that second stage of therapy which gave me the strength to get myself out of that hole for good. I might hit the rim now and then but never again would I allow myself the total submersion that I had experienced before that intervention.

To be continued...............

multiple personality disorder MPD dissociative Identity disorder did depression

Another Look at My Depression - Part 2

Part 1

I don't post about this deep depression I was in to bring anyone down, only as a baseline for what I have escaped. If someone can recognize this place as a place where they struggle, then maybe knowing that others have experienced it too and not only survived but are now thriving might be enough to give them some hope. So I believe conveying the depths of the darkness that had swallowed me up is very important

Had the timing been different, I know I would not be here today. All of those things came together at the right time for me. No one knows me as well as I. I don't attempt anything I cannot do and do well. This would not have been an attempt for me, it would have been a successful suicide.

If "Grace" is that thing that happens just at the right time to make a huge difference in one's life, that saves us from ourselves, then that is what I would attribute to the fact I am here today. I'm pretty sure I didn't realize that at the time or even when I went through my therapy. But I am grateful for the grace that saved me from that dark end.

This post, A Little History speaks to how and why I even managed to get into therapy in the first place. While I was in this therapy, it was during this time that I actually managed to fall head first into that hole or maybe it's when I became aware of this hole. I don't really know for sure which is true. But believe me, I remember that hole!

While this particular therapist didn't help me with my abuse issues, it was this therapist that set up the intervention. The intervention was only the first step in the process to get free from that depression that had insinuated itself into every facet of my being. It wasn't like someone flipped a switch and the darkness was gone forever.Instead it appeared as just a flicker of light, a ray of hope.

After the pitch black darkness I had been experiencing even that flicker was blinding. At first I didn't really do much of anything but get accustomed to this new light. I mulled it over wondering if there could really be any chance that I deserved to be alive. I wondered if those professionals had the chance to do it over, would they just let me go. I was far from ready to jump into revamping my psyche but I wasn't ready to let go of that ray of hope either.

To be continued............

Part 3

multiple personality disorder MPD dissociative Identity disorder did depression

Another Look at My Depression

Missing In Sight asked me in the comments on My Thoughts on Integration - Part 4 Have you ever been so down on yourself you wanted to end it? How long and how did it take you to end up so positive and healthy? That question makes me think it has been a while since I posted about my problems with depression.

Part of why I believe it is important to keep bringing the subject up is because of questions just like this one from Missing In Sight. For me the purpose of this blog is to let survivors know there is hope. It really is possible to heal and be a "normal" (*if there is such a thing) person. No one is going to get that message if all I share is where I am now. The true picture of how far I have come is in knowing the depths of the depression that controlled me.


That means I need to share my experiences from all sides of this life of mine. I have not always been this positive about myself or my life and some days, I slip like everyone else. In the posts Depression and More on Depression I spoke to the subject some. But looking back at those posts, I don't think they come anywhere near telling the whole story.

In the posts I have done about my abuse, I have only posted the tip of the iceberg. The abuse that I suffered at the hands of the cult is beyond any one's wildest imagination. Many survivors feel that way I'm sure, but according to professionals in the field, the records indicate that most do not experience the extent of abuse that was perpetuated upon me. I only say this because I want survivors to believe that when I say it is possible to heal from such pain, that I know what I am talking about.

The depths of my depression were directly relative to the depths of my victimization. The darkness in the pit I lived in, I would imagine, directly mirrored the blackness of hell, not an imagined hell, but the real thing. Devoid of all love, light, compassion and joy. Filled with self-loathing and hatred and ruled by despair and evil in its most depraved form.

I could not imagine safety anywhere for me in the world. There was absolutely no hope left anywhere within my system and I could no longer see hope anywhere outside of my system. I was finished with life. Not even thoughts of my family could alleviate my pain, I was convinced they were better off without me, I was only dragging them down with me. I had totally given up. Not just one part of me, my entire system was done.

I'm probably typical for a survivor of ritualistic abuse or satanism in that I wanted to be dead rather than to feel anymore pain. It was important to me that the way I killed myself didn't cause me anymore pain than I was already feeling. It was equally important that it not be something that could be botched and leave me alive but dealing with even more pain and heartache. I didn't want my children or anyone in my family to find me. I actually had a plan that covered these issues.

I'm not going to share my plan because I don't want to give anyone any ideas. Those of you who suffer with depression don't need any more options to end it all. You need help to learn to get free of this pain.

I was in therapy at the time. My therapist realised that something had changed and she cornered me. I didn't tell her anything until she asked me point blank if I had a plan. I did share my plan with a therapist. She actually lied to me and told me my death would be painful but I knew better.

Because I was not openly threatening suicide, they couldn't lock me up. But this therapist knew I was playing a game and not being truthful with the people who had that power. It was only a matter of time before I turned up dead. Between the fact I had a plan and I was getting no help at home, this therapist arranged for a crisis intervention for me. I don't remember the different codes they used to assess risk of suicide but I was at the top of that list.

In a matter of hours they called in my husband and sat him down with me and a group of professionals. My husband was in total denial that I was even depressed, let alone suicidal. They wouldn't let us out of that room until he accepted that there was a problem because they knew without his support, I was a dead woman.

I can't say that that intervention was a turning point for my husband. He still has denial big enough for the entire state of Washington. But it was a turning point for me. The fact that five strangers would give of their valuable time sitting in a room trying to save my life made a big impression on me, well, some parts of me anyway.

At some level, the message got through that my life just might be important. The timing of this was just about the same as that mentioned in the later parts of the post A Little History The combination was just enough of a lifeline for me to be able to hold on until I started my "real" therapy.

To be continued..........

Part 2

multiple personality disorder MPD dissociative Identity disorder did depression

My Children - A Little History - A Little Insight

I have raised four children, two boys and two girls. The oldest two are nearing their forties and the youngest two are nearing their thirites. Each group is made up of one boy and one girl.

The first two, I raised to be raving co-dependants just like their parents and grandparents before them. Each has a different father and both fathers were batterers and child molestors. Although I didn't know that either was a child molestor until long after my divorces from them, that still had an effect on both children.

Because I had not started in therapy at the time I had these first two children, I had no clue there was anything wrong with me. Nor did I know that I had been raised in an abusive family situation. I thought my life was normal and much the same as everyone else's. I had no clue that my family rules were crippling or that there was anything to protect my children from.

The result was that I raised my children by those same rules. I tried to teach them that to be happy, they needed to keep those around them happy. Afterall, that is how I was raised. Of course, what goes along with that is stuffing your feelings and depriving yourself of things that you need. None of the things I would want for my children today.

My parenting skills sucked. I knew nothing about nurturing children. Heck I knew nothing about being a child but I struggled through, loving my children fiercely but not giving them much in the way of good coping skills.

By the time that I realized that I had something wrong with me, those first two children were nearly half grown. The professionals say that how we interact with people is already established by the time that we are five years old. Both of my children were older than that when I began therapy so their patterns were already well established.

Despite the fact that those kids were provided with therapy, neither of them really chose to participate in the process. No matter how hard I tried, I could not get them to understand how important it was for them to deal with their issues and learn new ways to interact with people. I finally had good coping skills and they wanted no part of them.

The younger two children didn't even come along until I was in therapy. While I hadn't started my meaningful therapy, I was beginning to learn to be assertive and to express what I needed. So even though I had not made the huge changes that occurred later, I had started on a path that was helpful to them. I think the difference in their early years made their behavior patterns different from that of the older two children. The end result is that the two younger children are far more open minded and flexible than the older two.

All of us, as mothers, want the best for our children. We, victims, can easily blame ourselves when that doesn't work out. Yet we are not the only ones that have influenced our children's lives. Every person who has ever come in contact with our children has had the opportunity to influence them. And, more importantly, our children have had been the only ones with the power to decide how to handle that input of information.

Ultimately, the only one who can decide what kind of person our child will grow up to be, is that child. All we can do is guide them and hope that they chose the right path. And be there to pick them up and comfort them when they don't.

And like all children, if they need to heal from the trials and tribulations of childhood, it is up to them to find that path. We cannot do it for them nor can we make them do it. We cannot blame ourselves for something we have no control over.


multiple personality disorder MPD dissociative Identity disorder did

A Little HIstory about the Distance between my Sister and Me

At lot of years ago, my sister was having the whole family over for the holidays. It was the first time ever for her to be the one cooking etc for the holiday tradition. It was a big deal to her.

Right about that time was when I first started the therapy that related to my sexual abuse by our older brother. When my sister called to invite us to her home for the holiday, I asked her if my brother was coming. When she answered yes, I told her that I would not come because I didn't want to deal with him.

I knew that he would touch me and I didn't want to be in the same room with him, let alone have him touch me and I explained that to me sister. Telling her that I would confront him about his behavior if he wouldn't leave me alone. She told me that wouldn't be a problem and that my family and I should come.

Well, it was a problem. My brother did just as I had predicted he would. He came up and put his arms around me and tried to kiss me. When I asked him to leave me alone and keep his hands to himself, he kept insisting and wanted to know what my problem was. Even when I tried to get him to leave me alone, telling him this was not the time or place to discuss it, he kept insisting.

So I took him outside and told him what my problem with him was. He did the usual denying and manipulating. Trying to make it all my fault. But that wasn't the real problem. It was my sister.

She was furious with me for saying anything at all. Even though I had told her that I could no longer deal with his intrusions into my space and that I would confront him if he insisted, she felt it was my fault. I had ruined her very first Christmas dinner.

Months later she moved into a new home with her boyfriend. They had a huge open house to which all of the family was invited. Everyone, that is, except me. I was not invited because I am a trouble maker. The child molesting brother was there but not the victim.

It's probably been twenty-five years since this happened and my sister still has not "forgiven" me. Recently my youngest brother tried to get me to patch things up with her telling me she had a point to why her feelings were hurt. I told him that she is no more offended by this than I am. To her keeping up appearances is more important than protecting victims from offenders. She doesn't care about my feelings at all, only about how it looked at her dinner party. What type of family is it that believes keeping up appearances is more important than protecting others from inappropriate behaviors? As long as she chooses appearances over feelings, I want nothing to do with her.

My little brother asked me if I still loved my sister to which I answered yes. But I told him, being around those people with their backwards set of rules is so destructive there is no way I will ever go back there. Living by those standards nearly destroyed me. As long as she, and my other siblings, chose to live by those double standards we were raised with, I want no part of them.

I don't regret my decision. The behavior of my siblings at my mother's funeral confirmed that we are worlds apart. People are more important to me than anything. Controlling and manipulating and making sure no one gets out of line is what is important to them. It was so clear how toxic my family is that I was really glad that I went. Their behavior confirmed that I had made the right decision.



multiple personality disorder MPD dissociative Identity disorder did

Doctors and Dentists and Such

With the accident that I had yesterday, it's probably a good time to post about how I am with doctors and dentists and the like . That would be NOT GOOD! (and probably how I'm feeling might be good too so I'll do that at the end of this post)

With the dentist, it is fear. I had a dentist appointment this week and I had to take my husband with me into the room so that I don't flee. I am terrified at the dentist. I am getting to the point where I can handle getting my teeth cleaned ok but anything where they start sticking things into my mouth and I just can't handle it.

The voices in my head being screaming and crying. I do everything I can to make myself stay but when they begin sticking things in my face, it's really a struggle.

I have several broken teeth that require crowns. I have needed these crowns for I don't even know how many years. I get them done one at a time as I feel I can get myself through it. This week was one of those appointments.

First they had to x-ray the teeth to decide which one was to be the priority. I think they have a new digital machine since last I was there and the part on this one that goes into the mouth is right at my limits of toleration. I do get through it, but if Dave wasn't there holding my hand, it would never happen.

Then those things they use to take impressions also are bad for me. The longer they sit, the worse I get. The one for the temporary crown doesn't have to sit nearly as long as the one for the permanent crown and I can just about tolerate the temp. But the seven minutes with that glob of crab in my mouth sets for all kinds of wailing in my minds. The noise builds and builds as the clock ticks away. by the time the timer dings, I'm in a cold sweat and my head is spinning. I know in my head they are not trying to kill me but I feel like I'm suffocating none the less.

This trip they impressions had to be redone. The first set ended up with a bubble right in a crucial area so they had to make another one. I thought I was going to flee right on the spot. I did keep myself in the chair but I barely made it through the seven minutes. Tears were beginning to stream down my eyes and it was the worst it's been in a long time.

I know that I'm not alone. Many survivors have similar problems with dentists and some with doctors too. Poor Dave has to take me to the doctor too. Most of the time I won't go without him. Although I do like my current doctor, I still have to have Dave for moral support. I only go when I have to. I would never see a doctor if I could figure out how to get the drugs I need without one (I have chronic allergy problems) I have to be unable to function to go at all.

So where does that leave me when I get hurt, like yesterday. Well, not at a doctor's office or hospital I can tell you. I can convince myself I don't need a doctor even though I probably do. Maybe it's all those years of being told nothing was wrong with me when I was hurting from abuse. Maybe it's my incredibly high pain threshold. I don't know. All I know is I just won't go unless I can't function.

So now for my accident. I was thrown from a horse, pretty violently thrown. I landed on my head, neck and elbow. My helmet is toast, but thankfully not my brain. I have a bruise at the base of my skull into my neck. I was also stepped on pretty dramatically and am bruised badly from that as well.

I have been in a couple of car accidents where I sustained pretty serious soft tissue injuries (both are lifetime injuries). I'm hurting every bit as much from this accident as I did either one of those.

I haven't been to a doctor. But I haven't ruled going to one totally out. With the muscle spasms I am experiencing, I may not be able to heal without professional help. If my symptoms increase instead of lesson, I will go. In the meantime, I feel like I AM a train wreck. It's not often I feel my age but today is definitely one of those times.

multiple personality disorder MPD dissociative Identity disorder did

Halloween from a Cult Survivor

*This post contains graphic content.


It's a difficult time of year for me with Halloween just around the corner. At this stage in my life I no longer am plagued with flashbacks but I still remember what happened to me. I am uncomfortable about this satanic holiday. With all of the things that I have been through, I don't see Halloween as some fun day for the kids to get dressed up and go around trick-or-treating.

In my childhood memories,Halloween was an evil time. Robed participants practiced vile rituals to appease their superiors and the evil one. There was no amount of torture or abuse that was off limits. Children were nothing more that fodder for the deprivation that occurred.

While I no longer fear being hauled off to participate in this outlandish behavior, I believe that it still happens to this day. I have seen the trail markers. I have talked to victims who are still caught. It would be naive to think this has all just gone away.

This year like every other there will be children who will be raped and tortured, even killed all in the name of Halloween. While the neighborhood kids run from house to house gathering up goodies, those cult children will be fighting for their very existence. Because the general population would rather believe it's a harmless day of fun, they continue to enable the truly evil people in the world to hide their ugliness. I cannot help but think anything else.

For me the hardest part about this holiday now is that my family still chooses to participate in the observance of the commercial Halloween. You would think with the experience they all had living with me as I did therapy and relived this horror, that they would understand. You would think with the amount of chaos there was in our lives during that time, that they would have some kind of picture of the ugliness.

You would think knowing that when I see any thing that reminds me of Halloween, I remember. What do I remember? Any number of scenarios come to mind including being four years old and naked laying on a cold hard slab of an alter with blood gushing from my private parts and vile sub-humans lapping at my body and my blood. You would think that MY family just might understand there is a dark side to Halloween that cannot be denied.

You would think that they just might be concerned about my remembering and the pain that Halloween hold for me . You would think because they love me that they would not want to contribute to my pain by participating in the laughter while I know the unfortunate children suffer and I ache for them.

But they don't think that way at all. Instead they think as long as they don't celebrate right under my nose that it's OK. They think that they can have their fun and it's not causing any harm.They just do no understand that it will never be OK for me. It causes hurt to me that they cannot see and understand the ugliness.

For me Halloween is and will always be a pagan holiday dedicated to the forces of evil and the devil himself. How could anyone every imagine that I could say it any other way. I AM the child that not once, not twice but for five consecutive years laid upon that alter suffering yet another humiliating ritual in observance of Halloween while my little cult friends were raped, tortured and even murdered all around the alter and then presented at my feet. All of these things done in the name of Halloween.



Note: we are having storms with many areas currently without power so I am posting early to get this up for sure. If I'm not back for a while, we could be experiencing power outages.


multiple personality disorder MPD dissociative Identity disorder did ritualistic abuse ritual+abuse cult survivor incest survivor satanic holdiay ritual murder ritual torture halloween rituals

Lunch and a Movie - Part 2

Part 1

A big part of my programming during my ritualistic abuse had included a strong self destruct message so that I would NEVER tell. That message was enhanced by the fact my feelings were attached to the pain of the physical torture that had generated those feeling so long ago.

In plainer English, not just with any memory that surfaced did I feel the psychological feelings. I also relived the physical pain of that torture as well. In addition any time at all that I felt that feeling, I would feel it with the same intensity and I relived the physical pain of the torture as well.

No wonder I did everything I could my entire life NOT to SCREW UP! If I made a mistake, I relived all of the feelings of the physical and psychological torture, just without the memories that originally caused them.

Until I was well into the therapy process, I had no idea that this was NOT what other people's feelings were like. Feeling any kind of negative emotion was so debilitating that I dared not be in a position that would cause such a feeling. It was no wonder that before therapy I had my feelings stuffed down so far, I felt absolutely nothing except the overwhelming darkness of the pit of depression.

These booby traps made it imperative to my survival to keep my system balanced. It was equally important that the memories came only as fast as we could handle them in a controlled manner. That way those feelings could be diffused. The time bomb could be disarmed and my system could process and heal before I went on to the next memory.

To allow the memories to stack up would mean I would experience multiple tortures all at the same time. Each personality in the system would feel several tortures of other personalities at the same time as their own.

The system had been created because the pain was too overwhelming to survive. The walls had been formed to keep the torture boxed off into manageable portions. And yet now, those walls were crumbling before they were ready to come down. Many personalities were dying. The result was beyond excruciating pain. The pain seemed to increase exponentially.

With my support system jerked away from me and my therapist personality no longer able to control the order and timing of memories surfacing, she struggled to find a way to regain control. She totally understood the importance for our system to process the memories and flashbacks in an orderly manner and to have help whenever we might need it. Every minute of every day was going into finding a way to keep personalities calm and keep the memories and flashbacks at bay.

To further complicate matters, I was now triggering off absolutely everything. Before this time, I didn't usually trigger off of things away from therapy or group. Now, with my system spinning out of control, the slightest thing could trigger a memory, throwing the affected personalities to the forefront. Their memories would try to spill over without proper supervision or the protections in place that had kept us safe from that self destruct order.

The more panicked times that happened, the more frightened our internals parts became. The situation was escalating with triggers bouncing off of triggers, each memory or personality feeding off the other. It would have been a vicious downward spiral with little chance of getting it stopped.

My therapy personality firmly grasped the dilemma she was facing. She did her best to get help whenever there was the slightest ripple in the memory shield that was holding back all of this turmoil. Realizing she couldn't stop the inevitable,she also set about developing a plan to keep me protected as this spiral began.

In the middle of all of this chaos, the director of the agency did yet another thing to ensure that my system would tip out of control. I don't know that she realized she was causing huge problems for me, but she was. If ever there was a guaranteed trigger to sell destruct, she had found it.

My therapist personality had made a call to the director during an episode where a violent personality was trying to emerge. The phone call was helpful to us and everything was easily controlled. However, the director decided my children(my biological children) were in danger. So she called Child Protective Services and filed a report against me.

First, I want to say, at no point were my children ever in danger. Not that I didn't have personalities who felt the need to hurt them, because I did. But those personalities were out of control internally. They were NEVER allowed to take over the body. They were allowed to take over the voice when it was necessary to our healing. But their access to the body was always contained to safe forms of anger expression that were part of the healing process. Otherwise, those personalities were totally contained.

My therapist personality knew to call a real therapist to help deal with the memories that had these violent personalities attached. If she was unable to get a therapist directly, she still was able to keep the lid on or remove me from the situation so that order could be maintained. Even in the depths of the spiral, my two young children were always safe.

However, my biggest fear had always been that my children would be taken away from me. That would be the final proof that I did not deserve to live. The final nail in the coffin that proved I was not fit to be a human being, let alone a mother. If there was anything that would insure I killed myself, it was to take my children away from me.

To be continued............

Part 3

multiple personality disorder MPD dissociative Identity disorder did ritualistic abuse ritual+abuse cult survivor incest survivor

Lunch and a Movie

Saturday, I'm supposed to go to lunch and to a movie with two of the women who were in the survivor's of childhood sexual abuse group that I was in so many years ago. Also, on the card to go with us is our former therapist. This will be the second time we have gotten together for a reunion. We had dinner once last year.

As much as I'm looking forward to seeing all three of them, it's awkward as well. The therapy didn't end on a good note and I almost ended up dead. It wasn't any of these three people's fault. But I still feel like I was abandoned by them as well.

To give you a chance to understand a bit better what the issues are here, it's probably best if I start at the beginning and explain what happened.

After having been in group with these people for nearly three years, out of the blue, during a group session, we were all informed that I was being removed from the group. The director had decided that this agency was no longer going to treat cult or ritualistic abuse survivors in the same group as their (what?? normal) survivors of childhood sexual abuse.

How the distinction was made between me and them, I haven't a clue. But it was. My support system was pulled right out from underneath me. And then in almost an equal blink of an eye, my therapist was removed as well. My treatment was taken over by the director of the agency. I had no input. Well, I could go somewhere else but if I stayed there, I was required to change therapists, no if's, and's or but's.

My system at the time was functioning with an internal therapist. She figured out what the "rules" for good mental health were and helped everyone inside to understand these new rules as they emerged. It was her job to keep my system in balance. She understood all of the issues like who was at fault and recognizing abuse etc. She also was responsible for knowing when we needed help and getting it. She managed the flashbacks, recognized new alters and identified what they needed and decided when they could come forward and do their work.

She had a plan. Even though she didn't know the secrets before they were exposed, she could recognize the layers. She was peeling the onion one layer at a time. Everything to the outside of the onion was the easy stuff. As each layer went deeper, the issues and memories got more complicated. With the final layer being the key that kept me trapped by my programming.

Everyone inside respected and trusted this inner therapist. They listened to her until we was removed from group. Because the rules of good mental health seemed to be that people were most important over everything else, this decision made no sense to us or our inner therapist. How could a counseling agency make a business decision that was not good for a patient and it was still OK?

Of course, the director insisted that the two were not related. My therapist personality to this day still believes that that just doesn't make any sense. She believes it is against how therapists are trained to divorce a patient's needs from business decisions. The end result of this conflict was the parts who had not come forth and some of the newly exposed ones, got frightened, lost their faith in our therapist personality and while they still tried to listen to her found themselves unable to follow her direction.The end result is my system spun out of control.

To be continued............

Part 2

multiple personality disorder MPD dissociative Identity disorder did therapist misconduct

Memories - Remembering the Good with the Bad

Is it possible to remember the good times right along with the bad if you have been abused as a child? I'm not sure that I have the answer to that for all victims, I just know for myself. Then
Donna also posted a comment on Part 2 of Fitting In...........or Not



"So many things...the other day I tried to remember "normal" days from elementary and high school, and to my horror, found I could remember very, very little. I have vivid memories of bad times, but not day-to-day memories. *sigh* "

Donna's memories, or lack of them, is exactly where I find myself. I remember very little from my childhood except abuse. I don't think that means that there was only abuse in my childhood but clearly I was not a happy child. I don't remember being a happy child. I remember fear, dread, confusion, shame...the list goes on.

Life was a struggle for me. Wanting desperately to be accepted, I was constantly trying to fit in. Looking back I'm not surprised that I was never able to accomplish that goal. I can't remember ever feeling like a child or thinking like a child. It seems to me that I've been an adult most of my life.

Experts would probably agree that victimization makes children grow up more quickly. Forced to deal with situations that no child was ever meant to encounter, protecting myself became my first and foremost priority. No wonder I didn't feel like a child.

It would also seem safe to assume that if I didn't "feel" like a child it would be hard for me to relate to those who did. So I guess it would make sense that I can remember watching other children interact and being totally confused by what I seeing. I must have been a real puzzle to my piers.

With self preservation being my number one goal, it would seem logical to assume the reason I cannot remember "normal" childhood memories is directly related to my focus on survival. It sounds to me like my brain recalls what was the most important to me. That makes me wonder if this might be a phenomenon relevant to abused children.

Intertwined with this would be that need to fit in but never being able to accomplish it. Again, if I didn't feel like a child, how was I going to fit in with normal, happy, healthy children. While all of those years I thought I was somehow deficient, my victimization was really the culprit for me not fitting in with typical children.

It seems that the legacy of abuse is such a tangled web. It clearly has captured it's victims and held them long past the life of the spider that wove the web in the first place. It seems that I am always discovering one of a myriad of ways that it has affected me.

multiple personality disorder MPD dissociative Identity disorder did