Is She Dead or Alive? via @SusanJaneSmith #survivors

Is She Dead or Alive?

I simply still cannot figure out if this poor woman is dead or alive whilst being carried upside down on a pole – like an animal.  In fact, I would never even do this to any animal.  I was so disgusted and distressed when I first came across this picture.  She apparently is being carried by military men in India.

This picture came to my attention when I was looking at a Facebook page for Southall Black Sisters in London.  They had organised a protest outside the London Embassy of India about the rapes in India.  Sadly, there does not seem to have been any media interest in the protest.  I did call The Times newspaper and spoke to a couple of ‘nice’ young men, but got no further.

The barbarity of seeing any human being carried around like this (even if dead) motivated me to send this picture and a press release to the Indian and British Prime Ministers and the international press.  No response whatsoever – why not?  Are you horrified by this image?  Who actually cares that this is going on?

I had the ability to send the photo internationally because I have my own database for the media as I send out press releases regarding my own 20 self help e-books which sell on Amazon around the world.  My books are also available via the major on-line bookstores and my website 

www.EmotionalHealthForEmotionalWealth.co.uk

My primary book Emotional Health for Emotional Wealth led to my Little Book Series of Emotional Health For Emotional Wealth including:

Rape Not Sexual Assault

http://amazon.com/gp/product/B009JJ3YW

Sexual Abuse & Incest

http://amazon.com/gp/product/B007PG2D84

Physical & Emotional Abuse Hurts the World as Well as The Child

http://amazon.com/gp/product/B0090LHM6A

and

Charming Men and Chauvinists (about domestic violence)

http://amazon.com/gp/product/B009T5BDAI

I am a survivor, passionate about inspiring positive change for other people. 

A friend said, as a result of this picture, that men from the ‘emerging’ countries may wear Western style lounge suits and speak English yet it is in no way an indicator that they follow Western ideas about women’s issues.  It looks like I will need to spend the rest of my life providing education regarding the importance of stopping abuse.  Women’s equality still has a long way to go to make that true for all women

Susan Jane Smith, B.Sc.

Counselling in the Forest Publishing

0044-1594-810642

www.EmotionalHealthForEmotionalWealth.co.uk

Books that add value to your life - now live on Kindle & ebook readers!

"Hugs & Emotional Wealth Change the World"

"Pre-Marital MOT: A Relationship Inspection"

"Emotional Health for Emotional Wealth"

and the Little Book Series of Emotional Health For Emotional Wealth

Twitter @SusanJaneSmith

Read my blogs at www.Goodreads.com & www.EmotionalHealthForEmotionalWealth.co.uk

You can find me on Linked In, and Google +

See www.facebook.com/EmotionalHealthForEmotionalWealth &

www.facebook.com/HealthyEmotions

What Works For Me by Elaine Stock @ElaineStock #survivors

Last summer I was contacted by Elaine Stock with a view to submitting a guest article for her blog, Everyone's Story.  The piece I wrote, Beyond Surviving, can be found here.

Elaine is not a survivor of childhood sexual abuse, but is a survivor nonetheless. It has become my profound honour to call her a friend and I will be forever grateful to her for asking me to become a small part of her amazing and insightful blog.

Please welcome Elaine to The Wounded Warrior blog.

What Works For Me by Elaine Stock

In a way, I was lucky. For the most part, my mother hid in her bedroom away from me, and my brother. Now, with a little understanding of paranoid-schizophrenia I look at those gray childhood days and doubt that she was also unable to keep holed up from her own demons.

Those unwanted and uninvited visitors robbed the woman from my mother. Hijacked and held ransom—the bounty perhaps the destruction of a family—my mother’s peace and joy vanished. In its place came sadness and fear at unexpected times. Like her crying and mourning over how her parents, when she was a girl, never bought her roller-skates (please note: this is not a verified fact or the bashing of my grandparents, but rather a reflection of my mother’s inner turmoil). Or, the time when a phantom gang of teens was on the rampage and she fetched my brother and I from a neighbor’s so we could sneak back home—running for our lives—before we were caught and killed/maimed/tortured. Or, the stray dog that would surely pounce upon us and shred us to pieces with its huge fangs.

This all took place in the 1960s and 70s, a time before mental illness leapt out of the proverbial storage cabinet, and certainly before present-day improved medications. Yet, I remember my mother’s ventures in and out of psych wards. Her tiny reassurances to me that she didn’t like who or what she was, and how she had to surrender her dreams of becoming a dancer, or even a dietician. She hated her condition and would willingly volunteer for shock-therapy treatments—if only they’d help.

Nothing did help. Family tensions piled high. My brother and I began drifting apart. My father—perhaps to overcompensate for a wife who couldn’t work or to dodge his own troubles—worked. And worked. For many years he worked seven days a week and far more than eight-hour days.

Then, my mother ran away from home to the golden promises of sunny California. I was sixteen. And actually happy—relieved—to know that I’d no longer have to worry about waking up in the morning to discover that my parents’ arguing had resulted in a murder-suicide.

Three weeks after her 46^th birthday, my mother died from ovarian cancer. May she be resting in eternal peace, the peace she never enjoyed in her human life.

As a very young child I believed in God. Though my parents never demonstrated outright faith, I just knew there was a God and He loved me. In my high school years I began to follow a gentle tug toward the Christian faith. This leading wasn’t by a specific person or thing, but more like a force whispering in my ear, and heart. In my young twenties I accepted Christ as my Savior.

I’m not writing these words to preach. Nor am I condemning those who believe in other faiths—nor those who do not believe in any God—are doomed. What I am saying is that I believe I managed not to fall prey to a troubling childhood and “crack up” because I held onto God’s hand as He held onto mine.

Oh, I still have my dark times when memories surface and the anguish courses through my blood as if it’s happening all over again. But, I’m managing. And I thank God for His help.

Perhaps, unlike what I said in the beginning, surviving a dysfunctional family has nothing to do with luck, but rather, a blessing. I am forever grateful.

Elaine Stock never expected that a college major in psychology and sociology would walk her through the see-saw industries of food service and the weight-loss business; co-ownership with her husband in piano restoration; and ten years in community leadership. All great fodder for creating contemporary relationship-driven fiction. 

Presently involved in ACFW (American Christian Fiction Writers), she was a 2011 semi-finalist in the prestigious Genesis Contest in the contemporary fiction division. Elaine's blog, Everyone's Story, offers uplifting encouragement from weekly guests, as well as some of her own personal thoughts. Her first short story was published on Christian Fiction Online Magazine.

With her own childhood void of God, and becoming a Christian first in her twenties, she is targeting her novels to adult audiences with the central theme that God’s unconditional and always-present love is with each one of us, even during tough times.  

Find Elaine at the following links :-

Everyone's Story (blog)  http://elainestock.blogspot.com/

Twitter  http://www.twitter.com/ElaineStock

Facebook http://www.facebook.com/EStockWriter

Through A Child's Eyes by @AuthorPTForrest #childabuse

Stephan watched in front of the school as the young mother kissed her four children goodbye. My mother was oblivious to his plotting and scheming to become a part of her existence. Every day he found ways to make contact with her.  A seemingly accidental meeting got them on speaking terms and consistently crossing paths made it feel natural to stop and have a chat for a moment.

 Feeling confident that he had established a rapport with the young mother, he blatantly followed her home one day. Sophia, my mother noticed him, stopped and playfully teased him about following her. He continued to walk her home as they joked about him being a stalker.

My name is Toni, and I was seven years old, the day my mother invited Stephan into our home. It was the beginning of my nightmare. Through my eyes I want to bring to your attention a man that watched, stalked and preyed on my family and many other families. It was his intentions all along to violate the sanctity of our family for his own self gratification

After you have read my story, you will grab your children and cover them with a blanket of protection because just when you thought he was a part of a childish fairytale, you find out the boogey man does exist………  

Read more and meet the author HERE

Follow Phillis on Twitter @AuthorPTForrest  

Let Me Forget via @Hidden_Beth #Advocate #AntiBullying

 Please support my good friend Beth who is an inspiration to me in many ways. She has been a guest on my blog in the past "Bullying Must Stop" 

You think you know the affects of bullying?

I wish I could just forget everything that has happened to me, I struggle so much because of what happened, the problems i have started because of the bullying.

My mental health is not great at the moment, sometimes i’ll cry for no reason, and i’m on edge most of the time, i struggle with relationships, i find it hard to make new friends, i can’t go a day without thinking of suicide, i’ve been self harming for a very long time.

The way i see myself is horrible, i can hardly look in a mirror, i just want to cry when i see myself, i feel so fat and ugly because that’s what i’ve been told i am. I feel self concious all of the time, i feel people are always looking at me, and i think they’re looking at me because i’m so ugly and fat. I think that nobody can love me because of all the problems i have and because of the way i look. 

I have trust issues, it takes me a while to build up my trust and then it can be broken down so quickly by little things because the littlest things affect me so much.

”I can make it through the rain, I can stand up once again”

I’d love to be able to tell my story, i told my story to the Welsh Government and i’d love to be able to do more things like that.

 
Please help me get my voice heard.

Follow on Twitter @Hidden_Beth

Blog  http://underneathmymask.wordpress.com

My Story of incest via @hawkfeathergal #incest #childabuse

Please welcome Melanie to The Wounded Warrior guest blog spot.

When I was seven years old, my father beckoned me into his bedroom, took his gun out of its case, loaded it, and put it to my temple. He was punishing me for something. I still remember loosening my eyelids after I squeezed them as tightly shut as possible. When I walked out of his bedroom, I remember knowing I was lucky to be alive, but feeling absolutely no joy connected to it. I knew better than to tell my mother-she couldn’t handle it.

When I was 13, once again I was alone in my father’s bedroom. And that evening he sexually assaulted me. I had never seen him so drunk before. I wanted to convince myself that it was some sort of mistake, but not even my considerable powers of self-deception were that strong. I went and took a shower immediately afterwards, then went right to bed. It was still an hour or two before my bed time.  I knew I couldn’t tell my mother. She was a much weaker person than she was when I was seven. It was May, my favorite month. Later that week, I remember lying on the living room floor, doing my homework, and plotting how to kill myself. It was the beauty of the month, and the thought of not being able to see another one ever that kept me from doing it.

That fall an “uncle” of mine started coming to visit. My father would make me carry his luggage into the guest bedroom. At first, his hand would just linger on my breasts, my butt, my crotch. I could almost pretend it was an accident. But with each visit, his hands did more than just linger. This continued for years-several times a year, my uncle would load up his family and drive about six hours so we could bond as a family and so that he could molest me.

One night when he was over, everyone herded into the den after dinner to watch a movie. There was no place for me to sit, except the floor, and my uncle offered me his lap. Then he started talking about how much he wanted to have intercourse with me. That was the one thing we had never done, and the thing that scared me the most.  But as scared as I was, I was hopeful something would happen- he was talking about this in front of my parent, his wife, his kids and my little sister. Someone was bound to do something, right? Wrong. The next day, my mother asked me what “we had been doing together”, and I told her. She told me never to tell anyone, and she’d make it stop. For years, I kept up my end of that bargain, but she didn’t.

When I was 17, I graduated from high school and started college. I learned so much there- how to sleep in a dark room in pajamas (as opposed to a lighted room in the jeans, shirt, shoes and bra that I had slept in), I learned that it was common for men and women to be in the same room together without anyone raping anyone else, and I learned that most families were not like mine. Unfortunately, none of my professors tested me on my new-found knowledge and I almost flunked out. But I didn’t. Throughout my studies, I was learning that “child sex abuse” was the only way to describe what I went through. I learned that it was not something that most families or people condoned. Another lesson that was forming in my mind in small, amorphous ways was that I was I was capable of a future much better than my past.

If you asked me about my goals in May of 1999, right before I graduated from college, my first 99 would have been to find a job earning enough money so I could stay in the apartment I was renting, and  never go back home. My only other goal was to do something to help prevent child abuse, as I had done a major paper on its preventable nature. It hurt me to learn how much we know about preventing child abuse and what little we do with that knowledge. It made me feel, once again, that I was let down by people with more power than myself, who could have prevented my suffering . Those first 99 goals were hard to achieve- there was a problem with me getting my diploma, and I had to either re-take a class or plea my case to a board of professors. The class I needed to re-take wouldn’t be offered until the fall, wouldn’t finish until December, and even though the boyfriend I was living with and I were working, we would run out of money around October. In August I was issued my diploma, and I sent my resume to every temp agency in a three-county radius. In October I paid the rent for the last month, barring a miracle. Sometimes miracles can start with a phone call. I was offered a job working twice the hours and making almost twice the wage as I had been. It only lasted six weeks, but it bought me time until another one came along, at the company I still work for.

I was 22, and I had “made it”- I had achieved all that had really mattered to me in the last five years. Now what? I remembered how badly I wanted to do something to help prevent child abuse, so I learned about Prevent Child Abuse NY. I started volunteering for them, lobbying legislators for child-friendly budgets and writing letters to the editor about children’s issues. To me they were perfect tasks. It was very important for me to never, ever talk with another child abuse survivor. I didn’t want anyone to know what I had been through, and I thought another survivor would either see through me or would trigger something inside me I couldn’t control. In college I learned how good life could be for people who hadn’t been abused as children, and if I kept my disguise, I could sop up some of those good things too. That was my life- I worked, I got married, I tried to pretend that the trappings of middle class life mattered to me. Once in a while things about my past would rear their head, though, such as my sister catching my father looking at child porn on his computer, and I’d be forced to do something for which I had no support or guidance. And then I’d be swallowed by emotional blackness for weeks. I found myself swallowed by emotional blackness with some regularity, actually, but it’s hard to ask for help when you feel you can’t say what it is you need help with.

Eventually, through Prevent Child Abuse NY, I was tasked with helping to organize a local event for child abuse survivors. The event was organized by an incest survivor. She became the first person I ever talked about the abuse with, in real time, face-to-face. And even though I didn’t tell my story at the event, seeing all sorts of people, ranging from doctors to homeless folks, tell all sorts of stories about abuse made me realize there was nothing about my past worthy of secrecy. I became comfortable telling my story to other survivors, and listening to theirs. And in the process I learned a lot about how to be a friend. And even though it didn’t happen all at once, in any big, dramatic way, I achieved the goal of every trauma survivor- to become comfortable with their past and present, their body, mind and soul.

My life isn’t exactly like that of your typical American’s- phrases like “SSD”, “statute of limitations”, “psychiatrist” and “suicide” come up in my conversations with friends more often than they do when most people. I spend more time writing and volunteering than most. I never watch TV. But I’m happy with my life. I’m proud of the person I am, I know I’m still growing and changing, and I’m confident that I’ll like the person I become in five years.

Find Melanie on Twitter @hawkfeathergal

and her blog http://rabbitsandhawks.blogspot.com/

TWO BROTHERS REACT TO THE SAME CHILDHOOD TRAUMA @johndwm #childabuse

TWO  BROTHERS REACT TO THE SAME CHILDHOOD TRAUMA

We both experienced the same form of early childhood trauma. When your abuser is mentally ill - you cannot accuse them and you cannot even accuse them in your head - it was not their fault...and in reality they could very easily be you... meaning no harm when in their senses - but horrific and lethal when in a different mental state.

Both my brother and I experienced extreme physical and emotional abuse when very very young, in my case it started at five months as a result of our mother's mental illness.

Alan and I reacted in equally extreme ways - but in mirror image - in such an opposite way that no one could ever have guessed we had the same root of extreme trauma within our earliest years.

Alan Froze. Physically untouchable until he developed physical relationships with women - then emotionally froze at the point where each relationship invited permanancy. He broke hearts and finally his heart was broken-  physically. There is no heart disease in our family but Alan died of a heart atack at 61, three and a half years ago - at the age I am today.

Alan shone in society and gave up a brilliant career in his late forties.

Many came up to me at his wake and told me how he had helped them.. He expressed himself through acts of practical help. Alan was exceptionally brilliant with money and has in death provided invaluable endowments

GOODBYE NOW MY BROTHER!

Trapped you were in your sinecure
Mounted like a specimen in dutiful assumption
Almost bear-like in stature and defiance
Blank until you owned incredulous night
—
We believed in one another, but hiddenly
Between each other, our secret from ourselves
There was a specified iota of respect
Birthed in our heritage of neglect
—
Both of us became blank slates
Beneath the burden of ruptured love
Both knew the dark withdrawals of affection
And those hollow stares of disjunction
—
We both played; I was the Midshipman
You were the Lieutenant
Our play was the play of the sea
Our ships were cardboard boxes and a fallen tree
—
We shared a room of bunks and green linoleum
You named all your pets the same
And later you would not name your cat
For you the honesty of abstraction reigned
—
And as we grew, we adapted and shone
You shone with the coldness of intellect
And yes, you lit many minds with your wit
It was abstruse and strangely lifting
—
I have found the memory of your humour
And shared its special nomenclature
I have discovered you once more within its resonances
And re-established our connectedness again
—
You led and I followed a set direction
Which you plainly enunciated for me
The early books were tough, the later tender
As my mind expanded and flowered
—
But finally before the flowers could fade
I rose out of my own imagination
And decided to fly and pollinate
I became free of you as I came of age
—
From that point our connection was kept secret
And our respect for each other lay deep within
It lay in the lustrous knowledge of early conflict
It lay in our unshared experiences of harm
—
But now I grieve for you my brother
Grieve for the conversations never held
Grieve for the warmth we never entered
Grieve for the lack of any farewell
—
I grieve that you fell among strangers
With people that knew you so little
I grieve that your friends were left without you
With their knowing of you so unsettled
—
But I am heartened by the legacy of meaning
That you have enabled us to find
To grant so many people gladness
In transforming knowledge in their lives
—
I am heartened that your name in blazoned
To the foreign land you served so ably
I am joyful that your name is laden
In a sea of meaning and enjoyment
—
Your legacy will paint a thousand pictures
In the minds of men and women far and wide
And our connectedness will light the night-time
For a hundred, hundred, thousand years
—
Goodbye now my brother and goodnight
These are surely not phrases you would have liked
But you still might have found amusement in a certain line
And utilised your wit to play with it
—
Goodbye my brother who could not share feelings
Farewell and make your journey through the night
I know your spirit is still playing
And in the heavens you will find the light!

Where Alan froze - I melted... where he suceeded -  I failed where he failed I suceeded. Until finally we reached unity only following his death. I have realized that we are the two parts of the whole. So precious. So poignant. so vulnerable and so, so hurt - my heart constantly freezes over to avoid feeling the intensity of the closeness, grief and requirement within my genes and my blodstream to resist facing up to all this. Hence I now undertand why Alan said when I asked what he thought of the idea of psychotherapy .."I dont dare go there.. because I am terrified of what I would find..."

John is a poet, photographer and song-writer and is developing several works for publication. He is employed by MECOPP, the leading Scottish minority ethnic carers organisation and also works with others on an independent basis to create and develop enterprises centered on the development of social wellbeing. His commitment lies with political, community and spiritual regeneration and he is activly involved in initiating and supporting social enterprises.

As voluntary co-ordinator of the Yes-U-Are Partnership, he is working with a team to develop the Erskine Church to become a local hub in the heart of Dunfermline . As an active member of the Labour Party he is a passionate advocate of the shift towards a genuine community-oriented Vision.

My story can be found at http://johndwmacdonald.com/about/

Follow John on Twitter @johndwm

My Story: Then and Now @siobhanpyburn #childabuse #survivors

Siobhan is originally from Southampton and studying law at university. She won a V National award in 2009 for 'exceptional community impact', and was named national woman of courage by Lesley Pearse a year later. She is also an ambassador for the Rose Road Association, which raises vital funds for children with severe and complex disabilities. After graduating, Siobhan hopes to commit to her anti-child abuse escapades on a more full-time basis, although she is also in the process of setting up a business as a personal trainer.

Like so many others, I was abused by someone I thought I could trust. In my case it was my father. I was so young when it started that I don't remember exactly what age - about six or seven I think. It would've been so easy for him; I adored him, like all little girls adore their daddies. And my mum was never around 'because of work'. At first I didn't really understand that what was going on was wrong, and he'd be so nice to me afterwards - he would even buy me fish and chips! By the time I hit puberty it became apparent to me that I was being exploited in the worst way possible, and I was a very lost teenager - you know, the ones at school who skulk about by themselves at playtime and don't really 'fit in'. I didn't say anything at that point because I honestly, whole heartedly believed that we were as bad as each other. I felt like such a slut, and was so sure that my (already fragmented) family would disown me if they ever found out. These feelings compounded when I got my first boyfriend at 13, which was significant because I ended up using him as an escape from what was going on at home. I would get abused so that I could spend time with him on the weekends. Heck, I would get abused so that my dad would drop me off on time at school in the mornings, so I could see him for a few moments longer. I was obsessed, I was distraught and everybody around me just put it down to 'teenage hormones'. Meanwhile my father milked every opportunity to get further sexual favours from me. I'd been going along with the 'trade system' for so long by then that I didn't see the difference between it happening a few times, and it happening multiple times a week, over the span of what ended up being about six years. After I would get back from spending time with my boyfriend, my father would interrogate me on exactly how far we went sexually, and get very angry if I didn't tell him every last detail - he'd say I was 'clamming up'. One time I got so hysterical that I started screaming at the top of my voice that I was gonna tell someone, and he had better say his prayers 'cos I wasn't going to take it anymore. That scared the hell out of him and he threatened suicide. I hated him so much by then - a possessive, powerful, encompassing kind of contempt that no word does justice to - that I wished he would.

At 15 I disclosed to my mum whilst staying with her over the school Christmas holidays. She said nothing; just got up and left the room, which made me feel like my worst nightmare was being realised. But luckily not so. She told my brothers, who told the police at once; my father was evicted from our 'family' home and well over a year later - and after being adjourned once - the case went to court and I 'won'. He got three years in jail for abusing me for twice that amount of time, and then let out after eighteen months on good behaviour. What a liberty.

I'd like to say I haven't heard from him since, but I have, and relatively recently. Last year he contacted my brother through his website with some idle threatening language about how I should learn 'not to throw shit up in the air'. Well. I didn't sleep for three nights and then I thought, frankly, F it. The police weren't going to tell him off because apparently he would have needed to explicitly made a threat on my life for them to do anything, in plain English (now how's that for prevention rather than cure?), so I knew that basically, the government doesn't care about me. I'm an individual and there's plenty of those around. So I did something I never thought I would do - I wrote back.

One day, maybe when the significance/prestige of The Phoenix Project is at its height, I'll publish that letter in the public domain. I poured my heart and soul into those words, I can tell ya. And I think that, in a poetic sort of way, I was speaking for than myself. I was speaking for survivors everywhere who have never had their chance to say their piece - to get it all out on paper and know that the abuser had to eat it - and especially those who haven't been able to speak up yet at all. I love writing because you cannot argue with the written word. You cannot shout it down.

Anyway his response was to basically call me a liar and be very unimaginative. But what a move to put me back in my place of personal power. I recklessly reccommend it. I never felt less like a victim in my life.

Now that the actual abuse is over I'm tasked with the humungous ball ache of picking up the pieces in my life and trying to put it together to make something dignified. To this end I believe I've been a partial success. I started The Phoenix Project in 2008 when a charity called ITV Fixers approached my college looking for innovative young people to step up and make a film about an issue that they felt strongly for. I volunteered myself to address child abuse and it all took off from there. I've now got a telly appearance, two national awards and a few press appearances behind me (including having my story published in Cosmopolitan magazine, October 2010). I came to uni two years ago to study law, and unfortunately haven't been able to pick up where I left off with my anti-child abuse efforts just yet. It's not over though; I ain't finished yet! I want to do what I do best - write - in aid of the cause I just can't walk away from. I want to break the unwritten rule about child sexual abuse, which is that nobody talks about it. Nobody wants to hear about it. Keep it under the rug where it belongs, yeah? No. We need to defy the statistics and reach for more than a life of mediocrity. As a survivor, I've found helping others to be a fabulous healing process in itself. And there's always more to do.

There are children right under our nose going through the same things I did. That thought is what lights a fire where I need it. I don't know if I'll ever turn this show into some kind of career - I don't know what the dots are gonna turn into once I join them up; I just want to do what I can. People are normally surprised when I tell them about my past, and it's a point of pride for me. I'm 21 now, and there are of course some days when I struggle, when it feels like the weight of the world is on my shoulders. But in the same breath, I realise that my experiences have forced me to grow some important strengths.

It's all about how you spin it. On the one hand, I struggle with post-abuse issues such as feeling inferior to others (particularly other girls) and wondering deep down how far I really can re-design my core beliefs to make a positive difference in my own reality and that of others... on the other, it's a darn wonder that I (and you) can suit up and show up to life each day given what has been suffered, which at times like this, gives me hope that everything's gonna turn out just fine (it really is, you know).
Find Siobhan at http://www.the-phoenix-project.co.uk

Follow Siobhan on Twitter @siobhanpyburn

Denial, Killer Beliefs, and a Secret Weapon via @TrishHurtubise

Please welcome Trish Hurtubise to the Wounded Warrior blog.

Trish Hurtubise is the Founder and Editor of the web site Mental Health Talk; an eclectic collection of stories and wisdom from people who experience mental health issues. MHT is often called by visitors “a valuable resource” for all things related to mental health. Please stop by if you are experiencing mental health challenges as it is Trish’s intention you leave the site feeling better understood and connected to a courageous tribe.

This is Trisha in her own words.

Denial, Killer Beliefs, and a Secret Weapon

In July 2008 I asked: “What is my diagnosis Dr. S.?”
“I evaluated you as having Complex Post-traumatic Stress Disorder.”
Finally a diagnosis! I had been using alternative therapy since the psychic shock in early 2007. However my mental condition had become worse; slowly spiraling down into depression, flailing around in psychotic bouts, to only sit very still in terror, hoping to hide from the powerful black mass I could feel slowly eating me alive.

It was an alternative practitioner who convinced me to go back to allopathic medicine—he felt I was psychotic.

I trusted him.

I arrived home to look up C-PTSD on Wikipedia. The diagnostic criteria seem to fit but with a gaping hole where I felt psychosis should be.

I didn’t trust my psychiatrist. She was old-school and thought I was too rational to be psychotic (but I had to be or the black mass would consume me. Couldn’t she see that?)

I concluded I did not have C-PTSD; it was an umbrella diagnosis by a psychiatrist who didn’t like to put labels on her patients.

I forgot about my evaluation and focused on getting help with my anxiety, depression and eventually (I convinced Dr. S.) my psychotic states.

Fast-forward to April 2011: I am reading the letter Dr. S. has written to file with my disability application. She has documented the last 3 years of my experience to support her evaluation of C-PTSD. She writes about my gruesome visions of my death.
Something clicks: my visions are my flashbacks.

Jump to May 2012: No longer struggling with psychosis or depression, and taking medication and using techniques to manage my anxiety, I am in recovery. However I still have mental and physical symptoms that no one can really explain, and all the work I have done so far has had very little effect on them.

I decide to look up the symptoms of C-PTSD on a web site known for its content related to everything PTSD.

As I read the information, 95% of my symptoms are staring me in the face.

I become a believer.

Some of us take the long road in our journey to finally have a term to help describe our experiences.

Not always because of misdiagnosis.

Sometimes because of denial.

Your trauma is related to what?

I find it hard to talk about the trauma—not because it triggers me (anymore) but because people’s eyes glaze-over when I describe it.

First off, you have to have some acceptance of the paranormal.

Secondly, trauma related to the paranormal is not openly talked about.

Thirdly, experiencing the trauma again and again through a specific type of energy work for a year and half after the initial shock…

Well this is usually too much for the average person’s brain to comprehend.

I understand completely. When the trauma occurred, I found it really hard to comprehend too.

So much so, I had a nervous breakdown.

I was once told by a person who works with PTSD survivors--a survivor herself--that “While we are each individual in our trauma, we are universal in our PTSD experience.”

I am not alone, regardless of never connecting with someone who has experienced a similar trauma.

Am I safe right now? How about now? What about now?

Now in the midst of processing the extent of C-PTSD on my life, I find the beliefs I’ve formed out of trauma is the biggest hurdle in my recovery.

Beliefs engraved in every fiber of my being as my defense against the reality created by vivid and graphic memories of terror.

Beliefs such as I cannot handle uncertainty, I must stick to the same routine every day, I must be in control of everything, everyone must love me, I am dying.

I think these beliefs keep me safe because I believe if I do not abide by them, I will die.

I know these beliefs keep me, and my world, small. They create a hyper-vigilance so
extreme I spend a good part of my day cutoff from the stimulus around me.

I do my best to honour these beliefs for keeping me safe, even though I question what safety really is. I have tried to dislodge them through energy work and my body goes into distress.

They exist because my most primitive survival mechanisms are now based on them.

Surviving versus thriving? Which one would you choose?

It is not enough for me to just survive my day. I don’t plan to let the wisdom that has come from my experience be shut-in by silence. I plan to live my message and life to the fullest.

I’m studying my beliefs. This involves learning their strengths and weaknesses as well as their effect on my body, mind and soul. They show up in very physical ways—primal fight-and-flight energy stored in my body that was not released after trauma (the powerful black mass I felt during psychosis). I do this through connecting with my intuition via words and symbols and creating art from that--a process I have learned that channels my sixth sense into something empowering and grounds me in reality.

I also use EFT with a trained practitioner to shift the primal energy very gradually.

I am gently challenging my beliefs. I challenge their validity through action; baby steps to prove them otherwise.

I am rebuilding the skills I need to form new beliefs and counteract the existing ones. I focus on nurturing my self-esteem, reconstructing my self-confidence, renewing my faith in my divinity, validating my self-worth, being present, and surrendering to exactly who I am and what I am doing in the moment.

I know who I am. This allows me to envision my future based on what I have to give versus what I can do within my mental and physical limits. Focusing on the giving,

I always find a way regardless of how rough the terrain gets.

My secret weapon

It’s self-love.

I tend to it with the care of the Mother. Then I practice it with no excuses. I will continue to practice it every day for the rest of my life.

I know this for certain because it saved my life and I tend to be pretty disciplined when it comes to practicing lifesaving techniques. This diligence comes with the PTSD territory.

It gave me life too—a new life that is sensual, fulfilling, and blessed with gratitude.

You deserve this as well.


Follow Trish on Twitter

A Song of Life: Being DID via @jeffssong

I met Jeff online about a year ago. We have quite a few things in common.

About Jeffssong

JW is an adult childhood abuse survivor with DID*. He grew up in a violent family devoid of love and affection. He is a military brat and veteran. He still struggles with that past, things he's done, done to him. In 1976 JW began writing "The Boy". It took 34 years to complete. It is currently on Kindle (http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004T3IVKK ), or if you prefer hard copy, on Amazon ( http://www.amazon.com/Boy-J-W/dp/1461022681). JW resides somewhere in the deep South. He is disabled and living with family. Note: Please feel free to take what you need; all is free to all. With that in mind, keep it that way to others. Thank you. We have 3 Blogs - One for our younger days, 0-10 (The Little Shop of Horrors); one for our Teen Alter and his 'friends' (also alters) with a lot of poetry; and finally "my" own, the Song of Life (current events and things)

This is a copy of a recent post from his blog.

About a week ago (it seems), a blogger asked a very important question which has for a long time bothered me: “How many are there in you?”. (Thanks, Hobs! – evil grimace, friendly grin, et cetra ad infinitum.) And if you look up there at my ‘menu bar’ you will see a new entry: “Who Are ‘WE’?”.

Now I’ve tried this before without much success. The system is so complicated . . . realizing alters (alternate personalities) have their own alters makes it even more difficult. But it’s the truth; that’s where some of my “Groups” have come from. And it makes sense. My wife, who I talked to about this, agrees: A host developed new alters to handle his situation, then when a new situation emerged which required a new host, new alters were built to handle the transition (the old host had ‘failed’) – and then the new host, in response to his situation, built new alters of ‘his’ own. Therefore are more ‘alters’, ‘entities’, ‘constructs’, ‘ghosts’, and ‘beings’ – than I had originally suspected. Originally I thought there were just three or four – then last year sometime I was willing to admit the number might be more – even in the high teens. But now? Now I find there are over (perhaps) thirty of them, with the potential for more.

Here is a ‘still’ from a movie I made a long time ago which showed rotating shells protecting a central core. The original was an AVI format which this website will not display; I will have to convert it to an animated GIF or some other suitable format later on . . .

Imagine a series of broken shatter ‘shells’ (read ‘selves’ or ‘alters’) rotating and counter-rotating around a central core (unseen). These are the ‘parts’ to myself. Each was constructed to ‘protect’ someone ‘inside’ – and each has parts of its own.

Yeah, it’s that complicated – somewhat. But here you go, Hobs: what you asked for – a summary ‘list’ of my beings. Read my “Self-Inventory” for more – and a complete (as far as I can tell) list and understanding how ‘this’ system works . . . and be aware that not all are available for ‘conversation’; some are only internal beings – they work for ‘me’ and ‘ours’ – helping ‘us’ to heal in some ways, learn more in others.

People kept asking . . . so there ya go.


DID & Me: Self-Inventory – July, 2012

To understand a person with DID, you have to understand their ‘system’ and how it works. While there may be similarities between two people with a dissociative identity diagnosis, no two systems are the same. As best I can determine and describe this is ‘mine’ at this time. Be aware that it can change.

Rules:
The first rule of a DID system is every rule can be broken.

Dynamics: A dynamic system can evolve to meet new circumstances. I have a “dynamic” system. New personalities can be formed, usually starting with the creation of a persona. Depending upon how long a persona exists, it can develop into a permanent alter. An alter’s power and influence can ‘fade’ over time, but they cannot be destroyed. At best they become dormant. We several dormant alters. Some must be kept dormant to protect society and ourselves. They do not fit society and can present a physical danger to others or my self / selves.

“3 on Top”. This rule dictates only 3 alters may be ‘active’ and in control at a time. More than three and the ‘system’ can become unstable and crash. Crashing is like a computer rebooting – we ‘disassociate’ almost completely and then come back together to face the situation which caused the crash. This is where what I have dubbed “the Tinkertoy System” comes in.

A Tinkertoy system can mix and blend various alters either spontaneously or on command, which adds to the flexibility and complexity of the system’s dynamics. Cooperative co-conscious alters can merge to some degree in order to present a desired persona or survival trait. An example would be ‘me’ (the host) merging two ‘selves’ (or groups of selves – more on that later) – to form a ‘new’ persona (or ‘mask’) to a person, group, or culture. “We” are DID in part due to the need to assimilate and adapt into new cultures and environments. A year ago only certain ‘groups’ (think of them as individuals with alters of their own) and alters could merge; others were incompatible with each other. For instance, neither my teenage alter nor the “Beast” could merge with Little Mikie (who is controlled by Little Michael) because of hatred issues based on the shame ‘they’ (the older alters) felt at what the younger ones had done. Many of my alters had grouped into factions which were at war with each other, causing self-harm, highly destructive behaviors, and constant suicidal idealization.

There are multiple categories of ‘alters’ within a DID system, ‘ours’ is no different. In order to create an accurate, logical inventory, we have decided to try inventorying “ourselves” again. The descriptions are presented in general order of influence and power; eg. Hosts are more powerful (or exert more influence) than transients; transients more powerful than ghosts.

Hosts
These are the most important individuals. They are not ‘groups’, nor can they form groups, but they have groups of their own. These are alters developed to present to the outside world, and to manage (to some degree) inner alters, hosts, ghosts, and artificial creations. Each alter has ‘my’ birth name, though ‘we’ have learned to differentiate both for the outside world (making sense of it all to you) – and our inner one(s). We have three hosts – the former child, the teen, and our adult self (typing this). However, using our given name will not ensure the ‘rise’ of a particular alter, host, or being. It simply gets most of ‘our’ attention.

Note: It is important to be aware that while each ‘host’ IS an individual, each ‘host’ created alters in their time. Therefore in a sense each host is a ‘group’ – they are ruled by the dominance of the Crowd (hence my saying we are a majority run system) – but ‘they’ can stand alone as well, putting their ‘alters’ aside – or sharing them with us. When a particular ‘host’ shuts down, ‘we’ can lose all ‘his’ memories – as well as the memories and skills ‘inside’ him or possessed by someone inside him.

Transient Hosts
These are personalities that were being developed for what was perceived as a permanent situation – and then the situation changed, making them unsuitable for the environment they were in. Think of them as ‘aborted hosts’. We have numbers for some, eg. “13” and “21”. They are still hosts of a kind, but limited, crippled, and most of them are hurting inside. They were not fully formed before ‘we’ had to move on. In a sense some “died”. Many of these transitory beings were used as stepping stages to building a new long-term host, unknown to the conscious mind.*

Ghosts
Ghosts are beings which have been built on someone else, generally a outside person in our environment who had some major effect on us by simply being there or being an influential person in our lives.

“Beings” or “Entities”.
These are some of our oldest group. One of them is a “Recorder”, the ‘person’ responsible for recording our lives. We found he could “split” into 3 clones during information overload and depending upon our desire to learn. He resembles an old college professor, bald pate, with white lab coat – somewhat lanky – twinkling eyes and a vast amount of storage space. (10 to the 10 Gigs is what he says – which makes sense, given what we’ve read about the current amount of information the human brain can hold.) There is some information which he keeps hidden from us. In our mind he ‘lives’ in sort of a college lecture auditorium, stands behind a high desk (where he keeps his notes and ‘things’ – meaning notes we can’t or are not allowed to read) – and he ‘stores’ said information in a tall circular ‘room’ in our head, quite like a towering warehouse.

Another is a group of Scientists we keep on hand for topological information, analysis of fact, and some of our logic skills. “They” (the Scientist Group) are broken down by specialty; eg.you have the “Astronomers Clique” (which includes some of the General Physics Group), the Life Sciences (including, but not limited to Genetic Engineering, following life cycle trends, and keeping an eye on ‘things’ – meaning medical science and advances in anything ‘life’ related, including the Ecological Group – which is in turn broken down into several internal groups, such as the “Urban Clique” (for analyzing neighborhood type animal/plant lifestyles), the “Wild Clique” (true wildlife heroes), and other such similar groups. Each group is responsible for remembering what we read; only life experiences go into the Recorder mode (though he may keep some notes, too). They are collaborative, cooperative, and serve the entire being.

Artificial Constructs
These are ‘beings’ or entities which we knowingly created on our own. All were created by a ‘host’ at our command, or what ‘he’ (the living actual host at the time) thought was his own internal motivation and/or command. One of our first artificial constructs was “the Soldier” – created by “M1”, or “Little Michael”, our very first ‘human being’ (host). He created the Soldier to satisfy the demands of his father and his own heart. He wanted so much to be the “little Soldier” that his dad would admire and feel proud of. Again, he failed – but that didn’t keep him from adding to the Soldier’s stock of inventory in terms of the “military machine” – how to jump wearing parachutes, how to lay a mine . . . that kind of stuff.

The next totally artificial being I am aware of building was “The Machine” – a really tough one built by “13” (a transitory host) who had the seeds of our Teen, aka “M2” (2nd host), aka Matthew Washington. This was partially initiated by “Little Michael” the little one who was still in feeling lonely and betrayed by his emotions – love, especially, and “13” who discovered nothing remains the same and decided he was done with friends – forever – for it seems you only ended up losing them . . . Together with some help from various alters, ghosts, and beings – the Teen was born in the Machine. He was born there to protect him, but got out later on – (and soon after “21” – a transitory host – was born).

So . . . with this rough list in hand, we will begin ‘assembling’ and/or describing our system as best we can. Bear in mind: this is a dynamic system, and not only can ‘it’ change (new personalities can be created) – but the ‘power’ or ‘influence’ of various elements can change (quite radically perhaps in some cases) depending upon the environment ‘we’ are in.


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hosts and/or “Major Players” are in Bold – often deal with the real world and its problems and ‘things’. Label in parenthesis indicates apparent ‘type’. They are presented (roughly) in order of appearance / development.

“Baby”. (Dormant). Assumed to have developed into “the Toddler”.
“The Toddler” (Early Host? Dormant.) Typical human toddler who was beginning to have some problems; ‘he’ developed the ability for disassociation and for projecting our mind inwards. He lost his fear when his mom tried to kill him. He is able to separate himself from reality somewhat. (Eg. ‘Going away’ in his head to envision life in an orphanage named “The Bad Boys Home” while his mom faked calls (threats of abandonment) – and how life would be for boys like him.
“Little Michael”. (Host. Active, but with little influence. That is changing as ‘we’ work with him to shed his ‘alter ego’, Little Mikie. “He” was using the plural terms of “we” mentally at about age 6, though not out. “He” is for the other kids to play with. “He” is used to sucking up punishment – but not enough . . . “He” goes on to build our first true alter . . . We suspect ‘he’ was developed in part to help “the Toddler” because Little Michael thinks rationally through problems instead of feeling panic or fear (something his mom did to him). His alters (which he protects very diligently) are “The Toddler” and “The Baby”, while he relies on all of “us” to protect ‘him’.
“The Soldier”. (Entity/Being – started as an Artificial Construct). Mostly Dormant. Created by Little Michael to impress his dad. Kept for defense and offensive measures; for bearing pain. Handed ‘over’ to Little Mikie whenever Little Mikie ‘took over’.
“Little Mikie”: (Entity. Active.) Little Mikie is a projection created by Little Michael to deal with grownups, his own sex life, and for handling “the Soldier”. “He loves sex,” would be one way of putting it. Seven to ten years old – he started losing power around 10 or 11. Intensely curious, loves to please, always with a bright smile . . . but is basically a puppet for “Little Michael” and the injured Toddler. Little Mikie is ‘fading’ as attempt to force / help “Little Michael” become ‘more himself’. When we find we are dealing with “Little Mikie” we go to Little Michael to find out why. He uses that persona on us / other people else, except when we are having sex. That is when Little Mikie comes out due to his eagerness to please. Little Michael, 13, and Little Mikie all want to be held after sex. Not dormant, he is able to stand great pain – and holds great love.
“Jeremy”. Temporary Host. Dormant. Built specifically for dealing with the Germans and exploring German architecture and it’s culture. Controlled by Little Michael and Little Mikie. Of no real importance except he contains a lot of our memories from ‘over there’ exploring and all.
“13”. Transitory Host / Entity. Active (because we are working with him to reduce his pain). He appearedt when we came back to the United States and found the place where we grew up had changed. Instead of ‘our’ house we were living in our abuser (aka molester’s) house, and all friends were gone except one family which had also changed. We are ‘growing up’ around this time. Divorce among parents begins. Two schools and three moves in one year helped contribute to his misery and confusion. Racial tensions. “13” got hit (and bit) by a LOT of things (which explains why he is so depressed, angry, lonely and sad). 13 currently has much ‘power’ since ‘we’ are working with him – trying to alleviate his pains, his internal sadness, agony at losing friends . . . there’s a lot ‘wrong’ with him; he’s a boy in much pain . . . “WE” all know ‘he’ contains ‘others’ (Jeremy, perhaps Sarah, Samuel, perhaps ‘others’) inside . . . and that when ‘he’ goes into hiding we can lose a lot of our mind (read: memories).
“The Machine” – Host / Entity / Artificial Construct. Dormant. Built by “13” along with some ‘help’ from his friends, “The Machine” was supposed to be an emotionless ‘being’ modeled after a machine – no love, no hate, no anger, no anything. And it worked, albeit barely (after all, we ARE human whether we like it or not) – but it set the ball rolling for our hatred of love and ‘things’ (emotional responses to anything at all, including rage, hatred, love, envy, jealousy . . . any emotion was up for suppression; however, the ones which hurt us most were specifically targeted to be ‘kept out’ and/or ‘kept in’ the Machine. This entity was VERY strong for a long time, up until ‘we’ were 21 or so (both the personality, the mind, and the body).
The Teen, aka Michael, aka Matthew Washington. HOST for a long time. Very active, still powerful and controlling. A typical teenager with issues of his own; biological sexuality is now blooming (though we were a late bloomer – an issue for years – didn’t get pubic hair until we were about 15) . . . violent, unstable, illogical sometimes; given to rages and loss of self and control. He is a repository of most of our technical information and is ‘allowed’ access to scientific knowledge; a LOT of control . . . one of our ‘good’ drivers, though he is apt to take a chance . . . imagine a hard core teen with survival traits out the kazoo. “He” (and 13) studied survival for a LONG time . . . of many kinds.
The Marine: Artificial Construct which became an Entity. Active. About 21 years old. A younger Marine PFC or Pvt., well trained and educated with devotion to Duty, Country, and “fellows” (men under his command or other Marines or Servicemen.) He is dedicated to protecting Civilians, especially Americans. The Soldier guides him in the field, but he mediates what the Soldier does since the Soldier can be inhumanly brutal and cruel (due to the Soldier’s associations with “The Beast”), up to and including killing infants, women, children – you name it. The Marine (and others) keep the Soldier and the Beast in check – and kept them in check in the field when we could have actually hurt someone without meaning to.
“Sarge”. Entity evolved from “the Marine”. A subset of “the Marine”. Older (24 or so). Developed in order to take care of responsibilities, especially towards ‘our men’ (troops under our command) which meant shutting down certain emotions and reinforcing others. One, for instance, was love. We loved many of them – and fell in love with one – but weren’t allowed to express it. Indeed, we had to be prepared to sacrifice people we loved – our love and our men, in our devotion to duty, country, and our other men.
The Beast. Entity. Semi-active. Age unknown (ancient). “He” has always been with us to some degree; however, he ‘solidified’ under 13′s tenure, and then again under the Marine and “21” (another transitory being). Imagine an inhumanly cruel, vicious, sociopathic monster that makes Satan look pale by comparision. “The Beast” long held a desire to ‘consume and burn’ – everything. “He” is under control and ‘drowsing’ in a field in a forest (of Oz) in our mind. “He” more closely resembles “Puff the Magic Dragon” right now – and our ‘kids’ can play with him. He’s finally learned to love somewhat . . . and we hope to build within him a hatred towards destruction anymore . . . This used to be a very powerful, sometimes ruling entity and could be quite cruel. “He” hasn’t lost his power . . . just ‘temporarily’ set it aside . . . just in case it’s needed sometime. He is controlled by the Soldier, Little Michael, the teen and the Marine, D.A. Michael and some others.
“21”. Temporary Host. Semi-active. Born in under 15 minutes on a fair ride (quite literally – on a ride at a fair). Occurred when the Teen recognized and realized we needed love and he had failed. At that point the Teen pretty much ‘threw up his hands and died” – and 21 was ‘born’. 21 began working on our issues. It was then we began realizing we’d been abused and were not normal in some ways . . . one being that ‘I’ (or he) had disparate parts inside that did not think or ‘feel’ like him. . . and some of them had names. 21 is fairly dormant, but still troubled, and still aids us in helping to analyze what happened at that time (ages 20-25). He has a very specific ‘location’ (a small room where we all worked for some time in a huge old WWII building at the back of a huge Army base . . . ordering ‘things’ by the hundreds. We had an unlimited budget back then. Quite literally: backed by the entire Federal Government. Millions of dollars were spent . . . by our own hand.)
“Whistler”. (Ghost? Alter? Approximately 18-24 years old?) Active, but not allowed influence (if we can help it). A nice guy but dangerous in some ways. Haunts the Dark City alleys in the Neighborhood of my mind . . . and whistling . . . and lurking in my mind. We will not discuss him at this time except to say that you would not like him. He is nice to you . . . and more. Just not going there with him; this guy ‘we’ have to keep under strict control, lock and key, all the time. Just not going there with him. But we have had our fights sometimes – some REAL fights sometimes (cutting, burning, cauterizing it out of him . . .)
“24”. Transient Alter. Dormant. Not really sure, but this may have been the ‘birth’ of the current host being (M3) or “Michael” and the adult host being. May have taken two years to ‘evolve’, leading into something just ‘sensed’ at this time: #26. We’re not sure.
M3, aka Mike aka Michael: Current Host. Alter, Active. Fair amount of influence. 38 years old ‘mentally’; 52 physical. Limited power. Mostly I ‘work’ with my alters to help ‘run’ the system, “I” am there for my wife (sometimes); I am the one who make responsible decisions, watches the budget (“party-pooper!” I hear in my head, LOL!) – but I am a majority system and therefore must ‘bow’ to majority rule. THAT, however, does not mean I won’t make fight, stand my ground, and argue with the ‘others’ to make a point or change ‘their’ minds . . . however, “I” can be ‘shuffled away’ – and the ‘grownup’ in me sort of ‘disappears’ until he’s needed again. Think “long distance manager’ – though I might be the one talking to you face to face most times. I am also “split up” into various alters, one being “the Businessman” (exactly what the name indicates) – kinda cold-blooded, hard, and calculating, “the Father” (to all my insiders and some else); the father to my daughter, and sometimes ‘someone else’ depending upon the mixture of my ‘alters’ that I chose to display and/or ignore. “I” am often not aware of ‘things’ in the background; ‘they’ make plans and . . . well, quite frankly, I’m confused some of the time, and yes: I really ‘doubt’ this thing (DID system) – and hate it sometimes – but have made the decision to ‘go along’ – and ‘we’ have (in general) been much happier since, so I “bite the bullet” and go down/under sometimes.
Jeffery Thompson: (Entity/Semi-host). “WE” offered him hosting duties, but “he” declined. “HE” does not WANT to be boss of us. HE is just here to ‘help us along’. In our mind ‘he’ was ‘sent’ by someone else (perhaps God, in our mind.) We’re not sure, but we’re certainly glad ‘he’ came! (Born Jan 1, 2011, ‘appeared’ and made himself known on April Fools Day 2011.) This is our mediating being; a therapist, the ‘one’ who helps ‘us’ settle things internally; who brought us around to loving ourselves and one another; helped us determine our relationships to ourselves and others; determines plot & strategy for us as a whole, . . . This is a very important Being to us. We really are not sure of what all ‘he’ is doing – except all he’s done is help us, he has a ‘clean’ mind; a single goal: of helping ‘us’ to survive, thrive, and love one another and ‘build’ a more and better cooperative system . . . and something else . . . something along the religious line, which brings us to the . . .
Spiritual Beings:

D.A. Michael” (Dark Angel Michael), aka (full name) Angel With Dark Wings (Hands Full of Sorrow): Fairly Dormant, but can be Activated at any time. Very close to the ‘core’, and part of our spiritual being, future, and past being. He has been severely damaged in his ‘last fight’ (if you believe in reincarnations – and of angels, too.) No, he isn’t Archangel Michael – not by a long shot. As best described he might be a platoon leader for him – and he ‘leads’ little children because their hearts are pure and brave in battle – like no others are. And ‘his’ children ‘died’ in some God-awful battle . . . ‘sometimes’ and ‘somewhere’. “We” see him standing on a cliff overlooking an immense battlefield . . . somewhere far off; perhaps on a different ‘planet’, perhaps on a distant plane . . . he lost the ‘fight’ (or the will to fight) to something – over grief, perhaps, for his dying children . . . all of US are gathered around him; ‘we’ support him but he will lead us in the end, ‘we’ feel . . . towards something greater than ourselves and the Final Battle . . . we’ll see. Not everyone makes it to that end; some of us have different destinies when ‘we’ are released from this human body; this human ‘machine’ . . .
The Core: sensed and found last year early April. Imagine a ball of streaming fireballs interlaced with one another whirling around – neither warm nor cold, but like a lot of minds! – chasing one another’s tails all around; sort of a ‘solid’ entity – to ‘us’ it represents a lot of what we think god looks like: a multimind, comprised of billions upon billions of souls . . . all working towards some common goals . . . along with some ‘dark ones’ on the other side . . . Effects? Unknown.
“Satan” – Active alter of limited influence. ‘We’ split ‘Satan’ into two parts: The Insane Baby and Satan. Satan is our friend, but he can lie, do tricks (trick someone), deceive, play nasty games.
Satan’s Insane Baby: Active, but as best we can not allowed any influence our our decisions internally or externally. The ‘howling bad parts’ of that personality. Can cause depression, guilt, pain – but ‘our children’ take care of him. Sealed off from the rest of ‘us’, but can cause problems
Which leads us to a trick we do – or did. Having been faced with the ghost of “MOM” (yes, modeled after my mother – but an evil hissing thing) – we ‘split’ that ghost into two beings, one being “MOM” (still insane and living in the rocks of my mind – hissing, evil gloating, pessimism, putting down – undermining – ‘she’ tries to do this but ‘we’ ignore her at this time), and the ‘rest’ – the things we wanted ‘her’ (mom) to be we split off and made into:
Aoela (Ghost, Active, Low Influence) – a woman in my mind, made from the remnants of ‘MOM’ . . . and something else. Aoela is a strange being; a ‘made up woman’ sometimes – and sometimes quite real. She is very hurt by her OWN past – which is not mine! “Her” past comes from ancient times – a long sad story about an ancient priestess who fell in love with someone . . . maybe another reincarnation of our “Michael, Angel With Dark Wings and Hands Full of Sorrow” – but their love was doomed to failure; she was killed when she began to preach in the concept of there being one god after all . . . sacrificed on the Temple steps right there in front of the crowd . . . really looks like old . . . I don’t know. Older than Romans. Dirty, dusty, nasty . . . But she lives on my Island along with all (or most of) the kids . . .
At about the same time Aoela showed up (last year) along comes Sarah (Ghost, Active, Low Influence), then Samuel. As best I can determine these two kids are related; perhaps sister and brother, and they were murdered. Aoela takes care of them. This is part of her learning to be a proper mother (whispers a voice in my mind. So that makes 2:
Samuel: (Ghost, Active, Low Influence) I’m not certain that he is a Jewish kid; I think this was before Judism evolved. But something went wrong; their village / whatnot was attacked (by pirates come the words, but I think ‘he’ means ‘terrorists’ or thugs of some kind) . . . his sister hacked up and so is him . . .
Note: there is a notion in my mind that his sister may have been reincarnated into Aoela, but I’m really not quite sure. This is all a fiction as far as “I” am concerned – but a fairly stable fiction at that. I can’t quite seem to ‘get rid’ of ‘them’ – but I’m all right with that.
Religious Man, aka “Dad”. Ghost, Active, High Influence. Just like my old man, only spouting religion (Christian beliefs), making me try to feel guilt all the time (just like ‘MOM’), lives in a narrow ‘room’ surrounded by his books (very much like real life nowadays) – bedevils me with questions, is insanely rightwing conservative (rabidly so); can be highly prejudiced against some groups (example: people with AIDS: feels they are a religious curse visited most justly by god on them . . . including the little kids who were just born with it . . . doesn’t matter . . .)
The Recorder: Entity, Active, Very Important! Been with ‘us’ a long time. Can split ‘himself’ into 3 beings (temporarily, of course!) – until the information stops flooding in. Useful for classes and tech details, too.
The Scientists Crowd: Entities, Active, at least four or five. May just be ‘one’ with many ‘facets’ or ‘sides’ to him. Minimum requirement for most things. Known ‘sides’ include (but are not limited to):
Astronomy / Physics
Life Sciences
Social & Mind Science
All Other Sciences
The Crowd: Number unknown. Best guess? To infinity – or thereabouts. Each is represented by the ‘possibility’ of a personality and/or ‘double’ (whatever that means; it’s the first time I’ve found I’ve used it in DID talk; perhaps it means “quining”, as in to duplicate a computer program a second time.
There are also ‘ghosts’ or remnants of ‘other’ personalities – some that were formed at this ‘school’ or that one; ones formed – and then (partially) destroyed, ‘faded’, or just ‘gone away’. We can ‘sense’ them in our minds sometimes – hints of flavors, like; or seeing smoke and smelling a color. What effect – or influence – ‘they’ have on my mind, I don’t know. Which brings me to the ‘greatest’ or ‘biggest’ group of all:

The Crowd
There is the constant murmuring of “the Crowd” – a dense set of ‘beings’ which is really hard to ignore – and ‘parts’ of myself can ‘disappear’ into it, organizing some; forming ‘factions’ – lots of things. You’ve got to remember: DID (for me) is dynamic system, but ‘major players’ and quite a few of the minor ones are represented here for all to see. There are ‘other’ children, and “the pretend ones” on our Island nation – but those are for entertainment and the Crowd and to “take care of things” (meaning the health of our internal selves). Imagine a small Hawian type of nation, complete with a fat dark skinned chief dressed in a grass skirt . . . his friends, village, family . . . a very complete ‘thing’ and ‘vision’ to me – our ‘healing place’ sometimes, and a ‘place’ for our kids complete with ‘friends’ for them to play with . . .

This ‘place’ has also been around with ‘us’ for a long long time . . . I think it started when I was about 12 and read “Lord of the Flies” . . . and it started from there, this fantasy ‘island’ coupled with some science fiction I had read complete with Margaret Meade’s work on island nations (and the sexuality within) . . .

Lots of things.

PLACES:

The Ice World (no longer in use). This is a place where we ‘stored’ the boy (Little Michael, and therefore ‘his’ projection-turned-persona, Little Mikie) for a long while – over a decade and some years. This was both for our protection and ‘his’ in some ways, but it was a very hard thing to do and made us self-harm and suicidal.

The Island World: A place for healing, it has what I call “Pretend Beings” – items created for our ‘others’ – and yet in a way ‘they’ (the natives of our Island) are very real, in that ‘they’ love and can advise ‘us’ sometimes – very healing. And there’s no way it’s on Earth, or even (perhaps) in our local galaxy. An imaginary world, it has a horizon (deepening, with stars) that helps indicate how ‘we’ all are feeling.

The Dome (with it’s hallways). An old system of control; abandoned now, but the hallways (lined with doors) aren’t – ‘they’ contain our loves from the past – like long diamond shards suspended over stone pedestals, they can hurt and cut, but are beautiful to hold. “We” are very careful about ‘handling’ them because, well . . . it’s love. Lost and found again. And again and again and again. Until it hurt to hold them. So ‘we’ put them ‘there’ as part of our building the Machine . . . in order to get rid of those emotions. (Love.)

Dark City: Whistler’s place.

Oz Woods: The Clearing – where the ‘dragon’ or our old “Beast” ‘sleeps’.

The Babies Room: Where we keep all our insane ‘babies’. One of them is Satan, or at least a part of ‘him’. Another is a miniature version of ‘our mom’. Our ‘children’ take care of them.

Lineage:
I think “the Toddler” built “Little Michael” to deal with grownups and kids – and to shield himself from his mom (and perhaps dad). Perhaps Little Michael built the Beast around this time; more likely the Toddler did. Little Michael then built Little Mikie to handle pain, deal with grownups – while ‘he’ (Little Michael) kept himself around to play with the kids, go to school, and have fun. The two are intangled, with Little Mikie being more of a ‘puppet’ for Little Michael to hide behind.

Little Michael then ‘built’ the Soldier as a conscous effort (happened when we were about 7 or 8 – I can still recall the exact time, place, moment, et all on that one).

A temporary personality was apparently ”built” for our move to North Carolina (#9). He relinquished control when ‘we’ came back ‘home’ again.

This personality may have cropped up again when we moved to Germany. This is where “Jeremy” appeared. Our “little soldier” was strengthened by this experience.

Coming back, “13” was born, but soon gave the reins over to “The Machine”, in which the Teenager (Matthew) was born.

At 17 the Marine was born. He continued until “21”, at which point the Sargent was ‘born’. Then “24” (an adjustment in personality), then “26” (the age we were married – and found ourselves living with a woman and family – 3 kids). Then ‘I’ (M3) was ‘born’.

Last year Jeffery Thompson was born, along with Aoela, Samuel, Sarah, and Satan. We became aware of “Dad” aka “Religious Man” and “MOM”, the evil being. MOM we split into two beings; one became the insane side of her, the other (I suspect) went into the building of Aoela. Her ‘two kids’ (Samuel and Sarah) I rather suspect were built to ‘help’ her and others in my mind (playmates for Little Mikie, Little Michael, and the other little ones).

Theories, Suspicions, and Hypotheses

How the system is set up (currently working):

Sarah, Samuel, Aoela, live on the Island unless I call them up. Little Mikie often stays on the island, but he can come up on his own; however, ‘we’ have managed to ‘train’ him so he is more in line with “Little Michael” – as an attempt to ‘blend’ the two into one – a ‘real’ Little Michael. Getting ‘him’ (Little Michael) to realize he can set this ‘puppet’ down is a big thing to us at this time.

Little Michael hides a lot, but he’s ‘coming forward’ a bit more as we zoom in / hone in and quit getting tricked by him into thinking he is little Mikie or vis versa.

3 on Top, Majority Rules; the Scientists side and a lot of general knowledge is shared by all and the Recorder is bound to give certain information to all.

I suspect that Samuel & Sarah are ‘non-entities’, that is, ‘they’ were ‘sent’ or set up simply for ‘training’ our feminine side how to behave – be unlike our real human mother in some ways (no more violence, hitting, clawing . . . sigh . . . the list goes on) . . . However, if you believe in reincarnation, ‘they’ have a story to tell – and they are all ‘linked’ or tied together – D.A. Michael, Aoela, Samuel, & Sarah – listed in the order which ‘they’ appeared or emerged from the ‘system’.

An atheist would say it’s just an over-active imagination.

A spiritualist would say I’m possessed by many souls & minds.

A psychologist would say I’ve made a ‘self-adjusting system’ which is attempting to heal itself in some way.

“We” can build new alters “on-the-fly”; new ones may be emerging. A new one – or a new host – may be being ‘built’ without ‘us’ becoming aware. There appears to be other forces working inside of us of which we are unaware. Jeffery Thompson, for instance – we did not know he was there until ‘he’ just suddenly ‘appeared’. “He” is also the alter we most use for online communication. Several have been ‘hooked up’ (our creative ‘part’, for which we have no name – ‘he’ comes from the ‘core’ and is present in all of us) – to form permanent and temporary associations, such as our “Elvis” persona (which is a mixture of some more). LOL, and no, he’s not a singer at all; he’s a writer and is ‘modeled’ on Mark Twain (Samuel Clemens). And his “piano” (he ‘plays’ in an old dusty auditorium) is our keyboard. He is most apt to make some wry commentary – and ‘helps’ take care of our ‘kids’ – and has helped quite a bit in ‘us’ getting ‘their’ stories out of them.

This is the end of this current Inventory. Be aware conditions can change. Like any ‘society’, family, or group of beings, power ‘struggles’ can happen and opinions can ‘change’ as one group or another ‘takes over’ – which, by the way, makes me the most excellent devil’s advocate – since the current ‘being’ can believe and feel what he says – while the ‘rest of us’ know he’s very wrong, or is supporting an unpopular argument.

*We do many things like that – without permission or psychological clue to the hosting beings; that is, ‘we’ develop plans (some very long term ones, ranging in terms of not just years, but decades hence) and trick or force the host into them. This is a common method we learned when we were rather young. I am not certain how it came about except that it had something (perhaps) to do with my dad and his psychological experiments on us.

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