Dissociative Identity Disorder run amok

Trigger Warning Sensitive Material

As I have been writing about in the last few weeks my Dissociative Identity Disorder is out of control and two of my alters who are very destructive have been causing me a lot of self-harm and two suicide attempts.

It is a living hell as they take control of my life and dictate what I am to do with my body, where and when. The unpredictable nature of my Mother alter has changed as she becomes more and angrier and demands my punishment, hence the self-harm. The thirteen-year-old me demands my punishment for letting the men rape me hence her self-harm so you see I am on a hiding to nothing !!!!

There are hidden razor blades which I don’t know where they are in my ‘present day’ state. It is when I go to sleep that the alters switch, appear and find the blades. They wait until my husband is asleep, get the blade, I go back to bed and begin cutting my wrists and arms until I fall asleep. I know it sounds totally bizarre but that is exactly what happens. He wakes up at some point during the night and checks on me to find my arms cut and covered in blood and an unexplained blade in the bed. Believe me when I tell you he has literally pulled the house apart trying to find those damn blades. He’s found a few but there always seems to be more that appear somehow magically. Keep in mind here, I have no access to any monetary funds, am not allowed to drive so have no means to buy any. They all come from a secret stash that I had delivered to me when I was an inpatient at a Clinic some months ago and managed to keep hidden. It’s all totally ludicrous and so dangerous.

Last night, however, the final blade was used causing enormous damage to my arm. It required twenty stitches. The Doctor in Emergency said it won’t be able to be stitched again as it’s been cut so many times the skin is so damaged it’s just scar tissue now. All they will be able to do is dress it.

The next day I luckily had an appointment with my Psychotherapist. I told her under EMDR that it was the final blade. I admitted I was bereft that it was and I hadn’t managed to kill myself. She gently told me that she would be devastated had I done that. That my family would be grief stricken and would never get over it. None of the people who loved me would. My Mother had come out under EMDR too and told her angrily that she would make me pay for failing to kill myself. That worse was to come. My therapist patiently held my hand, rubbed it kindly and listened. When my Mother alter left, I sobbed and told her how scared I was and in her beautiful way, she told me she understood and I truly knew that she did. She never said anything she did not mean. She encouraged me to borrow strength from my Mother alter in order to be able to stand up to her. Merge her strength with mine and be as one, not two. Look after the young thirteen-year-old Erin, who was frightened and scared of the men needing help. My Mother had the strength it just had to be harnessed in the right way. She asked me “Could I do that ?” “Could I learn to do that? Realise I had the strength of my own in the present and bring the two together into a superhuman strength to give me the will to live. Does it make sense to you”, she asked? “I don’t know if I can”, I replied, “She’s so strong, but I think I understand what you’re saying and I’ll try”.

I was trying to come to terms with it being the final blade. Present day Erin was chronically suicidal and wished to engage in self-harm and did it through her alters. The reality that the blades were gone hit me hard even though those same alters scared me witless at the same time. It is the paradoxical life of someone living with Dissociative Identity Disorder. You love and hate your alters at the same time. I now needed to take on board what my therapist had said to me and try and work with it if I was to get myself out of this appalling mess I was in and not allow my Mother alter to wreak more havoc on our already stressful lives.

Following this two hour session my husband and I  had to go home and host fifteen, eighteen year olds for our own eighteen year old’s birthday party. Joy of joys.

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