Solitude – Being Alone With All of MEs

Alone is not very…

Being a “multiple,” that is, a person with more than one personality, is less boring than being a “mono” (normal person, or at least a person who only developed one personality) according to my therapist. Sometimes I wonder if he admires those of us with many voices in our heads.Waiting on a friend in the Portland train station

Laughing. Seriously, it’s not like their talking TO me… but they ARE me, and also are talking WITH me. That is the best I can explain it.

Integration. That’s the goal with therapy and multiples. Becoming “one.” I wonder if I will end up feeling lonely. I wonder if I’ll have more or less difficulty dealing with the world.

Crowds are difficult for me. I prefer to be alone. At least with one person. And it has taken me a while to get used to not being completely alone.  Being married to a great friend is helpful.

Alone. I didn’t realize until 2010 that I was afraid to be alone. But I craved it. I needed it.

I wrote a poem about solitude during a very difficult time in my life. Only a few days after the poem below was written, the boyfriend I had moved in with, pushed me down for the first time.

Solitude…

Like a drug begging to be forced

into a vein….

and yet no where in sight…

I seek,

yet I shall not find

The one Lighte…

The lighte that shines

Brightest when alone.

IMG_20140216_155117_920When I reread the poem above, I am also struck by the fact that my conversion to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints happened just a couple months later, while I lived alone. In an attic I saw the lighte. Fascinating.

While I’m alone, I’m not lonely. It took me a few years after my divorce from my first husband to learn this. I had lived with my mother, as a mother to my first two children, until I could afford a place of my own. Then I lived with my children, before my first husband moved in with us. I hadn’t had the opportunity to live by myself until I was actually homeless after leaving my husband, in 2010. I was 46. 

1759946034237I hit the road. From a fantastic little BMW Alpine 525 to a van I could write in, and travel each day, I had finally found my “alone space.” As my current husband and I plan out our new house, I am adamant about building me a space I can be alone within the first structures that are built. I believe that all of my “MEs” need that space and time to process the world.

Me Riding on the bus to my appointment at the UWMCThe world outside is LOUD, my world INSIDE is also loud. The more quiet I can get the outside world, the better I can understand the world inside. As I get closer to integration, I think I’m going to need a lot more time alone. 

Thanks for joining me on this journey.

My Me’s

Back in 2010, I started a blog called “The Me’s” intending to take everyone with me as I explored the many personalities that I was being told by my then boyfriend, that I was displaying. That boyfriend and one after him are gone. The one after him attempted to use my diagnosis as a weapon against me and that fact (as well as the fact that he was otherwise abusive) added an additional few years on before I would seek help, and a diagnosis.

I waited to seek help until I had been married to a husband for a little over two years. He pretended to be supportive. However he spent the time with me at the therapist’s learning my triggers, then would use them constantly against me.  When his choice of therapist supported him when the husband attempted to rape me, it was time for a divorce and a female therapist. 3453268246234

Now that the diagnosis has been made, I am trying again to start a place for me to keep the insights I am making. For me. And for anyone who chooses to join me.

Dissociative Identity Disorder. Multiple Personality Disorder. Disorder. Am I a Disorder?  I don’t think so. I do believe that my life has been made a challenge by the method my brain chose at a very young age, to deal with trauma.

My therapist, and I, together have identified over 20 different identities. Twenty. More than twenty.  And a few days ago I remembered a new name. Another.

Why am I writing about it? Because that’s how I deal with things. By writing about them. The harder the subject is for me to deal with, the more I write. This is something I know I am not alone in, so I decided to share it with others.

I have named this blog, My MEs. When I was a child, I had the initials “M.E.S.”, and I was constantly told that meant “mess.” As the many personalities that I have are coming forward, I came to the conclusion that they were just mispronouncing it all my life: It should have been pronounced MEEEz!

Laugh. All joking aside, lost time & absent memories are not cool.

wp-1487879827228.jpgNow I embark on my journey to discovering just how many “MEs” exist, and how they came into existence. This will involve uncovering all the abuse and trauma that I have survived. From the level of PTSD I exhibit, from incest and multiple rapes,  I have a tendency to believe this will be a long road.

You are welcome to join me on this journey. For now, this blog is semi-private. How it will be in the future, is anyone’s business.