My new video is a review of the book, “Dear Little Ones. Dissociative Identity Disorder for Young Alters”. It’s at https://youtu.be/UetqiBXvolk Trigger Warnings for video – mentions of child abuse, but no details.
I’ve a new fanfic up on An Archive Of Our Own (AO3). It’s called, ”Time isn’t linear, and neither is my heartbeat.” The pairing is Moon Knight and Daredevil. The rating is Teen. You can read it here
I have added some personal notes at the end of most chapters, as someone who lives with Dissociative Identity Disorder, to give a real-life addition to a piece of fiction.
I review this great book up on my YouTube channel, Team Me, Team Us. There are Trigger Warnings for both the book and the video: Domestic Violence – no details. Head over to https://youtu.be/eFyRVkttnr4 to watch.
You can watch my review of Moon Knight in regards to Dissociative Identity Disorder on my channel: Team Me, Team Us. https://youtu.be/dHa6SYNWMZA It is my first ever youtube vid!
I talk about what the series gets right about D.I.D and what it gets catastrophically wrong (that list is longer!). I hope you enjoy it.
This shame is not mine to hold.
Some survivors of child sexual abuse are scared of animals. I don’t care how ‘friendly’ your pet is. The involvement of animals in sexual abuse of children is one of those things that is next-to-never spoken about. A few examples of this: Dogs can be used as a threat to a child – if they don’t go along with things, the abuser will say the dog will be released to attack the child. Animals can be used to take part in the acts of sexual abuse with the child, or used as a threat that this will happen. And family pets can be used as leverage – the abuser will say they’ll hurt their pet if they don’t cooperate.
Even within medical, judiciary and clinical settings, people don’t want to accept that these things happened to the person sitting in front of them when they were a child. Well it happened to me, and to other survivors of abuse too. So when I flinch when I see a dog, or don’t want to pet your cat, it’s easier for me to say I’m allergic to cats, or I was know someone who was bitten by a dog, than to tell you the truth. It’s desperately humiliating to share this post, but I need people to understand that Adult survivors can be affected by their experiences for decades after, and the shame we feel because of the reactions of non-survivors, only adds to it
Larry wrote the following piece. It’s the first time I remember splitting due to Dissociative Identity Disorder.
We were always the cats
The stairs were concrete.The walls were bare. There was always the smell of alcohol in the air. There were always men; always Black. There were a few other children there. We were always the cats. There was a dog, sometimes two. The scariest times were when one man would pretend to be one too. There was little talking. I can still hear all their breaths. I gripped my father’s hand tight as a little girl in a simple dress. They made me watch. Watch dogs fight, attack each other, fangs bared. Then the children would be next, and when it was my turn, they watched me as I stood there scared. We were always the cats in that sick game. The men would take Polaroids, as I crouched with shame. Positioned next to a dog, or the man who was one too, I had to make noises, had to prove. That I was a cat and I was their pet. And I had to stay still as I felt the dog’s breath. But one night I realised I was watching myself. From the outside instead of inside, my perspective altered and went. A part of mind that couldn’t handle the pain, separated off and became a teenage boy without a name. We had to meow, be good and come to the men when they called. I stood as a boy in the middle of it all. The breath of dogs against my legs; the fear they would bite me made me want to beg. But begging is for humans and that wasn’t us. We were just bodies violated in the dust, and though I could bear more than Lizzie could, I still hold the sounds, the gold teeth and the fear of blood. The man who pretended that he was a beast would snarl and grab and show his teeth. The dogs would surround us, just as the men did. I had to be still while they licked all over my skin. Time split off, just like I had done; all these moments merged into one. It still plays out behind my eyes, and though I am older, Outside Jacq wants to hide. For sometimes when Jacq is having sex with someone they trust, the old instincts come out as an animal does. The shame they feel when they mutter a ‘meow’ confuses them, but they understand now. The understanding doesn’t help their pain. Outside Jacq just feels the shame. We were always the cats. We were victims without names. Though time has moved on for them, I as Larry remain, the cause and the cure; the balm and the bane.
I was recently interviewed for a project that amplifies the voices and experiences of Black People and People of Colour who live with Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID). The interview is up on YouTube, and will also appear on Spotify too.
It was a real pleasure to talk openly about my frustrations and difficulties, as well as the positives that come from living with DID. I also speak about fatphobia, racism, ableism, and how all of these impact one another. I ultimately see it as a positive piece, as Black people in the UK are rarely heard when it comes to physical and mental health, even though we are disproportionately affected by it.
Trigger Warnings: Ableism. Non-detailed brief mentions of childhood abuse and incest.
Trauma and Time Travel
I used to be obsessed with time travel stories in science fiction and fantasy. From H.G.Wells’ The Time Machine, to multiple episodes of TV shows like Star Trek and Stargate SG1, time travel and time manipulation was something that beguiled me. I kept my thoughts to myself, but I knew I would do anything to make it into a reality; to go back and change the past so I was never abused.
When I was diagnosed as having Complex-Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (C-PTSD), I realised that flashbacks were a form of time travel, and a very effective one at that. There was no Steampunk inspired device, no futuristic faster than light machines, and no way for me to control when my mind would yank me back into the traumatic past. Flashbacks were not only sights, but tastes, temperatures, and a myriad of senses that moved past the five I only thought existed. My flashbacks were in high fidelity. In one moment I would reach for a door handle, and the next I would find myself stepping into the back seat of an Austin Cambridge, travelling down the North Circular road. My journeys to the past were not flashes of memories, but slow exposures that retained absolutely everything that happened at that time. Events repeated itself over and again. I was forced to experience my fears, yet feel unable to change even a fraction of it. I was never prepared for when flashbacks would occur, and this was especially the case when it came to flashback-nightmares, when I would time travel whilst asleep.
Where C-PTSD dragged the adult me into the past without notice, Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID) transported a fragment of me forward in time from the past to the present day. This fragment had never aged as I grew up. My fragments were stuck in 1972, 1984 or a nebulous slice of time, depending on which Alternate Personality came to the fore, with a different name, a different gender, and a lack of understanding that the host body is alive in the twenty-first century. This isn’t time manipulation, but a very real type of time travel that is cruel because i have little choice but to embody that part of myself as a child, with a child’s voice, vocabulary and mannerisms. My youngest Alter, Lizzie may look nothing like me, yet she is part of me, separate and often confused as to why her family are not around and so much has changed many decades later.
Dissociative identity disorder and the presence of Alters is something shown in science fiction, horror and fantasy, but which is almost always seen as a negative. The Stargate SG1 episode, Life Boat, is one of the only positive examples of a character with this condition. But a single episode can do little to counteract blockbuster films like Psycho or Split, which has caused even more stigma.
What happens when part of me refuses to grow up? How do I manage to exist when an Alter will not move forward in time for long periods, and then pop up thinking they are still in the same era they were created? Since I was diagnosed with DID, that my Alters each hold a section of my trauma that I as the host body could never manage unaided. One of the major causes of DID is long-term repeated trauma starting at a very young age. My brain was still developing when the abuse started, and it was unable to grow in a typical way. Parts of me split off and became independent, defusing bombs in my mind that had a high chance of killing me outright. With such dangerous work done by young parts of my personalities, it is no wonder they were never able to grow up with me as time passed. Instead they settled in their own pockets of time until I as the host learned to speak about the past – not only of the abuse, but of the way I knew skills I had never learned, displayed traits that made no sense to me, and how my voice would change many times over the course of a single conversation.
I had my wish it seemed; time travel and time manipulation were real, and I was part of it. I was my own mechanism for this transport. But having C-PTSD and DID are more than ways to trace the road back to the past. They are both ways to cope with trauma, and a way to cope with the threat of trauma happening again.
On occasion, I feel adrift in time and space. My host personality once surfaced when I was on a train travelling to where I used to live thirty years ago. I had no memory of how I had come to be there, but I as the host knew I had to get off the train and make my way back to my present home. Sometimes I feel as if I have lived several lifetimes, when in fact part of me was stuck in the 1970’s for over forty years. The BBC series Life on Mars comes to mind when I feel like that.
Trauma at a young age can often affect how a child’s brain develops. One of the brain’s functions is to process the passing of time. This process got rather messed up for me. As an adult I realise that my desire to change the past – to stop my parents from ever meeting, is a sad fiction. I would need to be born in order to create a way to go into the past. Plus my obsession with time travel made it so I could sidestep facing painful truths and realities that I as a survivor of childhood sexual abuse have to live with every day and with every tick of the clock hands.
Some of my favourite science fiction episodes that involve time travel and time manipulation:
Stargate SG1: Window of Opportunity
Star Trek Deep Space Nine: Far Beyond the Stars
Trigger Warning: non-detailed mentions of the affects of surviving ritual and/or spiritual abuse
Note 1: I see the word Ritual used a lot in Black & POC community healing. There are people including survivors of abuse, who use this word as a way to celebrate and empower themselves and others. THIS POST IS NOT ABOUT THEM IN ANY WAY.
Note 2: Ritual Abuse is not only Satanic Ritual Abuse, despite what we read in the media. There is a good webpage that explores the different kinds, and the help that is available for survivors. https://information.pods-online.org.uk/demystifying-ritual-abuse/. PODS – Positive Outcomes for Dissociation is a site that also provides resources for people with Dissociative Identity Disorder and OSDD
Words and their meanings change over time – that’s a feature and not a bug. Reclaimed words however can still wound me if I have spent most of my life hearing them in certain contexts.
As a survivor of abuse, the R-word is incredibly triggering to me, even in safer spaces. For example: I joined a healing group meeting on Zoom a few weeks ago, and had to leave about five minutes in, as the facilitator kept using the R-word to describe what we would do. I could have spoken up, but to do so would make me feel even more vulnerable than I already was. In addition, I am often unable to communicate normally when I’ve been triggered. I have too many memories of abusive people using the R-word to mask their physical, sexual and spiritual violence to vulnerable adults and children in my past, for it to be a neutral term to me now. Other words like Spells and Magic, don’t bother me as much, but Witchcraft does. I know other survivors may have different connotations to these words. I am writing from my own lived experience.
In decolonised healing practices, R-word and W-word are reclaimed from a time where indigenous spirituality was outlawed or at the least mocked and disparaged. The whyte Halloween/Hollywood version of W-word that many see as a bit of harmless fun in the media, isn’t what I personally feel when I hear them. I see sinister ways to control people in a non-consensual manner. I see practices that are distorted from their original intent, often mixed with Christianity (or other dominant religion) to make a truly toxic mix.
Words can carry a lot of weight to people with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Dissociative Identity Disorder, and other types of trauma-related mental health issues. There may not be another word but those above that encapsulates a process involved in healing in a non-western way, but checking that others are okay with these words, is a way to be more inclusive. Speaking for myself, I’ve already been cut out of most healing practices because of my size, ethnicity, gender identity and sexual orientation. And I’d like a chance to feel better too, without being triggered by the things supposed to help me
Tattoo reads, “When words become inadequate, I shall be content with silence”.
There are words waiting: a poem
My fingers, pink side up
Hold stories made of gestures,
Signs and twirls.
Of each fingerprint start a chapter, a Sign Language tale.
Violence made me mute when I was younger;
It still returns as an adult – the silence
To a fractured part inside my soul.
Another name, another author
Of my life takes hold.
And when I stare at my palms, the lines,
So fractured, divides
Into several paths, many lives
I have carried:
A library of personalities tallied.
My fingers move, my body remembers
Trees towering above me
And a book burning
As another part of me rises from the embers.