The last three years have been by far the most strange, painful, and beautiful years of my life. I know at the ripe old age of twenty-seven, that’s not saying much compared to others… but still, it’s there.
In the fall of 2017, my life as I knew it fell apart. Coming upon the dawn of my brother’s wedding, he had started to realize something about our family that I had known deep down my whole life and had to bury when I moved back in after dropping out of University for my first attempt at finding my ideal career path in 2013.
My brother was moved out, independent, and about to marry a woman he loves. But me– recently graduated with my Associate Degree and still trying to find a place to live with a partner that seemed to shy away from conversation when it had to do with commitment… it wasn’t a time that was safe for me to properly process what I have come to know more now.
He had realized generational trauma, hurt so deep and childhoods torn apart by unresolved issues of the past being repeated over and over again. He was sick of the hurt, the manipulation, the abuse, and he renounced them– turning away. I was told to pick a side in this fight, that I was with him and his wife, or with my parents. When I refused and wanted to hold understanding for both sides, I was deemed to be a clone of my mother and grandmother and was shut out like the rest. I now know much more about him and can dismiss what he said and understand his own need for denial in the part he played in this trauma, but back then, it cut to the core.
I stood with him. I knew our family wasn’t safe… but I had nowhere to run if I renounced them publicly like him. And so I was blocked, shut out, and left with a panicking family who then shifted the responsibility of tying our family back together on me.
The months that followed were horrendous– filled with a heightened version of the abuse I had routinely experienced growing up, as if it was on hyperdrive. Phone calls to police for parents who threatened to take their lives and blamed me. Physically being dragged back into their house when I tried to run for help. Threats and gaslighting claiming no one would ever believe me, that I was the crazy one.
And I believed them. The stress of the year had caused me to check myself into a mental health clinic, had started to go to therapy, and was having the diagnosis of D.I.D. being thrown around by friends and professionals who heard about my lack of memory and my difficulty keeping track of time accurately. So I shut my mouth. I smiled and found ways to try to hold everyone together, played the game and found ways to try to be supportive to the people who were currently abusing me.
Within half a years time, I’d worked rapidly to save the funds to move out and made the leap. And within months of moving out, now having the safety to cut ties myself, I did just that.
I had no idea the road would be so full of turns. With the space to think again, I found myself on a rediscovery journey when it came to who I am. I started to accept my diagnosis of Dissociative Identity Disorder, got to know other alters in my system, and heard horrendous stories that shattered the illusions of my life that I had made for myself to be able to survive.
Three years later, and I’m still doing my best to believe what I’ve learned about my childhood. People who I once thought of as safe havens, I now know to be some of the biggest causes of the splitting of my own personality. But I couldn’t accept that at first. So I went back and forth, trying to find some acceptable way to still have the family that I love regardless of all this hurt in my life in some way.
I’m beyond grateful to be at a place in my life I can now sit back and reflect more fully on what has happened these last few years. I’m grateful to have the support I’ve deserved this whole time, and the freedom to start speaking my mind– and find my voice again.
So much has changed. We went from a system of… let’s just say many, to a system of three in a matter of years. And with each fusion, with each deepened connection within members of our system, comes a better understanding of who we are. I can proudly say I can look in the mirror and feel a sense of excitement over the person we’re becoming. And I can proudly say I’m starting to solidly see who I can trust, and who I need to grieve.
We’ve stayed so quiet during these years, and that’s just not us. So we’re here, back to blogging, back to speaking our mind. After all, there’s so much to catch up on and say… about our journey as a system, about the struggle that stigma around DID, PTSD, and mental health topics at large caused us in feeling unashamed to talk about it all, and about the messy truth of healing and life after living in unsafe situations.
I’m excited to be back, nervous for the self reflection and opening up to others, and happy because I know in the end, it will be all worth the while. Plus… it just feels great to be at a keyboard again.
Until next time,