Music washes the feelings out of hiding. Emotions run like a wildfire in my soul. Silence rises to the mountain tops. Pain screams through darkness. In fragile brokenness. In words unspoken. In each bruise that has throbbed for a lifetime. Memories bleed as I hold them in my hands. Old wounds hemorrhage. And I become lost in them. Again, the wreckage sinks. I hear sobbing on the wind.
Grief,felt intensely. Grief from the little ones.At never having a mama that loved. I feel the pain knock me over, as it lands on my shoulders. Even at age three, when MPD was gifted to us, the smallest alters needed a mama that loved them. So they created a safe mama in their imaginary worlds. And they “adopted” real people as their mamas too. Without the people ever knowing that. It was the only way for them to survive. The only way life felt safe enough. It filled the bottomless pit that was created by having a mother that abused us beyond description. The little ones still “adopt” people as their mamas now. If they didn’t have that, the world would be far too terrifying.
The other day, a three year old child alter, woke up in the morning in my bed. Terrified. Not knowing where they were. No idea if the grandfather had sold them to someone for a little while again. They looked around. Trying to guess where they were. Wondering what horrible things had been done to them. Waiting for a stranger to come back into the room to hurt them more. This child- another Thumbsucker. Years ago, back when therapy began for us,the therapist suggested we get a pacifier for a different Thumbsucker. It helped alot. But nothing filled the void of needing to feel loved. The Thumbsucker, back then, eventually integrated. But they want to come back now to help this one. Many of the previously integrated ones want to come back now, to help these even more traumatized alters, who are coming out of hiding. Some have already made the pilgrimage back home, within us. And the world is feeling safer because of that. Others, a few at a time, are being created. Yesterday, Amos was created. Today, another Sarah was created. She heard the cries of little Whisper yelling “make it stop,” to the abusers as she relived more terrors of abuse. And,thus, Sarah was created through the pain of Whisper.
Every day, little ones, look into people’s eyes, to see if they see a kind heart. Every day, they look at people’s hands and fingers. Studying them closely, to see if they are safe. Or if they look like ones that abused them. They look at people’s feet to see if they look like any abuser’s feet. And when they get scared, to “they go off into the trees or clouds,” as a way to escape away, in their mind. Sometimes, in extreme stress, imaginary doors appear that they can escape through. Other times, an imaginary hiding place appears. To them, they see it and it is very real. We quit explaining to therapists about why we stare out the window, to go off into the trees. They would, then, close the blinds. Which is terrifying, because it not only shut off our escape. It also made it feel like something bad would happen if the blinds were being closed.
For the little ones, the need for a mama is just as intense as the heartbeat of brutal memories. For each heartbeat, memories fall open, creating the need for a mama- all over again. It is what we breathe in and out all day. All night. A lifetime. I have been amazed at how God has brought people into my life- that have helped orchestrate in my healing. To help bring traces of feeling safe. One friend, recently wrote a book for one of my little child alters they named Sunshine. The other alters loved the book, too. And as she read it to us, tears fell. Tenderness was felt. Healing arose through all the personalities, as this “adopted mama” reached out to us in such a loving way. And Sunshine felt loved for the very first time.
Another friend, shared a story she had written some time before.She thought my teenager personalities would like it. And they did. But, all the others were touched by it, too. And moved by her saying that she may write a story for my little ones. I had never shared with either friend, about the story the other was writing. But God put it on their hearts. To bring more healing. And my heart wept. I feel God moving amongst His people, as He brings healing to hidden reaches of my soul. It takes my breath away. For people to acknowledge my alters, to address them, to talk to them and listen. One river of healing pours into another river of healing. Water rushes over boulders and smooths them out.
Little sufferers. Little warriors. Each one different. Yet, their tears all look the same. Recently, some alters came out, while with a friend. Little ones looked out a window, and went off to the trees for a little bit. Memories and flashbacks flooded the room. Little ones, too ashamed to look at her. Thinking she could see what they were reliving. Ashamed, mightily. They couldn’t look at her. Unsure if this friend could tell that something was going on. Not knowing if she could tell who was out. I tried to stop the little ones, but had no control over it. I wanted to speak, but one was out who cannot talk. Yet, still, God used that time to bring some healing. Just having someone sit with me through the storm of memories and fear, was tender. It brought sanctuary. And another piece of the puzzle was put into place , leading to the doors of deeper healing.
This morning was spent, with a little one staring at the computer’s blank screen, wondering where their friends are.They had no idea that the computer had to be started. They just sat there staring at it. Sad. Lonely. Waiting for friends to appear.
A few days ago, a new chapter of healing began. Leading to last night. As silence released. And these hidden layers of personalities, who never had a voice. Too terrified to speak. Were given permission to speak. A friend, gently guided them to their missing voices. She reached inside their heart. And touched their tears. Silence released. Words came, as little Whisper told her of some of the abuse they’d been through. Tears fell. And watered this new land of healing. And as the words slowly formed. As Whisper trembled violently, while reliving something that took place often, in the barn- this friend was there. She helped Whisper through the ugliness of it. She helped, through other memories, too. Others inside me were yelling at the little one to shut up. Swallowed by shame as thick and as filthy as mud. But this friend walked them through. And we have left behind, muddy footprints. Moving farther into silence released.
God is moving.