Warning to abuse survivors: This blog may trigger things for you.

Through the pain and all that remains of who I was, to who I am; where I was to where I am journeying to, I endure. I cry out for mercy. I pray for peace from memories that linger and haunt my soul. I ride this journey, on the breath of the healing words of my Father. And once again, looking back, I see how far I have come. I see how broken I was by all the abuse. MPD was God’s blessing to help me survive it all. And,even though I am healed of it,I still need to escape into the warm sanctuary of my mind-into those inner worlds, where I’ve known the only arms that have ever held me like I’ve needed to be held. There,only, do I feel safe, in the inner worlds I used to call home. Mostly now, they are like a ghost town; barren,dusty, and dry. But when life gets too overwhelming for me, as it does,while I struggle to learn to be one person, I retreat to the only safety I have ever known.

My soul has sobbed deeply for over two weeks now. I feel raw once again. I have ached, for wanting the MPD back. I have ached for wanting those inner worlds fully restored. I cling to the remnants of those worlds, like someone clinging to life, in the times I am fully overwhelmed. Being there, is like being wrapped in a favorite, warm blanket. I can’t find the depth of that feeling in the real world.

In the past, when I’d get to this point of feeling so overwhelmed, like lately, the pressure would build and new personalities  would’ve been created. A few days ago, the intensity of my life became so overwhelming, that, in the past, at that point, new personalities would’ve been created right then. That day, something did happen. Suddenly, I was thrown into a time of deep dissociation, for awhile. Normally,during this, a switch of personalities would’ve happened, with my MPD. But  this time,as I felt myself starting to go off into a new personality, I “saw” them.And I felt tremendous relief. I felt joy. And I felt safe. My mind started to wander farther into the process of creating them. I felt like I was home once again. Then, just as quickly as it started, it stopped. It had relieved the pressure without a new personality being created. It was so bittersweet.I really wanted the personalities to be created. I really didn’t want them created. And right now, at this moment, I wish they had been created. I do feel the relief somewhat. I do feel that things are calmer. I feel slightly different, like I would if a personality had been created. But none were created.I feel disappointed it didn’t happen.Feel very disappointed in myself, that I wanted to create new alters.

Many things had led up to that point. I have many overwhelming situations in my life right now. People tell me that just one of these would be too much for them. And they are used to handling things as just one person. Being just one person, is still very difficult for me. I can’t imagine ever getting used to it. This year, with Christmas approaching, I know people can  have a difficult time for different reasons. One reason being- not being able to be with family or friends. I am having a difficult time, not being able to be with my personalities. I miss them alot right now.I don’t quite understand it, but the feeling runs deep.

Another thing going on in my life right now, is trying to understand why Christians hurt people. I have gone through it my whole life. My mom was a Christian and she abused me. Others who abused me were Christians, too.My grandfather was an athiest, and I don’t know about the abusers who I didn’t know. And then there was the church twenty seven years ago, where people emotionally and verbally abused me. There were the abusers, and those who looked on and did nothing to help me. No one stood up in my defense,which is just as bad as abusing. People  were afraid of losing their friendship with the pastor if they stood up for me. There is no way Jesus would’ve treated me how any of these Christians would’ve treated me all my life. And the meaness of Christians still continues, whether to my face, behind my back, in many ways- it still happens to me. It still happens to so many people. Abuse is abuse, even if done behind a mask of being a Christian. What I have gone through lately, and what I have seen others do, has knocked me down once again. I am quieter now. Trying to heal from it again. I am hurt, but rising back out of the dark place it threw me into. Adding it, to all the other situations in my life right now, has had a domino effect on me.

The stress level has increased like a raging flood. The stress of one thing adding to another right now, has triggered and brought up more long hidden memories which sicken me. These memories, dredged up from the pit of hell, are seen, as though with a magnifying glass and the light from a lighthouse. More of the fog from my brain has gone and I see these memories clearer than ever before. I find myself dissociating more, just to get through reliving all this. And it is through all these things, I have been journeying lately. Through the briars and thorns of some people’s hearts. Through the storms of memories of abuse. Through the bittersweetness of healing. Through being knocked to the ground once more, yet, rising and brushing the dust off. I am weaker, but stronger again. A survivor, still surviving.

I rise today, a little quieter than usual. Not much to say when the hurt is speaking to my heart. Yet, I continue to journey on towards the healing of my heart, my mind, my soul.Dream Giver- make me whole. Let my prayers arise; my tears touch Your heart and fall from Your eyes,too.Make me new. I call out to You. Dream Giver, dream for me. The way seems much too rough; too long to bear. Carry me in Your arms and take me there, where healing flows from You.

O Lord,my Lord,my love, I can feel You breathing new life into me.Gently brushing away the dirt from a lifetime of sleeping on the ground. And it makes me weep, because of how my life was. It makes me weep because of Your undying love. You’re coming to me now, speaking to my heart. You take my breath away, leaving me in awe of You. It is hard to hold back the tears, when I look into Your eyes and see the undying love You have for me.

You, Dream Giver, are the Healer who holds me every moment of the day, as I wait. The more You heal, the more I feel closer to Freedom’s Gate. Help me go where You want to send me. Being bound to You in love, is the only way to be set free.

Dream Giver, is it true? Did You know me, did You love me before I was born? Did you still love me with everything I went through? It’s so hard to understand. After a lifetime of abuse, it still hurts when I’m touched- especially by Your tender love. I haven’t gotten used to Your healing hands; the embrace of Your arms. Your tenderness leads me on. Your love makes me cry. You have loved me through the worst and you’ll now love me through the best.

Dream Giver, dream for me, for new dreams do I see. Unveil and unfold them for me. Spread them across the sunrise. Paint them upon the powdery blue sky as the snow falls down with bits and pieces of the dreams, to paint the picture for me.

O, My sweet fragile lady, I love you like I love each evening’s sunset. Like I love the blossoms in spring. And a fresh newness is unfolding now, in you. And lady, I hear your soul call out to Me, as you come through these painful changes. I see your weakness, but I will make you strong. You’ll feel like you’re living, and you’ll feel like you’re dying. You’ll feel like laughing, and you’ll feel like crying. And I’ll hold you through it all. Hold onto Me.

I want to say to people, “Be thankful you have not seen what my eyes have seen. Be thankful you have not felt the emotions I have felt. Some things, words just cannot express. You haven’t seen the hidden things that lie deep, crippling me. Things that haunt my heart, my mind, my soul.” Dream Giver make me whole. Restore me to who I would’ve been. Then, I will stand even more in awe of You.

Let the writer, join the singer; join the song. Let them touch the feelings and form a tapestry upon my wounded mind. Let hope cross the bridges to me, and form a lasting link for days to come.

I rode the night on traces of thunder. I caught the morning, trying to shine in my eyes. Take me to the river. Take me to the mountain’s peace. Place me on wing’s of sanctuary. Let music surround me with it’s wings.

Dreams have risen out of the ruins of my life. Dream Giver, You are helping me cry my dreams into their making. I cry the petals out of the thorns. Time has torn a song within me. Let me sing it’s fragrance and colour to the sky. I shall be the poet, the song, the weeper; keeper of the tears I lock inside. Dream Giver, I can only fly free, in Your arms. Lead me on. Make me strong. Set me free. I have cried the rose.

Dream Giver, dream for me, for I’m too tired to believe. The way has been much too long, way too rough. Years of tears on this journey have brought me down. The sound of Your voice leads me, guides me. The past blinds me, and all I can see reminds me of where I’ve been. And once again, I stumble in the dirt, and the hurt. I wrestle day and night to be free. When will that day come? When will I see the sun?

And the Dream Giver said, “My lady, My love-My tender, fragile dove, My love is bringing you to Freedom’s Gate, even now. I won’t let you down. You’ve needed every step along the way to bring you to where you stand. I am here ready to catch you. Fall into My arms.”

Dream Giver, I am engulfed in fear. Tears fall now, as I ponder the thought of being free. How will it affect me? I am seeing things I have never seen before. I feel Your love clothing me, filling me, leading me towards my moment of healing. I hear Your voice and follow. I know my healing is coming soon,now. I can see the light at the end of the tunnel. You know I am scared to leave my chains. They are all I’ve ever known.This land has always been my home. But You beckon me to come. Who will I be when the chains fall off? Who will I be alone? I cannot imagine.

“My lady, My love-come; I’ll catch you as you let go of all you’ve ever known. My love shall continue to be your home. You are at the threshold of your new life now. Tears fall from My eyes for all you’ve been through. I am making you new. Restoring you. Just let go. Fall into My arms.” Dream Giver, I hesitate; not knowing if I trust You enough to give You my surrender. I know how this present life has helped me through every yesterday. It’s not easy letting go. How do I know You’ll catch me when I fall into this new land? Yet, my hands grow weary, holding onto my chains. Do I stay where I am or do I follow You? It feels as though I am being born today. Sweet, sweet Dream Giver, I’m reaching for Your hand, falling into Your arms. I surrender all.

Silence rings loudly in my mind. Silence all around. Confusion.Dropping to my knees, I realize I am finally free. I am free. Tears mingle  with my awe of You. I am me, after a lifetime of waiting. I am me. I am free. I am in love with You more than ever before. My heart soars. I am free. Humbled.

And there, in the silence and the sobbing, the Dream Giver wept her healing with her. Their tears mingled into their forever river of love; forever river of song, making her strong in her weakest moment, now. And He understood just how frail she was now, as He knelt down to pray with His lady. His lady, wounded for a lifetime, but now free. But now healed.

Dream Giver, words cannot define how I feel about You. No walls can hold my love for You. All my life, You knew when this day would come. I am so in love with You. I am so in awe of You. I am free. I am free. Dream Giver, my dream has come true!

Dream Giver, send forth Your will to live to those who may want to die. Reach into darkness to touch every blinded eye, so that they may see and behold Your beautiful face. Let shame and disgrace flee from wounded lives. Send forth Your love and Your light to warm all fragile, torn hearts and breathe new life into them whose hearts have cried and died ten thousand times. Dream Giver, let Your love reach those who have never tasted love before. Lord, be with those forsaken, forgotten- and be their ever after friend. Let pain and sadness end. Let there be joy in the morning; floods of strength for the weak. Please give new hope to all who have or are about to give up. Lift up all who are falling down and calling out for help. Rescue all from their endless hells. Give dreams to everyone, Dream Giver. Help all who feel unlovable to be able to accept Your love. Help them to come to You, who longs for them to come.

Lady, My sweet lady, your victory is coming soon. Prison doors will open wide; chains will be broken clear through. Days of hallelujah’s will flow as rivers. Richness of heart will form jewels from all the days of lace and thorns. Storms shall bring forth fruit-O prisoner; the thorns shall bear a rose for you. Triumph shall come with the morning sun, and at last the prisoner will be free. For so long now, she has wondered who she is behind her veil; who she is without all the chains. But she will know one day. And within her heart, the butterfly will be freed.

No eye has ever seen or imagined; no ear has ever heard what all I’ve prepared for them that wait for Me. I own each drop of rain; every roar of thunder. I own the clouds, the planets, the heavens. Every tiny flower is kissed by the sun I created. My feet walk the distance of the heavens and the earth. My eyes behold the depth of every ocean; the brilliance of every rainbow. I know how many grains of sand lace every beach. I could tell you how many tears you’ve ever cried; how many tears you’ve held inside. I was there on the day you were born, and every day since. I could tell you how a star feels to the touch. I could tell you what the songs mean that the birds sing. I am the song. Please wait for me.

“O, My lady,” the Song Giver said, “this Father heart of Mine can feel your every cry, even if your mouth is silent, no words expressed. This Father heart of Mine knows when you need Me, and what you need. It can feel your shame; feels when you bleed, when you groan. It knows every beat of your fragile heart. Yes, it knows. And it holds you tenderly inside forevermore. Though storms should come and go- I am always there and  I always care with endless love for you. For you are My precious child; the splendor of a snowflake, the beauty of a dawn. My lady, you are My beloved child. Always listen to My song. It will guide you. Let My healing help you and hold you. Feel My hand upon your life. Let Me wipe sorrow’s tears from your eyes. Better days will come.

Just when it seems that You’ve forgotten me, You whisper gently, calling my name. When it seems I’m all alone with nobody to care; no one to understand; no one to talk to when loneliness overwhelms me, I turn around and see You. And when I remember my yesterdays and I’m flooded with shame, You whisper gently, calling my name. When morning seems like it will never come, You wrap me inside Your warm, healing love. When the pages in my mind recall all the painful memories and all that I can see is the endless rememberings of yesterday, You whisper gently, calling my name. When a thousand thorns pierce my soul, I am not alone. For You are here calling my name. You still my storm-swept heart.

A wound is a fragile thing. Like a snowflake that melts, a heart can bleed. And you can hear it from miles away, breaking in two- like a clap of thunder in the night; like a dried blade of grass breaking under the weight of morning’s dew. And it weeps, silently. For a wound is a fragile thing. When a heart has cried the song so many times, that even before it’s sung again- it knows the next line. No heart has known no pain; no broken love. But when a snowflake melts, in time, there comes another one shining, like a crystal sun in the midst of a rainbow; like a cup of water in the desert heat. Yes, a wound is a fragile thing. Like a snowflake that melts, a heart can bleed. Delicate as a first lacing of snow around a winter lake, a heart can break. A heart should be treated tenderly, for a wound is a fragile thing.

You took me for a walk today, since some of my dreams were too hard to dream. And there, beside the stream, we stopped to rest, and You leaned over and whispered in my ear, “Nothing is too hard for Me.” And with a gentle wave of Your hand, the clouds fled from the sky. And once again, the sun began to shine. I saw the love in Your eyes. Further down the path, a river was raging, and I heard You say to me, ” Don’t be afraid, for I am here.” Then You said unto the river, “Peace. be still. Peace I say unto you.” And the river flowed smoothly again. We walked on til we came to the mountain. I almost fainted at it’s sight. You came and stood between the mountain and me, so all I could see was the love in Your eyes. And You said, “No mountain is too big for Me. Be not afraid; only believe. This too shall pass.” And I thought back to all You’d brought me through already. Nothing had been too hard for You before.  “But, Lord, look at the size of this mountain. Surely, You can’t do anything about it. “  “Be not afraid. Only believe.”  “But, Lord, can’t You see how high and wide it is? “  “Be not afraid. Only believe. My love for you is higher and wider than this mountain.”  “But Lord, I’ve never seen You get rid of a mountain that big before. Especially for me.”  “Be not afraid. Only believe! “  “Lord, I believe. Heal my unbelief. ” And in time, I saw that mountain crumble,too.

Morning, morning- when will you come? I’ve lived a life in darkness. I want to see the sun. Morning, morning, where do you dwell? On the other side of the shadows that surround me in this hell? Maybe today, maybe tomorrow He will bring my dreams. I hold tight onto these dreams, and wait for them to unfold. Only He knows the time.

I chase the morning through the night. I run with the wind, praying for light. I glide the breezes, endure the storms. I am the dreamer. He is my Lord. I fight the mountains that tower and stare. I fly like an eagle through this night time air. I stand strong; keep dreaming on. I am the singer. He is the song.

It has been a long, hard haul, this journey so far. Yet, some days it seems like this just started yesterday. The pain and shame are still so fresh in my mind, like wet paint on a building. They’re still that fresh in my mind. Will the paint ever dry? Will the tears ever cease to cry? Maybe tomorrow, maybe today; So I still endure and wait. I journey on, under the crushing weight of it all, again today. But it only proves to make my love for You grow even stronger with every throbbing beat of every pain. It makes my love for You stronger, the longer it takes.

Flowering petals upon the vine, tell me- can you smell your own fragrance? What do you keep growing and reaching out to find? Do you feel bound by the limits of your roots and vines? Or do you seem satisfied? Can you hear the Dream Giver’s voice in the sunshine, as well as in the rain? And when a storm comes and tears some of the vines away, do you suffer pain? Do you feel empty then? Do you suffer shame? Tell me, when flowers cover the vines like a blanket, do you feel His warmth as well as when your vines are cut to the ground? When it rains constantly, do you feel like you’re going to drown? Do you talk to Him, and Him to you? How does it feel to drink the morning dew from His hands? Flowering petals upon the vines, help me to understand. Do you weep when your petals fall away? Do you feel sadness a number of days? When buds start growing, are you in pain til they blossom full? I wish I knew. Do you enjoy dancing in the summer’s breeze? Does He whisper to you or does He sing? Does He bring raindrops upon angel’s wings? Have you seen the beauty in His eyes? Have you ever seen Him cry? How does it feel to drink the morning dew from His hands. Help me to understand.

I have seen tomorrow burning brightly in my dreams. I have seen sweet glory, fallen to my knees. I have risen higher than mountains I’ve had to climb. I have seen fruit grow- watered by tears from my eyes. I have gone through storms and seen rainbows afterwards, brightening up the sky. I have walked through darkness, yet seen the Son. I have prayed for the morning. It will come.

O Dream Giver, dream for me, for I’m too tired to believe. The morning seems a lifetime away. Renew my strength and dreams today.

She needs You tonight, Lord. She needs you to quiet her soul. She has come a long way already, yet has a long way to go. But tonight, she’s calm enough to know that all these trials have their purpose and that their purposes will be fulfilled. The Dream Giver sang His lady to sleep, kissed her cheek, and wiped the tears from her eyes. Sometimes she could accept that this journey must take so long, but it was still so hard to go through. It was hard, at times, to believe the Dream Giver loved her. Sometimes, she hated Him for how long this must take, but she understood why it had to be this way. And He understood her pain, for He felt it within Himself, too. He knew her heart. He knew her hurt. And He loved her for who she was. She knew He deeply cared.

Sweet rose, grown on the vine- you’ve survived storms and lived constantly with thorns and you’ve blossomed sweet. Sweet rose, grown on the vine- your fragrance rises with the sun and soars all day with the clouds. Your song is silent, yet heard by those, who, too- are like roses on the vine; who struggle hard, yet hold tight. And sweet, sweet rose, my heart knows the song you sing. Sweet rose grown on the vine, you are so fragile- yet, so strong. Sweet rose, your endurance has touched this weary heart of mine. Your song is yours, yet mine too, refreshing me like tender morning dew; making me more like you. Your song is silent, yet heard by those who, too, are like roses on the vine. Who struggle hard, yet hold tight. And sweet, sweet rose, my heart knows the song you sing.

O Dream Giver, Your mighty strength is flowing through me now; showing me glimpses of what tomorrow can be like; filling my darkness with Your light. I feel like shouting and singing, dancing and crying, because I can see Your love shining down on me.

“Lady,” He said, ” My lady, I am not going to hurt you because of what you have done. Instead, I want you to drink deeply of My love. I want you to delight yourself in Me. I am love. I am mercy. I am forgiveness for you. Don’t be afraid of Me. I love you.”

This highway of the sojourner is long; so long. So Dream Giver, sing to her Your victory song, once again til the highway ends in peace. She’s driven by her hope, encouraged by her dream; held fast by His love; unmoved by the storm as it comes. And the highway bends on around the mountain; the road travels on quite a ways. In silence, the morning is burning in the night; echoing with her heart-felt cries as she prays there on her knees. The mountains and the valleys sing forth with her plea; rings out with her dream.The highway bends on around the forests, flowing beside refreshing waters. Quiet is the glory of the hope she holds inside, as the road goes on from darkness into the brilliance of light. The road bends around the strenuous journey to find the dawn; on the way to writing freedom’s song. And the song is written chord by chord in the fury of the violent storms, day by day. Chord by chord, in the midst of sorrow and pain; the song slowly begins to play. And the melody strums through chords of love from on High, as a gift to her from the Father and the Son.

Some day no one will turn away from another’s desperate calls. Someday, love will conquer all. A day when the bruised and crippled will be healed and soothed by His hand. A day when heart’s are knit together in love. A day, when if your brother needs to be carried- tomorrow will not be too far. One day, hearts shall open wide for those who long to go inside. When the outcast will be welcomed with open arms. When all the strong shall bear all the weak. When the broken forget their pain.When brothers carry their brother’s load; cry together as heartaches flow. Strength shall be renewed. Wounds shall be anointed to bring forth songs to touch lives. Tears will be dried from eyes; hearts healed from pain.

Dream Giver, every heart is silent to her, but Your’s. And for so long, she was afraid to accept Your love, but now, gently, slowly, she can accept it. And this prisoner loves You more than ever before. No love has ever been as lovely as Your’s. Never a more precious love than between the lady and her Song.

Being stoned once again, by her friends, the battle scarred prisoner fell. Dream Giver, could her fragile soul withstand anymore? And once again, He stood in front of the prisoner so He could take the force of every stone that was thrown. Couldn’t they see that it was You that they hurt? Didn’t they know? Didn’t they know they broke and bruised You with the wounds they inflicted on her? Don’t they know that You ache with her hurt?

And He felt her fears; cried her hot tears; struggled within the confines of her endless chains. He moaned in her captivity; saw the things in darkness that her eyes did see. He fell to His knees in her pain. Yes, He was there.

Song of My heart, sing to My lady, as she weeps, and give her strength to keep her strong when she grows weak. Wrinkle lines crease her heart; young, but yet, so old from living a lifetime in the cold of this barren wilderness. And she’s chilled to the bone from being all alone, with no one there to help warm her heart when she needs to know that someone cares. Song of My heart, sing to My lady to let her feel My presence in the aching places where she needs Me most, this very moment; there in her hungry, hollow places as she longs for love again.

Walk through My gardens, My lady, My love, and out of the wells of salvation- shall you draw water. With joy, shall you drink deep. And eat of the fruit from My vine. Feed, yes- stand and feed in My strength. Hold on again today. Let the cool mist of rain ease your pain, and wash over you. Walk barefoot in the morning dew; walk with Me. Who you are- is good enough for Me. So tenderly, I love you. I really do.

When the morning comes with the morning light, she’ll sing her songs to the songless; the songs You sang to her.Songs of hopes and dreams, even in darkness and hell; even when swallowed up by the hell- His song plays on. So, she journeys on, anxiously awaiting the dawn; groaning inside for the morning light.This prisoner couldn’t imagine a day without fears; a night without tears; a sense of peace that never ends. Nor could she imagine a feeling of belonging, or what it would be like to be free. And she trembled once again, as stones started to fly; fear danced in her eyes. But the Dream Giver was there. And He, at least- cared. Hold her now, Dream Giver, to soothe her fright. Give her peace once again, as she’s overcome by the night. Remind her what it’s like to have someone care.

Bits of the mountain fell off, as she struggled to climb it every day. The way was rough; always rocky. The mountain soared miles up into the sky.

They wanted You to hate her; You loved her more. They wanted You to leave her chained; You gave her a dream of being free. You spoke of love. You showed her love. They spoke of compassion and showed forth- hate. They wanted her to die; You wanted her to live. So great is Your love. They wanted her to be an outcast- all alone til time ends. Instead, You came to her, to stay with her; to be her friend. They wanted her to be weighted down by her shame. You came to lift her burden off; to lift her head high; to wipe the tears from her eyes. You came to give her life. They wanted You to hate her, Dream Giver. You loved her more.

She longed to be treated like a person; ached to see the sun come through the storm and rain. Longed to feel peace and joy after all the heartache and pain. She travailed to be free from her chains, this prisoner- young, but yet so old before her time. Longing for the morning, she fought hard through the night, reaching endlessly through the night. Why is it, Dream Giver, that no one thought she had any feelings, when so sensitive, was she? Help Your lady through this solitary wilderness; hold her hand.

“Renew my strength, Dream Giver,” she said, “for I feel weak once again. My burdens have grown heavy again, today. Stay with me. So often, people tried to take her song and her dreams away. But still, by the fire of Your light, she writes her songs; holding on to her dreams. Her hope rests in You. And once again, He reminded her that He will break every chain in two. Every mountain shall be removed; the crooked places made straight. Dream on, fragile prisoner; there will come a bright and better day.

O, My precious prisoner, I love you more than you could know. And I know that you want to discover the height, depth, width, and breadth of My love for you. Each struggle and storm shall reveal more of My endless love and grace. Each time of weakness will reveal My hidden strength. Each time of doubt and heartache, you’ll feel Me near. Each and every time you cry, I’ll dry your tears. Each time you need comfort, I shall hold you in My heart.My light shall continually lead you through the dark. Don’t be afraid, for I am right here. Even in violent storms, you’ll hear My voice. Before you call, I will answer. Before you look, you’ll see Me. Joy comes in the morning, child. You are joy to Me.

I have gotten more requests for me to share more of my Dream Giver writings, so I will do that today.These writings started in 1983,after I was rejected by a church. This was nine years before my diagnosis of MPD and Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. I went to the pastor and a couple friends and told them what I went through in a day. I was, then, rejected. I remained in my own private exile for twenty-six years. In 1983, I started writing Dream Giver and the writing still continues on it at times, even now. These writings were my conversations with God.The beginning of these writings was the beginning of my healing.

She was a prisoner,locked away for so many years, when the Dream Giver came to sing His healing love to her through His song. Never before had she seen this special man weep, but now the tears that fell along with hers were those of her Lord’s. She knew He would never leave her, for he had come to stay and would lead her on the flight from darkness into day.

She could not remember just when she had fallen into the night, nor had she noticed when the chains had grown so tight. But now she was a prisoner- crippled and cold; young, but yet so old before her time.

She had cried and died so many times inside her fragile soul. But now the Dream Giver had given her the dream of someday being whole. And the more the she and the Dream Giver would sing their song of hope, the more the jailer would pull tighter on their chains. But hope, the growing hope grew within the prisoner.The hope of seeing  light; of being free. So no matter how tight the chains were pulled, she still had her dream.

The pain caused by all the chains growing so tight around her soul,would make her scream out in anguish, ,”Lord, I want to be made whole.” And each time the jailer would hurt her, the Dream Giver felt it too, as if they had become one heart, knit together in their love. For every wound she suffered, He suffered one,too. For every tear she wept in secret, He knew.

All those years of fears and endless pain, and still the chains remained to bind her tight. And remind her of this journey through the night. And there, where she lay half-crippled from the torment the jailer brought, she heard the song the Dream Giver sang. And she determined in her heart to be set free. For she would not be bound by chains around her heart, her mind, her soul. She would be free and all would see- the Lord would make her whole.

The jailer laughed and mocked her, for the song of joy she sang. But hope then rang throughout that cell of endless hell in the night. And it was there that she saw the light of her Lord. And she said, ” My Lord, my King, my Christ! You hear me when I cry. And you know these chains have grown even tighter through the years. Release me, lest I be swallowed up in fear.”

Now, the Dream Giver didn’t tell the prisoner just how long the journey would take from darkness into light. Nor did He tell her just how bound she was by the night. But He did tell her that He would never leave. And they had their love to hold them; the kind that dreamers dream.

Some days when the sun would shine, she would dream on of another time; of far away castles, running free in the wind- without the chains to always grab at her soul. And she would know, that someday she would be free. Some days when the sun would leave, she’d hold tighter onto her dream, and He’d be there.

Fragile as a frozen petal in the winter’s sun, she was there in her prison cell, where the Dream Giver had come. She was lovely as the sunrise to Him, though she was bound by chains upon her soul. And she was the music of His heart. He was the song, when they were alone. “Sing, O Sing,” she cried to Him, for the chains didn’t seem as tight when He’d sing to her, til the tightness of the chains would disappear into the shadows of the night. “Sing, O sing, Dream Giver, til the dawning of the light.”

Break forth, she dreamed of doing, from the cell that held her captive for so many years. And the tears would fall upon that floor. But through all the tears and all the hurt, the Dream Giver brought into life- a plant of hope inside her thirsty soul that hopeless day. For there was a way, He knew. He knew it well, out of this hell, He knew the way into the hope inside His heart; the way.

“Dream Giver,” she said, ” dream for me, for I’m too tired to believe. The way seems much too rough, too long to take. So help me to believe; to make me strong all along the way. Renew the dream You gave; to help me see beyond all my chains to another day with You, my Lord. Dream Giver, dream for me. for I’m too tired to believe. How can I take another step when I have no strength? Carry me in Your song another day.” And the Dream Giver stood weeping silently, for the tender prisoner who longed to be free.

Scars form upon scars to cover her heart where chains had rubbed raw against the prisoner bound. But the love she found in Him, would break the chains and heal the pain that throbbed inside her soul.

She had sold herself for love, but He bought her with His life. She sold herself for love, but His love had paid the price. So,He stood at her heart’s door knocking, unashamed to enter in. Though her rooms were clothed with darkness; coloured deep by sin. Still He longed to love her, with a pure love she never knew. So he stood at her heart’s door knocking, unashamed to go on through. And He loved her though He saw the dirt upon her life. And He stayed at her heart’s door knocking, knowing all that she had done. For sweet was His love for her; sweet was His love. She had knelt and washed His feet with the tears of years of endless shame. Though others had come and gone, still, His love had remained. And through all the emptiness in her heart where dirt had fallen within, she came to know He loved her greatly. And she came to let Him in. She had searched through endless hearts, looking deep for love. She had sold herself for love, but gave her life to the Son.

“Colour these walls, Dream Giver,” she prayed, for the stain still remained on them yet. Colour these prison walls, so she could forget the stain and all the shame of yesterday. Dream Giver, help her see the love you paint inside her wounded heart. Help her heal from all the years of living and dying, of hurting and crying in the dark. Colour these walls as You hear her calling out for help.Dream Giver, colour them all for her; a broken, bruised soul- longing and aching to be whole. Colour these walls and help her heal from a lifetime in the dark. Paint Your love inside her fragile heart.

Forgotten to the wind; an outcast-cast out; cast on to the wind. Crying and trying to forget the ache growing deep within. Too heavy the burden being- forgotten to the wind. Forgotten, forsaken, but not by Him; not by Him.

One day soon, the struggles will all be through, and the weary prisoner will be free. How she longed to sing the song that welled inside her heart. And one day soon, the dark would break into a thousand pieces , when the light comes crashing through. And within that cell, she’d see those prison doors open wide, and she’d rise- to run free to the other side. To a land where the sun shines,  and chains won’t bind her soul anymore.

He said, ” I am the music and the song. I am the melody, and it won’t be long til My triumph sings inside your tender heart. I am the light shining forth in all the dark. I am the strength that will break your chains in two. I am the love I have for you.” He said, ” I am the Dream Giver and the dream. I am the victory that will set you free. I am the hand that heals your crippled soul. And I am the hand that makes you whole. I am the sunrise and the sunset, too. I am the love I have for you.”

Ever so slowly; a little at a time, the Dream Giver came to bandage up the wounds on her life. He looked lovingly into her eyes, and saw that she longed to look at Him. But, still aching in her shame, she couldn’t yet look at His face. He loved her more than she could ever know, but still, yesterday throbbed inside her soul. Lovingly, He knew that in time, all her wounds would be healed and she’d be able to let Him into her life.

“My hand is pressed in yours, for I am your King and your Lord. My love for you is shown in every sunrise. I shall be your light. My hand is pressed in yours today, and I’ll walk with you all the way. I’ll give you dreams you’ve never dreamed before.”

The road was a long one; the journey-rough. But in her gentle, fragile way- this weary prisoner was tough. She fought the battle for thousands of miles;sometimes growing stronger and weaker at the same time. But always journeying on, with the Dream Giver at her side. And He wept for her; for all that she’d been through. She was the love of His heart; the song of His soul. She was the broken prisoner that He would someday make whole.

Climbing up yet another mountain, she stumbles and scrapes her heart on the jagged edges of a cliff. And holding onto a rock, her grasp is strengthened as His power floods through her soul. Tenderly, He lifts her up, smiles, and holds her for awhile, for He loves this weary prisoner- His child.

A tiny seed grows when it is planted. When it’s watered, it starts to grow. It takes sun and rain, both, to make it bud and blossom, but delicately, it unfolds. Like a vine grown in springtime; like a blossom hungering for the light- This fragile seed, grown and watered, within the storm, it bears a rose. Cuts made in time serve to prune it; hurting for a time to bring forth fruit. Desert winds shall not prevail, for it is fed by the morning’s dew. Fragile rose, O what fragrance; sweet perfume to fill the air. Fed and watered by the Master, it has no worries, for it’s in His care. One weak vine, in time, is strengthened; thirsty as the rain begins to flow. One fragile blossom becomes many; grown in storms, it has become a garden from just one tiny rose. And the gardener’s scent is lovely; coursing through the summer skies. One weak vine in time, is many strong ones; nurtured by the Master’s love. He alone protects and grows them; rejoicing in each storm grown rose. Storm clouds come; still they linger, unafraid of the storm. Fragrant rose protected by the hand of the Lord. Winds come and go, but always, the rose.

Warning to abuse survivors:This blog may cause triggers for you.    When I, with heartache-write, I fear the dark; breathe in the light. When I, in frailty-fall, the bruises ache; healing calls. I have often wondered, what is the distance between my past to my tears. Fragile by the age of three, from being abused so much, MPD was created to help me survive. And over the years, through times of being overwhelmed, I was held in the frailty of my mind. A mind that had to endure abuses that others just can’t imagine. Abuses that have gone on in one way or another for at least forty-nine years now. I have never had a time in my life where there have not been people abusing me somehow. At times, over the years, I have felt so fragile, that just one more word or a look would break me;crumble me in a heap upon the floor, asking why.I have felt ready to shatter at the slightest touch.

With the MPD, if things became overwhelming; too fragile at that moment of impact upon my heart, the pressure within me would build. New personalities would be born through the intensity of pressure and pain. One to five or more personalities would be created at a time. I really miss that. I miss having the relief from the pressure. I miss the personalities. They felt like friends that I could go to anytime, for anything. They carried every ounce of the pain for me.

I have trembled over the years in my frailty. While going through the integrations, I was scared by being so fragile. It felt like the gentlest breath of wind would break me completely into dust. It wasn’t even until the last few years of the integrations that I learned how to fight off new personalities being created. Yet, even right before the final integrations, another personality was created. They eased the pain of the integrations. They were created as a means to try and keep the MPD going. They were the last resort at trying to keep life as “We” had always known it, still intact.

Besides the personality that was created last, a long time personality had come forward to be the protector of those who were about to integrate. His name was Jeremy.He’d been around for more than 30 years.  It was his job to protect those who were getting ready to integrate finally. It was his job to tell people we knew- Goodbye. It was his job to tell those people Thankyou for all they’d done to help this process of healing. And it was his job to hold every alter as they left. It was him, who held all those final tears and brought me out of hiding-back into life. He hated to give in to integrating and healing. He felt he let the others down. But he was brave enough to carry the others into healing and wholeness.

And now, after all the integrations over so many years, I am left wondering how I fit the hurt of over 200 personalities; all the pressure of their pain, and tuck it away into just one me? How do I knit the past together with the present? Where is the hidden bridge which links the two places?

Different personalities had different characteristics; different likes and dislikes; different talents. There was the woodworker, who loved to design and build things. There was the writer- Lindsay Greenwood. Some did have different last names. They were different nationalities. Some loved the outdoors, while others didn’t. Some were totally comfortable around people, while others were terrified of everyone. One personality stuttered. I still do that if I get really stressed, just a little bit. One couldn’t talk. One excelled at math, while all the others couldn’t get math. Doctors who needed to give me medication for pain or sinus trouble, or just anything, found it difficult. What dosage that may have been just right for one personality, was way too strong, if a child personality popped out. And it wasn’t enough for others. Some personalities were able to shut out pain. They had to know how to do that with all the abuse they’d gone through. A broken foot didn’t always hurt,and I kept walking on it. Other times, the pain was intense. When in labor with my son, the nurses didn’t understand why I didn’t feel even most of the strongest contractions.

These days, my struggle seems to be with keeping my thoughts together. With the MPD, my thoughts switched as rapidly as my personalities switched. I thought this problem would go away once I was healed of MPD. But my brain still feels like mush. God is working on strengthening it more, just as He did , when he gradually brought me into reality. I have learned, though, that my mind drifting off into different directions, works as a distraction when things became too much to handle. For awhile my mind may block something out- memories, hurt, anything. And I may have no remembrance of it for awhile. I can still totally forget alot, as my mind needs a break from it all. I may forget to make phone calls. I may forget to do other things. I may forget something that I had just been remembering in a flashback. It’s always been there, as a way to cope and survive.It’s often difficult to write, as memories are blocked off, if the pain becomes too much. I can spend alot of time during therapy, forgetting what I was just reliving or going to say.

When flashbacks have flooded me too intensely, and frozen me in a distant memory, it drains my heart and leaves me frail once again. Over the years, many people have asked me what my days are like. It’s always been, and still is difficult for me to be in any bathroom. I actually dissociate most of the time in any bathroom. I tremble in fear as flashbacks surround me there. I almost become sick. On good or bad days, there are alot of flashbacks all day long. Some of those I can numb out and not feel. On days when I write, just thinking about what I’ll write-triggers flashbacks and causes me to relive it all. With the MPD, the children personalities would sit in therapists offices and beg them to make the reliving abuse  stop. Just “seeing” it all and reliving it can make me about vomit. Panic flares up all day, still often unexplained and unconnected to the memories floating around. I dissociate alot then. Or I feel it all, then dissociate and numb myself to it. It can be difficult to concentrate, when you’re going through the abuse over and over like that. Yet, I am always thankful for when the numbness comes, coating the memories and allowing me to feel nothing. Actually, by the time I am done writing each time, the numbness comes and I can literally forget it all for awhile. This is how my life has always been, so it’s all normal to me. It actually seems very foreign when I have quiet times, on occasion.

At times, it does help, to reach down into the fragile places in my heart, my mind, my past. It helps to hold the frailty, and it helps to be held by it. I breathe in the frailty, and exhale the strength it has formed over the years. For every day that I am weak, I grow stronger still. I have paid the price every day of my life, since I was three years old, for all the abuse done to me. It has taken an unimaginable toll on me; on every aspect of my life. And every day, moment by moment, I fall in this frailty, but then I rise again. I am a warrior, determined to regain my life, and be restored. I am a warrior fighting to become whole.

When I, with frailty-write; I hold the pen, and resume this fight. When I, in frailty- cry; I climb higher,reaching for light.

Warning to anyone who is a survivor of abuse: This blog may trigger flashbacks for you.      All my life, I always felt that I was beyond repair. I always felt that whatever was wrong with me, couldn’t be healed. I felt that way at age three. I felt that way when I was diagnosed with MPD. And over ten years of integrations, of over 200 personalities, I felt unrepairable. Now, more than a year after all the integrations, and being healed of MPD, I embrace all the healing I have gone through. Yet, on days such as today, I see I am still not completely whole and wonder if I am still beyond repair. But, looking back, I see how much of me has healed, and I know who my Healer is.

It’s not easy as I sit down and look in the face of my past. It’s as though I am looking into the eyes of my abusers, even though they have all died over the years. It’s not easy, sitting in the silence as memory after memory drums through my heart. July 21, 2009 was when God healed me of MPD. I am still healing from a lifetime of abuse. I am still learning to be just one person, since all the integrations. I still believe that being just one person is not all it’s cracked up to be. And dealing with reliving abuse & flashbacks daily, isn’t easy. I wade through the broken crevices of my mind, trying to heal the erosion that all of the abuse created. Healing often feels to me, like being torn apart.

In the muddiness of my mind, I’m trying to find my way through this healing. Since I was three, the personalities shrouded who I was. They hid me softly, in the sanctuary of a shattered mind. And now, I am left with only the memories of the personalities, like ghosts of dearly beloved friends; like whispers on the wind. I have been seasoned by all I’ve been through, just as age has whitened  my hair more. Time has etched a few wrinkles into my skin and etched more heartache into my soul.

Daily, hourly, minute by minute, there are memories which flood my mind as I beg for mercy to never see them in flashbacks or relive them again. The other day, on the way home from a short walk, as I came to our parking lot, I was suddenly frozen in my tracks; suddenly frozen in time, in 1960. I was trembling,  lost in a flashback right there in our parking lot. It was another flashback I’d never seen before, of people I didn’t know. In the flashback, it was chilly out, perhaps autumn. I can see five people. I can see their hairstyles, their glasses, their clothing. I sense I was with them once before. I sense I can’t trust the guy with the white shirt, blue button up sweater, greased back hair. I was afraid of him, and knew what was about to happen. I didn’t want to go inside with them. In the flashback, I was feeling sick to my stomach. In my own parking lot, trapped in time, I felt sick to my stomach too. And I began shaking uncontrollable. My knees almost gave out from under me. I could barely walk down to my apartment, while the flashback played out before my eyes. I was terror stricken of the people I saw playing out before my eyes like a movie on a screen. And as I shook uncontrollably, I wondered just how many more people abused me that I haven’t even remembered yet. And as I sit here and write about the flashbacks now, I feel sick to my stomach, again.

Lately, memories of other abusers are being revealed. It knocks the breath out of me. Memories are dripping out of the deepest reaches of my mind. They feel like an infected wound that needs to be cleansed, so it can heal. And now, I fear the next flashback more than ever. It feels like flashbacks are always peering  around the corner, ready to pounce on me at any moment, like a cougar lying in wait. I find myself looking around the corners of my mind to see if I can find any waiting for me. My heart is beating to the rhythm of my fear. I sense a wave of flashbacks shall be newly uncovered, brought forth out of their hiding places to storm before me soon.

Today, I have struggled with another newly surfaced flashback which has been going on for hours, in intervals that only last a few seconds each time. They are traces of a memory, falling as a dusting of snow. And I await the blizzard of memories soon to come. I await the avalanche. I do not know what will be revealed to me. What other memories have been trapped in my broken mind; trapped within this reservoir of random nightmarish memories along with feelings of anxiety and shame. Terror that comes out of the blue, and holds me in it’s grasp is always on the prowl, too. But I am walking slowly out of the haze of it all. Each step takes me further out of the brokenness, and closer to restoration. Each violent memory brings tears to wash over me. And tears seem to bring more healing, so I journey on, no longer feeling beyond repair.

The pages of my life were always written for me, by my abusers, out of my control. But, now I grasp the pen, and will try to write the remaining chapters of my life. I will try to guide the paintbrush as my life unfolds on the canvas. The colors will no longer be black and blue. I will not allow that, anymore. I will paint the unfolding flower; the sunset as it bleeds across the sky. I will paint myself rising from the ruins of my life. With that in mind, I need to journey through these hidden memories to integrate them into myself, too. I need to step through the door of the past, and walk backwards  in the footprints from which I came. It is there, in the ruins, that I shall arise. It is there, where I shall heal more.

Thinking of the past and writing about it, makes the flashbacks escalate and gain momentum. And as these flashbacks and fears  cascade down, it becomes overwhelming.Then I become lost in their day and time;lost in feeling sick, unable to concentrate on anything else but them. Feeling everything I felt in those times, and trying to survive like I did then. I have gone through times over the years, where  memories do come back in floods. I am preparing for that now. It has started already. The season is upon me now.And through this season, I shall heal more. I am not beyond repair, for  God is my Healer.

In 1991, I started into therapy and was diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder & MPD. The flashbacks of abuse had been there as far back as I could remember, but I never knew what they were. I never understood what it is that I was “seeing.” Little did I know that what I was seeing, was what had happened to me. And as I continued through the first year of therapy, I thought I surely must be about done with having any new flashbacks. Yet, almost nineteen years later, I am still hit by newly uncovered flashbacks, often.

And the flashbacks come like lightning in the night. Blinding, searing; one right after the other, they come in a storm of memories. They flash across my memories, illuminating places long hidden in darkness. People I don’t even know , lurk in the flashbacks. I still have no idea who some of the abusers were, even though I see them clearly.

Usually daily, sometimes all day long, and other times- fewer and farther apart, flashbacks play out like a horrible movie before my eyes. Never knowing when they will flash across my mind’s eye, there is no preparing for them. They come at any moment, any place. Sometimes, flashbacks last just a quick moment or two. I try to shake them off, and forget about them again. Other times, I find myself paralyzed by the terror they bring. Unable to shake them off, I feel chained to them. It’s the long lasting flashbacks I can’t shake free from that have the biggest impact on me. All I can do is sit there, reliving the abuse as real as it was during the abuse. Like 3-D memories of mind, body and heart, they play out before me, despite my trying to shut them out. They take on a life of their own. Then, I just get too weak to fight them off. Other times, it doesn’t even occur to me to try and stop them. That is when I feel like I’m in the middle of a stampede.

It has always felt like each uncovered flashback has chiseled away another piece of my heart; another piece of who I am. It’s like being hit so hard, it takes my breathe away. Yet, I have learned over the years, that also, for each newly unveiled flashback, I am being handed another piece of the missing puzzle of my life. It will fill in why I react a certain way, why I feel certain ways. It will fill in more missing pieces of all the time I have lost over a lifetime. Each flashback is like a voice of what I endured, revealing it’s self to me.

And like lightning in the night, illuminating, revealing, magnifying all in it’s range, so the flashbacks do the same within my soul. When the last flashback will come, I do not know. My eyes grow weary at times, from all I see in them. Yet, at the same time, all this is so normal to me. It’s been a part of my life at least since the age of three. That’s part of the legacy that abuse left for me.

For the past eight days, my heart has ached like never before. During this time, I haven’t felt like talking much. I’ve barely been able to pray for others. And I haven’t been able to pray for myself at all. No words came. There was just a deep ache: a deep groaning in my soul, and a silent cry. I have always been able to pray, so I didn’t understand what was happening to me. And music, which has always been my sanctuary of comfort, has been a stranger to me. I just couldn’t even listen to music. It hurt too much to even think of it. I have felt completely raw.

The content of the next paragraph here, may be upsetting to some people.So please skip it, if you think it will bother you:

Years ago,I raised many rabbits. One morning, I walked into the barn and heard a noise I’d never heard before. It was a horrible, screaming sound, being echoed throughout the barn. One rabbit had given birth to several young. She had skinned them alive, and they were screaming in pain. It was a horrible sound and sight.

And that is how I’ve felt the past eight days. It has felt like I’ve been crawling around the jagged edges of hell on my belly. I have never felt such crippling, intense feelings. My soul has screamed the cries of the rabbits. I’ve known for years, that as I healed, I would begin to feel more of what has always been shut out. But I had no idea the sheer force of it all would feel like this. Layer upon layer, the depth of it all is being peeled away and placed into my heart. Shutting out a life time of abuse is drawing to a close. And I have hurt more intensely than I ever thought possible. It feels as though I have gone through major surgery. I am sore, tired, taking everything slower.

All my life, the over 200 personalities I had with the MPD, felt everything for me. I now know why it took so many of them to help me survive. I not only had to survive the nightmare of abuse, but I also had to survive the intense sorrow, fear, anger, hurt… All of it. I couldn’t do it, so they went through it all for me. And for the first time since I was three-I’m feeling the intensity of it all. And I’m feeling what all 200 personalities felt. I can barely ride the waves of those feelings for a minute, yet I spent the last eight days, immersed in them. I now know what it means to cry your heart out. The depths of my soul screamed and groaned in agony. I could not even pray, God, help me.” Every time I tried to pray for myself, all I could do is groan and scream silently. I am now wading into the deep end of the past; the feelings, the emotions.

Every feeling the personalities felt, has always just floated around outside of me, at random. Like an occasional fly landing on me, is how they are. I’d be hit with a sudden bolt of terror or severe depression; a bolt of grief or anger. But it was always distanced from me. Those feelings always belonged to the personalities. They were never my feelings. Dissociation and depersonalization served me well. But the past eight days, I felt like I was putting all my energy into just surviving the enormity of everything I was feeling. I didn’t even have time or the ability to dissociate from it all. All I could do was ride out the storm.

The closest I’ve ever come to anything like this, is when I was going through the integrations; especially the last year of the integrations. And in a way, what I am going through now, is like that.  These distanced feelings are being brought from miles away and placed into my soul; being moored there,like a boat. Today, I realized for the first time, these are my feelings. It’s difficult to own them. It is scary to think that I really did go through such atrocities to cause these intense feelings that slam into me now. I’m still trying to get used to being just one person. And now, I struggle with trying to take the feelings and emotions of over 200 personalities and feel them all as mine. Just imagine if you had to take on the hurt, the pain, every emotion of 200 people and carry them all as yours. That is how this feels.

During all this, I tried grabbing hold of any remnants of MPD,but it has all faded away. It’s reflection has rippled out. Like when a pebble is tossed into a lake, and the ripples spread out til they disappear, so too, the MPD has gone. I also tried grasping onto a corner of the inner make believe worlds to help me survive this. I couldn’t find a corner of it until this morning, for a few brief minutes. And I was comforted there. Those minutes are getting fewer and farther between.

The more intense the pain became over the past eight days, the more I yearned for and missed the MPD. And I felt that more intensely than ever before. As this continued healing comes in waves, it pulls me farther from my usual dwelling place of comfort. I want to pull back and go into hiding within myself again. Yet, I know, this is healing. I must go through all these things to heal more. I need to get these distanced intense feelings back into me. I need to become strong enough to hold these feelings in my heart and not be terrified of them. I need to go through this.

The deep end of the past is not an easy place to be. But I am determined to get through this, by His grace.

Today, I write from a hollow place. I have been here for a little while now,and I’m finding it very difficult to climb out of here. It is so deep, that it echoes with the pain of my soul. Even my tears feel like empty outlines that fall from my eyes. I am finding it a rough journey, trying to build the bridge from where I used to be with MPD- to where I will be when I am restored. This hollow place resonates with all the feelings I cannot feel right now.

I am able to strongly feel other’s pain right now. But my pain is only seeping through the barriers I have put up the past two weeks,once again. It has been difficult to write, difficult to concentrate, difficult to feel much of anything right now.When I do feel it,the intensity is such, that I have to dissociate more. I feel immobilized by it all. The overwhelming realization that it has been fourteen months since I was healed of MPD, is taking it’s toll on me. I am extremely thankful for that healing.But this readjustment phase to getting used to life without MPD is wearing on me. It is still so difficult to think I’ll never have MPD again. Unimaginable to think I’ll never have the personalities back. Being just one person, now, is good, but it also breaks my heart at times. So, I dissociate; block out things I cannot deal with. And I silently cry out for mercy.

Last week,I saw my therapist. She said that because I knew most of my personalities, and most of them knew of each other,and they developed such a close bond-it makes this so difficult for me.It is why I’m having a difficult time building this bridge from MPD to restoration. I discussed some of the personalities with her- like reminiscing about an old friend,except these were my personalities. She’s known me since ‘91, and has helped me through the worst times of my life. She knew most of the personalities. So sitting down and talking about them helped alot. When a loved one dies, it helps to talk about them; to share your favorite things about them; to talk about good times. I can’t exactly share all that with anyone else. I can’t say to someone, “I’m really grieving for my personalities today.” I don’t know many people that would be comfortable with that. So, I haven’t really had time to work through my grieving process. I go through it alone.But it did feel good to share with her about my personalities again. I don’t have a “photo album” of them that I can pour through. I can look through pictures of me, and tell you who was in each picture, but that doesn’t do it justice. I saw each personality as looking different. So, it seems that to heal more, I will gradually need to talk about these “people” more. I intend to slowly start doing that in this blog,too.

I do find myself, at times, still trying to force the personalities to come back. Try to get them to surface again. If something comes up, that would’ve caused a switch in personalities, I hang onto that moment, trying to switch into that personality. They just aren’t there anymore. I find myself desperately needing to create new personalities;desperately trying to. In all honesty, I am trying to do that right now. Over the years, as pressure grew unbearable from circumstances that were too much, new personalities were created to relieve that pressure/ to handle that circumstance. And now I do not have that ability, as much as I cry out for it. I grieve for that loss,too, not being able to create personalities. I grieve for not being able to name them, to help develop who they were. It was artistic to me. I grieve for the inner worlds, and being able to create them, too. I need a place to have all that creativity to  flow into, but I haven’t found it yet. I grieve for the love I felt from my personalities; the daily interaction with them; the never being alone since they were always here. And through my tears, yes, I wish I could create more personalities.

Perhaps, it would be different if my life was easier; maybe not. But how do you lose 200 extremely important people you know;some you’ve known for forty-eight years? If I could create more personalities right now, at this very moment, would I? Without a doubt, yes. I am left here alone, in a world that is unfamiliar to me. I am left, trying to get used to doing what 2oo others always did for me. It’s like owning a corporation. Then suddenly, one day, all 200 people are gone, and only the boss is left there to run everything;trying to figure out how it all works; trying to do everything they’ve never done before. The building is empty and feels hollow.

I feel as though I’ve had the breath knocked out of me. I feel like an artist, unable to paint. Like a singer, unable to sing. Like a tree, whose leaves are unable to change color. And, I feel like a stream without water. I feel like a garden that has turned to desert.

I know, that for every step of this journey, when the terrain has gotten too rough to travel on, is when another healing is about to come. I feel the labor pains of it. Yet, I want to return to the sanctuary of MPD. It always felt like home, and now nothing does. I don’t feel at home in myself yet. I am still a stranger to me. One day, I will no longer feel like I am always walking among thorns and thistles. One day, I won’t feel like I am falling down more than I am walking. The bridge will be completed. And one day, I will fully understand the beauty of this healing. Today, I am understanding the beauty of MPD even more.