Torn Between

Warning: This blog may cause triggers for survivors.

Silence on the outside has led to mighty storms within. And in the silence- cries and screams,like no others before, have been set free from the depths of my soul. Let loose from the chains that held them tight. Weeping,soothing in my veins. Dreams, a blanket to hold me through the night.Music strums. While yesterday remains lodged like a tree in my wounds. Unspoken words. Unheard voices craving to be heard. Rising to the surface. Drenched in tears. Reaching out.

Words have not come easy. I knew, deeper in my soul than I have ever been before, that brokeness was stirring dust. Rust was falling off barbed wire fences. And then they rose. One by one. An army of many. Hidden away like so many others before them.Another layer of personalities rode out from the midnight of the past. The trail,not an easy one. Like being in childbirth for years. Sweat, and dirt-covered memories fall at my feet. This army, led by the One who watches over them.The One who knows them all.And loves them all, the same. He is here.

Tumbling out of their shelter- I meet them.Some for the very first time, our hearts meet. Some, never given a name. Felt worthless and ashamed. And the One who  loves them, brought two friends to give them names. Tater was named the other day. A little one. Always alone. Now, has found a home, in this name. That someone would care enough to give them the gift of a name- has begun this miracle of healing in them.

There is a very small child alter, who endured the worst remembered yet. The one, whose screams and cries rise ten thousand miles high. Aching to let it out. Aching to be heard. These screams and cries like a cornered animal, in fear and pain. The only name they have ever known. “Animal.” Between how they felt and what was done to them. They have never felt human.Then yesterday, another friend prayed for all inside. And she asked if “Animal” liked the name “Blessing.” And said they would be a real blessing as they start to heal and know the Lord. Time froze. Renamed. Unble to accept it yet. Looking at it far away. “Animal” still sounds a fitting name. To afraid to touch a name as nice as “Blessing.” Yet, brave enough to look at it. A whisper of healing begins in them.

Through the people who made us feel ashamed.Embarressed, at times, of those inside. Over the years. Fear held us captive more. Made us afraid to be who we are. To say what we need to say. To allow us to heal in the way we need to heal.To help us feel safe. But on this journey now, He often speaks of giving us all our voice. Releasing us from the pounding silence. Releasing us to rise. Rise.

Torn between the immeasurable pain of holding each one back. Or immeasurable fear of what people will think of my giving everyone flight. Like an eagle. On the wind. To let them soar. Let them know the freedom they have never known, to be themselves, totally. To be able to tell someone hi, for the very first time. Come softly, into their lives. Like gently pushing a child on a bicycle,while they are learning to ride. They are learning to be.

And the One who watches over them all. The One who knows each one from each army, by name. He knows more about them than I do. He knows why each one was created.Why each one hid. What it will take to heal each one.He knows how we are all braided together. Knit together so long ago. He rides the journey with us. He heals us, in His time. In His glorious way. Freedom comes now, as His hands take each voice. Releasing it like a dove soaring the breadth of the heavens. He is the One who watches over us all. Holding us in His embrace. He is here.  



I have only been able to pen part of these words today.

Tears have fallen,at the words I hear writing themselves out in my heart,now.

Unable to bring myself to utter them yet.


“All vast expanses of the heavens

heard the small child’s cries at night

and throughout the day

Angels stayed by the child’s side

And the tears God cried

formed the rivers and the oceans deep

In grief,He said,”Who broke this child,

and stole their innocence?”

“Who bruised and bloodied their body

and scarred their mind?”

“Who abused this child of Mine?”


Sharing a link

A dear driend shared this link with me,so I am sharing it with you.


Eyes of a Child

I could write with words and rhymes. But those are left,best, for another time. When little ones have things to say.So, I shall step aside. And let them write with their fears and tears. See what life is like,for them.While looking through the eyes of a child. Fear has overcome them. Afraid of everyone.Once again.

Too scared of everyone. Want to hide. Can’t look at anyone. Too afraid to talk. Ladies do bad things to us. Men do worse bad things to us. Ladies and men together hurt us more. Need to stay away from everyone. Don’t trust.

Don’t like knowing people have some body parts.Too scary.Hurt me.Stay away from everyone.Everyone will do bad stuff to me.Don’t want no one by me if I know they have body parts. Worlds too scary like this. Can’t go nowhere. People everywhere. Not safe in church,by people with those parts. Not safe in stores. Like it better when I don’t know. When people are like paper dolls with nothing. Trying to forget. But everyone is going to hurt me. Two people together will hurt me more. I see it in my head all the time. Too scared to talk to anyone.

****There was a post early on, called Paper Dolls, to explain this more. It only feels somewhat safe, for little ones, if they see everyone as Paper Dolls with no male or female parts. But when, for whatever reason, they know for awhile, that people do have body parts they hate, and that they are terrified of-they fall to pieces. This is where life stands for them right now. Then flashbacks intensify and they see nice people they know- as abusing and torturing them. There is no trust. Only being terrified.Of everyone. They think everyone will abuse them sooner or later. They expect all the ladies to team up with their guys or guy friends to do terrible stuff to them. This would also not be a time to expect them to sit around a table with people, since it is associated with abuse by a number of people at a time, done to them.It is not a time for them to sit right next to someone. Too close, knowing people have body parts, sickens them. It means abuse and torture is coming.

They feel it’s safer to hide. If they say anything and are noticed, people will abuse them right then. And with the worst of the worst memories and flashbacks going on- they are already being tortured all day long. They feel if they say anything- you will see what the grandfather is torturing them with, at the creek, and you will join him in doing that to them. That you will get together with the grandfather’s friends and do bad stuff to them. Abuse and torture is bad enough with one person doing it. But anymore than one person being around- always means bad stuff will definitely be done to them.

Worst of the Worst

Spent the night with little children personalities just crying, “Jesus,Jesus.” As hell poured over us like a vicious storm. Tears ran like someone being chased. Intensity rose to the sky. Not sure what was happening at first. And slowly, I began to understand. My heart sobbed violently.

Another hidden layer of even more deeply abused children personalities has surfaced. Breathless. I don’t know how to stand through this round. Been knocked down too many times. My eyes can’t bear to see what these little ones are seeing.

These little ones are completely terrified of everyone. Even of familiar, trusted friends of other alters. They see everyone as abusers. They see everyone abusing them. So they trust nobody. Never have they seen a drop of love. Not even the size of a tear. Never has touch been kind. They have never been anywhere. Other than trapped in the torture. They have never played. Never smiled. Never laughed. Never felt safe. Memories are enemies. They tackle us down and smear us around in the filth.

These little ones, completely alone in life. They don’t even know about Jesus. Abandoned in the past. As abusers pierce their innocent soul with each means of torture they used. The physical pain I feel now, is what they felt then. The drowning fear is what they felt then. I want to scream til it stops. But nobody can make it stop.

It was a nightmare, in the barn,on the farm. Horrible things took place there. But at the creek….At the creek….I don’t think I can say yet, what happened there. It is what these little ones keep going through. Some alters want to tell what happened there. Others, too ashamed. Besides being cut and slashed by the grandfather there, he found other ways to torture us there.

And as these little ones come tumbling out of hiding, I am coming to know the darkness they know. Coming to know why they have hidden forever. They have no one to feel safe with. Not even Jesus, since they don’t know Him. They never went to church like the other alters. They stayed trapped in the filthy arms of abuse.

Right at this moment, I feel something happening. Others inside that know Jesus, keep calling out to Him. It’s the only word that can be spoken. Friends online, are praying for us right now. Little ones that can move- are raising their hands. Tears plant themselves deeply on my face.

Earlier today, I received a word from God, from a dear friend in another country. God has given this godly woman- words for me before. The words she spoke today, began a new healing in me. They left an imprint, in the shape of God’s hand, covering some of the wounds.

Someone else bought a present for my little ones. Healing arose there,too. And I am sure, this little one that just saw Jesus for the first time- will heal more because of it.

Intensity grows. God is moving. And suddenly, gently- Jesus reaches out to this little one. He opens their eyes enough, for them to escape the abuse for right now. So they can see Him there. For a few moments, they can’t see their abusers. All they can see is Jesus reaching out to touch their face. Feel the warmth of His hand. Any other time, they would pull away from touch. But not now.

Healing comes, tenderly. Piece by piece. Tonight has brought more pieces together. I have seen, in the past week, bridges rising from the ashes. God’s presence is here.

Lost in Myself

Like a leaf on a windblown tree.Crashing down.Down into some of the most unspeakable memories. Frozen in time.At age three.Age five.And on and on. Like riding a mournful blue train. I knew this train was coming. This slow train of pain. A thousand miles and lifetimes long. Memories braided tightly together,in hiding, unravel now. So many previously integrated personalities are back now. And it feels more like home. As I feel lost again. Lost within myself.

The past couple weeks, a few more new personalities were created. To deal with life. With memories. With soul-deep hurt. Traj was created. Their full name is Tragedy. And they were created to deal with the pain of all the others within. They feel the piercing of each wound. Depression is their breath. Like the weight of a hammer hitting a nail.And as they fall into it, they want to shut out every memory before this very moment. They see it as the only way to be able to function under the mountainous burden of such horrific memories. Since Traj’s creation, they have been working to erase more and more of the past. As memories chase us down. Some alters are going easily, into the amnesia. Others will never be able to forget.

And through the lyrics of all the wounds, Annie was created last week. I was shocked to realize an Annie had never been created. So Annie came. In soft footsteps. With love for all within. An inner healer, of sorts. She came, in loving memory of three year old Stevie’s Annie from long ago and far away. Gone too soon. And even though this new Annie isn’t the real one, her presence brings a calm. Like a mother to the little ones within. A friend to the others. She may become one who will be out alot. This Annie doesn’t feel the pain, like most of the other alters. Memories are a distant fog to her. Not attached to her. Not her memories. Not her life. No feelings towards any of it. Except pain, for those within who suffer. She weeps for them. But not feeling traces and rivers of the past, makes life easier for her.

And then, Journey came. They are distanced from everything, too. They are here to help everyone on life’s journey. They won’t feel sorrow or pain. They have no bad memories. They think they’ve had a good life. They are happy with a good sense of humor. This trek through the memories will be easy for them. They’ll just shut each memory out. Not claiming any.

Growing up as a scrawny, white, farm girl didn’t work well for us. So, at times, personalities were created, who seemed of safer nationalities. From other lands. And of other hearts. Envied. Let Broken Cloud come fully into creation right now. Like a butterfly emerging from a cocoon. Shy. Afraid. Here to help the others. Depressed at the work set before her. She comes with the scars already, from carrying the others inside. Sighing deeply. Born now. Broken Cloud. From whence all tears fall.

And through it all, the others watch. Little ones, weeping.As memories seem crowded together in a lost and found box. Down came the rain and washed the memories out. Take one out. Pass it around. Fall to my face on the ground. The past plays hide and seek with me. As I stand, lost within myself. Standing on the edge of the sandbox, trying to fly. Scared of the sandman. Little ones cry.

And so play the blues of the broken hearted ones. Lost in the song. Looking for a heart to hide in. Wading in the river of blues. Thunder falling from the sky. Play it loud. As my soul cries.

Silence Released

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.