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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.  

Edges

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.

Speechless

“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.

http://www.net-burst.net/hope/multiple-personalities.htm

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.

Lately, I have spent alot of time stumbling in a fog. In silver blue tears. As they fall into the shadows of who I am. And the little ones have wept like never before. From feelings that,both,wound and heal us, too. During the past two weeks, more personalities from ages ago, have risen from the ashes of memories. Breathing again. And as they have surfaced, more time has been lost. As personalities come out and live their own lives. Causing others to lose an hour here. Five hours there. A day or two- completely vanished. No idea what was said or done by alters, then. As one or another were out all by themselves. No co-consciousness then. Alters saying and writing things I have no memory of. People have been telling me of things I’ve said or written. I have no memory of it. Other times, as alters speak, I hear their words fly out of my mouth. Unable to stop them.

I have been just as lost as the time unaccounted for. Whose body is this, that I am wearing? Who is this old stranger in the mirror?Memories scream out, that aren’t mine. Who do they belong to? Such atrocities done to them! I never went through any of that. I feel nothing. I am lost. Wrapped in the company of alters. Come- Joshua and Jordan. Viper and Venom. Lijah, Eli, Lindsay Greenwood, Cody, Katie, Christian, Summer, White Bear and little No. Come- Becca, Daniel. I thought Lacy integrated three years ago, but she is still very much here. And four year old Noah came out of hiding last week. He tries so hard to understand and do everything just right. More hidden little ones have been peeking out. Ready to make themselves known. We are beginning to feel whole within each other, now. The Hated. The Hurting. The Hopeless. The Numb. And forever- The Outcasts. Come to paint who they are- with the color of their wounds. Come to be known. To be healed.

As memories of all the wounded warriors within me- play out. As personalities are becoming courageous enough to live their own lives again, individually. And out of my view. Pages of my life turn silently behind my back. Into the unknown. But, healing has been raining down, the past two weeks. And I am speechless by it’s wonder. Healing has come as the simplest gifts. That have grown into the biggest blessings. Like bandages on my soul. Healing is coming in the form of friends. In the gentle touch of a hand. In being defended. A tender word spoken. Laughter shared. A smile that makes the world feel safer. Time spent together. In person. In a message. In a call. It has been like filling a dried out sponge with an entire rainstorm. And the rainstorm is bringing healing. A downpour.

Healing has come by a friend sending emails. Understanding and accepting us. The wisdom that God has given her- astounds me. She cares about all of my alters. She treats my little ones like they are her own children. This has brought others inside- close to letting her get to know them, too. For my alters to open up to anyone, is a giant hurdle conquered. A milestone in healing. To be able to release their secrets. To feel comfortable to let people see them and their vulnerability- is pure freedom. And it feels like I am flying.

Healing has come through another friend, who is getting to know my alters. She can tell when my personalities switch. And who is who. She talks to each one, as they come to talk to her. One young alter didn’t know their own name. So this friend named her “Sunshine.” They love that name. And by a friend taking the time to give them a name- was very healing. This friend has been reaching out to my little ones, too. One way has been by reading bedtime stories to them. There is sanctuary in those stories. In that safe time. In the time spent. The little ones feel safe enough to come out and listen to those stories. To listen to someone talking to them. Each alter has been offered friendship. An ear to listen. Freedom to be themselves. A chance to play. Some- come unhindered. Others are close to talking. For them to be acknowledged. Accepted. To not have to hide and be scared as they learn to trust. Is freedom.

A freedom we have never known. A song never heard before. This song from heaven. To bring healing. In so many ways. I sit at it’s table. Hungry. I fall into it’s waters. Thirsty. Fill me now. Gently, I soar on the winds of a new day. There’s no going back now. So carry me on. Through the kindness of others. The peace that has comes- soothes. The tears that need to fall- do. Trust has begun it’s birth. Deeply hidden secrets are released. Finally. Slowly. As pain allows. Free from the bondage of silence. Flying now. Riding an updraft. Arms wide open to receive. A miracle playing out. We soar. As we see Jesus in others. As we see Him looking at us through the eyes of friends. In love. Unconditional. I feel free. As healing breathes in me.

 

 

 

From long ago and once upon a time,come the presence of personalities.Forgotten in the trail of the dust of memories left behind.How lovely to see their faces. To hear their voices. To be told their names. As they band together to help me, as I break once again. An army of the shattered pieces of me. They are here to be a shelter. A help. To heal us, in their own way. In our pain. The Warrior. The Troubador. The Thorn. Justice and the Rebel. Protector and Preacher. We escape into healing. Healing in our own inner worlds. Fleeing from reality. We don’t belong there. Too much pain and trauma there. It feels like barbed wire wrapped around lace.

So, we descend down into ourselves. Tucked away. With seasons changing. So different now. An aging, wounded soul. Heartbreak is all you’ve ever known. It is time to go home- within. It’s a kinder,gentler shore to swim to now. Through the whispers and cries of life. From babies to the white-haired ones. We have all been through it in life. From rocking chairs to mountains. Healing’s tide washes into the imaginary worlds. The only place we were never an outcast. The only place love lasts. Life has been like barbed wire wrapped around lace.

The pain comes- of being ripped apart. As personalities emerge from their hiding places to pull us all back into our imaginary worlds.They are my heroes, come to rescue me now. And we shall live happily ever after, in our imaginary worlds. The only place where we have never been afraid.

The past week has been full of emotion. Random hallucinations,like in the past when stress is overwhelming. It’s a further escape from reality. Also, this past week- one alter integrated. It couldn’t take the pain from life anymore. I felt their agony just before they disappeared. Suddenly, they were gone. Slipping through my fingers, like sand on a windy day.

I had always thought that three year old Stevie was the first personality created. But there was always a fog across that memory. It always seemed like two others were already there, when Debbie went away and Stevie was created. He just didn’t know who they were. But this week, I met those two alters. There is three year old David. And then, it broke my heart to meet two year old nee-nee. It’s her way of pronouncing Nancy. Someone who was like a mother to her.

David and nee-nee have been showing me the torture they went through. I brace myself, as they begin to walk me into the deep ravine of all they went through. I have no idea what lies in the belly of it. But for their sake, I will take their hands. And go with them to face the ugliness and stench of it all.

It has been decided to let every alter be free enough to be themselves. It has always been, that alot of them have been shut up. Not allowed to say or do anything. But a new level of healing is coming, as I free them up. As I let them actually have a life. As they are given the right to speak more. They feel safe enough to do that, now, as long as they stay tucked under the covers of make believe. They are learning to run free. Like a young colt, let out into the pasture for the first time. There is happiness in the simple things. Not in much else right now. Life feels like barbed wire wrapped around lace.

Always an outcast.From birth. We have learned to function in that. It’s all we know. The only place we belong, is with each other,within. And now, we are being encased in the safety of each other.We have accepted that integration- is not the healing we need. Life has always beat us down. We drank from bitter streams. Been thrown around in storms. Felt the sting of fists against our face. So, healing is knowing how to feel safe amongst ourselves. This band of shattered, scattered warriors and children. We immerse ourselves in this new season of healing. Knowing life is like barbed wire wrapped around lace.

Three

Alot has been going on.Doors in my mind,opening and closing.Slamming shut like a front porch screened door. Through endless storms raining down on me. Fields of memories,sting.Caught in the thorns and thistles again. Wanting to climb back into not remembering it all. Back into the hot summer days of the sweet smell of freshly cut hay, drying in the sun. Instead of breathing in the filth done to me. Innocence and a life stolen from me. My life belongs to my memories today. I want it back. Not easy not knowing who I am,many times a day. Not easy not knowing where I am, when I am always lost in another time. Trapped in memories that don’t seem like mine. Memories become my eyesight.

Getting to know a few personalities better, is rough. And it’s sweet. It stirs emotions I didn’t know I had in me. As they brush by me. And I feel their grief. I feel as much from mourning, as I do from joy. Of meeting them now. A lifetime of being strangers. I want to dance with them. I want them to experience life for the first time in a long time. Remove my armor. I want to run with them in the wind.

Shadows scare the little ones. They don’t know why the shadow is following them. Their fear and sorrow is wider than we can hold. And there is “Three.” A little one. All alone in this world. No idea where they are. Nothing familiar.All they know, is what they relive over and over. Like an evil fairy tale that never ends. All they say is,”Three.” All I know, is that it is their age. They have no inner, imaginary worlds. No escape from harsh realities that can’t be described. Trapped in heartless flashbacks that three year old Stevie used to go through. Before he integrated in 1999. Those flashbacks of seeing blood everywhere. Rivers of blood across roads, on floors and walls. Even the rain coming down, is red, with Annie’s blood. A growing sense of grief that we try to tuck away. Strong, run the memories of Annie being killed by an abuser. Because she was trying to protect me from them. A sad song that never quits strumming in my heart. Hollow. At least I know what triggered these memories and flashbacks this time.

Wondering how many more personalities were created that day Annie took her last breath. Through each step of the trauma. How many were created when the abuser took their little fingers and put them in the slit in Annie’s throat. The sight of it. How it felt. The color. We still see it way too clearly, even today. Is that the day that “Three” was created? It seems that way. The little ones still look for Annie today. Believing someday they will find her. And she will be fine. Looking at you, for maybe a moment longer than usual- to see if you are her. Memories bleed from me today. Tears don’t understand why they cry. But “Three” knows why.

Then, in the silence, in the presence of God, the other night, I felt what it was like to feel loved. For the first time in my life. It took my breath away. I had always felt God’s love, but not this intense. And I had never felt loved by people. Always felt unloved. Unlovable. After all this time on Twitter and Facebook,and people reading my blog, they said they loved me. I couldn’t comprehend it. Nobody had ever loved me. But, the other night, I saw it. I felt it. I finally knew it. It engraved itself on my heart. And God began using that, to do more healing in me. His breath of healing breathed over me. It stopped me in my tracks. I have cried alot in my life. But never like that night. Those who have shown kindness to me, helped me reach the point of being able to feel the love of God more. Helped me feel like I could be loved. “Three” felt the immensity of God’s love,too. We really needed to feel loved now. To get through this season in our mind. Breaking. To heal more. Each drop of kindness. Each drop of love, opens a wound. To heal it.

I am weak. Broken. I am “Three.” Scared and small. Wanting to be loved. To feel safe. I am all of the others, too, at any given moment. As they come out.Most times, the switching is rapid.It is tiring. It is needed. And it’s alright. It is our sanctuary. And just as my face wears the age of the years that I have weathered. My souls wears the marks of what others within have been through. I wear the slit across Annie’s throat- as a scar across my broken heart. I wear the slashes done to me, as silent screams I hold within. I wear the beatings and rapes, across the words I say. Across the words I hold back. My tears say more than I ever could.

Each ounce of kindness shown to me, is helping the healing,thunder through me. Each healing leads to another healing. Like hands holding hands. Healing holds healing. I need more healing released within me. Let my wounds ride the heavens until all wounds mend. Til all the unspeakable has been said.Open my mouth to say it. Open my wounds to feel it. Open my heart to own what happened to me.Open every hiding memory. Release it all to the Hands that heal me.

Old photographs,strewn across the floor. Each one shows me which personality was there. They all look different. Frozen in time. In my memory. Old photographs don’t lie. Where are the pictures of “Three?” I need to find them. I need to know her. I try to hold her. But she doesn’t know me. I am too old to be familiar to her. I want to break through the barriers that keep us from each other. Want her to see me and not run scared. It hurts when she runs from me.

If only I could reach out to her. Maybe friends that have carried us this far, could carry her now. She will be looking for the kindness of Annie in everyone she sees. Don’t be afraid. She is just “Three.” She has been lost for almost fifty-one years now. She doesn’t know me, but she may try to climb into your hearts to heal awhile. And when she heals enough, please bring her home to me. I love her so deeply.