I
think I developed Dissociative Identity Disorder partly because my mum has a dissociative disorder and I
have sort of learnt/inherited it from her. Maybe her variability was
a factor in my insecure attachment to her. She was at times
affectionate and caring, at other times unavailable and my needs
weren't met. At other times she was unpredictable and frightening. But there were other factors too. The 'church' I grew up in, that my father lead, my father, family issues, siblings, school and other things.
My
father was often distant and scary. He could be fun at times and
would have spent time with me; he liked to tell me things, like
imparting wisdom. That was the main way we interacted when things
were OK: him educating me about useless facts he knew and me being
interested/acting interested for the sake of having his attention. He
could be funny too. He had a good sense of humour at times. He mostly
saved that for people outside of the family but at times we had
banter in the family. And he was good at cooking nice meals. He'd do
a Sunday lunch regularly in my teenage years, I remember that. He
hated Christmas but he'd often get into it once the day arrived and
cook a great feast.
He
was variable about affection when I was small. Sometimes if I'd try
to hug him he would welcome it and give me a hug and scruffle my
hair. At other times he seemed repulsed by me. I'd often climb up
onto his knee when he was talking to other people to try to get
attention or affection or both and he'd get annoyed and push me off.
If he didn't get annoyed he might say: “How did you get there?!”
after a while, like he hadn't noticed. I'd pull at his skin. He had
very elastic skin on his face and arms. I liked pulling his cheeks
and touching his face. He'd get angry and tell me to get my filthy
hands off him and he'd say goodness knows where my hands had been. I
remember asking if I could sleep in his bed with him when I was about
four (I think my mum was there but she was to be away or something)
and he said I wasn't allowed to because little girls aren't allowed
to sleep with their daddies. I remember being confused about why I
couldn't because I would get into bed with mum and dad sometimes if I
had a nightmare. I didn't understand why it would be any different.
He
would have what I now know were phases of depression, that lasted a
long time. Possibly actually longer than the periods where he wasn't
depressed. He'd be very angry.
Most
often I remember being ignored by my dad in the extreme. He just
refused to acknowledge I'd spoken to him. It seemed like he would go
out of his way to make me feel ignored. He'd talk over me and just
not respond when I spoke to him. When he was not in good form (most
of the time) I would avoid speaking to him as much as possible.
Sometimes it would make me feel really sad that I was in the same
house as him but he acted like I wasn't there. Then after a time he
would notice me, but because something I said or did, or didn't say
or do would infuriate him. Usually it was something I could have in
no way prevented or done differently, I just infuriated him by being
there and he would shout at me. He had a very loud, deep, horrifying
shout and a glare more fierce than any scary thing I'd seen. He
rarely needed to do anything except glare at me (which he did most
times he looked at me) for me to feel hated and afraid. He was not
often violent. At times when I was small, he did hit me hard. I
remember thinking I was playing a game with him and I ran outside and
hid behind a tree. He came out of the house and hit me so hard; he
hadn't thought it was funny that I was playing a trick on him. I
remember being asked about bruises on my legs by my teacher but I
made up an elaborate lie as I thought she would punish me if she knew
how bad I had been to deserve to be hit.
I
don't recall him hitting me as a teenager. I think he would have if I
had dared to challenge him and maybe he did and I don't remember, but
I did everything in my power not to aggravate him, so the glare was
all it really took to keep me in line. My dad did not like being the
butt of a joke; I only realised that looking back. The tree incident
was one example. One time he was looking in the bonnet of the car and
I beeped the horn as a joke to scare him. Again, I did not predict
his reaction but I don't know what words can describe how angry he
was. I think it would have been easier if he didn't sometimes have a
good sense of humour. I probably would have figured out sooner not to
try to do anything fun.
I
don't know about other stuff, I mean other kinds of abuse. I have
some images that come into my head frequently. Some are really blurry
and don't make sense and if they are memories of sexual abuse, some
of it was when I was a baby. One was when I was about three and only
the first part is there, where I was in the bathroom naked and a man
came in and was looking at me but I have no idea what happened; he
may have just left again. It just stops. There are other things I
remember, like being naked at the beach as a baby (I know I must have
been one and a half to two because I could walk but not speak and I
walked very late) and crying because I felt so exposed. There were
men there and I felt so naked
in my baby skin. I wanted to have clothes on but I couldn't tell
anyone. I remember clearly how distressed and helpless I felt.
Why did I feel that way at such a young age?
I
remember several incidents from the age of five to nine, where I
tried to get my playmates to take their clothes off. In one or two, I
forced them to take their clothes off. I remember feeling powerful
despite the child being upset. I remember that I was sexually abused
by my sister. I don't know about other people. Some of the images I
get in my mind that cause me to dissociate or feel so bad and have
physical reactions are adults. Some of the images are of my
mother. These are the most confusing and painful to remember. These
are confusing because it is surely impossible. That's why I
dissociate. It is too hard to think about that and I'm sure my brain
has gotten confused somewhere along the road and created stuff that
has an innocent explanation.
As a teenager I was
often afraid at night also. I had an irrational fear of someone
coming into my room during the
night. I'd wake up in the mornings feeling exhausted, like I'd run a
marathon. Sometimes I'd wake up with no clothes on but not recall
taking them off. I don't believe these things are related to anything
sinister, but I'm saying them so I don't know. Mostly I just don't
believe I could have been abused other than the things I do remember.
Like my sister. And I was sexually assaulted by a stranger and I
remember more than my fair share of other incidents with various men:
men in my church perving at me in my home; a stranger following me
home when I was eight, trying to get me to come with him so he could
show me 'something exciting' and give me money. And there was an
older man who became obsessed with me. He tried to force himself on
me; I managed to push him off but I can still feel his tongue on my
neck when I think about it. And a friend, a man, who took things too
far whilst playing with me (I had a boyish side to me in my teens) he
pinned me to the floor, breaking my ribs. I can vividly remember the
feeling and the sound of the popping as my ribs broke and his breath
in my ear as he held me there and every hard inch of his body on top
of mine and the sense I got that it was a power thing. I think I only
fought with him because I wanted to be strong and be able to prove I
could fight off a man.
Sometimes
I can't remember anything including all I've told you. Other times, I
am told I remember more than I've told you... or other parts/alters
remember. I am quite separate from the parts lately. Sort of in
denial of them I suppose. But this is what I remember today.
