For three years I had been going to therapy. Too reluctant on taking the step. Understanding and fighting the inner “installments” of a religious and cultural belief and stigma. As a Christian, who believes in God and the power of what He did for me on the cross.. the moment I accepted Him into my life I was delivered from my past and everything it entailed. I was set free from bondage of depression, addictions, anxiety, eating disorder, etc. Right?
‘True’ Christians don’t take anti depressants, they don’t have anxiety, much less have any place in seeing a therapist, counselor, psychologist! As a Hispanic woman, the mention of any sort of counseling or therapy just signified “crazy” person… yet, with this inner battle came an even greater, louder and more intense voice… it SCREAMED..”I need help!”
My eating disorder was very much active, the desire to return to self harm was vividly alive and the loudness and mental back and forth was eating me alive.
So, here I was.. in therapy, with a therapist I loved and trusted. In residential treatment, for months; for an eating disorder that had absolutely taken over and controlled me… yet there was more to the story… an immensely, disturbing “more” that silently consumed me.
Walking into session being asked something as simple as, “how was this weekend for you?”.. and being completely disturbed with my inability to recap my weekend and incapable of elaborating… because there were gaps in my memory. Blank. Nothing. No idea. No memory.
“I think we need to talk about this disconnect you have to your emotions and why you seek out your eating disorder behavior to numb yourself.”
“…I don’t intend to be disconnected to the feelings, I FEEL somewhere inside me.. even as I speak to you now I’m overwhelmed with desire to break into tears but.. nothing happens. Not a tear..” “I have an immense amount of anxiety and my lips are saying it but I know all you see is my calm demeanor and how relaxed my tone of voice is even as I’m saying..’I’m freaking out!’
Or the session where.. I was almost incapable of talking.. I wanted to.. my head was sooo loud and I want to express myself but… nothing came out. Almost as I were being silenced from the inside. Held back from speaking even though I had sooo much I wanted and NEEDED to say. Hell, I was drowning in a sea of my words and emotions…
Year four… there I was back in treatment.. with a life altering change.. a new therapist. On this day particular day, art group. I don’t recall the entire memory but.. a white paper and my hands sketching one eye, then another, then a few.. each eye different in its own detail.
As we sat around in the group room for process time. Art work laid in the middle of the room, on the grey carpet, everyone’s work. The therapist leading the group, who also happened to be my new private therapist; walked in a circle while examining each piece.
“Who’d like to share about their experience, their piece or just what the process of creating their piece brought up?”
Without realizing the body, my body, Rose it’s hand.. my heart was palpitating! I hate group settings and all attention focused on me.. but there I was… volunteering to speak in this room.
“Mari, yes… go ahead”
I don’t remember much after that except this… the therapist asked,”so, are these different eyes looking judging on the outside, people around you…” someone within me responds outloud..”no, not at all.. they are eyes inside, within me.”
Little did I or my therapist know that, that moment was the beginning of un trotted territory we were getting ready to walk through!
“It’s like, I can’t remember or connect to basic things… much less “traumas” I believe to have gone thru. My head is so loud all the time that sometimes I can’t even speak. The worse part is that, though my mind is going and the loudness is there.. I have NO idea what actually being said or thought. It’s like having a cabin in the woods. Within it are a ton of speakers and each one is blasting a different song.. all sounding but none distinguishable”
After more than four years in therapy, residential treatment, it was identified.. complex PTSD with dissociative features.. and then.. as we dove in… the car was parked.. Dissociative identity disorder.. otherwise, use to be known as multiple personality disorder. I have D.I.D.
The very controversial.. so much more prevalent, just as common as the statistics of those with eating disorders.. DID.
Basic definition of what this is: a disorder characterized by the presence of two or more distinct personality states.
A diagnosis that couldn’t ring more true and couldn’t shake my world anymore than it did. One I’m still learning to give space to and learn to cope and live with. So confusing, so shaking and absolutely not “pill treatable”… most importantly, one we are learning to work thru and come to be aware of. One that I will definitely be sharing more of as I learn and understand of BUT chose to ‘expose’ today..
Today is “SYSTEM PRIDE DAY”… for that reason I share this glimpse of my reality with you today. Because, though it’s difficult for me and this journey has barely begun for US… it’s who we are and is the very thing that bares witness to the SURVIVOR we are.. not the victim. Maybe not at the place where I am “prideful” of my DID and having a system BUT… at a place where I am understanding this is who we are.
Hi… I’m one of many in my ONE mind and body. We are a system.
Paradoxical Nontraditional Christian 