My first DID split continued:
Finally, Mommy came home. There was a hospital bed in the sunny living room of our apartment.
There was a blanket on the floor with several large circle plates created from triangles of material of different fabrics. I would entertain myself by studying these various fabric designs. I was supposed to be quiet and play on this quilt in the corner of the room. If Mommy needed something, I was to be her “little legs” to get it. Mommy needed to rest because she still had a baby in her tummy. It would have been twins. The doctors said that it would be a miracle if the other baby lived through the physical trauma and surgery. Mommy would say, “Cherie, you be a good little girl and help mommy have this miracle baby.”
A Strange Disease
One day Mommy started to have bubbly spots all over her body that itched alot. At first the doctor told her that it was an allergic reaction to all of her blood transfusions until……
My brother and I started getting those same bubbly itchy spots. It was Chickenpox! Now none of us felt very well and my brother had to stay at home too. After many days we were all feeling better and the spots stopped itching. My brother now spent the day playing with neighborhood friends. I would quietly play on my blanket, helping all that I could.
Blood, Death, Guilt
Suddenly Mommy started saying that she was hurting and afraid for the baby. Then I saw blood in the bed–at least. In my young mind the blood was everywhere. Fear, death, and guilt flooded my two-year-old mind. Mommy was frantically crying, saying that she was losing the baby. The miracle baby was dying! I was so scared! Was it my fault? Didn’t I take good enough care of Mommy? Was Mommy going to bleed and die too?
I sat frozen as Daddy came home and I was taken to the neighbor’s place again. I knew this meant bad things. So overcome with fear and shame, I sat on the couch at the neighbor’s house, staring at the floor. I didn’t even dare move. Visions of blood and death continued in my head.
When I was back home with Mom and Dad, Mommy was very mad at God beause He let her lose the baby. She and Daddy argued a lot. She was mad at God, and Daddy was using his loud train voice to convince her not to lose her faith. How could they notice their traumatized, frozen toddler sitting quietly in the corner on her blanket? Until…. she protested going to bed when told to and needed a spanking. That just made me feel more scared, abandoned, and helpless.
Nowhere was safe, nothing made sense, and there was nowhere to turn in my terrifying world. As an adult discovering this in therapy, I could sense this young child yelling across time to her Daddy, “Too young to have feelings???!!!!!” Being literally scared to death, what else could my little psyche do but to split off from this abyss of terror and confusion and create another self to share the pain.
Anna
Decades later in therapy we named this first split personality Anna. Anna spent some time in therapy pressed into the corner of the room holding a teddy bear, with nothing but two walls to hug her. My therapist helped her to deal with the panic and terror by validating its reality, telling her that it was “not happening now,” and that in present life she had others to love her and keep her safe.
Between therapy sessions, my adult self would spend time hugging, validating, and crying with this terrified young alter ego. Sometimes Anna would journal and I would write back to her. Sometimes she drew me pictures. Finally she was seen and heard, finally she could talk about her trauma, finally she could imagine safety, finally she could start to heal.
Just Ideas Put into My Head?
As the adult me related this experience to my parents, they did not want to believe it. They would rather believe that it was just “ideas put into my head by my therapist.” There have also been psychiatric professionals who have felt that this is what DID is all about. However, I for one am a witness that this is NOT the case.
The flood of images of blood and death and guilt were coming totally from within my own mind–my own psyche! My therapist said nothing! I struggled to even express what my conscious mind was experiencing in this subconscious state. I had vivid visual images that were coming from deep inside. Just like the two-year-old that experienced this, I was hardly able to tell my therapist what I was experiencing. It was very real and it was my genuine perception of my experience.
But this was only my first split……..