The label can be adaptive but we can also adapt to the label. Even unconsciously, we can end up figuring out how we’re ‘supposed’ to be with DID. Via social contagion, we can start to take on the traits and characteristics of other people we meet or know with DID and in contravention of clinical advice (for example, again, the ISSTD Guidelines), we can end up with increasingly elaborated and increasingly dissociated parts of our personality. It is a powerful thing to be amongst people who fully accept and understand why you have parts. And sometimes, after living so long in hiding with a suffocating fear of stigma and discrimination, the result can be that we over-compensate and we become more dissociative. For people who would otherwise be strangers, it is all we have in common: unconscious group pressures can end up inviting us to exaggerate our dissociativeness to fit in. Having parts, and displaying parts, can become a kind of membership card by which we prove that we belong to the group. This can redirect us from the safe expression of parts within the privacy of the home or the safety of a therapy session and towards an ‘alter-centric’ way of relating to others. The label starts to dictate to us.
At other times I have observed the development of a kind of competitiveness among people with dissociative disorders, as exists in every other domain in life. It is not overt or spoken, but a kind of hierarchy based on perceived degrees of traumatisation or dissociation can develop: ‘I’ve got more parts than you’, ‘I have mind control-based DID, not just ‘normal’ DID’. I would always argue that our subjective experience of trauma is what counts rather than tally points from some external ‘scoring system’; and I would also argue that for many of us the rejection and abuse from our mothers is harder to bear than even the most terrifying of organised or ritualised abuse. Sometimes claims of polyfragmentation and ongoing abuse and victimisation can become a kind of ‘badge of honour’: it can be an earnest, unconscious demonstration proving that we cannot recover, rather than the tragic reality of overwhelming suffering that will take a lot of hard work and dedication to overcome.
The net result for many people that I talk to is that they end up feeling as if they are not ‘proper DID’. Measured objectively against diagnostic criteria, they tick the boxes; even their phenomenological experience extensively matches that of most other people’s. But the lingering, murky doubt remains that they are not ‘DID enough’ compared to others. This is where Richard Kluft’s statistic comes in though, where only 6% of people with DID manifest it obviously in an ongoing way. It is therefore logical to assume that if we base our perception of DID on the 6% who shout the loudest (or display their parts the most overtly) then we will be misrepresenting DID, not as the ‘disorder of hiddenness’ that it really is, but as the cockeyed media representation of The United States of Tara. So the label can be adaptive, but not if we then adapt to the label and feel that we have to be more ‘obviously’ DID than we are. By hiding our symptoms, we are actually being consistent with the vast majority, the 94%.