#thriving while multiple

[thrivingwhilemultiple]

Who I was changed regularly, faces coming and going without warning; I was so many, too many, thus I wound up being nobody. Nothing stayed static — I never stayed static — there was no starting point. We were a jumbled, erratic galaxy, a constantly-shifting kaleidoscope of constellations, incapable of being neatly filed into a list.

[thrivingwhilemultiple]

"Why did you get off the bus?" "I don't know. I knew it wasn't my stop."

Life isn't about control. We can't control what it throws at us; we can't control emotions or outcomes; we can't control our recovery timeline. I can't control other Motley members any more than we can just "get over" decades of trauma.

We don't control, we communicate. Cooperate. Become curious and compassionate. We observe, ask questions, listen to understand; we call out for what we need and offer what we can give; we reflect upon past behaviors to unlock the mystery of why.

Why did I say that? Why did I react that way? Why did I avoid that for so long? Why can't I focus? Why do I keep forgetting?

...Why did I get off the bus?

"Why did you get off the bus?"

[thrivingwhilemultiple]

There's a misconception that people with DID can't "hang out" with their different parts; it's old, it’s tired, and I'm tired of hearing it. I might even argue DID survivors end up knowing themselves more deeply and intimately than most.

Group activities bridge the chasms between, and better our ability to get out of each other's way. Sharing space can be a wonderful experience, especially during the boring and mundane. Folding laundry. Picking up the mail. Movie nights. Choosing that day's socks.

We survived together, and we heal together. We laugh, we cry, and then we vacuum our floor together.

Group Activities

[thrivingwhilemultiple]

"What's it feel like to be alive?"

Flesh screams in ways I didn’t realize it could, and after spending the first thirty-plus years of my life as a robot (or plant or stone or mist), becoming human again is confusing. Busy. Bubbly. Buzzy. Loud.

[thrivingwhilemultiple]

Nostalgia is sweet, precious, and tastes like rotting flowers. Reminiscing is like walking through a garden where half of the plants are poisonous, but all look and smell exactly the same. The only way to know is to pick one and see if our skin blisters.

[thrivingwhilemultiple]

It was like I had a remote control to the clock; if I willed it hard enough, I could blink and it really would be a few hours later.

When Today Isn't Today

[thrivingwhilemultiple]

Dissociation whispers to turn our backs, while integration makes room for others to join the circle. Integration brings us together, and that might be the crux of this whole phobic phenomenon: our past taught us that love hurts, that closeness is dangerous, that connection is lethal.

[thrivingwhilemultiple]

Far off in some inner distance, a flame is never extinguished, never diminished. In every despair, at every junction, at every dead-end desperation, there is a stubborn, unyielding glimmer of hope.