THERAPEUTIC PROCESS AND MPD by Corrine Ardoin
When I was a teenager, a horrible realization dawned on me that
I wasn't developing how children were supposed to. I knew the
cause was the cruel treatment dealt by my family. So hateful I
was toward them, and so disappointed in my mother for not doing
something about it all. Feeling helpless and anxiety-ridden, I
knew I could not possibly come out of it okay.
The First Stage of Therapy:
In 1990, nearly fourteen years after I fled my childhood home,
I was diagnosed with multiple personality disorder. What I once
realized was confirmed: I hadn't developed "normally." I heard
voices and I did funny little things that would precipitate a
major mood or behavioral change, things like turning away for a
moment, brushing my hair out of my face, covering my face, etc.
I kept lists of everything to cover for my frustrating inability
to remember things like books I had read, places I had lived, or
jobs I once had. There were duplicate shopping lists, three
different filing systems for the same records, and obsessive
lists for money spent down to the penny. It never failed to
baffle me how they could suddenly become so disastrously
inaccurate and the date on the calendar so far ahead. Where did
the time go?! Where was I? What did I do with all that money?!
Just as frustrating was my displeasure in looking over my
wardrobe. There were so many clothes I knew only the day before
I had been pleased with, but later regretted ever purchasing.
Of course, there was always my trusty T-shirt and jeans, simple
and comfortable, the "real" me. My relationships were also a
disaster, with people I knew and then didn't know, people I was
close to, but yet so distant from when I was in one of my
"moods." When my diagnosis came, I had just ended an affair and
my husband was looking into divorce, though there were times I
asked him, "Why? What's wrong? Why are my things packed?!"
In therapy, my therapist constantly asked me who she was
talking to. Instantly on guard, I panicked that she saw what I
had spent years trying to conceal. Personalities came and went
to try and distract her from such matters. Laughing for no
reason, covering her mouth with my hand and telling her not to
talk, or sticking my nose in the air to act aloof were the
"cute" methods that only served to interest her all the more.
Morose and sullen I became then, telling her to leave me alone
or to shut up, which worked, but created too much distance that
kept me from getting the help I needed.
So obvious was my multiplicity, yet so protected by
dissociation I was that I no longer seemed to know what I once
had known. I seemed to be unable to remember why I cried, why I
hated and feared my mother and father. Having given up, I let
my dissociated parts live my life for me, because I wasn't sure
I really wanted it anymore. In the mean time, more lists were
made, this time of names of the other personalities and their
descriptions. Tom and Annie were the first on the list, the
ones who had taken charge of my life and then my therapy. I was
jealous of Annie, for I loved Tom, but I knew I was not worthy
of love and stayed in my retreat.
Personalities like Me and Very Honest and Thomas were my
helpers at the beginning. They made the lists and provided
information and direction in therapy. They wanted us all to get
the help they knew we needed. Me wanted to be able to feel less
fearful and serious. She knew therapy was the right path to
take. At home, creative personalities, such as Black and Micael
and Scott, were already delving into our more frightening
memories. In dreams and sleep, their images evoked a dark and
hidden force that would soon demand acknowledgment. Images such
as a man in black on a black horse, raring up against a clouded
sky and a furtive, cloaked shadow overtaking me in my sleep,
told of my need to call them forth, urging them to speak.
Poetry and drawings in black ink were ways these tortured souls
could tell our therapist of what knowledge they held. Still,
shrouded in dissociation, I had not a clue.
Playful distractors, sad and angry protectors all came to test
the therapist, giving occasional clues to what lay ahead.
Through play and artwork, these personalities set the stage for
memory work later in therapy, telling of a dissociative and
abusive mother and a strange father who once had a disturbing
interest in the occult only to later become a "Jesus Freak" and
a deacon in the Catholic Church. They told of our hometown, a
rural area where feuding and drive-by shootings were commonplace
and where girls had mysterious nervous breakdowns or became
pregnant. It was a place where vans and trucks and bearded men
were something to fear. There were things that went on at
night, too, as they would later tell.
As always there came the denial personalities, distracting from
our work and chatting about various concerns, jobs and money,
children and married life. Their purpose was to reduce the
anxiety caused by "telling," the most forbidden act that was
sure to be followed by severe punishment. Punishers inside saw
to it we were properly reprimanded. Burns and cuts, bumping
into things, falling down stairs, threats to push me off a
ledge, were a few means to see that we were reminded, "Don't
tell!" Our fear of them very real, we didn't know until years
later, these frightening personalities were little children.
There was Bumblebee, age three, and Trickster, age eleven. With
lots of candy, these and other playful imps were coaxed into
helping us to access various personalities they faithfully
guarded.
By 1993, our list had grown to nearly one-hundred
personalities, many who had yet to attend therapy. I had made a
few discreet appearances, meek and confused, struggling with
being female and afraid of what the others had been telling our
therapist. I had been learning about dissociation and MPD and
was beginning to see the role it played in my life, especially
my childhood. I thought of the personalities as separate people
and they themselves believed they were separate. I cherished
them all and secretly paged through our portfolio to see their
self-portraits and think about these people I never saw. My
special love was always Tom and he became quite attentive to my
needs. He paid me secret visits in hypnopompic imagery to speak
of his devotion to me and he even quit his job to make my life
safer and less stressful. My husband a faithful provider, my
job was extra, more like something the male personalities did to
feel independent of him. It took them time to accept Tom's
decision to remain unemployed and financially dependent on my
husband.
With this move, the greater feeling of safety was achieved and
we began to prepare for the next stage of therapy. This period
of preparation appeared at first like stagnation. My therapist
occasionally questioned why I never showed my emotions. Scott
and others shared that they didn't have any emotions, though
they felt as a dam ready to break with a torrent of rage. They
tested her constantly. Can she handle our anger? Will she
still like me once I've told her what I've done? I want to tell
her what I think about, but I don't know if it matters or not.
Why can't I just say it?! The period of individualizing each
personality was ending and they all knew that ahead lay work,
emotional and painful.
The Middle Stage Of Therapy:
Mine was an awakening psyche. The newness of my present-day
world and fear of my past was being expressed in body and soul,
in dreams and sudden dissociative flights of imagination.
Amnesia barriers were fading away and co-consciousness was
spreading. It was the desire to cooperate with each other, the
need to communicate that brought this about, they knew, and now
regretted, for they had just begun to really live. Dreams of
funerals, Death in somber gray hues, symbolized for them their
end and questions came back unanswered, "I am a real person,
aren't I?" Then longing followed as they each felt their
separateness as a great gulf that kept them from the one they
loved. They weren't really going to die, their longing told
them that much. Each was merely changing from being an
individual with a life of his or her own, to becoming a part of
a much greater being.
With their longing for love providing the impetus and
motivation necessary to continue forward, one by one,
personalities began to share what went on in their head. With
this came denial all over again. Someone's fear of telling
became another's doubt of what was being said. This in turn
caused a retraction of what was said and a return into stubborn
denial. Still, it was said and progress was gradually made.
Knowledge of the truth, that we were severely abused not only by
family members but by destructive groups of people outside the
home, could not be repressed again. It was said and its affects
spread throughout. Tears of rage and grief began to flow and we
were at last opened up.
The first to abreact memories in therapy, were such persons as
Brian and Bill. As Scott often had alluded to, they showed
destructive programming at work. Little did we realize, our
curiosity in such matters actually induced abreactions. We
poured over books at the library until the triggering was felt,
and then in therapy the memory would come. So anxious to get on
with things in therapy, our desire to know the truth became
another's need to reveal the truth. Our reading about
triggering subjects desensitized us to the details of each
trauma and gave others a nudge to let go of the memory they were
too afraid to voluntarily release. The dreams and other imagery
we had experienced months before, were about these more
difficult losses we suffered as a child. Screaming in my dream
when I saw someone, used to confuse me. It was the greater
knowledge and experience that only time can bring, that taught
me these dreams were a clue that a memory concerning that
person, was coming. I could prepare for its arrival, go through
my dance of doubt, fear, and denial until I grew accustomed to
the subject. Then, relaxed and the whole thing forgotten, the
memory could come again with personalities sharing their grief
and rage, with me looking on, knowing and disbelieving it
happened to me.
Recognizing our triggers by this time was more like a treasure
hunt, something new discovered about ourselves. Earlier in
therapy, denial was strong and triggers were treated more like
hallucinated demons that pursued us mercilessly though evaded
our recognition. With the past and its affects being talked
about and compassion for each other growing, we no longer were
satisfied with our ignorance, so denial weakened and our
awareness of the truth strengthened. Triggers were then
acknowledged, almost with a laugh, "Here we go again!" Emotions
concerning what was triggered were validated and, little by
little, we felt more assertive with the self-esteem of a
healthy, real person rather than an invisible being.
By the start of this year, 1994, trust in our therapist was
well established along with the basis of the traumas I had
experienced. Denial was gone and everyone in therapy was
beginning to learn they were parts of me dissociated by these
traumas. Tom came to therapy less frequently, mostly to assert
his masculinity, for many of the memories revolved around female
victimization. He was no longer a real man, but part of a woman
and that was excruciatingly humiliating to him. Humbled by that
admission, though, he soon became an accepted member of the
"inside family" and finally began to hear the voices, too.
Words of love and friendship kindled the knowledge that he would
integrate into me, symbolized by a sexual union and marriage he
realized he longed all his life for. My own appearances in
therapy were marked by major concerns that things were going on
without me. Like a party for me that I was not invited to,
everyone worked through memories I could not yet place in my
life nor could I begin to keep track of them in my mind. I
wanted to be acknowledged, no longer just a helpless vessel that
contained so much vitality which the others enjoyed. Hearing me
well, records of our memories began to be kept, carefully typed
and organized.
With nearly one-hundred and twenty personalities listed and
known, I gradually became recognized and many dreamed of me as a
house they longed to live in someday, though it needed work to
make it livable. They were not just parts of me, they were me
in various identities and behavioral states, me in Child-Self,
me in Masculine and Feminine, Light and Dark. The desire to
become one, our love for one another and the desire to heal gave
us strength to continue, though the memories we were getting
were reaching nightmarish proportions. Personalties like Mary
had been appearing to me in dreams and other imagery, sometimes
as an angel or pinpoint of light and once as myself robed in
white. She gave us the feeling of being loved and safe, so
necessary to us all along our journey. Discovering this
spiritual strength, I believe, is a necessary step in the
therapeutic process, for how can one bear the horrible truths
and retain such healing qualities as compassion and faith in
humanity?
Through this stage in therapy, there also arose a profound
truth, that of why the personalties developed as they had.
Roles were played as each part was dissociated during trauma.
Second names like Scott's "The Dreamer" and David's
"Mindbender," were then understood. As Scott The Dreamer would
sleep, this created a protective wall, so Mindbender David could
carry out his programmed role, that of participating in harmful
ceremonies the rest of us could not handle. Micael "The Joker,"
could cajole our abusers into being humored by us, possibly
preventing more abuse. Sheila "The Baby-sitter," could take
care of little ones inside while Tom Black, "The Incredible
Hulk," fought off attackers. The realization is made then that
these people weren't always the people we know and love today.
They began as repeated dissociations caused by repeated
traumatic experiences, my mind learning through repetition to
divide into various identities so I could be what I needed to be
to survive at any given time. Compartmentalizing experiences
this way, my various identities developed separately, each
coping with the abuse in "his" or "her" own way. That is why
memories are so fragmentary, because of the experiences having
been broken up by multiple dissociations.
Today, with one-hundred and forty-three personalities now
listed, to cope with what they each share and what role they
played, my therapist carefully reframes each experience. This
also sets healing into action. Within this process, another
necessary step is acceptance of each personality as my own
self-once-disowned, whether they were addicted to heroin, a
prostitute, or a stalker. My therapist also reframes what each
had been taught to believe long ago by destructive groups. She
helps us to see in ourselves that negative beliefs and
conditioned responses were forced upon us, they were never from
us or something we wanted to be. Seeing ourselves beneath the
programmed or conditioned role, we feel the loss of love and
power and freedom. So much we needed of these things and so
often we were denied them each time we were forced to play a
role. Experiencing each personality in anguish over the loss of
love, seeing they are indeed a gentle soul, that they are a part
of me, I long to take them in my arms and give them all the love
they need. First, it took compassion for the individual, then I
knew each was who I once was, alone and crying for someone to
care. I then remembered being there and I cried more that it
was so awful and that no one even came to help me. But, someone
did, I hear inside my head, and I thank them all, amazed at our
determination to live.
Approaching The Final Stage Of Therapy:
Healing all the many wounds sets other important inner
processes in motion. Letting go of my outside mother and father
and finding within me the good mother and father I need is one
such process. Having been sexually assaulted many, many times,
my body needs great, loving care, as does my self-esteem. Being
female meant so many negative things when I was being
victimized. Now, I realize I must someday own my femaleness,
reframe it into something good. I thank my male personalities
for having taken care of me, though I know my once-rejected
gender is what created them. So, I find within me my many
lovely female parts that have been protected so well and now
share them with the world, bringing them out of hiding. The
male personalities are relieved of their duties as protectors
and instead allow themselves to drop their armored shells and
feel their vulnerability and fear while we take care of them.
All of these processes could only have come about by first
remembering and sharing and getting out of us all the pain that
we harbored within. All the damaging images need to be
externalized and reframed. All the dammed-up emotions need to
be expressed and validated. During all of this, it needs to be
said again and again that judging the memories for truthfulness
only keeps us from expressing those emotions locked within.
That is what is most important, not the details or factuality of
the memories. What is discovered anyway, is that our memories
are not just of external events, but also of internal events
that have their characters as well. Inner and outer events can
be confused with one another during memory work. Therefore, it
is best not to judge what is being said, just to let it be said
and have patience for the sorting-through to come on its own.
When that time comes, doubt hasn't a chance, because it is the
time of, "Ahhhh! Now, I remember!" It is the time when mystery
faces are suddenly recognized and events are placed in time,
when associations can be made and knowing comes to us at last.
The gifts received in plenty through all the pain of
remembering, are the regained losses. Working through fear and
shame, I regain my trust, spontaneity, and innocence. Working
through rage and grief, I regain personal power, energy, and
strength. In other words, grieving the losses uncovers them
where they have been safely kept, waiting for the help we prayed
would someday come. They cannot be realized without first
letting go of pretending, denial, avoidances, manic behavior,
and other coping methods that protect them. Process, each step
along the way only attained because of the step taken before
that and before that, each piece interwoven into the next and
affecting each other all along the way. It is the way therapy
works, the way we heal.
As we continue in our journey, always towards wholeness, I keep
in mind, whether heroin addict or guardian angel, all are parts
of me. No, I didn't develop how children are supposed to and my
childhood is long gone, but I have all my parts. Are they
really separate people? Within the mind, they are separate
people until the amnesia barriers come down. Then they become
again the many parts of me once dissociated away, gradually
returned to me as precious gifts, loved and cherished every one!
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