There’s a lot of public myth about being MPD or DID. Like it’s some kind of “Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde” kinda thing; or “The 18 Faces of Eve”. Maybe it can be kind of like that; I know it can. I can ‘change’ to suit circumstances – and my mood and things like that.
But being MPD isn’t “all bad”. It’s kinda like living with family members. Sometimes you get along – sometimes you don’t. And imagine: you’re living with these family members, and you suddenly find your son has been abused. Your lovely, loving son. Yeah, that’s the one.
So you ‘deal’ with things as ‘things’ come up – just like any normal family would. You try and take care of them. That’s what being “MPD” is all about when the system’s running right. Sometimes it just ain’t so.
But there’s advantages to being MPD/DID and all that kinda inbetween.
You don’t fear going to the dentist so much, knowing you can ‘zone out’ right there on the spot – still retaining composure, able to do the grunting thing when the dentist asks “are you okay?” – but even still: a kazillion and one miles away from anything, including the pain.
You can look at the roof being blown off and think to yourself “my, but we’ve been needing a new roof for years!” Happens to be at just the right time.
I can mix easily with any kind of crowd (though it’s those varied ones that throw me off my mix) – from the “good ol’ boy” redneck gangs to the Northern CEO’s – I can hold my own with the best of them. Been there, done that so many times I can’t even begin to count them.
I’ve gotten braver with mankind: walking up to someone I don’t even know – talking to them, finding a common interest kind of point (whether they’re staring at someone – or my own personal favorite – a guy who looks bored and is leaning against something – cuz’ he’s waiting on his wife, LOL!). Get ’em talking about themselves – and you’ve found yourself a friend. Or at least an acquaintance of some type. I’ve learned a lot of interesting things; quirks and quibbles, and gotten many more laughs than frowns.
Being crazy is like going wonderful: you can be yourself and nobody needs to ‘explain’ you; others accept you as you are – and then you can be free to be yourself (some of the times; it depends on those ‘family feuds’ and things). Being ones self is so important to me and others in my own sense of ‘family’ beings.
Being MPD is also useful in an emergancy (just like dissociation can be: sometimes we’ve found ourselves doing BOTH: putting up a forward entity that can ‘handle things’ – then damping down both “its” emotions while dampening down our own at the same time – all in the name of ‘saving someone’. Not always a fun thing to do, and you’re gonna be paying for that kinda thing later (in one way or another – from bumps and bruises to nightmares and day-come-to-nightmare kinda flashbacks and things. Not a bad thing. Just very …. unsettling sometimes.)
I don’t panic; can’t recall panic since the age of 5 or so (perhaps even earlier: the only time I can really recalling me panicking was when my mother was going to kill me – the year before, then, perhaps – age of 4?) Panic never solved a problem: proper reactions do. Ain’t no use holding your hands up to your face and screaming as you go careening into that there car wreck — you’re much better off steering your way into – or even better, OUT of it than trying to cover your face and scream. (I should know this one by heart; been in over 18 car wrecks in my life. Very good in them; dependable in an emergency.)
Not to say this don’t have faults, either. Like any family – when one member is down, everyone is sick and concerned. “Things” can spread like viruses, infecting first this one and then that – with things like symptoms of major depression coming on, or suicidal thinking, or little impulses coming to engage in some type of self-destructive behavior patterns. But even normal people do that one (engage in destructive behaviors). So I don’t feel so bad. After all, when you consider the odds: got umpateen umpteen ‘children’ and souls living in me: sure there’s gonna be a problem or two as time goes on. These were abused children, by the way, which makes things even more difficult. Including the teen. (There again, you gotta remember: he ‘sprung’ from those abused children ‘in him’.)
But being MPD isn’t a bad thing, not a bad thing at all. Sometimes I find myself comforted, thinking:
At least I’m not gonna die alone. I’m gonna ‘die’ holding my ‘crowd of beings’ – and we’re all goin’ to Heaven or somewhere to do some separate thing. (That it involves work and learning some more, I am no longer doubting – just as I know: each of us will be our own separate being: closer than brothers and sisters, joined in a common knowledge and past.)
I also am easily entertained. I can get off watching ants – or watching some crowd. Or TV and entertainment. And I love . . . so many things – learning about them and all. Including people.
Including myself. Which is the wonder of things: I am MPD, and I can be friends with myself. Something I and all my ‘parts’ are finally beginning to understand.
We can not only be friends.
We can be soul brothers (grinning: there’s one woman thrown in; but hey: we take ’em as they come, LOL! Loving them all.)