Who’s Up?

Who’s Up?

Last night my husband and I took our six-month-old pup, Bailey, and went out for a walk. I love it when we leave all the electronic umbilical cords at home and just take time to talk.

We were strolling past the park, shuffling through the big oak leaves that showed pale gold, brown, and orange in the street lights, and enjoying the slight nip in the air. As we were chatting about this and that, my thoughts turned to someone we both love and for whom we are mutually concerned.

I  began to explain what I was thinking about telling this loved one if the situation warranted a firmer position than what I’ve previously taken. In the middle of listing what I thought needed to be said, my husband quickly interjected. He told me that I had already said those words, and he even listed off the other things I was about to tell him – I had already said the firm words. But I had no recollection of it. I still don’t.

It is preposterous, what I’m about to say. If you’ve never had this experience it will be hard to relate to…

See, this disturbed me. I was disappointed. I felt a sense of unrest and betrayal. Though it was clearly one of “us” – you know, me, myself, I and all the rest – who gave the advice, I felt kind of stunned. Since two of us are usually up and aware (Cate/Grace), and share co-consciousness, this was very disquieting to discover that there is obviously someone who has not yet identified herself (assuming it’s a “her”) to us, and she takes the main stage sometimes.

It’s not even that my mystery alter said or did anything inappropriate. I couldn’t argue that it was needed counsel she gave, and I was actually relieved that I didn’t have to build up my courage to say hard words because I had already said them. I was even kind of happy that there was agreement “within” on the subject. But I felt like some other “me” stole my place, usurped my authority, spoke out of turn, and didn’t even have the courtesy to tell me about it. And I wondered how often this has happened.

In addition to my own feelings of ambivalence, what about the consequences to others? What if I had another conversation with that person and had no idea that I had already said those words? How awkward would it be to repeat them as if saying them for the first time? Would I even recognize any discomfort as resulting from words I had already spoken? Would I make the leap and catch up if the other person began to address what I said last time?

This isn’t the first time someone has said “You already told me that”.

I know that some chalk it up to getting older, repeating oneself, etc. But I’m not even 60, and my mind is sharp and alert. It’s just that it’s insulting to my sense of fair play, and makes me look weak and foolish in the eyes of others, and I can’t even explain it because that’s a whole can of worms I really don’t want to open.

I wish I had an answer. But as a temporary solution, I’m thinking about installing a bulletin board “inside” and asking my incognito alters to check in once in a while. It would be nice to know who’s up, and who is taking over unbeknown to me.



Jigsaw Puzzle

The other night my husband and I had to work on my system. I had a rough time. I was under physical attack, and ended up meeting three new alters.

The first one apparently already had been ministered to. She is about four years old. She came to look at me up close, and then presented me with a little wooden box. Jesus led her by the hand and took her to the House of Joy. She waved at me as I opened the box. It was a sunflower pin (I’m very partial to sunflowers, but this was entirely unexpected). I was so touched. And relieved: I was afraid it was a box of her memories.

Next one came out, and she was very distraught. She was me at about eight years old. She had some memories of stuff I’ve never seen before, but I know where I was. Being kept captive in the dark in a cubicle with only a cot, and observed by a few men who were shouting at me and cursing from a rectangular window (about 4’ wide x 18” tall) up near the ceiling. That window was my only source of light. I don’t know who they were, but I was in Tulare, California, with my mother’s mother. My parents left my sister and me there while they moved house. I didn’t see much of my sister, though.

I recall that during that visit I went out for a walk in the neighborhood by myself. I remember a sidewalk fair – tables set up selling books and other items. I had a nice time – I have always enjoyed taking walks by myself. On my way back to my grandma’s house a man who was walking behind me quickened his pace to catch up with me. He asked me if my mother was home, and I said no, only my grandma. He asked me to give her a message. He smiled as he said, “please tell your grandma I will be happy to come and f**k with her in her garden any time.” I said okay and he turned and walked away. I had no idea what that word meant, but it was easy enough to remember. When I got back to the house (less than two blocks away), I gave my grandma the message. She immediately turned a sickly ashy color, and looked like she was going to vomit. I was worried but she dismissed me so I went to do something else, leaving her to her distress.

It doesn’t seem like a stretch of the imagination to think that something really bad was going on there, and these people must have been involved with my grandma prior to my arrival. I think there has to be a connection between the men who were keeping me in that dark room and screaming at me, and the man who gave me that message. It seems clear he also knew my mother (that’s another post for another time, but I think it’s all related).

Back to the present time:

We encountered a very strong demon that attacked this little alter; our Guardians came to our rescue, and we also had to call in angels. It took a lot to kill it, but it’s gone (yes they can be killed in the inside place – we’ve seen it many times). My little alter gave the rest of those memories to Jesus, and He healed her. After that He took her to the House of Joy.

One other alter was in her 20’s. She was very distressed, and did not want to talk to my husband. She didn’t trust any man. She had a demon in her, and after it was gone, our Guardians put her in the hospital.

After this, I no longer had the pains that were being inflicted on my physical body in the form of an attack on my entire left side.

Peace and love,


Shining Man – Thoughts on DID 1

I spend a lot of time thinking about DID/MPD because I live with it every day. I wonder how many people I know right now, today, are trying to cope with something they barely understand. How many wish they knew someone with DID so they could talk, compare notes, ask questions, or just be.

A 76 year old man, Ellis Skolfield, wrote a book after working with multiples for over ten years. He wasn’t a psychiatrist or psychologist. He was just someone who knew Jesus and fervently loved all the multis he met – first online, and later even as guests in his home. His book, The Shining Man with Hurt Hands, was truly ground-breaking. He found that if he treated people with DID/MPD as if they were telling the truth, he would learn from them and earn their trust, subsequently earning the ability to help them in their world.

“Therapists and clergymen are probably doing the best they can, but both are using treatments that don’t work. After literally thousands of hours with dozens of multis, I am now of the opinion that MPD is not a mental disorder at all, but a unique multidimensional condition that can be treated by working exclusively in what multiples call their “inside.” Alters are not demons, and in most instances there is nothing wrong with the multiple’s mind.” (Skolfield, 2004)

The signs of DID/MPD are: hearing voices, missing time, seeing an inner landscape of some type, and experience of trauma beginning as a child. There is such stigma attached to DID/MPD that most who suffer do not discuss it with others for fear of being ostracized or ridiculed, or worse, hospitalized against their wishes. Many multiples carry shame that does not belong to them, and the enemy is often able to inflict great damage on them.

“There isn’t any group of people on earth more in need of help than multiples. Of those I have known (well over a hundred), all have been physically, emotionally, sexually abused, or victims of Satanic ritual abuse (SRA), abuses that sometimes continued into adulthood. Some multiples have also been psychologically programmed (translate that brainwashed) by Satanic cults, sadomasochists or occult groups like the Illuminati. Most have few childhood memories, their “mems” as they call them, having been totally blocked out. Since every multiple has been grossly abused as an infant, it is reasonable to conclude that infant abuse is at least one cause of the condition.

“Multis also have a host of chronic physical ailments: diabetes, asthma, hypertension, arthritis, etc., the incidence of these maladies appearing to be far above the statistical norm. Multis also have an impaired sense of touch and diminished peripheral vision.

“Many alters are in severe emotional pain. If a dark alter “gets out” (i.e., gains control of the body), even for a few minutes, there is panic and terror – flashbacks of extreme physical, sexual, or ritual abuse – torture, injury and even death. The emotional pain can be so severe that hurting the body is the only way the alter knows to alleviate his suffering. Arms and legs are slashed with razor blades or broken glass. Dark alters know the difference between a longitudinal and a lateral cut to a vein. They know which is the most difficult to repair and most likely to kill. For some alters, suicide is the goal.

“Others burn the body with cigarettes, candles or hot irons, which explains why many multis wear long-sleeved blouses, even on the hottest summer days. Multiples with dangerous alters keep a good first aid kit on hand to repair the damage done by their dark alters. A  [1]“defender”might want to tell you about the “cutter’ or a “burner” in their system, but in telling you, they are afraid you won’t like them or be their friend anymore, which of course isn’t so.

“All multis are secretive about what they are going through, rightly fearing they would be shunned by society or institutionalized. No wonder so many are suicidal.” (Skolfield, 2004)

Some of my alters definitely were demonized, and their job was to maim and kill me. I’ve cut myself, I’ve been suicidal, I’ve tried to will myself to die when I was very sick, and gone through years of depression. If anyone got too close to discovering what I was doing, I would switch and become a different person, completely throwing them off-balance so they would doubt themselves and leave me alone. It’s been quite a task trying to recreate certain scenes even in the past 15 years, and quite shocking to learn that I am missing time even as recently as a few years ago.

Even though I never attempted suicide, I have died three times. I met Jesus on one of those occasions, and I was on my face before Him, repenting for wanting to kill myself. I realized that life is a gift, and He sent me back to keep living. Eventually I came to understand why I was suicidal, and I have received deliverance and much healing in Jesus’ name.

Years ago I knew a young woman – I’ll call her Annie – who seemed to be many different personalities. She had a blog account on a certain social network account – or rather she had four or five of them. She had attempted suicide several times, and she was a Christian. Her parents got word through some of her friends that she was hospitalized again after cutting, or taking an overdose. I prayed for her a lot, and chatted with her.

Finally I had an opportunity to meet her face to face in (we’ll say) Austin, Texas, when I accompanied my husband on a business trip. I invited her over and we talked and prayed, and since I had my guitar, we even sang some worship songs. There was no doubt that Annie loved the Lord. We had a great visit and each shared a bit of it on our blogs.

After that, I stumbled onto a new account where Annie was going by a very dark name and there were a lot of images of blood and death. I was blown away. I tried to contact her but she wouldn’t answer.

A few weeks later her parents sent word again that Annie was in the hospital again, and she had overdosed on medication so that now she was in a coma. I followed her progress for many months until my husband and I had to move to Trinidad in the West Indies. Her parents were heartbroken over Annie’s condition. Her pastors were unable to explain it. Then I lost touch. I heard that Annie died, never having recovered consciousness. [Update: I contacted an old friend to find out if she heard anything about Annie, and she said she thought she was still living in Texas. I’ll follow this trail as far as it lets me go. I hope I find her.]

At that time in my life, I was in total denial about DID. Since I was in denial, I simply accepted what I had heard – that it meant demon possession. And I grieved over Annie and wondered why God didn’t deliver her.

Now when I re-index my mental files, I see what was wrong with Annie, and I wish I had known then what I know now. I wish I could comfort her parents and help them understand what happened to their daughter. I suppose that’s all you can do in retrospect.

But I’m not satisfied. Now I ask God to show me the truth of DID and to allow me the chance to help others begin their journey to recovery.

If you need an ear, a prayer or just a loving friend to help you sort things out, please reach out. You are loved, and I will pray with you or for you.

In Jesus’ love,



[1] Most multiple systems have one or more “defender” alters. Their purpose is to protect other alters or the body from physical or psychological harm. They usually remain inside, only coming out during times of stress or danger. Defenders are usually open, honest and easy to get along with. I rarely met a defender I didn’t like.

Missing Pieces of Me – Part 1

I had to pray and seek the Lord for a long time in order to get the courage to share these things with my readers, in the hope of helping others find help. This is my first attempt to share my story in public. It’s going to have gaps, because I still have gaps in my memory. I’m missing a lot of time.

I need to share my own memories interspersed with those of witnesses I trust(ed) (most of whom are dead now) in order to try to make sense of things. I’m afraid the narrative is rather lurching and disjointed, and takes on a disturbing shape. But I have to start somewhere. *sigh*

There used to be a family album at my grandma’s house (G. June, my maternal grandma) with a picture of my mother holding me when I was about one year old. My mother, being a former beauty queen, always played for the camera; in this photo, she was wearing a Spanish dancer dress and she was smiling beautifully as she held me up in the air. I had the look of terror on my face – a wild horse stare that showed the whites of my eyes. It is clear that even at such a young age I feared her.

My Nana (my paternal grandma) told me that when I was 18 months old, my father came home from work one day to find me covered with black and blue bruises. My mother apparently told him the babysitter had done this. Nana told me Daddy fired the babysitter, but later he found out that it was my mother who beat me up.

I have a scar in the very center of my forehead, and when I asked about it, my mother claimed it happened when I stood up and fell out of my stroller as she was crossing the street.

I have a large scar just above my right eyebrow (1.5″ wide) that I can’t account for. Neither could anyone else in my family, though I had proof from earlier photographs that it must have happened after I was seven years old – a fact that indicates that I should be able to remember something like this, or at least someone else in my family should.

My first memories are from when I was three years old. We lived in Wichita, Kansas. The house was at least two stories tall with a basement. I had a sister, Christi, who was 15 months younger than I, and a baby brother named Cameron.

My sister and I were upstairs in our bedroom as usual. We were playing with our blow-up reindeer Rudolf. There was a thunderstorm, and lightning hit our chimney and blew a hole in our bedroom wall; I was standing directly in front if it, and by some miracle neither of us were physically harmed.  I remember the fire department sent a truck and a crew over the next day to clean up the bricks and debris from the chimney and the plaster mess in my bedroom. Mom, Christi, Cameron and I sat outside on a bench by the side of the house while the men worked.

The lightning strike traumatized me; I became terrified of the dark and of all thunderstorms, and I began wetting the bed. I remember one morning my mother came into our room, and we were both still sleeping. She uncovered me to find that I had wet the bed. She reached into the closet for a wire coat hanger, grabbed me by my ankle to keep me from getting away,  and beat me on my bare thighs. There were stinging marks and bruises, but my clothes covered them, and I guess Daddy never knew.

We had a parlor downstairs with a big bay window and seat cushions around it where I loved to sit whenever I was allowed to. There was also a grand piano that my dad liked to play. I don’t remember actually ever seeing Daddy at the house, but I know he was home sometimes because he played Moonlight Sonata at night, and I would sneak out into the hall on the landing so I could listen to the beautiful music.

I remember the house across the street burned down and I was told it was because the man who lived there had been smoking in bed.I was very troubled by this and felt sorry for the man who died.

There were other storms, too, and I asked if there were witches in Wichita. I question what a three-year-old child in 1960 would know about witches?! I don’t recall seeing a television set, but I doubt I learned about witches from t.v. I wonder how I had developed an understanding of witches at my age, and why I though storms and darkness were also connected somehow.

During that time, I had a strange fascination with electricity. We had a lamp without a bulb in it on the dresser in our room. It was plugged in, though I think it was switched off. I put my finger down inside the socket because it gave me a dizzy, swirling feeling that tickled in the pit of my tummy and I liked it. I also stuck a bobby pin in the wall outlet (one side only) but I got caught and punished, so I never did it again.

One night I was looking out the window opposite my bedroom at the top of the stairs. It was pitch dark and raining. I clearly remember the triangle formation of lights that landed in the lot next to our house. My father was away on a business trip, and I thought it was his airplane landing. I called down to my mom, “Mommy, Daddy’s plane just landed!” She yelled up that this was nonsense and I should get back in bed. She never investigated and I do not know what those lights were.

After Wichita we packed up and moved to the new state of Alaska.

To be continued…