Missing Pieces of Me – Part 3

Trigger Warning – I really hate those words but please use wisdom reading this. Pray first, and if necessary either read with someone you trust, or do not read it. Some of this is necessarily more explicit than I wish it to be; I have spared the reader most of what I remember.


In 1964 we moved down to the California desert so my father could be near his mother (my Nana). We went from riches to rags, and my father tried a few jobs while he was running from his cancer. He became a deputy sheriff, and we were fairly settled for a little while in a small town called Desert Hot Springs, California.

One day I was outside, standing in the desert alone, and I remember that God spoke to me. He told me that I would have three children, and I would heal people. I didn’t know God at the time, and since my family didn’t have a religion, I didn’t know that Jesus was God’s Son, either. However, I implicitly believed that what God told me was true. These words helped to carry me through some of the darkest days of my life, and no matter where I have been, I have always kept them hidden in my heart.

When I was in the second grade, we began moving around a lot. We moved all over the Mojave Desert – Palm Springs, North Palm Springs, Yucca Valley, Desert Hot Springs and other places. I do remember that we even tried Prescott, Arizona and South Pasadena, California for a brief time. I went to five different schools in the second grade. After that I have no memory for several years.

We eventually moved back to the high desert, and settled down in Morongo Valley, California for a while, and that was the beginning of supernatural occurrences that were to plague my life for years.

My mother had decided to take up with a Metaphysical group (Ding Le Mei) in the high desert, and eventually got mixed up with Transcendental Meditation, Sant Mat (The Path of the Saints) – Ascended Masters (I call those demons descended bastards now), and was forcing us kids to be vegetarians. My father wasn’t keen on it, and there were a lot of fights between the two of them.

One Thanksgiving in defiance of my mother, Daddy let Cameron eat as much turkey breast as he wanted to, since Cammy was the only one brave enough to take Daddy up on the offer. He was so full he couldn’t poop or puke – he just rolled in agony on the couch for a while until he could finally digest some of it.

It was shortly after that I was awakened one night by my father. He had been drinking, and they had been fighting; he told me he was leaving my mother and asked me if I wanted to come with him. I wanted to desperately, but I was so afraid of my mother that I said no. It was a terrible choice, and I cried all night after he left. And though my father came home the next day, a great big crack began to form in my trust of him and what little sense of well-being I had.

I had to be eleven or twelve by this time, because there were six of us kids now –Christi, Cameron, Clifton, Clayton, Carlyn, and me. The boys had one bedroom and the girls had another. My parents slept on a sofa-bed in the living room.

My sister, Christi, and I shared a double bed, and my baby sister, Carlyn, slept in a playpen. One night, Christi was already sleeping, but I laid awake listening to the sounds of “Laugh-In” on the television, when suddenly at the foot of my bed Satan appeared. I knew he was bad, though I didn’t know who he was at that time. He was wearing a top hat and a tuxedo coat and tails – kind of like Fred Astaire – but he appeared in photo-negative image, and he was laughing at me. So his body was all black and his tuxedo appeared white, even though I could tell that it was the opposite.  I was frozen with fear and could not move until he had had his laugh and finally left me alone. Then like a shot I was up and out of my bed, running into the living room and climbing, sobbing, into my daddy’s lap. I told him what I saw, and he didn’t believe me, but he tried to comfort me by telling me that it was just a bad dream. I don’t know where in the house my mother was at the time, but there was always this sense of her disapproval that hovered over us like a bad angel and forced us to separate before we could incur her wrath. I stayed up for a few minutes, sitting on Daddy’s lap with my arms around his neck, watching Goldie Hawn’s foolishness on the television screen, and then Daddy sent me back to bed.

When my mother punished me, there was anger, rage, disgust, inconvenience, resentment and even hatred but never, ever love. But I can’t remember my father ever hitting me. When my father disciplined me, there was love in it. Even if I was punished for something dangerous or irresponsible, it seemed clear that he had fear of harm being done to me, or other genuine concern mixed with love.

But he did some things that didn’t make sense, especially as I look back on them. I had a horror of spiders, and a fact of living in the desert: there are spiders everywhere. Each morning after we got up and had breakfast, if it wasn’t a school day we all went out to play except the littlest sister. One time Daddy was already outside sitting in a chair and he called me over to him to come give him a kiss. I happily went to say good morning and he brought out a mason jar with a live tarantula inside. I screamed, and he made me come near to see it. I don’t know what he was thinking, but it certainly solidified my terror of spiders and robbed me of sleep for many nights afterward.

We had a goat pen down below our house, and Daddy also had a cage with homing pigeons and a kinkajou he had bartered with the landlord to get (the pic at the top of this page is a kinkajou). The kinkajou was nocturnal, and I thought it was beautiful, but I was afraid of it. Daddy called me into the cage to sit with him while he held it. He wanted me to touch it and hold it, but I was afraid. I asked him if it could bite me, and he said yes. I asked if it would hurt, and he said yes, but not very much and that after it had bit me once I would be satisfied and understand not to be afraid. I just couldn’t do it. Not long after, the kinkajou escaped into the desert and we never found it.

There was one day I came home from school in the fourth grade and handed my dad a note. It was permission to attend a class telling about human reproduction. He called it “sex education” and I nearly fell through the floor. I never said that word, and couldn’t believe Daddy said it to me. I was so embarrassed, and my mother called me a prude back then. It was a different time in our country, when the Miss America and all lesser pageants were promoting the sex goddesses but everyone else was supposed to be normal and modest. Of course, teenagers in high school were given a certain amount of latitude and the beach party movies were forbidden to me.

One day we were locked out of the house – all six of us kids. My brother Cameron was very rebellious and he found a way to break into the house. After that, my dad called us all into the house and had a talk with us. Apparently my brother had found my parents having sex. Daddy said, “Your mother and I were doing what’s called ‘fucking’.” He must have thought my brother would come out with some story to tell that would have been frightening or confusing, so he decided to clear it up for us. Looking back I realized that there were many other euphemisms or descriptions he could have used, but given the state of their relationship, that is the one that most closely fit his feelings for our mother.


We had to move from that house and I guess we sold the goats and gave the homing pigeons back to the landlord. We moved to a dilapidated place called Morris Ranch in Morongo Valley. Apparently this was the site of a feud at one time, and in the barn Daddy discovered a hidden cache of guns and ammo. He was worried about booby traps and animal traps on the property possibly hurting one of us kids, so he carefully went over the areas that we were allowed to play in, and he forbade us to go anywhere else.

That was the house where little Clifton pulled the boiling hot coffee percolator off the counter and had to be rushed to the hospital miles away. He came home bandaged from head to his waist and some on his legs. It was just awful.

Our mother picked up a couple of hippies and invited them to stay with us at that house. I don’t know where she met them, but they seemed to be involved in the same metaphysical stuff she was into. Daddy privately told me they were worthless bums just sponging off of us, and he didn’t want them staying there.

I don’t remember leaving Morris Ranch, and I don’t know where we lived in between, but eventually we moved to Pine Cove, California, where Nana and Don (my step-grandpa) had bought a duplex (upper and lower units). We moved in, with Nana and Don living upstairs and us downstairs. It was a two bedroom house, so Daddy set up three sets of double bunk beds in one room for us kids, and he and our mother had the other room. It was tight.

My dad had a pet rat named Buffy, and she was really cute. She was pretty young, but she was very friendly and we loved her. I remember at the end of a school year my science teacher asked if someone would take home the class pet rat, and I volunteered. My mother was mad at me for bringing him home, but I was allowed to keep him there for a while. One day I wanted to let Buffy play with him, and so I let them into the same cage. My mother came out and slapped my face and called me a slut, and it was only later that I found out that she thought I meant for them to mate. How that would have made me a slut (I didn’t yet know the meaning of the word), I have no idea. The visiting rat was removed from our home, and I assume he was returned to the teacher.

I remember going to the store for my dad once. He had given me a $20 bill and a note to buy cigarettes for him, and I had to get milk and something else. The people who owned the store also ran it. Mr. K rang me up and it wasn’t until I got home that I found out that he short-changed me $10. Daddy asked me what happened, and so I went back and told Mr. K that he didn’t give me my ten dollars. He denied it and treated me like a stupid little child. I had to go home and tell Daddy that he wouldn’t give me back the money. I guess this was supposed to be a lesson in responsibility. But to my mind, it was unjust, and this was one situation where I decided I would take exactly ten dollars’ worth of merchandise from that store if they wouldn’t give me the money back. So I did. I never got caught. My conscience bothered me a little bit because I didn’t steal stuff for the family, knowing I would get in big trouble. I took cookies and candy and stuff like that, and stashed it where nobody could find me eating it. I was always hungry, and my conscience didn’t hurt me all that much.

We eventually found a bigger house several miles away in Idyllwild and moved. Then the boys had their own bedroom and so did us girls, and we shared a wall with our parents, whose bedroom was on the other side. There was a big living room and dining area and a small galley kitchen. There was a shop/garage area and soon after, another goat pen. This house was down on Tollgate Road, and we lived there through my eighth grade.

One day I got kicked between the legs at school. There was blood. My mother took me to a doctor and I didn’t know why. He wasn’t our family doctor, and I had never met him before. I had to be forced onto that exam table in front of him, and had to “ride the stirrups” as my mother crudely put it; I think that was the first time I truly felt like I wanted to die. Nothing prepared me for what he was going to do to me, and my mother was grim and unhelpful. All I could understand from her talk was that the girl who kicked me might get sued for ruining something inside of me – much later I learned that it was my hymen – and apparently the doctor confirmed that the blood came from surface lacerations. On that day I had an odd mixture of feelings. Aside from wanting to die, my mother had taken interest in me and hadn’t made me go back to school. It was the closest thing to positive attention I had received from her in a long time. But I didn’t know her personal, selfish reasons for that whole thing. For her pride was everything. Appearances were everything. It didn’t matter what went on privately as long as it wasn’t made public knowledge. How anyone would have known if I was still a virgin was not the important thing, and it was entirely possible that I had already had reconstructive surgery to restore virginity that had been taken from me by then, and she was checking on her investment, or making sure her slave was still intact. It certainly wasn’t because she cared about me or did the things that normal mothers did for and with their daughters.

Daddy took me to buy my first brassiere – my mother was far too jealous of me to do that. I remember pulling up to the store in a strip mall that my Nana recommended, and Daddy was singing a little song: “zeer, zeer, zeer we’re going to buy Cate a brassiere”. I saw a boy from school in the parking lot; I was mortified so I begged Daddy not to sing that song. He stopped singing the words, but kept humming the little tune as we walked into the store. It was a store that only sold women’s foundation items. A lady helped me find the proper bra and a girdle, since that was my Nana’s recommendation. I was somewhere around 12 years old, and I have no idea why I needed a girdle. I was a beanpole, tall and lanky and I guess it was just what someone from my Nana’s generation would do so she thought it was appropriate. Anyway, I got a bra and girdle that fit and Daddy bought it for me. We went to Nana’s house, and I was made to model it in front of Daddy and Nana. I was mortified. But my relief over not having to go with my mother outweighed my embarrassment, so I counted myself lucky.

I didn’t get another bra until a year or so later when a box of clothes came to us. They were hand-me-downs from a family we were friends with. They had a teenage daughter who was older than I. I found two lovely flower-patterned bras that I just fell in love with – one turquoise and one pink. I sneaked them out of the box, and ran to try them on in the bathroom. They were 32B and they fit me perfectly. I had quit wearing my other bra because it was too small and tight on me; I was happy because now I could go to school without embarrassment over what showed through my shirt. Then to my horror my mother asked me what happened to the bras: I didn’t know she knew about them. I swallowed hard and told her I took them. She said; “Did they fit?” I said yes. She just said “Oh” and walked away. Inside I was doing a happy dance because she didn’t beat me or slap me and she let me keep them!!

I think it was a natural reaction for me to shut my mind to all things sexual about my mother, because she made me feel so humiliated. Her attitudes toward me being a prude and a puritan, alternating with calling me a slut and a vixen, and anything else insulting she could say to me or about me to strangers, told me that sex was something I didn’t want any part of and I was mortified to even discuss it. Somehow I had developed modesty, and I considered sex and sexuality to be a very private matter – one I didn’t suppose I really would want to experience, except perhaps with Bobby Sherman or Davey Jones from the Monkees, and that was only in my fantasies that we would kiss and hug. I had no erotic ideas, I simply wanted love.

When I was 12 years old or maybe 13, I was allowed to go sing in the choir at the local Community Presbyterian Church. Nana was the church organist and she also ran the choir. One day after coming out of church after choir rehearsal, a man approached me and said I was quite the lovely young lady, and he noticed my chest and asked me if that was all me. I was shocked. I must have nodded my head and then he said well why don’t we go behind the church and you can prove it to me. I felt like a target, and by the grace of God I was able to get away from him. I was mortified by this incident and when I got home I told my mother about it. She said whatever you do don’t tell your father because he would go and kill the man. She did not try to comfort me or reassure me in any way, but instead gave me the impression that it would be a punishable offense if I disobeyed her. But the problem ate away at me until finally one day I decided to tell Daddy about it. He told me that my mother had already told him about it. He was sick in bed that day and he did not have much in the way of reassurance for me, but I did not hold it against him. However, I felt betrayed by her. It was just another way for her to maintain control of the narrative. She thrived on controlling information; information was power.

The one time my mother seemed to take an interest in me was for my 14th birthday. But the way she did it was so sadistic that it scarred me. She conspired with my last period teacher to keep me after school for detention, and I was told my mother would be coming in. I was made to wait out in the hallway, and when my mother showed up she had a big paper bag in her hands and she told me to stay in the hallway and went into the class. I nearly vomited from fear. After about 30 minutes I was told to come inside. It was a surprise party and there were about half a dozen girls there – most of whom couldn’t stand me because I was so “weird”. I received my first pair of panty hose, in public, and the whole thing was the worst humiliation I could remember having received from her up to that point.


I was 14 years old the summer that Daddy left us.

I had just come back from a summer retreat – conservation camp in Idyllwild, a week hiking and camping with a bunch of other girls, compliments of an anonymous donor. It was summer, and school was going to start shortly. I had a wonderful time learning how to short-sheet beds, telling ghost stories, cooking, and gaining some insight from kind and friendly adults who were not busy dying, or finding ways to punish me. Of course, the fun I had was so all-consuming, and the week blew by before I knew it. I even developed a relationship with a “boyfriend” – forever in my memory he is GI Joe – he taught me how to play Cribbage.

My mother was even more vicious once I returned. It was probably because her cook, housekeeper and babysitter was not available and she had to do something besides sit on her can and draw pictures of her dream farm, eat candy, smoke cigarettes and drink coffee and mete out punishment to my siblings.

One night shortly after my return, I heard a commotion in my daddy’s room, and since it wasn’t yet bedtime, I came out of my bedroom (shared with two sisters) and my mother told me that she had just beaten Daddy up in bed. I was horrified, but she had a wild look in her eyes, as she huffed and puffed, and was clearly proud of what she had done. I was mortified. I couldn’t understand it. Why beat up Daddy? He was already so sick he couldn’t eat, and what little he tried to drink always came back up. I was ashamed and afraid, and I went to my room and got in bed and covered my head so nobody would see me cry.

Daddy started telling my mother he had a lot of pain in his guts, and she told him it was all psychosomatic – a word she had learned and felt she was qualified to dispense. Of course, I boiled the syringes and needles that he needed for daily injections of Demerol for pain, so I knew that at least one doctor thought my daddy’s pain was real. A few more days and Daddy said he suddenly felt something burst and the pain wasn’t nearly as bad. He went to the hospital but they couldn’t figure it out, so they sent him home. While he was gone I went to his bedroom to get something and stumbled upon an envelope with a list scrawled on it. It looked like a will – parting out his possessions to the six of us kids. I asked him about it and that was the first time I realized he was really going to die. I had no place to put this information, nothing in me could accept it. I simply watched and worried.

He dropped so much weight he looked like a frame with little flesh on, and he was getting sicker and sicker. The last time I laid eyes on him, he was gaunt and almost as grey as stone, wearing his maroon bathrobe and some old slippers, climbing into the back seat of his mom’s maroon Cadillac so he could lie down. Nana was taking him to Loma Linda University Hospital near San Bernardino. It was going to take more than an hour to get there.

Days passed and I asked if I could see Daddy. Mother said no, that children weren’t allowed. Then one day my Uncle Rob (Nana’s brother) came to pick me up and take me to San Berdoo to stay with him and Aunt Doris for a few days. I had no idea what was going on, but I knew it couldn’t be good. Everything seemed so far away, and I felt like I was sleepwalking. I often went for walks by myself in the neighborhood. One day I came back to find my mother waiting for me. She took me to the room I was using, and sat me down to tell me a story. It was a convoluted fairy tale about reincarnation and Descended Bastards, and as she waxed eloquent with a gleam in her eye, I cut her short, bluntly asking if she was trying to tell me that my Daddy was dead. She was displeased but chose not to slap me this time. She said yes, he was dead. Then she said that Daddy saw Jesus and (her ascended) Master before he died. I didn’t even know what to do. Everything began to recede from my view, and I caught myself before I fainted. I said not one word to her as I left her sitting on my bed.

Uncle Rob and Aunt Doris were sitting in the living room with stunned worry marking their faces. I said, “Did you think I was going to scream and throw a fit?” And I walked out the door.

I didn’t know God yet.  After years of my mother forcing all of us to be vegetarians while she pursued her “Descended Bastards”, I still knew nothing of God. Metaphysical and dark spiritual teaching clouded my mind, and as I walked and cried out to the sky, I found that I had no hope left.

Back home, it was forbidden for us kids to cry. We were not to show our grief because our mother didn’t want the pity of strangers. Nana came to visit us when she could, though our mother didn’t like her, and now had the power to keep her away. On one of her rare visits, I learned that Daddy had asked for me to come and visit in the hospital. It wasn’t against the rules after all, but my mother had the power to prevent me, and so she did. That afternoon my sister Christi, my brother Cameron and I went out to the garage and stood in a sort of circle and just wailed our pain. There were no words that could express our devastation. We weren’t safe even out there. Our mother opened the door and savagely ordered us to stop crying and get to the house.

Our neighbor, Mrs. Reppe, cooked up a giant pan of stuffed cabbage and sent it over for us to eat. Our mother wasn’t at home, so we went ahead and started eating. There was meat in it, and we knew we’d get in trouble for it, but we were so hungry we ate it anyway. When she returned, she was really angry, and told me to take the pot of food back to our neighbor. I don’t know what she thought when she found that we had eaten part of it. I only know that we got away with eating it, even though there was meat in it, and we truly wished we could have eaten the rest of it.

I realized early on that Barbara (mother) could order us not to grieve because she had no grief herself! I knew about her affairs, and she had already had a man into our home, into my father’s bed, and later she came up with some insane story that she was pregnant and that it was Daddy’s baby, and that this child would be the reincarnation of my father. She must not have known that Nana had told me Daddy had a vasectomy some time back because he was afraid he would pass down his sickness to a baby, and was already worried about my littlest sister and brother. Because of what Nana told me, I knew that the child could not be Daddy’s, and I didn’t believe for one moment my mother’s stupid story about reincarnation. But if she was being nice for the moment, I figured I didn’t want to press my luck, so I stayed quiet about it and decided to wait and see what happened.

At school I had heard rumors about the man who came to see my mother and sleep with her; he was married. I knew his kids. In fact there were rumors that his two youngest were caught simulating sex with each other because he had sex with his wife in front of his kids; at least that was the story. I was mystified by all of this, and very worried. It was very awkward for me on the night all six of us kids and our mother went to spend the night at his house with his family. I kept feeling guilty, like we shouldn’t be there, because I knew my mother was sleeping with the husband and father of this family. She didn’t have the good sense to be ashamed, but I was embarrassed for all of us.

A few weeks later I asked her about the baby. She said oh it was a false alarm, and there was no baby. I couldn’t believe how blithely she said it, as if she had just reported the weather forecast. The teeny tiny hope I had that a baby would make life better got dashed to the ground, along with the rest of my trust. That day the newly formed icicles in my heart grew to stalactite proportions, and I think that was the first time I wished my mother had died in place of my daddy.


After Daddy died, I constantly dreamed that he was really still alive and that this was just a conspiracy to get him away from my mother. In my dreams he was sick and I was going to find him and heal him; this went on for 17 or 18 years, and it was a form of torture. Every time I would dream about him, I would wake up crying. I cried out that I couldn’t take it anymore.

School started and I was grieving terribly. I had to keep it inside, and it made it hard for me to keep up my grades. One day my music teacher asked to speak to me as I was on my way to lunch. He said he was worried, he could see I wasn’t doing well. I panicked and told him everything was fine, just fine! I begged him not to say anything to anyone else about it because I didn’t want to get in trouble with my mom. I was sweating it all night, and the next morning I came to school dressed in the most ridiculous costume, almost like a clown, and as I entered his classroom, I walked up to his desk and told him I was fine – just fine. He told me I didn’t have to pretend, and he commented on my silly clothes. Once more I insisted that I was fine, and there was no need to speak to my mother. My terror of her was so complete, I was sure that if he asked to speak to her, that she might beat me or do something worse. As far as I know, he let it rest.

For me, the “truth” I desperately clung to was that Daddy would never have allowed me to marry that guy that was seven years older than me when I was 17 (more on that later). He would never have allowed my mother to do the things she did. Since it wasn’t his fault that he was sick and dying for seven years, then it meant that if he was healthy he would not have allowed me to continue to be used as a slave by my mother, and he would have allowed me to have friends. He would have encouraged me when I got straight “A” grades in school instead of allowing my mother to threaten me and telling me that my accomplishments didn’t mean as much because it was easy for me. He wouldn’t have allowed her to compare me unfavorably to my sister who got C and D grades. He would have somehow made my mother be a real mother. He would not have found it necessary to take me into his room and pretend to beat the bed instead of me to pacify her, and he wouldn’t have to tell me to cry out so the lie wouldn’t be discovered. He would have been allowed to spend as much time with me as he wished without apology, and somehow she wouldn’t be allowed to degrade and humiliate me, call me ugly, tell me I was an accident, and do all the sneaky, mean things she did to me on a regular basis.

I had no privacy where my mother was concerned. When I started my period she went behind me and checked to see if there was really menstrual blood on my sanitary napkin after I had already disposed of it. I was humiliated. It seemed like I was denied the dignity of every feminine rite of passage. I compared my plight to that of my sister, who had supposedly started her period before me. My mother made such a big deal out of her, and said she was becoming a woman. I think it was her way of covering her eyes to the rape that her boyfriend had perpetrated on my sister.

Barbara was good at lying, even to herself, and believing those lies as a way of self-preservation. She suffered from delusions of grandeur. She sincerely felt my dad held her down after we moved to California – that he had gotten in her way of succeeding as , having the nerve to be dying and requiring assistance that she was entirely unwilling to provide. She hated him even more after he was dead and spoke bitterly to us about him, trying to poison his memory for us.

She fancied herself a teacher, and her students were men. She had some nasty books that illustrated sexual positions that had something to do with chakras, and after Daddy died, her boyfriend (the married man with several kids) would come over and they would do embarrassing yoga positions in the living room. I suppose that was their foreplay because us kids were sent to bed, and they ended up thrashing around on my father’s bed – on the other side of the wall I shared with them in my bedroom.


Sometimes I wish I had my Nana here to answer my hard questions. I would have a lot to say, too. I know we were descendants of the House of Hohenzollern, of the Kaiser Wilhelm, and also of Swedish nobility. I would ask her to tell me much more about our (now obvious Illuminati) bloodlines. I would ask her to tell me about Daddy’s time in parochial school, and why he even attended when neither of them was Catholic. I’d ask about her genealogy and I’d have a lot to ask her about her father and her mother. I’d ask her how my dad met my mother, and what exactly were the facts about my birth? What were the events leading up to my abuse? To the deaths of my brothers and the disappearance of my sister.

If my Dad were here, I would have many questions for him as well. He whom I have always seen as my protector and champion, yet I cannot see many instances when he successfully saved me from my mother’s abuse. And he did put me in the closet on more than occasion. And what about her British/English bloodlines and the crazy stuff in her family?? Shock treatments for Grandpa Jimmy? His early death?

This is out of sequence, but my head still tilts over the Orange Story, and it has bothered me all of my life: how is that the compassionate thing to do, to teach your daughter, who shared her orange with her sister while they were locked together in the closet, that you didn’t tell her to share as you give her sister another whole orange?

And why were we in the closet anyway – on multiple occasions? I recall being there by myself. I also recall being there with my sister, Christi, and then I remember being there with Christi and Cameron and Clifton, all four of us, with Clifton on the floor crawling around in his nightgown at our feet, and the three of us standing there. We were hungry so we started eating dog food out of the 50 pound bag that sat next to the water heater. What was going on? Why weren’t we allowed to be in our bedrooms? It makes no sense.

During my lifetime as these things would occasionally come to my mind, I would try to make up fantasies to explain it in such a way that it would make my dad innocent of any wrongdoing. My mom was a raging psychopath who controlled everything. My dad was clearly afraid of her, and it was her fault we moved so many times it was impossible to remember all the cities, so I had to resort to remembering what states we lived in. He couldn’t control her and he tried to run interference only if it wouldn’t incur her wrath. He was sickly and weak and she would have hurt him. He tried to keep her busy so she didn’t have time to think of hurting me. He was keeping us in the closet for our own good. He was using the lesson of the oranges to toughen me up, to learn to trust him.

And on it went, but as I grew older, the cracks in the armor grew into chasms, and lacking the proper defenses, eventually I found a chasm I couldn’t cross over and I fell in.



Does Jesus Love My Alters More Than He Loves Me?

Hi Sisters and Brothers,

I’ve been praying about how to get past a bottle-neck situation in my inside space. I realize that others are struggling with this same thing, and so I’m going to open it up here even though it makes me very uncomfortable. I’m going to write pretty much stream-of-consciousness, and I’m not going to go back and edit much because I think the emotion is important to try to convey.

It has come to my attention that others are in this same place: tired of being attacked in the spiritual realm “inside”, tired of doing battle constantly, even though we have mighty forces inside to help us. Tired of always having to keep our guard up. Just tired. We get sick so often, we are attacked in very special ways because the enemy knows that we can see him so he brings many ugly things just to torment us. We want to give up and let someone else do the fighting on our behalf. But the thing is, it’s our job. We need to keep working on bringing the Kingdom to our own inside spaces, and doing violence to the enemy in order to secure our inside “borders”. Warfare is a natural part of spiritual life, and instead of taking the carnal approach (laziness, fear, grumbling and complaining), we need to bring the spiritual approach into our physical world.

Now that’s it in a nutshell, but let me break it down in a way that your heart can hear me.

Jesus always comes through for my alters: always heals, always provides, always loves and even indulges them in personal time with love, hugs, and small mementoes even, to mark the occasion of healing.

And in my natural life I so often feel that poverty of soul that wishes I could have that kind of love from Jesus to the core of my system – broken, fragmented, struggling, un-beautiful me. I heard that description even as I was typing it, and I know what it speaks of me. But for the moment I am not going to analyze that, because it’s the truth of how I feel right now and it needs to just sit there for a while.

Sometimes I misinterpret Jesus’ intentions, and so I think that He loves my poor alters more than He loves me.  They are innocent, and I am not. They struggle, they were victims, and they took all the bad stuff for me. There are so many lies in this paragraph I hardly know where to begin to unravel all of it. But to start with…

My alters ARE me!

The victim WAS me.

I did not deserve ANYTHING that happened to me!

The soothing love, the tender hugs, the washing and clothing in white linen, the ointment applied to my wounds, the baptism, the redemption – all of these things that my various alters have experienced either directly from Jesus or by the ministry of His holy angels – all have instilled in me a sense of the worth HE sees in me, and the value I have in His kingdom. Because I see that my alters, even though they are still separate personalities living in the spiritual dimension, are also part of the Kingdom of God, even as I am.

Funny, knowing they ARE me, I can feel envious, feel they are innocent, and wish I could be there to receive the hugs and love and attention from Jesus that they are enjoying. If there was no other personal indication of the brokenness of my consciousness, and the compartmentalized pieces of me, this is a huge one.

Innocence is not determined by my lack of guilt or any other factor except the Blood of Jesus! I cannot be innocent of every accusation, especially since I am so many personalities that have different ages, different experiences, and different personalities. Even the things that make me  (Cate/Grace) feel guilty do not affect other parts of me in the same way. In fact, I even have met a few male alters in my female system. And as each alter comes to the surface to be dealt with, I see different aspects of myself that cause me to wonder. And when we have the privilege to lead one to Jesus, it is like gaining a brother or sister – I feel great joy and peace, and I feel stronger just because we are in the majority! We are a system that belongs to Jesus!

It beggars description – this deep lonely feeling that Jesus must love my alters more than He loves me because here I am on the outside trying to deal with this world full of fearful things, and there are my alters inside enjoying the fellowship, love and attention of Jesus. It’s almost as if I don’t exist. There’s some irony for you.

What is at the heart of this poverty of soul? How can I believe such a thing of Jesus, that He does not love me the way He loves my alters?

The easy answer is that I have believed a lie. But that lie was not told to me in one sentence by a red dude with horns, a pointed tail, a pitchfork and a bifurcated tongue.

No, that lie was told me from the very first day my innocence was plundered by someone who was supposed to love and protect me. The first time someone caused me so much physical pain and fear that I fled from my body and left behind just enough to make sure the body could live. For me, as far as I know, that was at four months old. Of course, I didn’t know any of this on a mental level – that came later as I have re-indexed my mental files to realize that I was alone (I thought) while someone stole life and health and wholeness from me, and WHERE WAS JESUS?

And there, right there, is the problem. The crux of the matter is the dichotomy I perceive – Jesus let me get hurt in the physical realm but heals me in the spiritual realm. Forget for a moment how simplistic that is, and see it from the viewpoint of a child who is desperately trying to hold onto loving her mother who has been brutalizing her from infancy – doing everything she can to please that mother so she will not hurt her every day in ways from small and mean to huge and devastating. Then watch that five year old alter come up, and see Jesus holding her hand and loving her and removing all the painful memories so she can finally rest, and try to explain and justify that to the rest of myself.

The problem of course is that I am looking at things from the wrong side out. The spiritual is the REAL, and the physical feels real but it is a catalyst for growth, healing and true adoption that conforms to the image of God. And until that reality permeates my soul, I will keep feeling like the one who is unwanted and unloved, and I will fail to realize how Jesus is lifting me up by virtue of how he is healing my alters. He doesn’t want them to all integrate with me as I am. He wants the rest of me as I am to change into what He is healing and loving my alters into becoming!

The inner warfare was scary in the beginning! But oh how amazing, and how invigorating! Jesus is always ready to step in and smash the enemy. Not only that, but He is teaching ME how to do it as I observe my guardians at work inside. Jesus has not lost ANY battles on the inside, no matter how fierce they have been. And that knowledge has begun to filter out through my person into the physical realm. I begin to see that the physical realm is so much more affected by the spiritual, and that I can bring the Kingdom of God into this realm simply by doing warfare exactly as I have been taught to wage it in the “inside” space!

The reality is that Jesus has been showing me what He meant when He said that He was only doing (on earth) what He saw His Father doing in Heaven! The Kingdom of God has always suffered violence, and the violent take it by force! I’m beginning to take that authority in a new way to exercise it here because I’m finally learning who I am. And it’s not who I thought I was.

The overweening forces that have tried to rule my life have been FEAR, GUILT, ABANDONMENT, BETRAYAL, SUICIDE, SELF-LOATHING and LONELINESS. Now that I have a handle on how some of these things got entry into my life, I am starting to understand how to get them OUT of my life – my physical life – even as I see them being conquered in my “inside” space! This is tremendously powerful! It means I don’t have to live with the constant nagging of these spirits, and the prodding and poking on my scars looking for a way back in! I can simply watch JESUS deal with every one of these things as He heals my alters, and then I can come into the physical and start doing spiritual battle on the things that are still trying to lay claim to my BODY and SOUL!

See, we know that our weapons are not carnal. Dead meat cannot kill spirits. But SPIRITUAL WEAPONS CAN KILL THE SPIRITS THAT AFFECT THE BODY! So we have to turn our reality on its head, so to speak, and realize that what we see in the spirit HAS TO MANIFEST IN THE PHYSICAL REALM. I can do ALL things through (Christ) who strengthens me!!!

So when I get close to certain times of the year when I am reminded of the damage that was done to me, I do not have to fear that those demons can come and have a party at my expense any longer! INSTEAD I CAN CALL DOWN EVERY ASSET IN THE SPIRITUAL REALM AND NOT ONLY PROTECT MYSELF, BUT ALSO FREE SOMEONE ELSE! And when guilt comes to assail me and tell me that I don’t deserve for Jesus to love me like He loves my alters, I can REJECT THAT LIE, and REFUTE IT WITH THE TRUTH! I am a new creature in Christ – in fact I am so new that it has not yet appeared what I shall become, but I know that when I see HIM I shall be LIKE HIM!

And now, in this moment, I am not dejected, I am not fearful, I am not lonely, but I am ENERGIZED because I SEE that HE LOVES ME EVERY BIT AS MUCH AS HE LOVES MY ALTERS! HALLELUJAH!

This has actually been very cathartic to write. Thank you for listening.

Love in Jesus



As you know if you’ve visited my blog, I have Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID), which used to be called Multiple Personality Disorder (MPD). I spend more and more time lately working with other multiples to teach them what I have learned so they can help themselves deal with their “inside” space, or the spiritual dimension where their alters and fragments reside when they are not “up front”.

I’ve been a pastor, teaching, healing and equipping others in the Body of Christ for over 18 years. Yes, I was a multi even then, but being multiple is not a mental disease or a condition of demonic possession. I can discern spirits, travel in the spirit, do battle in the spirit, and many other things as God has gifted and/or guided me. This does not make me special, but it does mean that as a disciple of Jesus/Yeshua, I am qualified to teach. As a multi who has experience with all of these issues, I am doubly qualified. Now that I’ve got my pedigree out of the way, I will proceed.

I recently wrote a post about battle strategies to help multis (people who have multiple personalities or alters) learn how to defend and navigate their systems safely. (You can read it on my blog – here’s the address: https://catenfriends.wordpress.com/2016/10/19/battle-strategies-1/)  Without repeating a lot of what I said in that post I will state the most important point: TRY THE SPIRITS TO SEE WHETHER THEY ARE OF GOD!

Please note:

This is not an attack on any ministry or person. This is not an attempt to slam or shame anyone.

Please read the love and concern I have for my fellow multis who are being taught or led astray, and do not take a position of opposition because you might read something here with which you take exception. I am issuing a warning, and those who do not need the warning need not read further.

I am writing to clarify and teach how to recognize a false gospel, a false Jesus, and even false locations in the spiritual dimension, so that we can all recognize and take note of how to discern these things every time!

There is a great blessing in helping pull a brother or sister out of a ditch! It is not “judgmental” of us to attempt to help someone we see is heading down the wrong path. In fact if we see it happening and we do NOT sound a warning, the consequences to that one will also be our consequences – their blood will be on our hands.

If after you have read this, you agree that I have told you the truth, and you want to help warn others, please feel free to disseminate this message far and wide. May God grant you to share in the reward with those who are blessed and helped by this message. Amen.

The View From the Wall

I’ve been seeing a very disturbing thing lately, and I have prayed about how to warn my brothers and sisters about it. Because there has not been enough instruction about testing the spirits, many people are falling prey to wicked delusions that are causing danger to multis (among others).

When the system of a multi has been compromised, it doesn’t simply lead to bad days and evil dreams, it can lead to spiritual imprisonment, injury, and even death.

People are being deceived and it is putting their souls in jeopardy. Satan is not a creator, he can only imitate, but he is a deceiver. He is bringing around the oldest sin in the book, and it’s playing on the internal movie screens of many unsuspecting men and women who are doing things in the spiritual realm without first safeguarding themselves properly. People are falling for false entities, and are even being led to false “locations” or visions because they do not test the spirits to see whether they are of God!

What false entities are people encountering in the spiritual realm? There are false angels, false Jesus, and false saints. There are aliens, mermaids, unicorns, dragons, hell dogs, and all manner of other evil and unclean spirits; all of these are actually evil, but some are in disguise as special beings.

In fact, some believers have been practicing judging Fallen Angels in the “Courts of Heaven” and saying these angels are now forgiven and working for the right side. What God has judged cannot be set aside by man.

Paul’s teaching on judging angels is found here:

“(3) Know ye not that we shall judge angels? how much more things that pertain to this life?” 1 Corinthians 6:3

Rendering this as God’s angels is faulty exegesis. The “angels” (aggelos) we will be judging are more aptly rendered “messengers” or “pastors” who have taught the message of Christ to others!

Back to Fallen Angels: make no mistake, those fallen angels who left their first estate have been reserved in darkness and will be thrown into the Lake of Fire prepared for them and for the devil. Anyone who teaches something different is calling God a liar, and is subverting His Truth and His Word – either because they are in ignorance of God’s word, or because they have been seduced by the deceiver. Here is God’s Word on the matter:

“(41) Then He will also say to those on the left hand, ‘Depart from Me, you cursed, into the everlasting fire prepared for the devil and his angels: Mathew 25:41 

“(6) And the angels who did not keep their proper domain, but left their own abode, He has reserved in everlasting chains under darkness for the judgment of the great day;” Jude 1:6

“(4) For if God did not spare the angels who sinned, but cast them down to hell and delivered them into chains of darkness, to be reserved for judgment;” 2 Peter 2:4

Satan is known as the Prince of the Power of the Air, and his work is to entice us to fulfill the lust of our flesh, the desires of our flesh and our minds so that we become children of wrath! He wants to destroy our relationship, or better, prevent it so that he takes us away from God! He hates us, and he will do anything within his power to stop us from obeying God.

“(1) And you He made alive, who were dead in trespasses and sins,  (2)  in which you once walked according to the course of this world, according to the prince of the power of the air, the spirit who now works in the sons of disobedience,  (3)  among whom also we all once conducted ourselves in the lusts of our flesh, fulfilling the desires of the flesh and of the mind, and were by nature children of wrath, just as the others.” Ephesians 2:1-3

To Satan it was given power over all the kingdoms of the world, and so he tried to tempt Jesus with it by offering to Him what was His by right. The real temptation was that Satan was offering to get Jesus to bow down and bypass what He would do to save the world. Though Satan could not have known all of Jesus’ plan, it was enough that he knew that Jesus was God, and if he could tempt Him he would gain power over Him.

“(8) Again, the devil took Him up on an exceedingly high mountain, and showed Him all the kingdoms of the world and their glory.  (9)  And he said to Him, “All these things I will give You if You will fall down and worship me.”  (10)  Then Jesus said to him, “Away with you, Satan! For it is written, ‘YOU SHALL WORSHIP THE LORD YOUR GOD, AND HIM ONLY YOU SHALL SERVE.'” Matthew 4:8-10 

What does this have to do with us? It means that if he can, Satan will seduce us into trying to become like God without being His disciples. He offers what is our birth right, but he puts a hook in it to lead us astray.

An example of this is a vision/dream I had where Satan came to me and showed me a celestial map of the portals that led to other dimensions, so that I could travel to different dimensions. All I had to do to receive this map was to kiss him. I refused him flatly, and the map disappeared. What I learned from this dream is that I could already travel to other dimensions if I had a reason to do so, and the Spirit of God would give me safe conduct. I didn’t really need that map.

What false locations or visions are people encountering in the spiritual realm? False “inside spaces” (in the case of people with DID/MPD), false Courts of Heaven, false pools or other bodies of water to trick multis into thinking these are healing waters when instead they trap the multis in their broken condition.

False Gospel, Another Spirit, False Seers, False Prophets, False Dreams, and Another Jesus

“(3) But I fear, lest somehow, as the serpent deceived Eve by his craftiness, so your minds may be corrupted from the simplicity that is in Christ.  (4) For if he who comes preaches another Jesus whom we have not preached, or if you receive a different spirit which you have not received, or a different gospel which you have not accepted—you may well put up with it!” 2 Corinthians 11:3-4 

When people get away from the truth of the Word, they can easily be led astray by the serpent. When teachers teach things that are contrary to a simple Gospel (good news), they lead others astray. There is condemnation for those who teach from their own souls, or worse, from false visions given from a different spirit. Jesus had this to say:

“(22) For false christs and false prophets will rise and show signs and wonders to deceive, if possible, even the elect.  (23)  But take heed; see, I have told you all things beforehand.” Mark 13:22-23 

It was the sin of pride that caused Eve to listen to the lies of the serpent. Pride can make someone unwilling to bend or receive instruction! There was a lie mixed in with some truth, and Eve did not discern it. She was so puffed up by the serpent’s promise that she would be made wise like God that she fell for that lie. Pride can keep a person firmly set in a disastrous course!

Jesus mentioned Satan and demons and evil spirits more often than any other writer or prophet of the Old or New Testament. In His “Great Commission” He told his disciples, among other things, to cast out demons! He warned His disciples to be on guard against Satan, and warned that many of them would be hunted and afflicted by the devil on account of their faith and their ministry. It wasn’t because they didn’t believe enough, or because they harbored secret sin! Jesus gave them the Holy Spirit after He left, and said it would be enough to help the Disciples to carry out the work He gave to them and all Disciples who followed, including you and me.

“(1) Therefore if there is any consolation in Christ, if any comfort of love, if any fellowship of the Spirit, if any affection and mercy,  (2)  fulfill my joy by being like-minded, having the same love, being of one accord, of one mind.  (3)  Let nothing be done through selfish ambition or conceit, but in lowliness of mind let each esteem others better than himself.  (4)  Let each of you look out not only for his own interests, but also for the interests of others.  (5)  Let this mind be in you which was also in Christ Jesus,  (6)  who, being in the form of God, did not consider it robbery to be equal with God,  (7)  but made Himself of no reputation, taking the form of a bondservant, and coming in the likeness of men.  (8)  And being found in appearance as a man, He humbled Himself and became obedient to the point of death, even the death of the cross.  (9)  Therefore God also has highly exalted Him and given Him the name which is above every name,  (10)  that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, of those in heaven, and of those on earth, and of those under the earth,  (11)  and that every tongue should confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father. Philippians 2:1-11 

False Shepherds and Teachers, and Students with Itching Ears

What does it mean to have itching ears? It is a longing for what is forbidden! When we long for what is forbidden we are committing idolatry – spiritual adultery – towards our Heavenly Father. The natural sequence of events after that is that those who long for what is forbidden will not be able to listen to the real, pure truth of the Gospel, so they will park themselves in the land of fables (rendered as Fiction in Strong’s). While fiction is entertaining, we all understand it is not the truth, and if we reject the truth for fiction, we are no longer followers of the Way, but have turned aside from the true Path.

“(1) Ask the LORD for rain In the time of the latter rain. The LORD will make flashing clouds; He will give them showers of rain, Grass in the field for everyone.  (2)  For the idols speak delusion; The diviners envision lies, And tell false dreams; They comfort in vain. Therefore the people wend their way like sheep; They are in trouble because there is no shepherd. Zechariah 10:1-2

Look at any teaching that titillates or thrills us, and we can see the motive behind our desire! Is it exotic? Is it possibly dangerous? Does it require us to walk beyond the boundaries God has set for His children? Follow the fruit! Anything not of Love is not of God.

“(1) I charge you therefore before God and the Lord Jesus Christ, who will judge the living and the dead at His appearing and His kingdom:  (2)  Preach the word! Be ready in season and out of season. Convince, rebuke, exhort, with all longsuffering and teaching.  (3)  For the time will come when they will not endure sound doctrine, but according to their own desires, because they have itching ears, they will heap up for themselves teachers;  (4)  and they will turn their ears away from the truth, and be turned aside to fables. 2 Timothy 4:1-4

False Apostles and Satan’s Angels of Light

“(13) For such are false apostles, deceitful workers, transforming themselves into apostles of Christ.  (14)  And no wonder! For Satan himself transforms himself into an angel of light.  (15) Therefore it is no great thing if his ministers also transform themselves into ministers of righteousness, whose end will be according to their works.” 2 Corinthians 11:13-15 

People can become so bewildered (this means left out in the wilderness, or lost) when you talk about false apostles and angels of light. They don’t believe in such things these days, and therefore they tend to skip over this part of the Bible. Satan’s greatest victory is won when people do not believe he exists. If he doesn’t exist, then he is not roaming about like a roaring lion seeking whom he may devour.

“(8) Be sober, be vigilant; because your adversary the devil, as a roaring lion, walketh about, seeking whom he may devour:” 1Pe 5:8 

People who are not warned to be on guard are the very ones who will fall victim to irresponsible or evil teaching. The church needs to learn how to discern spirits and test every word by the Word of God. The Holy Spirit is the one who convicts and convinces a man concerning sin, righteousness and judgment. If we have the Holy Spirit, we also have access to the gifts of the Spirit – among which is the discernment of spirits. But those who do not believe in this “spiritual stuff” or who don’t care, will easily be led astray.

Test the Fruit

There is a righteous law that we must obey; if it were not so, then Jesus would not have condemned those who practice lawlessness (or violation of law). Those who disobey Jesus are disobeying the Law of Love (Love the Lord your God with all your heart and soul and strength, and love your neighbor as yourself), and God’s righteous laws (Ten Commandments, which Jesus many times told His disciples to keep).

False teachers, false apostles, and false prophets will scream “LEGALISM” and in so doing promote lawlessness that puts their followers in danger of sinning. Why do they do it? Because they want to fulfill the lusts of their own flesh, the lust of their eyes, and the boastful pride of life. If they followed the Law of Love, they would not knowingly endanger their disciples by teaching them to disobey Christ.

Jesus had the following to say to His disciples:

“(15) Beware of false prophets, who come to you in sheep’s clothing, but inwardly they are ravenous wolves.  (16)  You will know them by their fruits. Do men gather grapes from thornbushes or figs from thistles?  (17)  Even so, every good tree bears good fruit, but a bad tree bears bad fruit.  (18)  A good tree cannot bear bad fruit, nor can a bad tree bear good fruit.  (19)  Every tree that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire.  (20)  Therefore by their fruits you will know them.  (21)  “Not everyone who says to Me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ shall enter the kingdom of heaven, but he who does the will of My Father in heaven.  (22)  Many will say to Me in that day, ‘Lord, Lord, have we not prophesied in Your name, cast out demons in Your name, and done many wonders in Your name?’  (23)  And then I will declare to them, ‘I never knew you; depart from Me, you who practice lawlessness!’ Matthew 7:15-23 

What is the point of asking God for greater revelation when we won’t even obey the simplicity of what He has already told us? The pride of a man makes him think he is smarter, bigger, better, faster, and worthy of more knowledge than his mates. And this is the age old sin of pride. The teacher doesn’t fall in his sin alone, but drags many others behind him, and he will face a greater condemnation from Christ. This is the fate of the one who does not teach from love, but from exaltation of himself. Self-promotion, self-glorification, and the desire for wealth all propel a false teacher, preacher, apostle and prophet toward the road to condemnation.

Test the Spirits

And then test them again! Once is not enough! Every spirit must be tested every time you meet in order to be certain that an imposter is not present.

“(1) Beloved, do not believe every spirit, but test the spirits, whether they are of God; because many false prophets have gone out into the world.  (2) By this you know the Spirit of God: Every spirit that confesses that Jesus Christ IS come in the flesh is of God, (3) and every spirit that does not confess that Jesus Christ IS come in the flesh is not of God. And this is the spirit of the Antichrist, which you have heard was coming, and is now already in the world.” 1 John 4:1-3 

You may ask why there are so many imposters, demons and evil spirits sighted in a multiple’s spiritual dimension; alters and fragments are often created while evil spirits are invoked by the people who are torturing the multi. Therefore it is no wonder that evil spirits cling like opportunistic infections on the poor traumatized multiple.

ALL Spirits are 100% Subject to Christ! The guarantee we have is that God’s word tells us our authority in Christ to cast out demons. No question about it!

“(9) Therefore God also has highly exalted Him and given Him the name which is above every name, (10) that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, of those in heaven, and of those on earth, and of those under the earth, (11) and that every tongue should confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.” Philippians 2:9-11 

Furthermore, Jesus disarmed Principalities and Powers! He has already given us the victory!

“(13) And you, being dead in your trespasses and the uncircumcision of your flesh, He has made alive together with Him, having forgiven you all trespasses,  (14)  having wiped out the handwriting of requirements that was against us, which was contrary to us. And He has taken it out of the way, having nailed it to the cross.  (15) Having disarmed principalities and powers, He made a public spectacle of them, triumphing over them in it.” Colossians 2:13-15 

The Devil and his angels, along with the Beast and the False Prophet, will be thrown in Lake of Fire! The devil hates God, and he hates us! Because his time is short, he is working feverishly to get as many of God’s children to fall off the track as possible. He knows his end is near, God told him a long time ago:

“(12) His eyes were like a flame of fire, and on His head were many crowns. He had a name written that no one knew except Himself.  (13)  He was clothed with a robe dipped in blood, and His name is called The Word of God.  (14)  And the armies in heaven, clothed in fine linen, white and clean, followed Him on white horses.  (15)  Now out of His mouth goes a sharp sword, that with it He should strike the nations. And He Himself will rule them with a rod of iron. He Himself treads the winepress of the fierceness and wrath of Almighty God.  (16)  And He has on His robe and on His thigh a name written: KING OF KINGS AND LORD OF LORDS.  (17)  Then I saw an angel standing in the sun; and he cried with a loud voice, saying to all the birds that fly in the midst of heaven, “Come and gather together for the supper of the great God,  (18)  that you may eat the flesh of kings, the flesh of captains, the flesh of mighty men, the flesh of horses and of those who sit on them, and the flesh of all people, free and slave, both small and great.”  (19)  And I saw the beast, the kings of the earth, and their armies, gathered together to make war against Him who sat on the horse and against His army.  (20)  Then the beast was captured, and with him the false prophet who worked signs in his presence, by which he deceived those who received the mark of the beast and those who worshiped his image. These two were cast alive into the lake of fire burning with brimstone.  (21)  And the rest were killed with the sword which proceeded from the mouth of Him who sat on the horse. And all the birds were filled with their flesh.” Revelation 19:12-21 

“(41) Then He will also say to those on the left hand, ‘Depart from Me, you cursed, into the everlasting fire prepared for the devil and his angels: Mathew 25:41 

“(10) The devil, who deceived them, was cast into the lake of fire and brimstone where the beast and the false prophet are. And they will be tormented day and night forever and ever. Revelation 20:10 

I pray that those who see truth here will be helped by the Lord to re-index your “files”. May you receive the spirit of wisdom so that you may accept His Word. May the grace of the Lord Jesus Christ cover you. May you grow up into maturity in Christ, a wise son or daughter, full of love and good fruit. May you hear these words of Jesus:

“(23) ‘Well done, good and faithful servant; you have been faithful over a few things, I will make you ruler over many things. Enter into the joy of your lord.‘ Matthew 25:23 

Pastora Cate


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…