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Voices in the crowd — Sometimes voices combine, sometimes they diminish and quieten, sometimes some are angry, many times they are sad.
Faces in the mirror — Sometimes pieces of the broken mirror of my infant-childhood combine and we see far more of the picture reflected in that collection than the rest of us can easily handle. Often times it is best that most of us don’t know — all together at the same time — what we do not come forward to speak.
After writing this morning’s post I am largely still wandering that beach of slaughter, where so many end up suffering for the rest of their lives from what was done to them that changed them when they were so tiny, so innocent, so helpless — and hence, so wounded.
I often suspect that to a large extent why I did not grow up to be an abusive mother like my mother did is that I did not come out of my childhood with a single-point self. Instead, I exist as a collection of we. There was no combined force that could manage, as my mother did, to orchestrate a mutiny against all semblance of sanity, rightness or goodness.
Yet on some days, such as today, when too many pieces of we are facing in the same direction at the same time looking at the same part of the picture of the devastation of my childhood, we can only hang on until some of us get tired and go away to some farther corner of the universe within the body we all live inside.
We cannot stand together for very long knowing what we know about a childhood that really happened in a place not unlike the beach of Normandy.
There is a blessedness in the oblivion of smallness, of a not united front, of letting the trauma this body has found a way to transcend in the moment go again, out with the tide.
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Stop the Storm 
You don’t say too much on your blog about your MPD/DID. Why is that?
I tip-toe around and do not wake the giant if at all possible. Doing so is counterproductive to the writing.
I am still awaiting the arrival of my new electric piano keyboard, should arrive the 12th. I’ve never played before, but the consensus is that many of the ‘others’ will hopefully come forward to be with me while we play.
I have (of course) never experienced myself in my life as a single-point person, though there have been many times when I had no clue that parts of me lived entire segments of my life without most of me anywhere around. I’m pretty good at this ‘being here’ because my most verbal parts of me are quite competent — the others know too much that cannot be put into words, and does not need to be.
The point, as I see it, is to walk very carefully through my life until I get to the end of this life and leave this all behind me. My past is far too overwhelming for any one person to ‘integrate’, of that I am also quite certain — I would be very foolish to try.
Part of what is difficult is that I have to live a very, very limited life in regard to ‘public’ and people I do not know. At 58 I have no reason to believe that I can ever count on what might happen should I be surprised at the wrong time in the wrong way by the wrong person. What I expect normal people can manage and control from within their own self, I have to manage by being very careful of my external environment.
The MPD/DID is where the center of the wound is. I work from around the edges. The center of the wound is not humanly possible to tolerate in any other way but through dissociation.
Very LOUD on the inside here — this is entirely enough about this! Thanks for asking, however! We do not feel it is productive to write about how Linda is so much as it is productive to write about what was avoidable and what was preventable that made her this way. Therefore, most of those with many memories do not bother her with words even when they have them — what is known is too painful to do anybody any good — and good is what is needed.