Isn’t it fascinating? The human mind is amazing. At one point in my therapy, we identified 60 +/- “alters” – my inside people. I have male alters, women alters, child alters, partial alters, a cussing teenage girl alter, I’m sure I have a dog alter... I have one alter who has poor hearing and my eyesight varies as to “who” is seeing at the time. It is now possible for scientists to watch a person’s “switching” happening on a brain-scanning machine. Incredible!
Not long after my diagnosis in the 1990’s, I would have alters write poetry for (and to) me. I would do the physical act of writing, but it was as though I was channeling someone else’s words. I could write a five-page poem with complex metaphors, etc. in under 20 minutes. During the writing process, I would think, “this doesn’t make sense.” But at the final reading, I was always amazed how everything came together. I would like to show you some of my/our poetry. Some of it is simple, some of it is complex, sometimes it’s a little too sing-songy, but it’s always interesting. I will cut some parts out due to triggering images or if the content is too “sensitive,” but here’s a sample:
March 8, 2000 - Untitled
Pushing petals in the snow
Flowing waters whilst I go
In whose heart I barely tread
This I know I must be led.
To the point of my dismay
After which down I lay
On to heaven I will soar
Seeking justice ever more.
For the truth is hard to see
But it’s she that beckons me
Only I will rejoice for it
After which I’ll wearily sit.
Kindness grabs at my right hand
Scratching figures in the sand
Dismay will catch me this I know
But truth from heart will surely flow.
Kindness dupes the ones who hide
Pushing forth those who lied
Send me on to those poor souls
Drop me down through heaven’s holes.
Catch me now for I do sink
Buffeting winds force me to think
Cautious watchdogs we sit back
Waiting waiting for the attack
All I know and this I pray
Wonder will come to me this day
Hoping hoping for all to rise
Struggling not from those despised.
So, this I tell you as we sit
Truth unravels bit by bit
Push ahead and trounce the wall
Waiting waiting we heed the call.
I am Christopher hear me out
I’m a gentle soul and not a lout
Embrace me with your arm so tight
And hold me close with all your might.
And when I hide, you beckon me
You cannot wait and let me be.
You call me forth and make me talk
From your request I cannot walk.
But treat me kindly this you shall
And I’ll remain your sainted pal.
Kindness works of this I know
So step along and forward we go.
I bid adieu to you and yours
And go ahead and do your chores
I will work on what you ask
Preparing for the tedious task.
I won’t leave you don’t worry now
In your honor, this I vow
We’ll step ahead and get to know
From our hearts, knowledge will flow.
The rest of the poem I will omit due to the sensitive content and triggering images. Christopher, who is an older and wise “part” of me, writes the poem. I’m sure it’s not written by the “traditional me,” because I don’t use words like “whilst.” He understands that I want to know what happened to me (the trauma to make me DID). It seems he has help writing the poem. In the section I cut out, he gives me some of the information.
The final two stanzas are:
She is strong she knows such sorrow
From other moons some souls she’ll borrow
We came forth to walk the road
The seeds we planted, never sowed.
I will end this sad sad tale
Sometime soon, we’ll need to wail
But til then we’ll suffer strong
And peace I know will come along.
Blog written by Judi
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