Repressed, Depressed and Possessed - (Ruth Harris Series)

Chapter 1

Hi, my name is Ruth. I am 22 years old, and seven years ago I was diagnosed with Dissociative Identity Disorder.

Ugh it sounds like you're writing a CV, not a story. Make it more personal, Ruth, or people will fall asleep by chapter 2.

Like this:

Hey there, it's Ruth! Thank you for choosing this book to read. I've been wanting to pen down my story for a while now, but I've never felt like it was 'complete' or 'cathartic enough' for people to bother reading all the way to the end. Now, however, I feel as though the horizon of my life is becoming clear to me and there is at last a happy ending worth sharing...

See what I mean? Just don't be such a Gloomy Gus about it. Are we really such a burden?

~ Julie

Sorry. I didn't want to expose you to a takeover like that just yet, but I promised my selves I wouldn't alter a word any of us said in this story. After all, I should have no more authority than them in what a reader sees. We're all part of one person's mind! However, I still don't agree with Julie's way of writing this book so her advice will be ignored. Let's get one thing clear, right off the bat: I am not a writer. I am not good with words, literary techniques or describing how I feel, let alone how others feel and act. But, I believe I have a message worth imparting.

My life has been a roller-coaster - the kind with more downs than ups (unless that's just my pessimism talking). Dissociative Identity Disorder is a very serious and very strenuous mental condition, and yet, something most people haven't even heard of. And to those of you who don't suffer with this disorder but think you understand it, you really don't. In fact, you can't.
               I bet that you, reader, are one of two types of people sitting down to embark on this tragic journey with me. You are either the curious type, where you genuinely want to learn more about DID and are ignorant enough that even my disclaimer could not turn you away, or, you are the mentally ill type, where you saw a book about a crazy girl and thought you had to read it because it might quite possibly confirm your fears that you have some issues up there too.
               Either way, I have no control over what you do with this book. Maybe my unpleasant bluntness has changed your mind already and now you want to burn it: fine. Maybe you're intrigued by my off-putting style, and to those of you who are, I say, get help. Have a higher standard for the way people treat you.

Sorry. I'll try to get back on track. I may not be begging for your attention but I still don't want to drag this on for either of us.

Like I was saying, I was diagnosed with DID when I was 16, although that's not when it all started - or, I should say, it's not when I met my alters. (Alters are alternative personalities, so to speak.) Some of them live in my brain and communicate with me, others live in their own worlds until they suddenly decide to 'take over' my body and kick me to one side of it. It sounds foreign, I know, but bear with me here. By the end of the book you should be familiar with each one of us and recognise our traits pretty well. For example, Julie is the bossy alter who tried to assertively switch up my writing style a few pages ago.

I'm sure some of you are wondering, what is it like to have alternate personalities? Does your brain feel crowded all the time, or do you hardly notice them, do they constantly talk to you?

Well, having alters is like having stretch marks, for a multitude of reasons.

1) People that have them feel ashamed for literally no valid reason.
2) They're more common than you think, and
3) all it takes is one person to love them, for you to realise they're not such a bad thing after all.

Sure, you'll hate them for a while, but someday you'll realise that your own, warped view of society is the only thing making you feel self-conscious. One day you'll realise that they're a part of you, and a perfectly natural part of you at that. I may not be at that point yet, but I like to think I am on the right track.
               But that's not all. Like with stretch marks, nobody with alters remembers a time where they weren't a part of their body. Nobody recalls 'growing' them: they've just always been there - obviously they appeared one random day, but no one remembers that a year down the line, because stretch marks and alters grow with you, not on you.

Yes, the two are easily comparable: both are hated by the one hosting them, both aren't really such a big deal to others, and both are a natural part of a lot of people. They aren't parasites, but something beautiful that your body made. Accept them, because you aren't going anywhere without them. The funny thing is, stretch marks/alters are usually undetectable to the Passing Eye, yet we spend years of our lives being haunted by their presence. Fretting over something so minor, something so irreversible, is an utter waste of humanity's time on this earth.
               A wise person once told me that 90% of our worries don't even end up happening, and the other 10% can't be helped; so why bother worrying? Don't fear that someone will meet your alters, or spot your stretch marks, because at the end of the day that most likely will not happen, or it will happen and the world will keep turning.

My alternate personalities have been a part of me since I can remember, but I'm ashamed to admit that I wrestled with them for about thirteen years before initiating a truce. Don't get me wrong, I'm not sorry I did: in fact I almost wish I had made peace with them sooner! But when I was just a kid with an undiagnosed (and therefore ignored and at times, mocked) mental illness, I lived in constant and gut-wrenching fear of what I could not understand.
               After all, how can an eight year old kid come to terms with having multiple personalities when she has no education on the subject, and when she asks her teacher what's going on with her she tells her to 'Stop making up lies. Imaginary friends don't exist. You're just lonely.'?

How could I be comfortable living with an overcrowded brain when no one else seemed to have a problem?

I used to fear that I would be abandoned because my loved ones wouldn't understand. I feared that if I was honest nobody would believe me. I feared that if I wasn't honest God would hate me. I feared that if I feared too much I would get inside my head and go even crazier.

What's even sadder is, throughout my life all those fears came true.