GoFund Me Campaign and Update

Greeting all,

It has been such a long time since last I posted here. I’m grateful for all of you who continue to follow this blog after such a long absence. I started a GoFund Me campaign today in an effort to try to re-enter the work force. Go check it out if you get a minute:


Okay, now that that’s out of the way, let me try to catch you up. Please heed the trigger warning.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~TRIGGER WARNING~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


I am continuing in weekly therapy and my therapist and I have noticed an interesting pattern. About a week or so before a major memory surfaces, I rage. My mood dramatically changes, I switch a lot more and I have zero fuse. There is this feeling of severe disdain not directly at any one thing or any one person – in short I get in a funk that I can’t seem to release. And just like clockwork, after about two weeks, another memory comes up that makes me want to run and hide again. I am currently in the beginning stages of yet another one of these memories as my mood has been funky for the past three days.  If I’m able mentally, I will post what comes up later this month. Here’s an example of one of the last doozies that came up.

It started about three years ago, I got this fleeting memory of something that looked pretty satanic. I didn’t mention it to my therapist for a long time because I didn’t want to go down that road. I didn’t want to think it might be true nor did I want to think I might have false memory syndrome (though I don’t know how I possibly could). Let me be very, very clear here before I say anything else – my therapist does not lead my therapy sessions. She doesn’t not use prompt words, does not put thoughts into my head, or try to lead me to conclusions. If I sit there the entire hour and don’t say a word; neither does she. She does not initiate thoughts or make suggestions; therefore, she would never be responsible for falso memories (or for creating new parts). Before I even mentioned this memory to her, I researched false memory syndrome and found that is just doesn’t apply. Now, I know that all memories have errors, but I had way too much detail in this memory for it to be made up. And I adored my father – ADORED HIM [hate him now] – but why would I make this up?!

The memory is this. I am around 4 years old. I am in a park of some kind with a few other children and a lot of adults. Initially, I am standing by my mother who is near some other mothers standing around worn looking picnic tables nestled between a couple of large trees. I remember peeling off a piece of the tree bark that was just hanging there and turning in a circle with it because it whistles when you do that and I liked the noise. My father is there, uncle Red and a couple of my father’s other friends. They are all in red robes. There is a camp fire made inside a small circle of stones. After a while, all the men go stand in a circle around this camp fire. My estimate is there are at least 15-20 men there. The robes are red, as I said, and the inside of the hood is gold OR the gold masks they are wearing are protruding into the inside of the hood making it look gold, I don’t know. These men start to chant. I don’t remember the words, but I do remember the rhythm of the words. They sway a little, too. I am trying to see inside the circle so I run around the circle trying to get someone to move their leg aside so I can get in. I tried to edge in right when they swayed left; edge in left when they swayed right. No one lets me in. They chant quicker. I eventually get in between my father and uncle Red and pull their robs aside. Something is rising out of the fire….

The memory cuts off at that moment. I finally got up the nerve to tell this to my therapist. She listened very intently, never said a word. When I was done, she said to me, do NOT go searching on the internet for more information. Let the memory unfold in its time. Don’t chase the memory, let it come to you. That’s it; that’s all she said. Well, of COURSE I went looking on the internet for red robed grown men….found nothing so I left it alone. Fast forward to mid year last year and the memory continued to unfold.

Yes, you guessed it, what I can only call a demon was coming out of the fire. It whipped its head around and looked directly at me! I remember the fear; my body remembers the fear…but no more of the memory. I honestly don’t know what to make of it family. Here are some things I do know and have received confirmation of: both my parents were involved in freemasonry. My father was a 33rd degree mason; my mother a member of the easter stars. I don’t know if this memory has anything to do with freemasonry at all. If any of you have any information about it, please let me know? I do have another memory where we returned to the same park for a similiar activity and I remember a folding sign that had a mason symbol on it. The symbol on the sign was in blue and gold and Looked sort of like the symbol here:


It has taken me over a year to even consider posting this memory here from sheer fear. The eyes of that demon continue to haunt me. I’ve lost tons of sleep because I can’t feel safe. How do I lock my doors and windows against a demon?! My therapist has suggested I intentionally dissociate this memory again because I simply can’t handle it. But my question to her is – if I can’t handle it, why did it come up? I thought you said…and she verified that yes she DID say; however, in my attempt to process it, I’m losing the plot and getting flooded which stresses me out, triggering the switching even more!

I am still struggling a whole lot with the whole incest thing, even though I know it happened, I can’t believe the family who was supposed to love and protect me was raping me and farming me out! To what end?! OMG! I’m a mother and I can’t even BEGIN to phathom how let along WHY any parent could do this to their own child! I keep wondering if I asked for it some how and the shame…the SHAME is the worse! So here I am trying to wrap my mind around the incest when these devil worshipping/masonic worshipping memories start coming up! I get scared, I get angry, I feel defeated. How much more could there be, Dear Lord!!! Give me STRENGTH!!! SIGH!!! Anyways, every week after therapy I. AM. EXHAUSTED. I sleep most of the next day and then all of the weekend. This is a process I understand, one I have to make in order to heal.

There’s your update for now. If this latest memory surfaces before the end of the month, I’ll try hard to post it here for your review and feedback. If any of you know or have experienced anything with abuse and the masons please let me know? This is some wide stuff I know, but I need verification if you have it.


Long Time No….

Hello all. I know its been a while since I posted to this blog. So much has happened while so little has changed. I’m still plural, I still switch on a daily basis, but I’m learning to deal. The good news is I am regaining my ability to concentrate slowly – it truly is hit or miss, but I see some improvements with that albeit minimal.

So, let me catch everyone up? 🙂

Well the latest is I got locked down on a 5150 hold just last month. There was yet another incident of self harm (cutting) and we were not able to keep the cuts hidden from our biological daughter. She had the expected reaction – anger and disgust. She even yelled at me about how I was trying to take her mother away. Interesting that at that moment, she seemed to forget about the DID. I still get frustrated with the others and how I end up dealing with the ramifications of their actions. It wasn’t the person who cut who ended up in the emergency room. Nor was it the person who cut who spent the time on lock down. It was me. I spent 8 days in a mental ward filled to the max with mostly bi-polar 1 and/or schizophrenic patients. Most had tried to commit suicide and failed. The only thing I could do really is just laugh at the situation. I am neither bi-polar nor schizophrenic, so I really just had to ‘play the game and say the right things’ so the medical professionals would let me out of there. Just typing it now is ticking me off. Do any of you deal with taking responsibility and dealing with the fall out for the actions of the others alters?

[ASIDE – In case you don’t know what a 5150 is, here’s a pretty good explanation from Wikipedia]:

“Section 5150 is a section of the California Welfare and Institutions

Code (specifically, the Lanterman–Petris–Short Act or “LPS”) which

allows a qualified officer or clinician to involuntarily confine a

person deemed to have a mental disorder that makes them a danger to

him or her self, and/or others and/or gravely disabled. A qualified

officer, which includes any California peace officer or paramedic, as

well as any specifically designated county clinician, can request the

confinement after signing a written declaration. When used as a term,

5150 (pronounced “fifty-one-fifty”) can informally refer to the person

being confined or to the declaration itself, or colloquially as a verb,

as in ‘Someone was 5150’d’.”


Most of the in-patients went on to the intensive out-patient program of the hospital. It goes from 9am until 3pm. Can you imagine having to be in group 6 hours a day, 5 days a week? I’ll pass, thanks.

It has been now over 3 years since my DID diagnosis and I still – STILL have moments when I have doubt that we are plural. I simply don’t want it to be true. Plus I don’t want to have to do the hard, hard work that is required to at the least get us all working congruently. We can’t even think about considering integration because we feel so strongly that to do so would kill most of us. And that’s just too much for us.

It is so good to see all of you here again. We’ll speak again soon.


~by: Jess Mei

Clarification and Answering a Question from a Reader

Greetings Faithful Readers and Survivors!

This is an attempt to clarify a post about tips to avoid cutting posted back a while ago in 2009. I’ve decided to include the Reader’s comments and questions below along with my response. Thanks Sylvan for your question!


I have a very close and dear friend that is like family who cuts themselves. I really need help with this. I agree with what you posted but I really can’t agree that I should just leave her alone and not try to stop her from continuing this lifestyle , please help me. how i it you overcame your addiction please tell me I desperately need someone’s help. How is it you overcame this addition?



Thank you for leaving your concerns for your friend and for disagreeing with my advice. It allows me to clarify what I meant. I hope I will be able to be clearer and be able to help you help your friend all at the same time. Let’s keep talking until we get there, okay?

Now, with that said, I’d like say that what I suggested was not to leave the person alone, but to leave their cutting tool alone. I have to reiterate that as a cutter, we are NOT trying to commit suicide. We KNOW how to kill ourselves and cutting absolutely is NOT about suicide. What I warn against is hiding or removing the cutting tool of choice. That forces us to use an instrument we may not be familiar with and we might end up cutting deeper than intended and doing some serious injury. We cut to release tension, to have an internal ‘scream’…to take the edge off – nothing more (at least for me). Some teens, I suspect, cut to get attention and that’s just sad.

As a friend, you can support your friend by making sure she cuts safely in a safe and supportive environment…even if you don’t support her actions, you can still support her, right? I also want you to know you simply cannot ‘love’ her out of this addiction, she needs to understand what she’s trying to get out by cutting. Yes, it feels good, but is she holding back comments or feelings she feels aren’t safe to express? What pain is she burying deeper with each cut she makes? Encourage her to get professional help with the real reason beneath the cutting. She will have to come to terms with whatever that ‘thing’ is or she will continue to cut.

And also let me say I have NOT overcome this addiction. Every time I get overly stressed or am overcome with feelings of helplessness, I battle the Urge to cut. I try to wait for the Urge to pass, I’ll try one of my 10 tips (my favorite is writing on my arm with a red marker), I’ll deep breath, etc. If none of that works, I make sure I cut only until I feel some relief. Sometimes, I can get away with a little, sometimes it is much more. But then I do a ‘reality check’ and ask myself what brought on the Urge and I journal it and address it with my therapist. So, you see – I’m not cured by any means, I’m just learning to deal with it a little better.

I’m Coming Back

Greetings Survivors!

I’ve taken quite the break from blogging, but I’m coming back this year with updates, new topics, and resources for us plurals and those who love us. Please stay tuned.

The Guilty Pleasure of Being Molested

~by: Jess Mei

Sometimes I hate myself so much, it is really incomprehensible. And I believe I now understand why. I remember having pleasure sometimes when I was molested, and I feel wrong for having had pleasure from it.

I remember one time getting molested and actually opening my legs more so that he could rub my clitoris better. I still feel him doing it, I still feel the pleasure I got from it, and damnit I still feel the amazing amount of guilt I have because of it. I wonder sometimes if that is why I didn’t tell until I was an adult? Is it because I enjoyed it? Wanted it? God, I was just a little kid for pity’s sake – in a home that was chaotic and confusing. But I can remember wanting him to touch me, for the attention and for the pleasure of having someone else stimulate me. But how can a child of 7,8,9,10,or 11 understand that really?

He used to expose himself to me and I’d run away. My heart would beat so fast, I was so scared. Then when I could go over to my cousin’s house to get away, I’d go – and one of my cousins there would do the same thing to me. He even put me on my back a few times and tried to penetrate me. I think I was around 9 years old or so. I would just lay there, cause I didn’t want him to hate me or hit me. I tried so hard to please everybody around me, to make sure they were okay. Nobody ever looked out for me though…and I never told anybody. Not anybody. I used to want somebody, ANYBODY to just read my mind, we’d be screaming in there – screaming for help, but no one ever did. So I had one who took it, and a few who hid everything, always hiding, hiding.

We had to pretend that everything was fine. We had to pretend that we were not screaming and scared and tired of trying to make everyone be okay. We had to pretend the fighting didn’t bother us. And so each one took a job and ran with it. One was brave and always smiled and laughed and joked; one went to school and did well – because if we didn’t – we’d get beaten; one went to church 6 days a week and pretended we understood about God; one said, ‘Yes Ma’am and no Ma’am’ and obeyed her every command; one stood very still while she blew cigarette smoke in our faces and taunted us for looking like our Father; one screamed with rage (but only inside) when we were burned with cigarettes at parties or burned with plastic by our Brother – one of the molesters; one was filled with hatred for all of them – every person who crossed our path…hatred for not helping us, hatred for beating us, molesting us, harming us, taunting us, teasing us, loving us; one who plotted revenge; and one who feels nothing at all. Such is the guilty pleasure of being molested, the rage of being punished for being alive, and the rage for being loved.

I am so angry that I have such guilt and shame. I wonder so often how anyone could love me that I’ve pushed people away who actually do. But I don’t understand WHY they could possibly love a dirty girl like me – I let them touch me. Sometimes I wanted it to happen. It was attention and it felt good, right? Such is the guilty pleasure of being molested.

Tips on What to do After Someone You Love Has Cut

~By: Jess Mei

After my latest episode with cutting, I realize that most ‘common folk’ are just not equipped to know what to do, or even how to react to self-harming. I think it is interesting how some people act like they are actually offended when we self-harm. Like ‘how could we put them in that situation’. I do try to look at other people’s points-of-views, so I thought I’d try to give some pointers for loved ones of self-harmers. Please pardon me if I come off sounding like I have an ‘us’ versus ‘everyone else’ mentality. But unless you are a self-harmer – I really don’t think you can understand. This is just generalized advice. First, let me see if I can shed some light on the ‘why’ of it.

1. It’s not about you…its not about us, and its not about suicide, either.
Outsiders need to understand that self-harm doesn’t have anything to do with them…that’s why it is called ‘self’ harm. Most times it isn’t even about us, the self-harmers. Sometimes it is about the pain; sometimes it is about the blood. Sometimes we self-harm to heal another part of ourselves. But it is almost never about suicide. We’re not trying to kill ourselves. Trust me – we already know exactly how to do that. Self-harm isn’t about suicide…even when we’re suicidal.

2. Self-harm is full of symbolism and ritual.

The scarring, the blood, the act of self-harm it self is extremely symbolic for us. Sometimes we’ll even write poetry about it. For me, this symbolism has nothing to do with Satan, God, or anything like that. For example, once I’ve used a particular razor to cut, I’ll cut with it until I feel ‘okay’ again, then I’ll discard that razor. I don’t want to even touch it again. It has served its purpose. Now, that doesn’t stop me from going and getting another one (I purchased a 100 pack of blades) – but I don’t because that self-harming episode is over and I feel okay again.

3. Self-harm usually occurs when we are under a lot of stress and are frustrated.
Sometimes we cut because we want to express frustration but don’t want to express it verbally. The cuts then become like little screams, a way to yell, let out that ‘pressure’, and not have to confront the source of the stress and/or frustration. Sometimes we cut when we feel like we’re not being heard or understood. Whatever the reasons, the underlying cause is a great deal of stress and/or frustration.

Okay, so knowing all this, you as the bystander are supposed to do what exactly?


      • Don’t look at us like we’re crazy. This is an addiction and coping mechanism…just like smoking.
      • Don’t jump to conclusions and assume that we’re trying to kill ourselves. Dying a death of a thousand cuts isn’t something we’re interested in.
      • Don’t panic and try to remove our instruments of choice. That makes us feel like a child and when the next time comes up, we’ll find something else to self-harm with. And because we would be self-harming with something less familiar, we risk potential fatal injury.
      • If we want to talk about it, please – please just listen. Don’t try to fix anything.
      • If possible, help to keep the stress levels down.
      • Keep a medical first aid kit handy. Be prepared to take us to the emergency room if the cuts need stitches and be willing to fight with us for humane treatment at the hospital.
      • Don’t crowd…give us some space to regroup.
      • If we have DID, know that this cutting episode may be triggering or may have been a reaction to a trigger.
      • If you see us wearing long-sleeved clothing in the middle of summer, don’t make a big deal about it. More than likely, we are trying to hide our scars.
      • Don’t help us if we don’t ask for it.

      Basically, the best action to take is to just ‘be’ there…follow our lead. We usually find our voices after the self-harm and are able to articulate clearly how we will need your assistance and support.

      I’m in Crisis

      ~By: Jess Mei

      For anyone out there who has been following this blog-I am in crisis. My housemate is tired of me living off her (I don’t have a job or a place to live), my ex and I are still fighting and it was bad…really, really bad – and I need to cut. But I want to cut for good this time. I want to take some pills and cut, cut, cut until I can’t bring my hand up to cut anymore. I have 2 kids who hate me because I left the family home, a mother who hates me because I breath and just happen to look like my father, and I hate myself. There’s a dog here to hug, but I don’t like him, knitting won’t do. I really need some help. I don’t have a therapist, no medical insurance, no life. I’m tired. I’m scared and I hurt so much. You’d think I’d be too old for this, but pain is pain. If you’re still young, please get help – don’t be my age still dealing with this. Help me somebody. God isn’t even here for me now. I have no one – nothing. HELP ME!!!