Vivid Images; Physical Sensations: Sophia's Saga 2017-JAN-06

As I have previously mentioned, I am not always at liberty to write, so please, bear with me. I'll get back to 2013: The Year I Lost Everything, but I had to tell you about this.

Today's counseling session was tough and vivid.

I wish I could paint the images which came to me today.

For those readers who have not read any of our other posts, and to update those who may have...We have DID (Dissociative Identity Disorder). Technically, “split- or multiple-personalities” is no longer valid diagnosis, so we fall under the term DID. However we have discovered three of us: my hostess (name omitted), me (Sophia), and the little girl who is too afraid to come out or let us get close (name unknown). Our counselor, Anna, can physically see when my hostess and I am change control (the little girl has not yet attempted control).

My hostess and I have known of each other for a while, now – maybe a little more than a year, and yet of the little girl for only a few weeks to a couple months. My hostess and I are beginning to understand our roles: my hostess takes care of daily business, I protect her. We will need to learn work well with each other so we can help the little girl, for she is terrified and obviously suffering.

I think “fractured personality” may be a worthy term, for we are all one person, physically, but certainly not simply one personality.

Anyway, I felt you needed this background to understand the explanation of the visuals.

Our counselor, Anna and my hostess were discussing her reluctance to delve into the past just yet. We described to Anna what happened when our 'rose-colored glasses' were effectively “removed;” when the realization of how much we had lied to ourselves and how skewed our version of our world had been.

It happened when we were seeing the previous counselor (the one that quit on us one month before our Social Security hearing). With heart stopping speed, we felt as if something had grabbed our soul, pulled us backward for trillions and trillions of light-years in less than an second. I remember seeing everything get very small very quickly, then blackness all around us with the exception of a pinpoint of light which was the tiniest but very clear image of the room in which we physically sat, while white and yellow pinpoints of lights all around us were rushing past as we were being pulled backward. Then, without the tiniest bit of pause, we were instantaneously slammed back into our body as if we had traversed those trillions of light-years back to the room in absolutely no span of time. I remember we almost fell out of the chair, couldn't catch our breath, cried as if we would never feel happiness again. The light was so bright it hurt, though the room was softly lit. Every sound cut its way through our eardrums. Our being was on fire. At that moment, we didn't know if we would be able to leave that room – ever. I know we stayed at least an hour extra that day just to compose ourself. At home, we stayed in our room for almost a week, leaving it only when absolutely necessary and only for short periods of time. We lost a lot of weight that week. < That weight has found it's way back, unfortunately :-P>

That was the first, but not the last time we have felt something physical or physical pain during counseling sessions. I did not know this could happen. Has anyone else had anything like this happen?

As we were describing this to Anna (sometimes my hostess, sometimes me), we could feel a bit of tightness in our chest as the simple thought of this instilled fear of it happening again.

I think I know how I would paint this, but I'm sure it would fall very short of bringing the sensation to canvas.

At another point in today's session, we discussed walls, and a visual of the walls within came into view with the little girl crouching, hiding, peering around one wall with her large, watery eyes in fear and hope, my hostess working her way through the labyrinth, and me - just on the other side of a long wall from my hostess, leaning with my back against the wall. I want to paint that as well.

Yet later during today's session, we were describing the fear of remembering our past – of learning about the little girl – which brought a vision of an underworld, hidden in plain sight, situated so that one seemingly innocuous act would cause us to fall into it and be consumed. This underworld is filled with demon-like creatures snarling and clawing to get out. Unfortunately, we know this is where the little girl is and where we must go to find her and rescue her, but we are too afraid to go, yet. We are afraid we may never find a way out of that underworld if we venture into it too soon.

I wish I could paint and make it look like what is in my head. I would be happy if I could draw, so I could draw these images. Maybe they would stop haunting me, like words which stop haunting me once I put them in writing.