Member-only story
The Story Titled “Satanic Panic”
It was a story my parents were obsessed with for all the wrong reasons
For the first three decades of my life, I understood my Dissociative Identity Disorder to be a giant and elaborate story that I was living; in which I was all of the characters. The problem arose when none of the characters could remember any of the other characters and that the characters overtook who I was and created their own stories while I was clearly somewhere else.
I never could voluntarily pull myself out of the story, the character lived and told their story until they were done and then I’d come back for a while and then another would come. I’d often forget any of them had been around at all, except that I lost memory of long periods of time. I also knew parts of the stories, and I knew I’d actually lived the story except for the fact that it wasn’t me, except that it was.
The characters, who were me but not quite me except that they were, all had their own lives, their own identities, and their own names. They were, however, part of the central story of me. The story of each individual person was different, and once that person had gotten some of theirs told and acted out, I’d be myself for a while, until another showed up.
