I was 14 years old when I got my first period. Seeing blood in my underwear triggered something for me. Those with repressed traumatic memories will usually begin to remember when their bodies/minds are ready or because of an outside force like a life event will trigger them.

I started getting severe anxiety the summer between 8th and 9th grade. We chalked it up to high school nerves. Nighttime became hard and I struggled with certain textures.

From the time I began fainting, it was roughly a year. A doctor at the children’s hospital I was staying in asked my mom if I had experienced any trauma and suggested that a mental problem might be the cause of my very physical problem. The psychiatrist that was prescribing me anti depressants was the first person to officially diagnose me.

In my very first resurfaced memory, there was no face. There still isn’t to this day. Just a man’s voice, hairy arms, and large hands. That memory confirmed that someone had been hurting me as a child, but we didn’t know who it was at that point.

My parents wracked their brains thinking of everyone that it could have possibly been. They started showing me old home videos and photos to see if they sparked anything for me. I was shown a photo of my step grandfather (who had since had a debilitating stroke) and I together when I was little, and I immediately fainted. When I woke up, I relooked at the photo and fainted again. And again, and again, and again… that’s when we knew.

I’m very fortunate that my entire family believed me and rallied around me in love and support. All ties with him were completely severed.

For me, it was physically very painful. I usually knew when one was coming because I would feel a deep sense of foreboding for days leading up to it. It was terrifying knowing it was coming but that there was nothing I could do to stop it.

When it was time, my vision would go black. Even with my eyes open all I saw was darkness. Then the memory would play in my head like a movie or a vivid dream. My whole body ached like I had hit my funny bone but all over. It was an agonizing, throbbing pain. When it was over, I would pass out and usually come to as an alter.

I tried biofeedback, neurofeedback, hypnotherapy, traditional therapy, and anxiety and depression medication.

What worked best for me was simply traditional therapy with an incredible therapist. I'm also still on an anti-depressant today.

Support. Support. Support. I cannot stress enough how important it is to have a support system while navigating through a mental illness.

My mom was my rock and 24/7 caregiver. She kept me safe, drove me to appointments, befriended my alters, made life feel as normal as possible, and kept me laughing.

Music was also incredibly healing for me.

I had every intention of keeping my experience a secret. I was always open about the abuse part but until a few years ago, I would have rather died than anyone find out about the D.I.D. When I was asked about the fainting, I would say it was a PTSD response to the trauma I endured as a child and nothing more. This was a secret I wanted to take to the grave because I was so ashamed.

One day I woke up in the middle of the night gasping and drenched in sweat. The only coherent thought I was having was, "I have to tell people. I have an important story to share that could help a lot of people. I have to do it."

The absolute loss of control over my body and the shame that my diagnosis brought.

By blocking the traumatic memories, I was still able to have a happy and carefree childhood. I was unburdened by the horrors I experienced. It was also such a relief for me to be able to switch into an alter when things got too hard. Having someone else take over in a time of so much pain was a huge blessing.

Confide in someone you trust that can help when day to day problems arise, find a therapist that's a good fit for you, and release the shame. Your mind is so incredibly beautiful for protecting you.