Words of a multiple: A day in the life

Having tried to dispel some of the myths about DID in our first column, ‘‘Origin Story’, we thought we’d show you what day-to-day life looks like. If we aren’t a serial killer like the media presumes, and are simply a student living with DID, what do we do all day?

8:30am: Alarm blares! We sigh, gradually drag ourselves out of bed, and summon our medical caretaker (an alter who supports the system with all our medical needs) to take the first round of medication for the day. We wonder if the medication does anything – she makes us take it anyway.

We answer questions in a voice we don’t recognise, and answer to a name that isn’t fully ours. It’s fun, and we love it, but we aren’t fully ourselves

8:45 am: It’s therapy time. A twice-weekly affair which varies between littles playing with teddies, just swearing for 50 minutes, or actually processing some trauma. Today, we are processing some trauma with a young alter who is incredibly distressed with memories. 50 minutes doesn’t quite feel long enough today, but we wave goodbye (as does our teddy) and log off the call.

9:45am: It’s now time to begin the transition into being a ‘Functional Human’, instead of ‘100 people in a trenchcoat’ (our favourite analogy for DID). We quickly get dressed – a task that doesn’t need to happen before therapy, as thankfully our therapist has known us so long that our slightly deathly appearance in teddy-bear pyjamas doesn’t faze her.

10am: We take a quick pit stop at Caffè Nero, which makes us late for class, but we’re grateful for the hot chocolate as we have to get through a three-hour-long class. We take off our (rather large) badge that declares ‘We have DID!’. For the next three hours, we are an entirely functional, non-traumatised, only slightly disabled student. We answer questions in a voice we don’t recognise, and answer to a name that isn’t fully ours. It’s fun, and we love it, but we aren’t fully ourselves.

1pm: It’s time for more hot chocolate and a catch-up with friends. We get the opportunity to catch up with a fellow system today, and we are grateful for it. Living with DID is an entirely incomprehensible experience, and, no matter how hard our singlet friends try to understand (and they are certainly compassionate and trying!), they cannot fathom what it is like to have grown up with the kind of trauma that literally fragments a mind. Today we chat about therapy, rant about those who hurt us in the past, and let the littles share about their new toys (some of which we agreed to buy, others of which just appeared in the post!). Unmasking, even briefly, has been a huge relief.

3pm: Our weekly GP appointment. Today, the doctor is carrying the weight of the entire NHS on her back. In one 10-minute appointment, she is a psychiatrist, neurologist, gastroenterologist, pulmonary specialist, and social worker – hats off to her. We leave feeling slightly more hopeful.

4pm: An attempt at work was made. We summoned our academic protectors (or ‘future proofers’ as we like to call them) and set about voraciously reading the book for next week’s class. As the system host, I am most certainly grateful for their help. I was never the ‘clever one’ in the system, but that doesn’t matter because we can share the workload. How do singlets do it? You can’t just ask someone else to do a tedious task!

The familiar greeting “Samaritans, can I help you?” reminds me that, for however long is needed, there is someone there listening without judgement

6:30pm: It’s time for the nightly disagreement about what to eat for dinner and what to watch on TV. Today, our caretakers prevail, and we have a sensible dinner of lasagne that our carer cooked earlier in the week; I, as host, win the TV argument – more Law & Order: SVU. Some wonder why we watch something so deeply traumatic when we are so deeply traumatised. My only response is that they always catch the bad guy!

9pm: We are struggling. We text our therapist and get the opportunity for a gentle offload, a meme, and a reminder that we are safe now. We are not feeling safe, so we pick up the phone to the Samaritans (rather than the useless, and dare I say, dangerously unhelpful NHS mental health line). The familiar greeting “Samaritans, can I help you?” reminds me that for however long is needed, there is someone there listening without judgment. I cry. I don’t want to cry. But it is better than my current alternatives. I am still amazed how someone not trained as a mental health professional is the most helpful in a crisis: I’ve not yet been told by them to just have a cup of tea or take a bath.

10pm: Before most students have even begun a night out of drinking and partying, we are tucked up in bed, our brains finally having caught up with our bodies’ need for sleep. We quickly take our evening medications: an antipsychotic, a few antidepressants, physical health meds, and our PTSD medication, and tonight our emergency medication (which will hopefully tide us over until morning). This is the only ‘cocktail’ we have! Now, to drift into dissociation and maybe, if we’re lucky, sleep.

Glossary
Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID): Dissociative Identity Disorder, previously known as Multiple Personality Disorder. A condition where a child’s brain, due to extreme and ongoing trauma throughout childhood, does not form the same way as most people’s, leaving a person with distinct identity parts and a level of amnesia between them.

Alter: A distinct identity part within the system. Others may call these parts ‘identity states,’ ‘headmates,’ or simply ‘people.’ Some still use the term personalities, though this is less common and can cause controversy. Alters can be of different ages, genders, and appearances. They can use different names and have different interests and personalities.

System: The term people with DID typically use to describe themselves as a collection of alters.

Host: The alter in the system who fronts most often. For some, this is the alter who identifies most with the body; some systems have no single host or any at all.

Little: a child alter.

Singlet: the affectionate term people with DID typically use to describe someone without DID.

Protector/Caretaker: an alter who protects the body, other alters, or other people. We have many types of protectors, for example, a medical caretaker who ensures our medical needs are looked after, and an academic protector who ensures we do our work sufficiently!