I have DID. This story is about why.

I have Dissociative Identity Disorder. To those that aren't familiar with that term, think of it as the modern equivalent of "multiple personality disorder". I'm planning on writing more posts about the difficulties I've been through to get where I am today, assuming this post shows any interest from the community. This post will be about my beginnings, and what events caused me to have DID.

My mom and dad divorced when I was one, so I never really experienced what it was like to have a full family. My mom got the majority of my custody. IIRC I only saw my dad every other weekend. My mom also got cancer pretty early on in my life, although I don't remember when it was discovered. She was always in and out of the hospital during my early years, with me frequently staying with my maternal grandparents, at one point for almost two years. I've never been told why I wasn't just put with my dad at that point. My grandparents were wonderful to me, since I was the youngest by far, with my cousins being all adults. I would later find out that my grandfather was a terrible person, but that's another story. I was never subjected to that side of him.

In addition to my mom being sick all of the time, my dad was always struggling financially. He started his own business, took out a ton of loans, and worked ALL day. I mean, when I was staying over with my paternal grandparents and he was living there (because he couldn't afford a place), he would be gone when I woke up, and wouldn't come back until I was in bed. He had Diabetes, but *seemed* to have it under control. You might already see where this is going.

When I was 9, my mom was put in a nursing home, and between the cancer spreading to her brain and the heavy medications she was on, she didn't even know I was there when we visited. I stayed with my grandparents during this time.

A few months later, my paternal grandfather is supposed to spend the weekend at his farm with my dad, who at this point has his own house. My dad never shows up. This was in the 90's, so we didn't worry as much when we couldn't get a hold of someone because no one had cell phones, so maybe an emergency happened where my dad had to leave the house for the weekend. So my Grandpa didn't check on my dad until Sunday night. He found him on the kitchen floor unconscious, with empty beer bottles and and half eaten box of bear claws (a type of donut). He was rushed to the hospital, and it turned out he was in a diabetic coma. So I was down two parents.

I was placed with my Aunt 1's family until one of my parents recovered. I guess my grandparents were getting too old and my parents prospects too grim for me to stay with my grandparents. For some reason that I never found out, I wasn't placed with my godparents, even though that's part of the role godparents play in my family. This decision had serious consequences. My godmother is one of the nicest people I've ever met, and her children are wonderful, showing that her kindness wasn't a show. I always imagined that I would have had a great life with that family.

When I was brought to this family, I didn't know their names. I realized quickly that I was the black sheep, getting blamed for everything. This would be a common theme in my life. I then learned that Uncle 1 believed in violence as the best form of discipline. I don't remember this discipline much due to me blocking it out, but it's not something I'm sure is okay to describe in this sub anyway.

While I was with Aunt 1's family, my mother died on Easter, and my father died a few months later. I was devastated and stuck where I was at. This broke me. My identity fractured, and someone new took over. His name was Roger, and he didn't really remember much of the bad things that had happened to us. He was capable of surviving. He could go to school, do homework, make friends. Roger lasted about a year before it became too much for him to handle, being reminded of our parents death all the time by people offering their sympathies. By being trapped in a terrible living situation. Roger went dormant, and someone else took over. Someone who forgot we were plural. Someone who also forgot the abuse we were being subjected to. Someone who had muted emotions so she could survive any amount of trauma. Red.

Red didn't have a name at the time because she didn't know that she was plural. She also buried the fact that she was a she. We've always been trans, and it has lead to abuse, and probably is a part of the reason we split. But that will be a different post.

Red thought she was normal, just severely depressed due to the death of our parents. She also thought that the other alters (the name for the other people sharing the same body) were just her conscience, since they basically only spoke up when she was doing something hurtful. Since her emotions were muted, she didn't feel much compassion or remorse, but the other alters did, and they would speak up when she was about to do something wrong.

That's enough for now. If there's interest, I will write more. I'm also open to suggestions about what the next part of my life I write about is. Have a nice day everyone!