Accepting without knowing

Or, "How Fantasy Novels Improved My Life"

I've thought in the past that reading lots of fantasy novels smoothed the path when I realized that fundamentalist Christianity didn't really work for me, as a religion that I practiced. By the time I realized my beliefs weren't strictly Christian, I had been reading fantasy for years, and the message, over and over, is that "God" is not the same thing as religion. Some of the authors were/are devoutly religious, in the traditional sense. Some weren't. But the notion that you will find that holiness regardless of whether or not you're in a relgious institution, and that following that, rather than stated rules, is the right thing to do... that was everywhere.

So I connected to God through nature, through music, through the moon, for years before I realized that this was probably not Christianity (perhaps someday I'll tell the story of how I realized, when reading the Bible for a Western Civ class in college, that I definitely wasn't a follower of Christ).

What does this have to do with DID?

Well, fantasy novels also taught me that my mind is limitless. That if I can imagine something, somewhere, in some world, it can happen. So it didn't seem odd to make places in my head for different... people, I guess. I made space inside me for the people I felt, so they could get away from things they didn't want to experience. I kept all my vulnerabilities safe, far away at the other end of the universe; what interacted with people, day-to-day, was a shell, something that might get injured, but couldn't get hurt.

And I could meet the needs of my parts without thinking it was strange. I can remember dealing with the part of me that wanted nothing more than to spend the day curled up somewhere dark and filled with cushions, sleeping all the time. This wasn't a practical notion, obviously, since my single escape strategy was to do well in school and get away to college. Going to school, and being successful, was the only viable option. So I made a space in my head for the part that wanted to sleep, and the rest of me went to school. It was around then that I also realized I could think several unrelated things at the same time--memorize different strings of numbers and facts simultaneously; write two different things, one with each hand, at the same time; that kind of thing. I figured it was just about being smart enough. Maybe that's all it was.

Fantasy novels also taught me about "shielding." There are parts of me that are intensely shielded--one part is in the middle of a vast moor, surrounded by stone walls that are probably 20 or 30 feet tall, with no way of getting in or out. Others create shielding around specific places--my bedroom in high school was one of those places. In my head, I made that room invisible, impermeable, and took it as far away from the rest of the apartment as I could. It kind of worked, but, well, not as well as I might have hoped. But the belief in those shields gave me the strength to stick it out, those last four years at home.

Many of my parts believe fervently in magic, or the supernatural; whether it's pathways where, if we just keep our eyes open, we'll be transported to a magical land, or picking up a magical talisman from the street, or reading other people's thoughts, or doing tricks to be safer, or just praying to some kind of higher power when there's an obstacle that would be one thing too many....

But either my basic nature, or my early training, also left me with deep spiritual beliefs. I do believe in a power that is outside of me, knows more, is stronger, created the universe. You know, the reason that rainbows occur, or that bread smells good, or that butterflies are colorful. But fantasy novels, with their references to imperfect gods, gods who can't control everything in the world, gods who can make mistakes... those gave me the ability to maintain my faith, even when things that shouldn't have happened were happening. Because I can believe (well, I can conceive of the notion) that people aren't perfect; that they will do things that they shouldn't do. And I can believe that, even though it's painful, and even though it doesn't, in fact, all work to a greater plan, there is still something/someone out there who is concerned, and doing their best. And I've had enough little moments when that force came through in ways that seemed solely for my benefit, when I'd been stretched to my limits and needed something to get just a little less bad.

Fairy tales come somewhere in this, as well. The metaphors that come most strongly to me, as I'm going through this healing process, are from fairy tales: spells to keep girls from sleeping; girls who are apparently rescued, but then have to re-enter the woods and save themselves; ogres with no hearts in their bodies; monsters who speak only in riddles... powerful stories, intertwined with the fantasy novels.

There really isn't an end to this post, but I'm tired of writing, so I'll stop.