Dissociative Identity Disorder – 5 books about healing from DID

Dissociative Identity Disorder (formerly known as Multiple Personality Disorder) is often misunderstood and stigmatized.

These books describe the reality of having and recovering from DID. Due to the nature of the types of abuse experience by survivors of dissociative identity disorder these are highly triggering. Most contain descriptions of self injury, suicide attempts and incest.

A Fractured Mind by Robert Oxnam

“Bob, I’m afraid our time’s up,” Smith said in a matter-of-fact style.

“Time’s up?” I exclaimed. “I just got here.”

“No.” He shook his head, glancing at his clock. “It’s been fifty minutes. You don’t remember anything?”

“I remember everything. I was just telling you that these sessions don’t seem to be working for me.”

Smith paused to choose his words very carefully. “Do you know a very angry boy named ‘Tommy’?”

“No,” I said in bewilderment, “except for my cousin Tommy whom I haven’t seen in twenty years…”

“No.” He stopped me short. “This Tommy’s not your cousin. I spent this last fifty minutes talking with another Tommy. He’s full of anger. And he’s inside of you.” Read more

Five Farewells by Liz Elliot by About Liz

I’m Liz Elliot, and I’ve written my memoir about living with DID because I wanted to share my story with other people so that it might help break down some of the illusions about living with DID. A lot of brave people have done that before me, and I wanted to be a part of making change for people who live with DID like I do.

My Life as a Multiple by Dr Cameron West

First Person Plural: My Life as a Multiple by Dr Cameron West, source: books.google.com

One of the oldest books written about living with dissociative identity disorder, which was called multiple personality disorder at the time. He describes here how the switches of identity affect his daily life.

“Janna knew – Rikki knew — and I knew, too — that becoming Dr Cameron West wouldn’t make me feel a damn bit better about myself than I did about being Citizen West. Citizen West, Citizen Kane, Sugar Ray Robinson, Robinson Crusoe, Robinson miso, miso soup, black bean soup, black sticky soup, black sticky me. Yeah. Inside I was still a fetid and festering corpse covered in sticky blackness, still mired in putrid shame and scorching self-hatred. I could write an 86-page essay comparing the features of Borderline Personality Disorder with those of Dissociative Identity Disorder, but I barely knew what day it was, or even what month, never knew where the car was parked when Dusty would come out of the grocery store, couldn’t look in the mirror for fear of what—or whom—I’d see.

The Magic Castle: A Mother’s Harrowing True Story Of Her Adoptive Son’s Multiple Personalities– And The Triumph Of Healing

by Carole Smith

When Carole Smith and her husband decided to take in a foster child that no one else would have, they knew ten-year-old Alex would be difficult. But nothing had prepared them for the unruly, self-destructive boy who stormed into their lives. Alone with Alex during the day, Carole was baffled by his infantile tantrums and violent, self-hating behaviors. Exasperated, she tried relating to him as the two-year-old he appeared to be, and finally, a door to Alex’s mind began to open.

Today I’m Alice: Nine Personalities, One Tortured Mind by Alice Jamieson

bookcover from goodreads.com

When Alice was a teenager, strange things started happening to her. Hours of her life simply disappeared. She’d hear voices shouting at her, telling her she was useless. And the nightmares that had haunted her since early childhood, scenes of men abusing her, became more detailed . . . more real. Staring at herself in the mirror she’d catch her face changing, as if someone else was looking out through her eyes.

I was spaced out, the catchphrase my friends at school used to describe their first experiments with marijuana and booze. This buzzword perfectly described a picture in my mind of me, Alice, hovering just below the ceiling like a balloon and looking down at my own small bed where a big man lay heavily on a little girl I couldn’t quite see or recognize. It wasn’t me. I was spaced out on the ceiling.

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