"This is a big notebook with lots of pages. Many are empty. Just like my life there are many pages to be filled. They can be filled with sad stories or happy stories or both. It is my choice to express what I wish to express here. I can keep my note book a secret or I can show my friends, this is also my choice. As we fill these pages each week or maybe even each day, we can look back and review the old pages. From the good things we can read and be happy; from the sad things we can read and we can learn. On the last page we can be satisfied with our note book."

Shiloh

Shiloh's Journal

Shiloh shares thoughts from their journal

"I would like to someday live and not be labeled for I realize that the educating of this disorder, which in my goal of trying to inform you of, still will fail to meet the ends of the earth. Realistically, as hard as I have tried to explain why my mind functions in the way it does to even the closest and dearest of friends, I have been met with disbelief, labels of ridicule and even abandonment by them. For so long I decided to not explain anything, just let them imagine or think what they would. My greatest skill was covering up and disguising every idiosyncrasy that arose while in relations with friends. When my different natures conflicted with one another in the presence of someone else, when friends became confused about why I was so different from yesterday to today, I became quick to laugh, the best at changing the subject and a pro at excuses.

I got so tired of hiding my M.P.D., but then so tired of trying to explain it and even more exhausted trying to keep an even minimal support system in my life. In response to some of those frustrations I give this book, out of the many reasons existing, another great reason to be born. Why not? When someone again comes into my life and is confused about me- Someone who I want to love and don't want to lose; I will hand them a copy and say, "This is how it is, take me or leave me." Ha Ha!! Free at last to express to some and relate to others of some of the struggles of people with M.P.D. Oh!!, the glory of non-verbal communications. On paper I have the power to speak what I want with you with out the fear of disrupting any of my mental states. In saying this I do not wish to discredit any one part of me; on the contrary, it would be my greatest pleasure to be able to relate to you personally and you with me, sharing the wonderful miracle of two individuals striving for a satisfaction with their individual lives. Then again, I can only be honest from my own experience: it is hard for so many within one to get along together when it comes to relationships on the outside of my mind. I may realize your limitations and sensitivities, but may you forgive them; the others within me may not. It is not their weakness to cause an obstacle in a relationship. The problems which subsequently arise are all part of their protection of the whole. It is their job.

This social hinderance is not by any means, limited to myself. I am just another voice of validation to the unpieced puzzle within our minds. I am so amazed that through the meetings of others diagnosed with M.P.D. I have heard so many similarities of expressed needs. There is an incredible amount of lonliness and isolation that comes along with this disorder that the needs of our people within and the sisters and brothers of M.P.D. without, go unwarranted. With the church crying demon possession and a number of others saying "simply crazy", there is not a whole lot of social opportunity for us.

Fellow survivors, my greatest wish would be to leave you such words of wisdom that might comfort even the smallest amount of your lonliness. My apologies for the limitations coming from one who not only lies within the restrictions of being a fragment, but whose limitations must also carry the stigma of a realist.

The fragment aspect confines this writing along with my full power and experience in being able to relay to you all of the counsel and encouragement that my whole once unified may portray to you. Nevertheless, though I am a fragment, I am a primary fragment with many experiences, victories, and a fresh knowledge of what it's about. This is important to capture the full empathy spirit, for because I am smack dab in the middle of this thing I can truly relate to you, my targeted audience.

The realist perspective being that we all know that each and every struggle is our own, not that we have granted it, but just as we are thrown into every minute that passes against our will, we have lived within those struggles and have been required to accept them. The pain is real, the trauma we face because of our pasts is real. We've tried to deny it every second of every minute and every breath of every heart beat, but we are all learning, aren't we?, we are learning that the only way to the end is through the middle and what lies in the middle is a darkness only a decorated warrior could survive.

From experience I can estimate your pain and if there were only a way, if I were the greatest of magicians, or a friend of Merlin I would stand on the highest mountain and shout "Ala ca zam!", so then, each of you precious persons who are so divided would: become acceptable citizens in our society. Laugh out loud from the center of your soul and mean it. Go to a steady job with your head held high. Be rid of the night terrors, nightmares and hallucinations. Have close friends to laugh with and cry with without scaring them away. No more headaches, fevers, nausea from internal grieving. You could reach out to your kids in sincerity, letting them know who you really are without having to hide it. Be able to look at the clock and acount for the last four hours. Know which voice to listen to when you are bombarded by many opposing opinions within your head.

Yes, if it were in my power....but alas, I cannot. I am so sorry. I am even sorry for being sorry, but just as I cannot bring peace down on the entire human race within this moment, as much as my heart aches to do so I cannot fix the horrors in your lives.

One of the questions that I have asked myself many times over is "Then what can I do?" Is there anything to benefit so many that I care about on this same path ? Because of my own path in this healing thing and the hurts that I have faced, I feel that by talking some things out with you and sharing a few things that have both worked and failed for me, may add yet another small voice to the whole who speaks to us.

I know that you can all agree that there just is not enough support for the people of our nature and though we are few, we are the ones who require the most support- I want to give something to you. I hope to give to you an invaluable resource within these pages. If I can help to give the least bit of comfort to you it will be worth every second that I put into this project.

I am sure we have all come to the conclusion that there just aren't any survival guides to take us step by step through the healing process. Oh yes, there are war stories and bits of advice now and then, but there just is not a detailed method for dealing with this madness. Even your therapist will confirm that every case and every client is so different from each other that there just is no standardized treatment plan that he has for you. I honestly do not believe that there ever will be a standardized treatment program for M.P.D. There will never be a specific drug or specific guideline. Yet we are not totoally isolated. There are resources out there if you look hard enough and there are people somewhere not too far away that will be willing to take ahold of your hand, squeeze it tight and pull you up when your legs feel like buckling.

My experiences and knowledge of this disorder does not classify this book in any way to take the place of your therapists advice and recomendations. I am sure she knows far more of your situations as I, but I will not go as far as to say, "do not read this at home without a therapists supervision." I don't believe that there will be any seriously negative consequences from reading this. I am not writing to counsel or advise you, but to give you as much encouragement as possible. I am writing under the strong conviction that we need to help each other in any way possible. In a sense I am trying to take hold of your hand as someone else has taken ahold of mine and instead of a vertical line of people giving the greatest burden to the ones on top, we will be able to form a horizontal chain distributing evenly both the strength and the burdens.

The largest outcry of our people is for support. More understanding friends; to many, any understanding friends would be wonderful. There are all together too many fears and misconceptions of us as a label. After surviving the most of our lives in abusive situations the last thing many of us will do is subject ourselves to ridicule for it. Support is also a hard issue in that people are not used to dealing with such a diversity of personalities within the same shell. Even when I, myself am attracted to a person for a possible friendship it is because I admire certain attitudes and characteristics about them. With one having M.P's (multiple personalities) their own qualities and idiosyncrisies are often conflicting. What a possible friend may find appealing in one personality may not be present in another. It is virtually impossible to be accepted as a whole. One of the saddest lack of support systems for M.P.D.'s is that which cannot be found from each other. It is not only difficult for a whole person to have a natural relationship with a divided one it becomes even more complex when two divided people get together.

Many also agree that if we can't have tangible, personal support from the social world than literature about each other, the progresses and successes of our group would be helpful. Ha!!! Good luck. My county has a fairly large library system, but finding information and material on M.P.D. is like trying to find a four leaf clover in a corn field. The literature that is in print can only be accessed through weeks and even months of waiting for a copy.

So yes, we are a people of need. We need more support than the average and seem to get less. This work that I am presenting to you is such a small part for what really needs to be done. My hope is to encourage more of you to add your own parts to this vision. We can make a difference! A major goal is to gain more respect and recognition for who we are without the labels and then through the research and more testimonies like my own, those diagnosed with M.P.D. may be able to live in the worlds eyes as real people too.

It's a lonely life being in the world of M.P.D. There are few to understand the things that we face and even fewer who are willing to stick close to us as we pursue our healing. Let's remember though that I am a human!! You are a human!!! We are special!!!! We have just as great or greater a purpose in this life as anyone and though we've been brain washed into believing differently we have the power to whip this thing with dignity. As we are knocked down again and again by promising friends, as we struggle to pick our already battered children off of the floor, we still keep living and breathing through this single shell that has been left to our protection by God.

The hardest thing for society to get a grip with is the idea a spiritual world exists. We are living in an age of humanism. Mankind is the center and source of all life. In order to understand some of the aspects of M.P.D. the first thing that must leave our minds is the realist persuasions that we have been subjected to all of our lives. People who have M.P.D. (we refer to each other and are also referred to as multiples) have a greater spiritual sensitivity than the norm. Through the test of survival our necessity to sustain life has pushed us forward to reach out beyond the assistance of humans and reach up to greater powers. Why? Humans could not, humans would not, amidst our innocent tribulations as small children, attend our needs. Our mortal protectors ignored there position in our lives. We were forced to seek out the spiritual protectors. In our human voice we can only guess at the miracles that work beyond our earthly knowings. Even amongst a greater sensitivity to those who work unseen, all of the secrets of the spirits have not been imparted to us. And so lies my attempt to give a picture to you of my own concepts and explanations of my inner world and those beyond myself that make up that world.

Now, will you travel with me for a moment. Not by the usual means of transportation, promising speed or economy to bring you from one point to a destination. No, we must move backwards. Forgetting about your family, the dog, what you had for dinner tonight. Forget about tomorrow. Where we will go, there is no tomorrow as you know it. Go back, back, back. Before your school days. Back, back. You can't count. Back. There is no meaning to the words those around you speak, it's only the fluctuations that can allow your untainted mind to generalize their meanings . Back. A light shines and there are shadows, many shadows moving within it.

A loud, choking, yelling sound, discomfort being it's source, interspersed between steady, rhythmic breathing is all you know; the rest is a blur. The sounds, exiting your own small being, seek out a warm, soft touch against your skin, large flesh wrapped around your small body; protection. There is no control over the sounds that escape your mouth. There is no reason for your arms and hands to flail about, they just do. You have no responsibility to explain your being. You are here in all of innocence, an infant born in purity.

Zoom. So, now we are back again from infancy experience, staring at the pages of this book. How was it? More than that, how did you get here? To be an adult you must have traveled the road from infancy through childhood, adolescence and finally into the maturity of an adult. No skipping a step. To destroy the infant is to kill every subsequent phase of a mortal life; therefore, the infant must survive. She must be protected. My first explanations will be that of my/our own infant child dwelling inside my/our very soul who is still under a protection so that our adult may survive. With every sub-division or segment of the spirit of an M.P.D. is a different stage or stages of the human development, the infant being the primary stage and the warriors being a name given to the subsequant stages.

When a childs psyche cannot hold the amount of trauma it must go through to survive certain abuses the child must form a holding place for what she could not hold alone. Since children are gifted with avid imaginations and are more open to spiritual awareness (versus the brainwashed adult) the child can form any number of containers for the excess trauma. Because there is such a lonliness in an abused childs life the containers summoned up for this extra emotional baggage usually have real names and human characterisitics. For example: Mandy, who we learn later has been abused by her grandfather, gave Andy, a separate consciousness within her mind, the abusive part of grandpa's games and kept within her own consciousness the good parts of those games. If you were to ask her about grandpa's game she would giggle and laugh as she told you. If you were to address Andy and ask him about the same game he would look at the floor and appear as though he wish he were someplace else.

As a child, we did not choose to call the other parts containers. A container is too impersonal and inanimate. Even a series of the most guarded containers wouldn't seem as important or safe as the name of protection we chose. Each one of us was alive and though the same we were different, we were the warriors.

This is the first accounting of "the warriors", the separate entities that dwell within a single mind and single body of one carrying our birth name- Shiloh rey. We are the warriors. We are not immortal or even super natural but we are an organized lot. Coming and going at the request of those above us and/or the circumstances that surround us. Our duties are not to directly nurture our own needs but the needs of the infant.

As every human, the warriors face the stresses of what life brings and the consequences of our failings. As impressionable mortals we reflect many things which are brought upon us from the dark sides of nature. Defenses and mechanisms allow us to function in society as a whole, as we undergo the battle for the infant. Great organization from the Translator, the overseer of the protecting spirits, and other unseen spirits and guides, allow us to be a part of the process of the coming together of ourselves as that whole.

As the infant of innocence sleeps on, untouched by the circumstances that we call the history of this life; we battled day by day for her, few realizing that we are fighting, not only for her, but for our own awakening and our own consciousness. One day, according to the plan, we will be united with the infant, giving her the gift of the life that we have sustained for her. On that great day we will become her and as she awakes, she will know and she will become us.

Now, how can I explain to you the unseen works in my life? This is a touchy area for me. There have been responses to my disorder from people that were not positive and so I arrive at my spiritual explanations to you with caution. It is not pleasant to be looked at in the same light as that of a senial old man. O.k. first of all I would like to tell you of the comforting that I experienced at ...

Traveling far, far inward to the very center of a certain soul a sleeping infant lay wrapped in a blanket of gold upon a large, satin covered pillow. The infant, born to purity as every infant is, was threatened to be subjected to all that was impure. Dark powers of immorality filtered through those in relation to the child who had, through no fault of their own, been weakened in their hard life's journey.

It is so hard to begin with such painful memories of my past. I do though feel that it is imperative to go on and explain to you some of the cruelties that caused the division in my mind to be created. Also, as I write I am faced myself with the raw truth of the written word reflecting against my eyes. It opens them up a bit wider each time exposing the denial that tries to keep me from my healing.

Since much has already been written, this very paragraph having been inserted at a later time, I am surprised to find that I am not the only author. As I read pages in succeeding chapters of this book that appear from nowhere they explain not my own memories of a warrior but someone elses. I can't tell you the names of these warriors. I can guess, but I'm not sure I know them. I choose to leave their anonymous writings here, for though it is painful to my own heart, I believe the benefit of this pain to be part of the healing and coming together of ourselves. So fellow warrior, if you are co-conscious of me at this time or have the opportunity to read this later, I would like to say thankyou for your contributions to this project. You are welcome to intercede at anytime. This is right and I am ready to know you and your pain more.

" Come here sugar, sit on grandpa's lap." The old man reached out to little Shiloh, his blue eyes sparkled as she looked up to him with a smile attached to her face that could only be made for grandpa's. He pulled her up on to his lap. He was sitting in a large blue cushioned rocking chair, the same one that her mother used to hold her in as an infant, nursing her and singing lullabies until the baby's lashes would flutter away to dreamland.

"That's it, now how's my big girl doing today?" In the kitchen behind them the grandma busied herself with dinner clanking pots and pans together, running the tap water off and on, chopping at something on the counter. "Hear comes the spider." His fingers tiptoed their way up from her knee to her chin, once reaching destination tickling the baby fat that still hung there.

"Oh no you don't. Don't laugh, nor grin, nor wiggle your chin." Little Shiloh squealed with delight as the fingers sought their reward of laughter. "Here comes the spider again." The fingers again started at the knee, but this time taking a detour sliding under the dress and into the little girl's underwear.

"Shhh, this is nicey nice Shiloh. Nicey nice." The little girl stopped her laughter. The grandmother called them to dinner. And so I recall. And so, it went on...... and on............ and on............... and on.

In response to the revelation of the dangers foreshadowed, a great call was made throughout the heavens from the protectors of the souls of humankind, the protectors being spirits who were assigned for the protection against the dark unseen powers roaming the individuals of the human race. In reply to the call, an assembly of guarding spirits gathered for the description of a new journey. These were the spirits of individual souls, having finished former work, awaiting a new assignment. The meeting that the spirits were called to could not be found in a place. For a place is something that can be sought geographically. Geographically speaking, there can be no area of containment for those of the spirit world. There are no maps to go by. Upon a call, they are not lost. They come together as if there was no distance between them to begin with. They are many, but excluding the different ranks of responsibility and wisdom, in almost every respect they are one.

The protectors stood in countless number upon a great high wall before the even larger congregation of guardians. The speaker of the protectors stepped out of the crowd. He was dressed as they were, wearing a white blouse with poets sleeves that tapered down to tightly wrap his wrists. As he walked to his speaking position the length of the blouse in the back meshed with the long tan skirt flowing out behind him.

Silence fell upon the crowd the instant the speaker touched his platform. The quietness of his voice held no tone of authority, yet an eerie respect in posture and countenance appeared about each guarding spirit. Every syllable spoken by him was defined to the listeners by an imagery, surrounding them as clear as his presence was before them.

The icon's were a formation of color that danced and whirled with every breath of the speaker. The emotion that was thrust out from his form could not only be experienced to the spirits as mere sounds, but in the contrasting lights of all creation. Every scheme and shade of color known to man on earth, added to the thousands upon thousands more that can only be seen with immortal eyes, surrounded them through his pronouncements.

Pausing for a moment in the stillness that surrounded, the speaker glanced about the crowd before beginning. His visual contact, setting the stage, gave appropriate timing to his announcement. "It is time again for the selection of ten strong ones to be positioned against the workings of the darkness. As we speak, there lies a small child threatened before her time by the voice of a distorter. Only through our interference will this child be given her chance to thrive in this world. I have already chosen those who will be assigned to the duty of her safe keeping. Your tasks are not small. She has previously suffered a pain that she could not bear alone. As we speak there is already one beside her that I have quickly appointed out of the necessity of sustaining every beat of her heart."

The short meeting ended with a traditional span of silence as a united prayer for the child. The crowd dispersed leaving only ten of the wisest who were allocated to the structuring and guidance of the child's soul. Icon's of the speaker reflected and danced their way around the appointed and beyond what the addition of words could achieve. Without spoken word they stood before the protectors with full knowledge of there appointment.

It had been agreed beforehand that within the abilities of this specific ten, was the powers and wisdom that was needed for the uniqueness of their subject. One by one the protectors filed down the stairs of the wall to give their blessings to the appointed ones. As they filed past the ten each bowed to each appointed. So they walked bowed and walked again until the last bow where they walked on to nothing, taking away their presence to their other duties , but not fully departing. For again, with no space to travel, no distance in their realm, one cannot really depart. The ten left standing conferred with each other, sharing their own abilities and last assignments until chanting chords filled the air and theicons moved above them. Being warned by the unseen, they withdrew in the sensed urgency to the new subject of their keeping.

Upon the arrival of the guardians to the soul where the infant rests, the one quickly appointed by the speaker, who sustained her hearts rhythm stood and bowed. His head arose to meet their gaze. The ten did not recognize him. He was the one described as appointed by the speaker in haste, but he was not one of them. His face portrayed a sadness that could not be defined. There was silence as he stepped back from his position into the shadows of the soul.

The ten gathered in a circle around her cradle, each taking their given place. He, who stood now behind them had held her life well. The infant did not seem to be a child in grave danger. Her steady breathing and peaceful countenance gave no indication of the dangers that were previously placed upon her.

There were no formalities. No one had come along to acquaint the ten with this new subject of their keeping. The introduction to the infant was only consummated by the innocence radiating from every point of her being. This innocence became the bonding between the guardians and the child that served a far better purpose than a conventional overture . It was a bond that the ten would need to fulfill their calling in the preservation of her life. At this time, the knowing of the urgency of her protection was complete.

The guardian's job was not just to stand by the child. Their shield of protection went far beyond their attentiveness to her resting place. To be limited to such a task would not allow the life of the child in society to mature. Their calling would also come to include the planning for the growth and development of the conscious life. Because of the dangers to this specific soul, the innocence that made up the child could not be released to pathos. It had to be guarded under the protection of the guardians until the day that the blackness which threatened her life was conquered. In order to allow a development of the existence at stake, there had to be something to fill the consciousness. The guardians were spirits not recognized in the mortal world. It could not be their job to perform the callings of society. Something else had to be created to preserve the growth of this life.

The first called one who had moved back into the shadows of the soul, proceeded forward. With just a glance to the guardians they stepped away from the infant as he went forth to the head of her resting place. Placing his pointer and middle fingers of each hand on either side of her head, he closed his eyes and stood in deep meditation. The only movement that was made inside the souls room was the rise and the fall of the infants chest in perfect cadence to her heart. No other breath was heard for hers took dominance. Not an eye blinked for fear of robbing the smallest measure of power. No time had elapsed during the ceremony yet it took place with such effect as to have been a twenty year religious effort. After his performance on the child he summoned them back to their positions, not removing himself from her head.

The child stirred on her platform. Her eyes opened and closed in one blink and she again slept soundly. A presence shook their surroundings and the guardians looked to the unknown one in question. For the first time since their meeting with him he spoke. His voice was soft, but monotone. "The presence that you feel around us is one that shall be called Andy. He has been summoned by myself from the inner depths of the child's mind. He is the part of her that will carry the outside burdens of her conscious life at this time. Your orders are to set an organization between yourselves. You are to keep your comforts with the child, and now as the time has come, to watch over Andy and the sufferings that he must face. His success with his calling lies also in your own attainment."

Andy was the first of the appointed warriors. His being, as with every warrior to come, segmented from the child's whole, was not of the spirit world. He was brought forth from the inner cells and makeup of the infant. He was not a separate creation. He was born from a small part of who the infant was- part of what she represented. He had also, in himself, the capabilities, given by the great ones, to at this time take on the wickedness that fought against the soul.

Now, as at least three of the ten are in constant watch of the infant's sleeping form; the guides, Andy and the warriors that have since been appointed, fight to preserve her life. In an intricate pattern drawn up by a great one, the regions of the soul become a battle field. The war has begun. As they battle, they all await the day of her awakening, for in that time the pattern will be complete; there will be a great reunion of themselves together. A rejoicing will resound for the battle that was won, the soul that was saved.

© Shiloh

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