CHAPTER 1: A CRACK IN THE WALL
I was diagnosed as a multiple personality when I was thirty-seven years old. I didn’t agree with the diagnosis, but I knew something was wrong with me. I was in constant emotional and physical pain, and struggled to make the simplest decisions. Every area of my life was in chaos.
Six years before my diagnosis, I began working with my first therapist. During one of our sessions, he asked me if I had been sexually abused. I told him I didn’t think so, but as I drove home that evening, I asked God to show me the truth.
Pieces of memory began to filter through the veil of my forgetfulness—flashes so unimaginable, I could barely cope. How could this be real? I would have remembered it, I thought. As the flashes became full-fledged memories, I was crippled with such overwhelming emotional pain that I cried every day. I had found being a single parent of three young boys very difficult, but now with these memories becoming more frequent, I could barely function.
After a couple of years dealing with the memories of my father’s abuse, I began having memories of men being dressed in hooded, black robes. Pieces of memory flashed before my eyes—images so horrific I wondered if I were insane. With these images came the awareness that these men were part of a satanic cult. How could these things have happened to me without me remembering it?
Julie, my younger sister, began having satanic memories as well. She would call me on the phone and ask me to listen to a memory she just had. She was concerned I would contaminate her memories with memories of my own, so she asked me only to listen.
In October of 1992, she called to share another memory. As I listened to Julie recount what had happened to our mother, it seemed as though an invisible wall crumbled, allowing me to see everything in shocking detail. Stopping Julie in mid-sentence, I pressed her for specifics. As she described what she was seeing, I could no longer push the truth away. Our memory matched exactly! Seeing my mother savagely raped by my father and his male cult followers, caused chills to run down my spine. I felt like I was plunging headfirst down a dark hole, and I couldn’t do anything about it. Every satanic cult memory I had remembered up to this point had seemed too outlandish to be true. They were so outside the realm of normalcy that they were easy to repress. But now I was seeing the memory in real time, and it hit me hard! My denial shattered. I knew I was in trouble.
I scheduled appointments with different therapists in hopes I would find someone I could work with. But when I met with them individually, they all asked me the same question: did I know what Multiple Personality Disorder was? I was offended and angry at their question. I left each appointment totally discouraged. But I had to find someone to help me. Walking into my seventh appointment, I tried to describe the memories I was having. Sobbing, I was incoherent. Once again, I was asked if I knew what Multiple Personality Disorder was. I rebuked the therapist, telling him I knew what it was, and that I didn’t have it! Unlike the other therapists who had let the matter go, he disagreed with me, and said that he had seen me switch personalities at least six times during the session. I left his office completely devastated.
Laying my head against the steering wheel of my car, I begged God for help. I told God if this were true, I would be willing to face it. Instantly, I saw a young girl appear on the seat right next to me. She seemed as real as I was, but since she materialized out of nowhere, I knew she must be a personality. She told me her name was Candee. She couldn’t have been more than fourteen years old. She was thin, with blond, curly hair. Her eyes were blue, and she had the sweetest smile. I was so shocked that I didn’t remember driving home.
I began working with the therapist who had insisted I was a multiple personality. I would go to his office for a session, and be told only minutes later that our session was over. He informed me I had been there for the full hour, but I didn’t remember a thing! I began recording the sessions so I could hear what was going on with me. When I would listen to the cassette tape, I was surprised. I heard different voices, sharing things I had no memory of. Even though the therapist handed me the cassette tape after every session, I still didn’t believe what was on it. The stories told by the various voices were too far-fetched to be true; it was easier for me to believe I was crazy.
I began taking notes from the recorded cassette tapes, and when each new personality presented itself, I wrote down his or her name in my journals. I did this for years. It felt like I was working with a jigsaw puzzle, with the pieces of me scattered everywhere. I believed that if I kept track of all the different names with all the different stories, I would eventually find myself. I went back through my journals many years later and counted the names I had jotted down, and to my amazement, it surpassed well over three-hundred different personalities.
One day, while shopping in Target with my sons, I heard a high-pitched child’s voice calling to them. I watched a four-year-old little boy with freckles and brown hair repeatedly shout to my boys that they had to come and see the toys. He gestured wildly, racing back and forth through the toy aisle. As I stood there, blocked behind some kind of internal glass wall, I saw my sons’ confusion and was powerless to do anything about it. Intuitively I knew this child was connected to me and my supposed multiplicity. In the next instant, I was back on the other side of the wall, trying to deal with my sons’ embarrassment. At the time, I believed what I saw was what everyone else saw. It was years before I understood that the little boy who was running down the toy aisle was me! My sons were embarrassed because they were seeing their own mother race up and down the aisles of Target, behaving like a four-year-old child.
I was getting worse. Suicide promised a way out, but I couldn’t do that to my sons. I found a hospital that might be able to help me. It was described as one of the leading institutions in the country dealing with dissociative disorders.
I went into the hospital on August 12, 1993, and what was supposed to be a twenty-eight-day program turned into eight straight months of hospitalization. I deteriorated so completely that foster care was called in to help. They told me that if I didn’t willingly sign my sons over to the state, they would take me to court and prove I was unfit, and then I would never get them back. This terrified me so much that I willingly signed the papers.
I also began having memories of the government experimenting on me. My doctor told me I wasn’t the first patient to share this kind of information with him. He told me that the government had admitted to experimenting on Americans years earlier, but at that point I was overwhelmed, and could not accept any more details about my past. So my Soul put them away until later.
After being released from the hospital, I was re-admitted periodically for the next two-and-a-half years due to my instability. While living on my own between hospital stays, I attended the hospital’s outpatient program every day and met with my doctor three times a week, but nothing seemed to help. I was still behaving erratically, and the memories never stopped. I felt hopeless.
In my therapy sessions, I began to hear the words there is something more. It began as a quiet whisper, and the more I felt stuck, the louder it got. Finally in complete despair, I stopped resisting. Within weeks, I was meeting the woman who would help me integrate. Norma Delaney bridged the gap of my self-hatred with a compassionate love so authentic that I began to feel and experience things I had never known before. I learned from her. She was my teacher in becoming real.
Unlike the doctors and therapists I had previously worked with, she was willing to step beyond the confines of accepted psychological methodology, in favor of something that would secure an authentic integration born of my Soul.
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Using the word “I” in the previous text, was only for semantics. In truth, there was no I. There was no awareness of myself as an individual. Instead, there was a physical body, containing fragmented consciousnesses, held together by my Soul to move the life forward. Imagine a revolving door, quickly ushering people in and out. Each personality that comes forward, will pick up the conversation where the last one left off. There can be no indication of the switch, because that will attract your attention. There is a cohesiveness of awareness, which allows all the personalities to flow as one.
When a baby is born, the parents (if they are loving), hold and nurture their newborn. This simple act invites the Soul, through breath, to come into the body. While I was in the hospital, I got that kind of nurturing from the hospital staff. But once I was brought home, the regimen of training began.
When I was three days old, my father took me outside and laid me in the grass. Standing back, he watched to see how I would react. As I became cold and hungry, my cries turned into screams of anger. Weakened from lack of nourishment, I fell into unconsciousness, but he would have none of that. He would kick me awake, starting the process all over again. This went on into the early morning hours.
How many times did my father have to kick me to rouse me out of death? How long would I cry before I gave up? Whatever the criteria was, I passed it with flying colors. I was the fighter he was looking for.
How do I remember this? My Soul showed me this memory many years ago. She began to share with me the intent of this lifetime. Before my birth, my Soul knew of the thousands of years she had lived in human form experiencing life through a veil of self-hatred. She chose that this lifetime would be different. By being born to parents who were masters of fear, I would create such an exaggerated experience of fear that I would either get lost in it, or I would discover the truth of who I really am. It was a big gamble, but my Soul was willing to take it.
Norma held a space of loving compassion which allowed me to feel safe enough to face the truth of my life’s experiences a memory at a time. Only after we had worked for over twenty years, and I knew without a doubt that the memories were true, was I able to research on the internet what the government had admitted. It shocked me to my core and validated everything I had remembered. I realized that my parents’ intent, combined with the government’s mind control program had one purpose: to create a multiple personality that they could control from the very beginning, and that training affected every area of my life.
This book is about my miraculous journey into integration and the light. It is about my transformation from living in darkness to being a person of higher consciousness. It’s about working outside the box to realize a choice that was made before my birth. The multiplicity that had worked so miraculously for thirty-seven years began to unravel, because I allowed the first piece of truth to break through the barrier of my denial. That first truth created a small crack in the walls of my dissociation. What looked to the outer world like chaos, was, in truth, the beginning of my new life.
How is it possible that integration was finally achieved? Soul wisdom is so much more than what we humans realize. I, the human, needed another human to guide me, to help me see that there was another way. My Soul brought me to Norma Delaney to begin my journey of integration. In being able to touch her and speak to her, in feeling her love and compassion encompass me, I began to trust something other than fear. She was the rock to my instability. I knew nothing about my Soul, but through her, I was introduced to the light within me. I could only dream of surviving, but my Soul knew that life could be so much more than just survival. With guidance from my Soul and a total commitment from this woman, I began my integration. There were many naysayers who told Norma to give up. They said I would never integrate, but she knew that with Spirit anything is possible.
This book was written to show others that there is another way. No matter what has happened in your past, if you truly want to heal, you can through the wisdom of your own higher consciousness. You don’t have to have a plan. Just say yes to your Soul, and that will be a beginning.
