My Greatest Fear

Hearing voices in your head is unsettling. Having them consort, argue, or scream can make it difficult to pay attention to your surroundings or to speak over the din. But the most terrifying element of this disease, for me, is losing control of my own body.

When an "alter" (alternate identity) assumes control, I often feel as if I've fallen down a well and can only observe the events unfolding above me with no power to influence them. My mouth moves without my permission. While I lie dazed and buried inside my mind, the alter continues to interact with the world. We have a pact, the seven of us. If the cohesion of my functional ego dissolves and an alter takes control, the first rule is to not make a scene. Speak as little as possible, and don't make important decisions.

The mandate on limited speech is an important one. "So you're Thomas! I've heard so much about you." would require an embarrassing explanation, given I've known Thomas for years. Some alters shape their mouth in a very specific way, as if they've used a different accent their whole life. This is particularly embarrassing, as it is very difficult to hide. Silence is key.

My alters have strikingly different opinions about many things. Some are emotional. Curt doesn't understand emotion at all, and is constantly frustrated with the others. Some are cautious, and others veer toward confidence, sometimes in reckless ways. Those alters keep me up at night. We discuss the importance of not making decisions that may result in serious or long-term consequences, but the concept of restraint seems so foreign to them that I live with the constant terror of wondering what they might do next — what conversations they may have, what boundaries they may cross, and where their unbridled curiosity may land me.

Another disturbing facet of this lack of control is "loss of time", another frequent symptom of this disease. Blocks of time will disappear from my memory. I may remember clearly what I did prior to an event, then have no recollection of the event at all. I'll remember the moment one job ended, but have no recollection of the events that proceeded — just a blank space where memories of studying, interviewing, hiring, and onboarding should reside. I've had people relate conversations that critically changed our relationship and have no memory of saying the things I'm accused of saying. Sometimes the comments they relate are so unlike the person I imagine myself to be that I'm inclined to wonder if they've confused me for someone else. But this is part of my illness. If someone insists I said something awful or made a massive promise, I have to question myself, not the other party. Paired with the lack of control I feel over my alters, I often worry that my life can be derailed in serious ways at any moment. This is not just speculation, many people with this disease have a hard time holding down a job, maintaining relationships, or managing their lives. The terror is real.