The Christmas holiday is over. It’s been a year since the flashbacks led to awareness of the trauma I survived as a three-year-old at Christmas. This holiday season was much easier, more peaceful. No more revelations. Christmas music wasn’t a trigger this year. A huge breath of relief and a prayer of thanks has been lifted.
I’ve read in dissociative forums about those with DID who have survived traumas at young ages and have alters they call littles. I have developed a habit of thinking of my earliest parts as littles; those parts of me who survived trauma in a pre-verbal stage and then again at 3 year’s old that Christmas. My therapist and I are trying to sort out names for all my parts. My best guess is the pre-verbal little doesn’t have a name, she just is. Our three-year-old little is Gussie. Neither little has much interest interacting with people around us, usually I, whoever I am, don’t notice when they are aware.
There are times when I find myself holding the tv remote in my hand with no clue how to use it, experiencing the inability to express myself in the face of someone else’s rage, and hearing myself tell the husband that his rage is scary to the young ones we protect.
Then there the times our pre-verbal just wants to be held. It usually happens when we are walking alone. We see ourselves being held close and carried. We then feel a slight moment of vertigo, as if we are falling and then caught up in strong arms that hold us close and carry us. It is very peaceful and comforting. This lasts but a moment and then it is over.