The hardest thing for me about the Sybil Myth – all the stereotypes and misconceptions about Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID) and those of us with it – is that it blossomed from grains of truth. As much as I hate to admit it, sometimes I am Sybil. And these past several months I’ve been furiously kicking and gasping and gulping and crying and barely keeping my head above water. I want to believe that dissociation has allowed me to keep up appearances, but I know there have been some cracks in the veneer here and there. At home there’s no passing for normal … I’ve been a flailing wreck. A walking cliché.
I hate that I can’t be a big kid and swim in the deep end, but there you have it. Back to the kiddie pool I go.