The Jonathan Alter Story–Explanation and Beginning

At jonathanalter.org I am writing the story of my life. This is a life like others, but it is also a little quirkey and broken, love-filled and violent. This is a life filled with committment, a life filled with betrayal, a life filled with darkness but always searching for the light. My life is a life of extremes, but I believe that you will find many common denominators within this story that you will be able to relate to. This auto-biography is primarily the struggle of a human-being who is searching for meaning, and therefore concerned with issues such as “who am I?” “why is there evil in this world?” “what is my purpose in life?” “why do bad things happen to good people?” “is there really a God, and if there is; what good is he/she?” “is there an afterlife?” and “how to face the fact of death today, as well as on the day I will die?” …plus other existential questions that we share in common as physical and spiritual beings.

You also need to know that I am mentally ill. I suffer from clinical depression, PTSD, anxiety, Dissociation and that very messy and misunderstood diagnosis named Dissociative Identity Disorder. I have been hospitalized for extreme disociation and suicidal ideations twice now. I am in therapy three times a week. I have been put on disability by my denomination. I struggle with my faith on a daily basis. Yet, even though I am highly critical of Christ’s Church; I am one who loves Her none the less. I am a pastor who is unsure whether I shall ever return to those sacred vows.

I write because I want to share my life- the struggle and beauty that is life. I hope that we can walk a little while together; with you sharing your life and struggles as well. I write authentically and with an open vulnerability. I invite you to do the same. My writing is also theraputic; working out life through this medium helps me draw connections and consequently unravel the mysteries and secrets of my innermost soul. I invite you to share in this healing work here at The Jonathan Alter Story. Also, please know that these writings will not follow in a life time chronological order… No, instead, one day you might read about a child, the next, me at age 50, or the next day I might just write commentary on the world issues of the day. But for now, let’s start near the begginning…

So much of my life is lost to some amnesiac black hole swirling in the abyss of my mind. However, I do remember a few things. For instance, there was the day when I was around 5 years old digging up worms in the backyard of our Kansas City home. I scooped them up with a small red metal hand shovel and would drop them into my bright red Radio Flyer wagon. After finding quite a few of these squirmers I rolled this great find into the front yard. I was going to show my mom this fantastic treasure trove only to find skinny and bossy Sally sitting on the front porch. Sally was my next door neighbor and was around three years older.

I rolled that wagon right up in front of her and showed her my glorious writhing mound of dirt. Sally was as fascinated as I was. She jumped up and chirped, “Wow John” She was on one side of the wagon while I stood on the other. Sally looked at me and explained, “you know John, if you tear these worms in half both sides will live and you will have twice the worms. Wouldn’t that be great!” With that, she quickly plucked up the first worm, held it just inches from my face, and with a big smile she tore that worm right in half. “See! Look! Both sides are still moving!”

Now, laughing, she took each wriggling creature and lavishly tore them apart one after the other. While l, on the other hand, just stood there; a silent witness to this strange horrific attempt to slaughter my poor worms.

It is then, when a tingling sensation began on the left side of my head, and as she tore apart worm after worm something strange began to take place. I felt a little dizzy… I began to disappear! I became lighter and lighter as I proceeded to rise up into the air where I could look down at my child-body and this little girl, like a red breasted Robin on steroids reaching down into the dirt to find that last worm hiding in the corner of the wagon…

Finally, the worm-tearing-experiment was done. Sally looked at me. I looked at her, but neither spoke. Sally seemed spent and maybe a little sad at this mass extermination she had accomplished in the fever of the moment.

But as for me, I was gone. My eyes were starring out into space. There was no emotion. There were no tears. I was flying off somewhere. I had escaped. For like the worms in the wagon before me; I had also been torn apart. To this day I don’t remember whether those worms lived or died… To the same extent, some 47 years later, I don’t know whether my torn apart self will live or die as well.

Posted in autobiography, child abuse, childhood, depression, dissociation, Dissociative Identity Disorder, faith, God, mental illness, multiple personalities, P.T.S.D., priests and pastors, radical evil, suicide, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

TRAVELING PEOPLE PART II–SOMEWHERE IN AFGHANISTAN

(Notes on the poem: While traveling to Paris I met this Marine in the security check point. We talked for just a moment and then off he went to war in Afghanistan while I went to play in Paris. This poem is off-topic for me, but I hope you get it. Take care. Jonathan.)

SOMEWHERE IN AFGHANISTAN
“Traveling is not for sissies, is it?” He said
Tall–slim–firm–tan–muscles–
His body and t-shirt
Both said–USA Marines
I nodded yes…
“you sure are right,
traveling is not for sissies!”
_____________________

Moving through lines of airport chaos
Traveling people–
All struggling
Bitching
Whining
Cursing
Their predicaments

And yet
The Marine
Moves with ease
Ever toward
A sleeping bag
On the desert floor
Somewhere in Afghanistan
_____________________

I didn’t know!
I stuttered…
What to say?
(you see, I was heading to Paris luxury)
“I thank you”
I worry
I wondered
At his sad eyes
Generous vulnerable broken eyes
in sharp contrast
To a military form
Self reliant and graceful
_____________________

He called me “sir”
And I thought
(don’t die… please don’t die…)
I wanted to scream it so the entire cosmos
could hear
(don’t get killed!!!)
He smiled
Turned
Went on his way…
I called out to him,
“Take Care!”
He nodded
I worried
He was traveling to war—traveling
Traveling to war
And I was traveling to Paris…

Posted in Afghanistan, mental illness, Travel, War | Tagged , , , , , | 2 Comments

TRAVELING PEOPLE PART I– DISSOCIATIVE BLUES

( Notes on this poem….Well, I am on the road traveling with my children for a week or so, and thought that this would be the perfect time to publish a set of three poems called Traveling People. This first poem was something that I actually experienced in an airport. I was sitting maybe 6 feet from a woman who was definitely going through some traumatic episode in her life. God, I felt so bad for her. I wanted to reach out to her. It seemed like she was leaving someone. They might have been in love??? He or she was calling her, and she just stared in the distance; unfocused, lost, alone, disaster swam all around her. Please leave a comment, and take care of yourself. Jonathan.)

DISSOCIATIVE BLUES

She has tears and red eyes
in the airport
sitting just steps
Away

Waiting to fly

Waiting to escape her broken world

Waiting
she bows her head
Down
staring into the palms
of her hands

Lines
of a life she thought was hers
Lost eyes run along the line until
it comes to an end
and there she lingers

Waiting

Just steps away
Her decision is rising up

In the solitude of her soul

She stands on the edge of some precipice–
A woman
who is so lonely
A woman
who is so lost

Out in the ocean where
there is no sight of land
A woman who is long suffering
waiting for a sign–

…Then
her phone rings…
______________________

Yet, she is distant
Eyes unfocused
So far away
Her phone is ringing
Just five steps away
In a distend land
She comes to an end

Her phone is ringing louder longer
Demanding to be answered
______________________

But it no longer matters
For the woman who had tears and red eyes
Waiting in an airport
So close to me and so far from me

Has flown away to some distant place

Her flight has been called…

Posted in autobiography, child abuse, depression, derealization, dissociation, Dissociative Identity Disorder, mental illness, multiple personalities, P.T.S.D., Therapy | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

INPATIENT

20110624-014943.jpg

20110624-015008.jpg
(notes on this poem: I have been in a Psychiatric Hospital twice now. Each time I spent 30 days. Both times I came into the hospital suicidal and very very dissociated. I was so dissociated that it was difficult for me to talk. I was fortunate to find a great hospital that had a trauma ward that focused on dissociation. For me, being hospitalized was a blessing. I met people who were like me! They understood what I was going through! They helped me to heal! And I am not talking about the therapists, I am speaking about the other patients. (But the therapists in this hospital were great!) I came to love my fellow dissociaters so much. Also, being inpatient is such a safe place, for the most part. The work was excruciatingly hard, but worth it! I have to say, that from time to time I miss the atmosphere, the friendships, that sense of family formed by human suffering and hope. If you ever think you need to go inpatient… please don’t fear it too much. Be safe! Find a good place and get there as fast as you can. The drawings above were sketched in the hospital. You can see the original poem written around a man behind the trauma ward’s locked door. Blessings to you! Jonathan)

INPATIENT

Flashback-city
somedays…
Yelling roaring pictured pain or
quietly floating away…

“Time for group! Everyone time for Group!!!”
And we begin-
Tearing ripping opening
those old wounds-
let it bleed
then crust
scratch it again
blood drips to the floor-
the putrid infected wound
turns slowly to a
smooth dark scar…
What a pain!

Yet, it is safe inpatient
So safe
authentic-real-honest
The public face cracks twists and falls away
Yes, to live with your own kind
Those who are so much like
Family
Those of us so broken that there
are days we don’t even recognize ourselves
as the

therapist gazes
searching questions for disaster
Always watching for hands shaky wrists hidden
“Any suicidal ideations?”
“Are you cutting, burning, pinching, pulling?”

“Meds! Everyone it is time for Meds!!!”
And bedtime
the door opens
nocturnal visits
by “the watchers”
checking for sleeping breath…

Inpatient… O yes
Memories and a wish
that once again
I was Inpatient

Posted in child abuse, cutting, depression, derealization, dissociation, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Hospitalization, Inpatient, mental illness, multiple personalities, suicide, Therapy | Tagged , , , , , , , | 5 Comments

FAR COUNTRY

20110618-115200.jpg

20110618-115217.jpg

(Notes on this poem: Sometimes when I walk into Walmart (anyplace really) I will look around at all the people and I wonder who they are… I will stand there and wonder about their lives. Then I will slowly start to float a little. Everything around me turns into some mild acid trip. I am unsure as to whether this is all happening. It is all surreal. But at the same time I am enjoying the feeling of weightlessness. Then it turns on me. I start to feel dizzy, nauseated, destressed. I try to use some Mindfulness Base Stress Reduction techniques to stay more solid, but it is too late. It doesn’t work. I hope no one notices???

I believe that somehow those of us who have been through great suffering are connected one to the other. I will see someone. We will look into each other’s eyes. The soul opens up, and I witness a deep pain and suffering. They experience the same emotive power. There is a sense that we are brothers or sisters. There is a feeling of sacredness. We smile, nod, and go our own ways. Nothing is said, but our souls have spoken truth… “I know you brother/sister. I love you. We have both been to those horror places. And we are still here! We made it! We survived! We have been torn and twisted, yet ever growing into something beautiful and grace-filled.”

I wrote this poem in a Trauma/Dissociation Psych Ward in New Orleans. The pictures above show the original poem written around the picture. The other drawing is also from my time in the hospital.

I hope this poem means something to you. If it does I am both sorry and thankful. Sorry, because of where you have come from… Thankful, because we are brothers or sisters and there is some kind of “knowing” that links us together. As always, I hope you will make a comment, share your story, jump into the conversation.

Blessings to you Sisters and Brothers. I do love you… John)

FAR COUNTRY

I stand here
Not fitting…
A puzzle piece
In the wrong box
A sojourner
A stranger in a strange land
______________________

Yes, I am from that far country
A land for those who have been stretched to thin transparencies
I am from that place called “Abyss”
I am from that place where 2+2 does not equal 4
A place where dark pools reflect the condition of broken souls

And we, the citizens of this distant land…
We somehow recognize each other–
An aura? The eyes?
We stumble upon each other with greeting…
“Indeed, I am from the Pit”
“I too am from Abyss”
_______________________

Dark strangers from that land of severity and sadness
wondering if it will ever make sense
We turn together
looking out over the horizon
gazing at this place called Life
We stand here
in a silent apprehensive prayer… always wondering

“is all this really happening?”

Posted in child abuse, depression, derealization, dissociation, Dissociative Identity Disorder, mental illness | Tagged , , , | Leave a comment

20+ THINGS TO KNOW ABOUT JONATHAN ALTER

1. I love my wife (even though we are separated and in couples therapy) I love her and always will. Angela does not believe I love her, and for me this is difficult. Like the rest of the world; we just don’t seem to understand each other. She feels lost. I feel lost. It feels like the story of the Tower of Babel has happened to us. Once we spoke the same language, now we don’t understand each other at all. And I love her. I love her, always.
2. I love my children. They are some of the best human beings on the earth. I am proud to be their father and part of their lives.
3. I hold up a good front for everyone… even though I may be going crazy inside.
4. I think about killing myself, often. But I know that I won’t. I have done too many suicide funerals. It hurts those left behind too much!!! It is a selfish act…
5. I feel like the end of the world is coming… I will die soon… But I also recognize this as a PTSD trait.
6. I love everyone I have ever met even my abusers. I hate them at the same time. I love Ms. Bloom, but I want to kill her… Hurt her…(even though she is long dead now.) How confusing is that!!!
7. I read constantly.
8. I can’t remember a thing sometimes. My mind just doesn’t seem to work right. I am smart, but I feel so damn dumb!
9. I love to preach! But sometimes an alter will come forward and look around. I will stop. Hopefully I look like I am thinking… in contemplation.
10. I feel very alone. I wish I knew other people who have D.I.D.
11. I loved my time in the trauma ward in the psych. hospital in New Orleans because everyone was dissociated or had dissociative identity disorder. I learned. I was understood. I was accepted.
12. I have cut. Several times an introject alter will cut me saying “You deserve this, John!”
13. I feel lonely. But at the same time I need to be alone. The longer I am around people the less I feel safe. I need to be by myself to recuperate from being around people. I feel safest by myself-alone. I am trying to be more social; trying to find a friend.
14. I struggle with what to teach my children. I feel like they are going to experience hell in the years to come… The world is going to fall down around them… There is such a continuing widening gap between those who have and those who don’t. I think we are about to be hit hard here in the U.S. But I also realize this could be a PTSD sympton!!! Still, what to teach them? how to phrase it? how to be prepared for the worse.
15. I hold my children tight, sometimes, when I leave the house for my place. I feel it will be for the last time.
16. I have alters… Laura, 3 Jonathans, Dear One, The Far Away People, Jonathan Older, and those who could be described as introjects–the crazy cleaning lady, the knife wielding man, the mask. I also have other alters that come forward… I don’t know who they are though. They feel pretty full-bodied.
17. I struggle with derealization disorder as well as depersonalization disorder.
18. I float, often.
19. I can’t stand mirrors. Sometimes I look in them and it is not me looking back. I was tortured in front of a mirror.
20. I am so hurt at how people treat other people. God, why do people have to be mean or evil. Why do we hurt each other so often. It hurts my heart.
21. So often I feel so strange living in this world. I don’t fit. I am too serious. I am too intense. I feel like I know those who come from “the pit”… that is, those who have been abused, tortured, and left in the ditch. We look at each other and there is recognition.

22. I am learning a lot about myself as I write this blog.
23. Believe it or not… I love to laugh! I have a dry sense of humor.
24. I have tomato plants that are 6 foot high! Wow.

Posted in auto biograpy, autobiography, child abuse, childhood, cutting, depression, derealization, dissociation, Dissociative Identity Disorder, evil, faith, God, hate, Integration, love, mental illness, multiple personalities | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 6 Comments

SYMPHONY

(notes on this poem: this is a poem of how I imagine Integration would feel like for me as a person who has Dissociative Identity Disorder. I know Integration is controversial for those of us who have alters whom we love and trust. This week I had a therapist(not my primary therapist!) who said: “You know all your alters can be integrated. They will just meld into you and be gone.” But a couple of my alters, especially the Jonathans (4 5 and 6 year olds) yelled out to me, worried and confused asking… “Where would we go?” I understand these little boys’ worry. They have a nice house now where they are safe. That has not always been the case… Well, here is the poem. I, as always, hope for your replies, comments, and the sharing of your stories.)

SYMPHONY

The warm up
tuning
major-minor-sharp
Chaos
a multitude noise
Bla!!! Booo…
Weeeee… shaaaah…
There is no center
Every horn wood drum and string
has their own way
in the warm up
__________________

But look!
the entrance of
a white stick
-floating-
through the air
determined and yet poised poetic…
transformation found in
anticipatory silence
eyes fixed focused
mouths-fingers-hands
all still
hushed longing expectant
for that first moment
like a just born baby’s
first cry…
…sweet music
a life force bursting forth
lungs heave
hand raises
the white stick
reaches high
lingering eyes
breath held
until heavy swift falling and
the white stick slashes into the world
___________________

The center shifts
the chaos that was so many parts
rings out
in one voice
nothing is lost
no one is diminished
and with each poetic point
of the white stick
unity!
bows whip upon singing strings
french horn calls out into the night
the wind song of the flutes
rise up to the gods
the bases fall
to the depths of heavy and lonely souls…
all as one
___________________

And the white stick never tires-
moving lifting turning
twisting forming shaping
Faster now!
Faster now!
Faster now!
my heart races
my head swims
I feel all my parts yearning oneness
the symphony
inside me searching for
wholeness like
a spring flower or a silent prayer
opens inside my heart
and with each note
transforming my soul into something more…
____________________

In The Finale
The white stick
slashes down
hard
one time
two times
three times
and
One hesitant silence
the lights come up!
and as One
a thousand stand
clap
Bravo!!!
Giving thanks for a moment of
Truth and Beauty

Posted in Dissociative Identity Disorder, Integration | Tagged , | 4 Comments

…but deliver us from evil

Several years ago, before I was ordained, I did children’s ministry in a large church in Indiana. I am great with children! Love them! I have several young children who live inside of me and their presence makes me more empathetic with children than most adults. Sometimes I think that I understand children better than I do people my age…

My ministry with these children one day brought me into contact with a little girl who had been abused and neglected. I remember that she stood out as someone who had seen far too much for her years. Her name was Sarah, a quiet but serious girl of 10. She lived with her grandmother, and one day I asked this women about her granddaughter’s story. With some hesitation she opened up to me a world of parents who were heroin addicts… a small apartment… people coming over at all hours of the day and night… parties… abuse of all kinds… the police and social services… and finally Sarah arriving at her grandmother’s house to live!

“God only knows what Sarah has experienced” her grandmother admitted. She told me that Sarah was very well behaved, never talked about her parents, never spoke an unkind word, never spoke about the abuse, and made good grades in school.
And yet, Sarah’s grandmother explained, “there is one thing that stands out.” She told me that at nighttime, before bed, the two of them would cuddle together in Sarah’s room and say their prayers. They would then finish by saying The Lord’s Prayer with Grandmother saying one line and Granddaughter saying the next.

As she continued her description, Sarah’s grandmother took my hands and looked into my eyes with worry. And then, almost like a confession, she told me that every night, Sarah, in her serious way, would ask to be the one “who prays that special part.” And so, as the sun set and the darkness came this little girl was the one, who, in a clear high voice, lifted up to God her most fervent prayer, pleading, “but deliver us from evil.”

This story has stuck with me for so many years now. When I think about Sarah and her prayer I come to an understanding that radical evil’s prey is most often called down upon the weakest, the lowest, the most vulnerable, the outcast and the stranger. Innocent children are the main victims of evil in times of war or genocide, in times of famine or disease and in those places where poverty and racism are virulent. But evil’s dark hand also comes to rest upon others such as older ones, those who don’t fit in, those who stand apart, the mentally ill, the handicapped, and the poor, etc.

Evil chooses those who have little voice and sway in a world made for the elite and powerful among us. Therefore, a solitary 10 year old girl standing there amidst that dark night of suffering whispering, “deliver us from evil… deliver me from evil… deliver me O God!” becomes a real flesh and blood symbol that points to a humble innocence before the vast malevolent forces of evil. Like that Cross on the hilltop of Golgotha, with Jesus, seemingly deserted, mocked, suffering, alone, yelling out to God, “Why!!! Why! O God have you abandoned me… why?”

I also think about that little boy named John, in that house in Kansas City looking out from behind a closet door at the snarling face of Ms. Bloom. She had a way of turning the beautiful morning light into a highly textured dark-grey night. One moment it seemed as if God existed in a world of hope, but in the next–God had abandoned that house to leave John in the hands of a dark presence that twisted and perverted goodness and beauty into a slavish sycophantic little boy.

Yes, how is it possible for evil to be so powerful while at the same time, God is supposed to be so good and all-powerful? How can both a good God and such powerful evil exist in the same space and time? Also, have you ever wondered whether evil is about human free will gone horribly wrong or whether Evil (capital E) is a force beyond the bounds of nature and creation–a being who inserts himself into the inner workings of life on earth?

My experience tells me that both are true. There are people who are evil! But let us be clear, there is a big difference between people who are evil and people who are just bad. A murderer, more than likely, is not evil… but may be bad, corrupted, morally depraved, etc. But an evil person is different. An evil person knows that God exists, knows God’s hope for humankind, knows that love, truth, and beauty exists; and yet chooses a road that actively works against God and God’s love for humankind. An evil person is one who works against the grain of Humankind’s highest hopes and aspirations.

My experience also tells me that evil exists as some supernatural force. But at the same time, like God, there is an evil who is a particular presence that reaches out from that force to cast its shadow in particular places and times within human history and in our present day circumstances. Why does this evil force and its particular presence exist??? I am unsure… but I would venture to say that their agenda is the same as those people who work against the purposes of God; those who work against the highest humanistic goals of goodness and beauty. But this Evil also has secret purposes deeply woven into the fabric of creation. Evil (with a capital E) is a mystery that is beyond our understanding.

Even so, sometimes, many times, I believe that both evil people and that evil force will work in tandem. I think this happened during the Holocaust, Stalin’s time in Russia, in Kosovo and Rwanda. Sad to say, this list goes on and on. Yes, I think it happens often. I wonder whether evil people are often in league with this Dark Presence? I think so. I have seen it. I have experienced it. I am a ritual abuse surviver. I have experienced darkness. Miss Bloom, my nanny, worked against the grain, but I also believe that Miss Bloom did not work alone. There was another presence in that Kansas City house as well.

Therefore, I believe that one of the greatest goods that humankind can do for itself and in service to God; in service to Goodness and Beauty, is to hunt evil down, kill it, destroy it, smother it from the face of the earth. We should never sit down at the table with Evil or an evil person. There is no negotiation. There can be only war. Indeed, this war is spiritual, but at the same time, this war is about soldiers fighting and dying on battlefields with guns and bombs.

I believe that one of the greatest signs of an evil presence can be found in the act of genocide. Genocide will be a 21st century phenonmenon beyond anything we have previously experienced. And where there is genocide, humankind’s hand must come down without mercy and without grace to those who perpetrate it. The U.N.’s primary responsibility should be to stop the evil of genocide at all costs. And yet, more often than not the United Nations stands by and does nothing… The world stands by and does nothing. It is shameful.
Indeed, there is also “the evil of passivity.” Like those who lived in German villages near Nazi Death Camps. They said they “didn’t know.” They didn’t want to get involved! For me, these are some of the worst human-beings in existence. But so often, we are no better as we sit by as a country or a world or as a community and let genocide take root and flourish. In Rwanda, genocide could have been stopped if the UN security forces present would have used their guns in those beginning days. But that would have been against their “rules of engagement…” Again, we can’t sit on our thumbs when confronted with the stark undeniable presence of evil marked by the presence of a genocidal force.

Also, if an evil person is found he or she should be killed. We acted on this at the Nuremberg Trials after WWII. Yet, I believe that the death sentence for a bad person is wrong and immoral. But really, who will decide between the one who is evil and the one who is bad? I believe that the distinction can be made, but I don’t think any of today’s politicians or courts are worthy or able. And so I remain a staunch anti-death-penalty supporter.
_____________________________________

However, evil is fought most fiercely as you and I, as individuals, change and transform; becoming more and more human, which is to be more and more Christ-like or God-like or Buddha-like, depending upon your religion or humanistic views.

It is that spiritual and very human warfare that is fought inside the human mind and soul, that may, in the end, deliver humanity to that place called the Kingdom of God–that place where humankind reaches its highest most other-centered of goals. This searching struggling transformation of self is God’s Spirit’s main purpose on earth, and it should be each individual person’s singular priority as well. I believe that it is my responsibility, and yours, to transform, to change into that person we were born to be… To make changes within ourselves that throw off the bonds of self-centeredness for the freedom of a Giving-Life. As the Bible says, as God is holy so too should we be holy. Or, in other words, as God is a loving and giving God so too should we be loving and giving people.

But still I struggle, not knowing for sure where God’s place is in all this. I have a faith that tells me that God is with you, even experiencing the evil and the darkness when it comes upon you and me. God is there! I believe! But, is that really good enough??? Where is God when that Dark One (human or not) comes and creates a void where even a scream cannot escape… where there is no hope… and you become marked by that dark presence who whispers your name and says time and time again,

“you are mine. you can’t tell or else. it didn’t really happen. yes… you are mine.”

Maybe it is in these most dark of times when we join with an innocent 10 year old girl named Sarah praying, even pleading with God, saying, “but deliver us from evil.”

Posted in autobiography, child abuse, Dissociative Identity Disorder, faith, Genocide, God, mental illness, multiple personalities, Nazi death camps, radical evil | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment