Survivors Blog Here



Making wrong right

My entire life has revolved around pretending I'm ok and as I grow and years go on I'm left in between the feeling of saying I'm not ok to others but never do I feel like they ok with my... Continue Reading →

Its Breaking me down

I can barely understand my own thoughts yet alone try staying on track "does anyone hear me"As i Write and try articulate my issues wish i could say anxiety has abated ,but it's like life's trying to tear my walls... Continue Reading →

Trauma: A Confrontation with Human Evil

Art by Rob Goldstein

Art by Rob Goldstein Black and Blue

Why am always so triggered by my environment and the politics
of my country?

Why do I care so deeply?

I never discuss my learning disabilities nor do I discuss where
I went to school or how.

I am dyslexic with numbers.

I don’t know my right hand from my left.

Some of it is the result of neurological damage.

I was beaten by my classmates as their parents
cheered them on when I tried to go to school.

My first memory of dissociating was when I was under a pile of boys.

I crawled into my mind and went numb.

There is nothing more painful or confusing to a child
than being hated for being born.

Art by Rob Goldstein A child under arrest in the Warsaw Ghetto

The beatings began when I was six.

My neighbors and my teachers were anti-Semitic.

I was that little Jew boy.

That kike.

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A Letter From Home: Dear Sara

Dear Sara, I'm at the park watching an old guy feed bread crumbs to a flock of pigeons. He’s like God throwing manna to the Children of Israel. It's magical. Sometimes I think all of life is magical but growd-ups don't... Continue Reading →

A Letter from Home: Dear Bobby

  Dear Bobby, From what I know about your Mother I can understand how you might stumble into relationships that feel deceptive and controlling. That you have survived to be as loving as you are attests to your strength of... Continue Reading →

Dissociative Identity Disorder: Alternates

Art by Rob Goldstein

Now we Talk Story

I am going to use the word “alternate” and not the term “apparently normal selves” to describe my Distinct States of being.

The alternates in order of birth are Robby, Sara, Peter, Bobby, Bob, Rob Goldstein, Matthew, and Mateo.

These are not the only alternates. Robby and Peter are child alternates.

I am going to focus on the alternates that use Second Life.

These alternates are highly evolved and each has a specific function and range of social skills.

Each has written a story and my task with this part of my blog is to find a way to create a unified narrative.

The language I use will reflect the logic of DID.

I used to think that “insight” alone would be enough to dispel  a delusional system but I was wrong.

I know that the total of these fragments of personality is me but that does not change the …

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I’ll Be Seeing You

Art by Rob Goldstein

At Harvey Milk Plaza Harvey Milk and his Partner Scott Smith in a photo at Harvey Milk Plaza

Kit was a bit of a twit before he got sick, but he was brilliant and passionate about gay liberation.

Our friendship was based on mutual geekiness.

Kit tinkered with a Mac or a Tandy while I wrote poetry and listened to Pattie Smith through my headphones.

It was the third year of the AIDS epidemic.

We sat over coffee at the Cafe Flore on a bright Mediterranean day in San Francisco.

Kit opened his backpack and pulled out a small computer.

It looked like a large calculator.

Kit said that HIV was not infecting all gay men.

He suspected that HIV was sexually transmitted, but at that time no one was certain.

We both knew many men who had died and even more who were sick.

Kit wanted to know what they had in common.

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Lies and Confabulations

Art by Rob Goldstein

Blog for Mental Health 2015

Rachel Dolezal is in the news because she may be a white woman who claims an African-American bloodline.

Why did she lie?

I don’t know the details of Rachel Dolezal’s life, nor am I saying that any aspect of her story is the result of a dissociative disorder.

I’m saying that it sounds to me as if she believes that she is African-American, and if she does she’s not lying.

When is a lie not a lie?

When it is a confabulation.

Confabulation is defined as the spontaneous production of false memories: either memories for events which never occurred, or memories of actual events which are displaced in space or time. These memories may be elaborate and detailed. Some may be obviously bizarre, as a memory of a ride in an alien spaceship; others are quite mundane, as a memory of having eggs for breakfast, so that only a close…

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Art by Rob Goldstein

Abstract Sunrise

I’ve read


words and said

my prayers.

I work hard to



I look for


and find

painful clues–

And with


new clue

I must ask,

who is this man


say I am?

Who is he now?

RG 2015

Moby – Everloving

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