He Put All My Pieces Back Together: God Was Always In Control

By Marcie Sharpe

Marcie was desperate to find out what was wrong with her. The constant depression with antidepressants and tranquilizers since the age of twelve; too many suicide attempts to count; migraines that caused her to hit her head against the wall; lost time she could not remember; and numerous psychiatrists, but no answers. There had to be an answer.

Almost by accident she starts seeing a Christian psychologist who wants to find the answer too. Her feeling of losing control; her rapid mood swings; her nightmares about a closet door; these all led to an unexpected discovery. A poem she wrote in therapy led them to believe that her inner child was hiding in a closet. But why? A dream revealed a closet full of children that she was hiding. Twenty-seven of them to be exact. Who were they? What did this mean? More therapy revealed that they were all parts of her. Alternate personalities that had lived through: the sexual abuse as a child by her father and others, the rejection by her mother, who blamed her - a three year old; the horrifying rituals of a satanic cult; the torture she endured from them; the rapes, even by a religious clergyman. It all spelled out Multiple Personality Disorder.

She had dissociated and alters were created to live through the horror and terror of her childhood. She would have to relive these memories that they had been keeping. Only through the help of God, and the caring therapists, was she able to live through the eleven years of therapy.

Interesting and suspenseful as the discoveries are made and inspirational as God puts the pieces back together to make one whole person.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Jul 24, 2023
• ISBN: 9798886856262

Book preview

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He Put All My Pieces Back Together

God Was Always In Control

Marcie Sharpe

ISBN 979-8-88685-625-5 (paperback)

ISBN 979-8-88685-626-2 (digital)

Copyright © 2023 by Mary Stancil

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Christian Faith Publishing

832 Park Avenue

Meadville, PA 16335

www.christianfaithpublishing.com

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Foreword

Introduction

Falling Apart

Therapy: Deja Vus

Searching for Answers

The Rejections

The New Diagnosis

The Calm Before the Storm

The System Collapse

Crushed and Alone

Alone in the Wilderness

Trying to Regain Control

The Reuniting

Learning New Ways to Cope

Working Together

Living as One

About the Author

This book is dedicated to God, who is ever with me, to my husband and my children for all the times they witnessed me change and become an unrecognizable person who they did not know or understand. I thank them for standing by me, helpless as to know what to do, as they saw me groping in the darkness, trying desperately to find the smallest flick of light at the end of the tunnel. For continuing to love me even though I tried to commit suicide over and over again.

To the therapist who cared enough to spend the time to find out what my real problem was and correctly diagnose my illness. Also, to the two therapists that cared enough about people with dissociative identity disorder to spend years studying and treating patients with it. I thank them for their patience and persistence, refusing to allow me to push them away and reject me. I thank them for putting up with my antics and extreme, intense emotions. And I dedicate it also to the many others who have faced years of torment because their illness was overlooked and misdiagnosed. And to the other therapists and staff who worked with me patiently through the years, although it must have seemed at times that no progress was being made, thank God for them all!

Foreword

This is a deeply personal, moving account of how a tormented woman (only through the ever-present love of God) fought her way through a maze. This maze would pose many questions and almost destroy her marriage and her career, causing her to lose everything. It brought her to the very brink of despair and death (with repeated suicide attempts) that even she could not explain or understand.

In this maze she would find rejection; sexual, mental, and physical abuse as a child; and ritualistic abuse by a satanic cult. She would also find all the lost time she could not remember from her childhood and an explanation for her sudden and severe mood swings. She would come to realize, through psychotherapy, how distorted her thinking patterns were.

To her amazement, she would find twenty-seven very distinct separate entities inside of her. They would have different names and ages and even gender, yet they were somehow all parts of her. And after thirty years of therapy, desperately searching for answers to her questions but being misdiagnosed time and again, she would finally be accurately diagnosed with dissociative identity disorder (more commonly known as multiple personality disorder).

As she tells her story, you are invited to go inside her mind and see things through her eyes. You can follow the thought process that occurred from the mixture of beliefs and opinions of all her alternate personalities. You will discover all the distorted defense mechanisms that were developed from living in a dysfunctional family and living each day trying to survive.

It was her ever-present knowledge that God was with her and the strength and courage that He gave her that allowed her to survive the years of hell on earth. Just as God gave her the strength to survive each traumatic experience that caused her to dissociate and split off into other personalities, He remained in control as she remembered each experience and relived the almost unspeakable horror, along with the feelings and the pain to, at last, become whole again.

Just like Humpty-Dumpty, all the king's horses and all the king's men couldn't put her back together again, but the King could, and He did! Praise His name!

Introduction

It was another one of those gray, dreary days in midwinter that I had grown to dread. As I looked out of my bedroom window at the bare trees and the brown grass, I thought, How dead everything appears, there seems to be no life at all. My! How much nature and I have in common?

As I stood there, not wanting to start the day (with all its many activities) I was sure that no one else had experienced what I was feeling at this moment. But as I quickly brushed aside the brief self-pity, I was convinced that there were probably other people standing at their windows right now, feeling the same way that I did. I am not, by any means, the first person to experience this feeling called depression. It was certainly no stranger to me. This feeling has probably filled, at least, two-thirds of my life. But I was comforted as God brought to my remembrance that Elijah, the prophet, a mighty man of God, even experienced this feeling. He, too, had felt hopeless. After he fled from Jezebel, who had sworn to kill him, he went into the wilderness. There he sat down under a tree and prayed that he might die.

I have had enough, Lord, he said. Take my life (1 Kings 19:4).

Where was the end to this feeling? Where was the cure? I wanted to reach these people who felt like I did. I wanted to help them. But first, I must find the answer. I must first overcome it myself before I could help others to overcome it. I felt that the Lord was leading me to write a book about my life. But I thought, who would want to read a book about my life? What do I have to offer anyone? I am nobody special. As a matter of fact, I am nobody at all. My life has been anything but glamorous or wonderful. My life has been a never-ending struggle to live from one day to the next. I have the constant feeling of being a failure. Sure, I am married and have children, go to work every morning (right now), and function very efficiently most of the time. But what about those times when I cannot function at all? What about when I do not want to get out of bed for days? What about all the jobs I have worked at because I can never work more than a few months at a time. What about all the hours and days, even months and years, that I cannot remember at all? What about all the times when I woke up and did not know where I was or how I got there or how much time had passed? It torments me because I cannot understand why it happens.

My goals are high. My expectations of myself unending. These times when I sink into the pit of despair make me feel weak and just point out what a failure I am. What is wrong with me? Why can I not control these overwhelming, disabling feelings? How can I write a book about my life? I do not really have a life. Existence is what you call what I experience, not life.

The things that I believed about life only dealt with the conscious memory. Most of these beliefs were things I had told myself based on the experiences that I had and how I reacted to those experiences. I had no idea what lay hidden in my subconscious mind (that had been repressed for years), but I was about to find out. There would be many mountains to climb and valleys to walk through along the way. There would be times that I cried out in despair unto the Lord. But there would never be a time when He turned His face from me. I will never leave you nor forsake you (Joshua 1:5). He has not always answered my cries according to my time or plan, but He has always answered. I was strengthened spiritually by the trials and tribulations that continued to flood my life, seemingly endless at times.

In this you greatly rejoice, though not for a little while you may have had to suffer grief in all kinds of trials. These have come so that your faith—of greater worth than gold, which perishes even though refined by fire—may be proved genuine and may result in praise, glory and honor when Jesus Christ is revealed. (1 Pet. 1:6, 7)

I had so many questions with no answers. I went through years of being on medications, attending therapy, and being hospitalized (having attempted suicide numerous times). Talk about a failure, I could not even succeed at killing myself.

I praise the Lord for the day that He allowed me to walk through the door of a therapist's office that I had never seen before. I will lead them in paths that they have not known: I will make light before them, and the crooked things straight (Isa. 43:16 KJV). I was not going to see him for myself, but my daughter, who had been having some problems. I was always trying to take care of everyone else's needs and problems. That way I stayed so busy that I did not have time to look at my own problems or needs. I told myself that I did not have any, but even if I did, mine were not as important as everyone else's. I had decided some fourteen years earlier that I would never see another therapist. None of them had ever helped me.

For the first time, I was in a therapist's office where I could feel God's presence and a real concern about the individual. All the therapists that I had seen over the years had only treated my symptoms but never tried to find the reason for those symptoms. They had never actually taken the time to listen to what I was saying. Not only was this man listening, but he seemed genuinely concerned about what was going on with my daughter. I was puzzled by the different behavior. It raised more questions in my mind. Always questions, never answers. I scheduled another appointment (that would definitely be the last) to further discuss my daughter and what I could do to help her. I had grown to distrust therapists. This was only an exceedingly small part of the distorted thinking patterns that had governed my thoughts and actions for years. I have come that they may have life and have it to the full (John 10:10). Most of the questions have answers now. And I have learned along the way that there are some questions that have no answers and we must accept that as fact. Of course, I am continually coming up with more questions. The pieces of the puzzle are finally fitting together. God is not finished with me yet; I hope He never is.

Some of the truths that I discovered, through prayer and psychotherapy, were very painful. At times, they were almost unbelievable and unbearable. But I had to accept them one by one and deal with them as they were verified. It was then that I realized why God had sent me to this place. He had been with me when I went through these experiences the first time. He was the reason that I had survived. As I had to live through these experiences again, He knew that I was going to need people around me that could offer me the love, support, and acceptance that I had never received before. And it was through these loving people that I was able to accept the truth and allow the Lord to start the healing process.

That process would take time and energy and would force me to take an honest look at myself and put my faith and trust in Him. He began to completely remold and remake me into a vessel that He could use for His honor and glory. During the brief period of time that I was there, the staff showed me what love really is. But like all humans, they had their limits and there came a point in my therapy when I had to be referred to another clinic. In this new clinic, there were therapists that had studied my diagnosis for years. I would find two very committed, caring therapists, who would be there for me and with me through the remainder of my recovery. Even though I tried very hard to get them to reject me, they stood steadfast in what they had told me and traveled every painful mile with me, always believing that I could overcome this diagnosis. They showed me that life could be much better and easier.

I feel like I have been given a new beginning. The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of His hands (Ps. 19:1). I am taking each new day as it dawns, a day at a time.

I now can accept that God can love me and that there are people who can love me because I love myself.

Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these (Luke 18:16).

In my search I had found twenty-seven frightened children hiding, waiting for someone to say, Come out, come out, whoever you are! It is okay now, you are safe. No one will hurt you. I love you and will be with you.

Each memory would have to be dealt with and each alter must have their needs met before we could work together to become a whole person, a very special and unique person, with a story to tell the world about how Jesus set me free.

The Lord sets prisoners free, the Lord gives sight to the blind, the Lord lifts those who are bowed down: the Lord loves the righteous. (Ps. 146:7, 8)

I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me. (John 14:6)

If you hold to my teaching, you are really my disciples. Then you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free. (John 8:31, 32)

Praise God! I am free!

Chapter 1

Falling Apart

As I look back over it now, it seems like a ray of sunlight as it breaks through the murkiness of the fog on a crisp autumn morning. And then, on the other hand, it's like waking up from a terrible nightmare that lasted over thirty years. You know the kind I'm referring to—where you feel like someone is standing beside your bed but you can't move or open your eyes or scream.

As we go through life, we realize that there is good and bad in everything and everybody. No one is perfect, not you and not me. It took me a while to figure out that I wasn't expected to be. I was the one who expected me to be perfect. I was taught (as a child living in a dysfunctional family) that in order to be accepted, you must be perfect. Yet no matter how hard I tried, it was something I could never achieve. Sometimes we repress the bad and only remember the good or make up a pretend existence that is good. This becomes our reality.

We don't understand why certain things happen to us. But if we trust the Lord and wait on Him, He will cause us to be triumphant. For we are more than conquerors through Him who loved us (Rom. 8:37).

I'm five foot two inches tall. I have white hair and brown eyes. Fits the description of lots of people, right? That's not all: I'm married and have four children, two daughters-in-law, and five grandchildren. You've seen me everywhere every day—in the grocery store, picking up kids, at church, and a million other places. You know what I look like. And some of you know my name. But do you know me? Do you know who I am? Or do I fit the mold of what you want me to be? Sit back and get comfortable. I'm about to show you how deceiving looks can be. I'm about to introduce you to someone—me (with all my personalities, names, ages, gender, beliefs, thoughts, and behaviors).

It was a rainy Saturday afternoon at five twenty-three, when I made my entrance onto the stage of life. To look at me now, you would never know that I tipped the scales at a mere seven pounds. They measured me at nineteen and a half inches tall. You and I had a lot in common at birth. We were small, helpless, and totally innocent. We had no idea what this world was about nor what the years ahead held in store for us. Little wonder we came into the world crying. Only God knew, Before I formed thee in the belly, I knew thee (Jer. 1:5).

My life is so confusing anymore. I thought I had gotten to the point in my life where things would be predictable, neat, and in order from now on.

I felt good about myself. I had gone back to college with a husband and three children and had graduated. I was a registered nurse. I was honored to give a speech and sing Climb Every Mountain at our pinning ceremony. That is when the director of the nursing program pinned our RN pins on our lapels. I had finally succeeded at something. I had always felt like such a failure. I felt my life would be different from then on.

The next twelve years would bring one success after another. I had gotten a lot of experience from starting out as charge nurse on my first job ever to be nursing supervisor in a postsurgical unit in the biggest hospital in our area. Then I worked as a surgical nurse, assisting with all kinds of surgeries. It was hard to believe that in nursing school when I observed my first surgery, I almost fainted. Now I was director of nursing of a 160-bed facility. I was responsible for them and over one hundred employees. And when the administrator of the facility was away, I was in charge of everything. I felt like there was nothing I couldn't do—with the help of the Lord. Be strong and of good courage, be not afraid, neither be thou dismayed: for the Lord thy God is with thee whithersoever thou goest (Josh. 1:9).

I held my head high. I thought all the depression and the times of being unable to function were behind me forever. I buried myself in my work. It was a twenty-four-hour-a-day job.

When our youngest son, Scott, was three years old, he started having nightmares. I would sit up and hold him and rock him. My husband, Josh, worked on third shift.

I started having dreams about a door, but it really didn't mean anything to me. For a long time, I had been unaware of any dreams at all; the nightmares had started again for me. I thought that it was kind of strange that it happened at the same time that Scott was having his nightmares. Through the years, I had many nightmares that made no sense to me. I do not know what to make of it. I remember having some of these same nightmares as a child. Like the one with the snake in the bed with me. And I remember Daddy always putting me back in bed and saying, It was just a nightmare. Go back to sleep. They are all like pieces of a puzzle, but none of them fit together. I just need to ignore it if I cannot figure it out. After all, I have enough to deal with, without making something out of nothing. There are people who need me. This puzzle cannot compare to the importance of their needs.

Our youngest daughter, Christina, had been plagued with one illness after another almost since birth. I was scheduled to have a tubal ligation on the same day that she was born but they did not do it. When the doctor came in to see me, he said, Mrs. Sharpe, we decided not to do your tubal ligation because your daughter has a hole in her heart, and we thought that you and Josh might want to consider having other children because she is not going to make it. I just lay there looking at him. He said, I will give you and Josh some time to discuss it before making a decision. I am sorry. With this, he left the room. I was a young Christian, and I still believed that God would answer my prayer. I prayed to the Lord about the situation, and I believed that He would heal our little girl's heart. By now, you are probably saying that He did or she wouldn't be in the story now. And you are right. But one after another illnesses just seemed to follow her. This year was no exception. We had taken her from one doctor to another, and she went through test after test. She was scheduled for surgery. Her health continued to decline.

Before I knew it, my depression had returned. I went to our family doctor, Dr. Dan Lewis, and he put me on an antidepressant. I had not been on one of these for years. I began to feel that I was losing my grip. I found myself just sitting in my office at work, sometimes unable to do anything. I became less efficient at home as well.

Then my mother started to decline also. I found myself doing much more for her. It was getting to the point that there just were not enough hours in the day.

Besides my responsibilities at home, at work, and at my mother's, there was our church. I taught Sunday school; I had for years. I sang in the choir and sang solos. I was involved in several other programs in our church that took a lot of my time. I had let go of some of my responsibilities. I remembered when I had taken on too many things and had ended up severely depressed. And like all the times before in my life, when I became depressed, I eventually tried to commit suicide. I had attempted again and was involuntarily committed. After that, I watched everything I did and tried not to take on too much. But I found myself in a situation not of my choosing but because of necessity and family obligation.

When I was involuntarily committed some fourteen years ago, then I had made up my mind that I was never again going to confide in a therapist, only to be rejected and abandoned and locked up. Until now, I had kept my promise to myself. Now the need to talk to someone was growing stronger and stronger. I went back to Dr. Lewis. I told him all I was dealing with and how I felt like I was losing control. He gave me the name of a therapist, a psychologist, Dr. Tom Hayden. He suggested that I go and talk to him about Christina. She was having a hard time dealing with everything that she was going through and had gotten somewhat depressed. I could see no harm in talking to Dr. Hayden about her condition and seeing if he would be willing to see her and if he thought that he could help her, so I went.

The first time I saw him, he was not at all what I had expected. I expected him to be like all the other therapists that I had seen before; he was not. He was a very trim man who appeared close to my age, dressed in pants and shirt and tie, but no white coat. His smile welcomed me as he came out of his office and picked up my file.

Are you Marcie, Marcie Sharpe?

Yes, I am.

I'm Dr. Tom Hayden, won't you come with me? This is my office, won't you come in and be seated?

My stomach was turning over as I suddenly found myself sitting in front of a therapist for the first time in fourteen years. We discussed Christina and what she was going through, and he agreed to see her if she were willing. He seemed genuinely concerned and had actually listened to what I said and what I didn't say. I did not realize that he had already picked up on what state of mind I was in. He asked me to make another appointment. It did not dawn on me that it was not about Christina.

By the time I saw him again, I was running wide open. How is Christina? he asked.

She is about the same. She is interested in seeing you if you still want to see her, I answered.

Yes, get her to call and I will see her as soon as possible.

Okay, I will.

How are you doing?

"I am a nervous wreck. My mother is in the hospital, and I am trying to make the necessary arrangements to get her placed in a nursing home that offers physical therapy. Ours does, so I am trying to get her admitted to the nursing home where I work so that I can oversee her treatment. She has numerous fractures of her spine. She has rheumatoid arthritis and osteoporosis. She has had them as long as I can remember. All she did was turn over in the bed to accomplish her present condition. I am still working, looking after Christina, spending time with Scott, and taking turns with my sister and two brothers staying at the hospital with