I'm thoroughly exhausted by the effort I expend to shield others from Dissociative Identity Disorder. I'm worn out on cleaning up the messes that inevitably occur when all that effort just isn't enough. I don't want to apologize for those messes anymore just now. I don't want to explain. I don't want to make speeches about personal responsibility and how I won't blame Dissociative Identity Disorder for problems directly related to - surprise! - Dissociative Identity Disorder. There are only so many guilty verdicts I can receive before I start to feel a little worthless. And I can only try so hard to protect the people around me from DID before I'm depleted.

If I'd kept quiet about my brush with hospitalization a couple of weeks ago, my doctor would have been the only person who knew anything was seriously wrong. I missed a blog post the following Monday, but easily could have feigned some other, less embarrassing emergency. We were in the midst of moving and still managed, with a great deal of help that would have been necessary either way, to get the old place emptied and the new one full. Even my family didn't realize the jeopardy I was in. How is it possible to be desperately unwell and no one know? Dissociative Identity Disorder makes passing as normal not only possible for me, but nearly unavoidable.

One of the most persistent myths about dissociative identity disorder (DID) is that people with it are schizophrenic. Schizophrenia and DID are generally considered synonymous with each other when, in fact, they're two entirely different disorders. There's no relationship between dissociative identity disorder (formerly known as multiple personality disorder) and schizophrenia at all. People more educated than I could write entire books about the differences between these two chronically misunderstood disorders. I focus on what I see as the dead giveaway: the issue of identity.

In an email conversation I had last week with someone who also has Dissociative Identity Disorder, the issue of hospitalization came up. I was impressed by this person's pro-active perspective. He appeared to accept the fact that inpatient stays are sometimes a part of the recovery process. Historically, my attitude has been much different. But I've decided his forward-thinking approach is healthier.

If you have Dissociative Identity Disorder you've probably been instructed at least once to create a map of your system. A system map, I've been told, is essentially a recording on paper of alters' names, ages, and roles - arranged according to where they are in relationship to each other. I've never successfully completed one. If that were the only definition of a system map, I likely never would.

When I was first diagnosed with Dissociative Identity Disorder, I did what I always do when faced with something I have no idea how to handle: I went to the library. As a rule, I don't read autobiographical accounts of DID but I voraciously digested everything else I could get my hands on. Most of the literature agreed on the basics of Dissociative Identity Disorder treatment, including the consistent message that establishing internal communication is an essential first step, second only to stabilization. "Ask inside" quickly became the most irritating, eye-roll inducing directive I heard. I hated it for one reason: it didn't work.

I'm one of many people with dissociative identity disorder (DID). I lose time, regularly forget pretty important stuff, and I have alters who behave according to their perceptions of the world, not mine. How does that translate to daily life? I mess up - badly and often. As I see it, the fact that I can't control DID is beside the point when it comes to personal responsibility. I don't believe my mental illness entitles me to some bad behavior or extra leniency. But just like I can't use DID as an excuse, neither can anyone else.

Last night I listened to the HealthyPlace Mental Health Radio Show interview with Sarah Olson, the author of Becoming One: A Story of Triumph Over Multiple Personality Disorder. She talked about her integration experience and I greedily took in every word. Here was someone who had achieved what was once my most fevered wish. After I got over the initial shock of my Dissociative Identity Disorder diagnosis, my focus narrowed to one elusive, coveted dream: the complete integration of alters. This shining promise of a cohesive, unified identity was all I wanted out of Dissociative Identity Disorder treatment.

My friend Dana recently moved to a new city and has searched fruitlessly for a therapist for months. Finding quality treatment for dissociative identity disorder (DID) is often one of the most frustrating challenges of living with DID. Despite the fascination it holds for many people, DID isn't widely understood, even among mental health professionals. Like so many others, Dana is in a position where she may have to choose between an inexperienced therapist and no therapist at all.

There's a disturbing trend in some Dissociative Identity Disorder support communities that has always turned me off. I call it the My Trauma Is Worse Than Your Trauma game. What starts as fellowship and camaraderie periodically deteriorates into an ugly rivalry among survivors of abuse. It's a competition that feeds off of and perpetuates the minimizing effects of child abuse.