Julianne Rose Marie Heartland
Immeasurably Above Anguish
Julianne''s autobiography is a series of scenarios of the types of abuse she experienced which caused her to become multiple and schizo-affective. Her style is riveting, intense, her sentence structure powerful with a punch. Interspersed throughout the book are conversations she has with God which speak to the particular events and which eventually lead her to recovery and ultimate joy in abiding in the Lord''s love. “Victory belongs to the Lord and to Julianne as she continues to obey Him and trust Him, and this book is her testimony to Christ.”
Julianne lives in a quiet suburb in America with her two Shih-Tzu's Katie
and Bastian, and her two cats Georgie and Gracie. The five of them play and
belly-laugh every single day surrounded by angels, rainbows, and the love of the
Holy Spirit of Christ Jesus. They consider enjoying Christ their main job. She
occasionally visits with her family, but on the whole enjoys solitude. She is a
bit of a recluse, still frightened of the world so much and afraid of being
triggered into psychotic episodes.
Working on
integrating the remaining alters of Janitor Lady, Ruthless, and Little
Julianne may never be completely accomplished, so Julianne restricts
and structures her environment tightly against triggers, guarding her
life. Julianne's life, however, is finally bigger than her therapy. Her
perspective is much larger than it used to be. Julianne has come a very long way from the days of near death and suicidal
thinking. She knows now, life is about living by faith in Christ and obeying Him
and trusting Him which lifts her immeasurably above her anguish so that she is
free to love God, herself, and others.
Ragdoll: The
Dead Prey
Ragdolls are psychologically dead preys. They have been fed upon and lusted over and
eaten while still young. They are lifeless, disconnected, dissociated,
impoverished, and hollow, inanimate objects pretending to be real, or it is
real objects pretending to be inanimate?
Their eyes no longer see, their ears no longer hear, their bodies no
longer move; like ragdolls they live in a world that looks dead and dark and
damp and dreary.
"No,
no, no! Not me! Not me! That’s Ragdoll. Daddy’s Ragdoll. She’s not me, not me, not
me.”
Once upon a
time, Ragdoll came to be. The cold room
she inhabits is colored black and blue, like her body. Where it ends and she
begins is not important. Enmeshed they
are. Room and doll. Doll and room. Dollroom.
One door
opens into the room. It remains
closed. Ragdoll believes that it is
secured by a deadlock. But it is not.
No windows
offer any breakthrough reality, nor does any furniture offer intermittent
curiosity. Just one room with one
ragdoll in the corner.
Nothing for
it to touch or hold. Nothing to touch or
hold her...except maybe the shadows...which she sometimes acknowledges. She is like the shadows...a shadow of a girl,
black and blue with shades of shadows.
All blended together, almost friendly-like.
They are
alone together. Not really there. Not really existing. Maybe she is not real. The shadows seem more alive. But this is good. If she is not real, then the oppressive
blanket of pain clouding the body and room is also not real. Not there.
The pain is only a shadow, too
The
emptiness, silence and stillness are
the comfort. And safety. Any movement could trigger pain to again
speak to her, mocking her ragdoll vulnerability. Any whisper of a sound would shock the
silence.
