I didn’t write this book because I wanted to write about dissociation. I wrote it because I was living inside it.
For years, I thought I knew my own mind.
I trusted my memory completely. I knew what I had done, where I had been, what I had said. I was an actress, a mother, a professional, a woman with a career and a life that looked perfectly functional from the outside.
Then the gaps started becoming impossible to ignore.
People would talk about conversations I couldn’t remember. I would find myself somewhere without knowing how I had gotten there. Messages had been sent from my phone that I didn’t remember writing. My thoughts became crowded with voices that didn’t always feel like mine.
And then I realized something much more frightening:
I wasn’t always the person making the decisions.
Some of the voices I had known since childhood had names.
Arzu.
Gül.
And others.
They weren’t imaginary characters I had created for a story. They were parts of my own mind that had learned to survive things I couldn’t.
This is where *Splintered* begins.
It is a deeply personal account of what dissociation looked like from the inside for me: the memory loss, the confusion, the fear of losing control, the strange experience of watching yourself do things you cannot explain, and the gradual realization that the mind can divide its experience in ways you never knew were possible.
The book also follows my treatment.
I write about the moment I finally sought specialized help, the process of meeting the different parts of my system, confronting memories I had been unable to access, and eventually beginning the work of integration.
One of the hardest things I had to understand was that these parts of me were not my enemies.
They had formed for a reason.
They had protected a child who had no other way to survive.
I wrote this book because I wish I had found something like it when I was desperately trying to understand what was happening to me.
Not a textbook.
Not a list of symptoms.
A person saying:
“This is what it felt like from inside my head.”
If you live with dissociation, DID, trauma-related memory loss, or you are trying to understand someone who does, I hope *Splintered* gives you something I desperately needed back then:
the feeling that you are not the only person whose mind works this way.
The book is available on Kindle.
And if you are part of this community, I would genuinely love to hear from you:
What was the first experience that made you realize your dissociation was more than ordinary forgetfulness?
I didn’t write this book because I wanted to write about dissociation. I wrote it because I was living inside it.
For years, I thought I knew my own mind.
I trusted my memory completely. I knew what I had done, where I had been, what I had said. I was an actress, a mother, a professional, a woman with a career and a life that looked perfectly functional from the outside.
Then the gaps started becoming impossible to ignore.
People would talk about conversations I couldn’t remember. I would find myself somewhere without knowing how I had gotten there. Messages had been sent from my phone that I didn’t remember writing. My thoughts became crowded with voices that didn’t always feel like mine.
And then I realized something much more frightening:
I wasn’t always the person making the decisions.
Some of the voices I had known since childhood had names.
Arzu.
Gül.
And others.
They weren’t imaginary characters I had created for a story. They were parts of my own mind that had learned to survive things I couldn’t.
This is where *Splintered* begins.
It is a deeply personal account of what dissociation looked like from the inside for me: the memory loss, the confusion, the fear of losing control, the strange experience of watching yourself do things you cannot explain, and the gradual realization that the mind can divide its experience in ways you never knew were possible.
The book also follows my treatment.
I write about the moment I finally sought specialized help, the process of meeting the different parts of my system, confronting memories I had been unable to access, and eventually beginning the work of integration.
One of the hardest things I had to understand was that these parts of me were not my enemies.
They had formed for a reason.
They had protected a child who had no other way to survive.
I wrote this book because I wish I had found something like it when I was desperately trying to understand what was happening to me.
Not a textbook.
Not a list of symptoms.
A person saying:
“This is what it felt like from inside my head.”
If you live with dissociation, DID, trauma-related memory loss, or you are trying to understand someone who does, I hope *Splintered* gives you something I desperately needed back then:
the feeling that you are not the only person whose mind works this way.
The book is available on Kindle.
And if you are part of this community, I would genuinely love to hear from you:
What was the first experience that made you realize your dissociation was more than ordinary forgetfulness?