I've found Alternate handwriting (or left/right writing) very helpful in identifying parts-of-self when I'm working on my own. The DNMS is still my favorite way to find my way through the past, but this is a close second.
Here's one from last year when I was trying to understand my distrust of men.
Right hand: Hey, I know you’re there. What’s going on?
Left Hand: I hate him. He doesn’t care about me.
Right hand: Who?
Left hand: It doesn’t matter. They’re all the same.
Right hand: Who?
(Nothing)
Right hand: Where are you?
Left hand: I’m at home. I’m always at home.
Right hand: What are you doing?
Left hand: Nothing. I should be doing my chores, but I don’t want to.
Right hand: What do you want to do?
Left hand: Go outside. I want to get away. Go anywhere. Get out of here.
Right hand: How old are you?
Left hand: Almost 12.
Right hand: Why are you so sad?
Left hand: I’m ANGRY!
Right hand: Why? Who are you angry with?
Left hand: Everyone. I just want to run away.
Right hand: What made you angry?
Left hand: My father was being an asshole. I hate him. I don’t need him. I
don’t need to talk to anyone.
Right hand: What was he doing?
Left hand: Oh God, the usual stuff. He says things and I have to listen. He never listens to me. I don’t tell him anything anymore, anyway. I can get by on my own.
Right hand: I know. I remember. It’s ok. You don’t have to tell him. You can tell me. I’ll
listen.
Left hand: I’m stuck here. You can’t help me.
Right hand: Maybe I can. I want to help. Come out where I can see you.
Left hand: I cut myself. I scratched letters in my arm.
Right hand: It’s ok. I remember. Those letters are the initials of a man you've never even met. You don’t even know him, you know that, right?
Left hand: Shut up. You don’t know. Nobody knows. He talks to me on the phone. I hate being alone here.
Right hand: I do know. I remember. I hate being alone, too.
(nothing)
Right hand: I know it feels good to talk.
(nothing)
Right hand: I’m here. What do you want to talk about?
(nothing)
Here's one from last year when I was trying to understand my distrust of men.
Right hand: Hey, I know you’re there. What’s going on?
Left Hand: I hate him. He doesn’t care about me.
Right hand: Who?
Left hand: It doesn’t matter. They’re all the same.
Right hand: Who?
(Nothing)
Right hand: Where are you?
Left hand: I’m at home. I’m always at home.
Right hand: What are you doing?
Left hand: Nothing. I should be doing my chores, but I don’t want to.
Right hand: What do you want to do?
Left hand: Go outside. I want to get away. Go anywhere. Get out of here.
Right hand: How old are you?
Left hand: Almost 12.
Right hand: Why are you so sad?
Left hand: I’m ANGRY!
Right hand: Why? Who are you angry with?
Left hand: Everyone. I just want to run away.
Right hand: What made you angry?
Left hand: My father was being an asshole. I hate him. I don’t need him. I
don’t need to talk to anyone.
Right hand: What was he doing?
Left hand: Oh God, the usual stuff. He says things and I have to listen. He never listens to me. I don’t tell him anything anymore, anyway. I can get by on my own.
Right hand: I know. I remember. It’s ok. You don’t have to tell him. You can tell me. I’ll
listen.
Left hand: I’m stuck here. You can’t help me.
Right hand: Maybe I can. I want to help. Come out where I can see you.
Left hand: I cut myself. I scratched letters in my arm.
Right hand: It’s ok. I remember. Those letters are the initials of a man you've never even met. You don’t even know him, you know that, right?
Left hand: Shut up. You don’t know. Nobody knows. He talks to me on the phone. I hate being alone here.
Right hand: I do know. I remember. I hate being alone, too.
(nothing)
Right hand: I know it feels good to talk.
(nothing)
Right hand: I’m here. What do you want to talk about?
(nothing)
Journal Entry after the left/right writing:
I had nearly forgotten about that whole thing. I was in 6th grade, and I used to call this guy every day when I got home. It had been just a random number, I used to do that a lot, call random numbers and try to get people to talk to me. Usually people just hung up when they realized they didn’t know me, but he talked to me.
I haven’t thought about that in years It went on for several weeks. I thought about him all day in school and called him as soon as I got home.
I never even met him, but he knew me well because I was not afraid to tell him things. The phone was safe.
I scratched his initials in my arm.
Then, I said -- something… what? Something that made him angry. I remember being surprised that he was so angry. He said I couldn‘t call him anymore.
The marks on my arm were there for a long time.
What did I say? I told him about my arm!
That’s what it was. I told him that I had scratched his initials in my arm and he
freaked out and told me not to call him anymore. He hung up when I called after that.
Wow, I went overboard and then when I told him about it, I felt completely cut off and rejected.
But, it wasn’t real, not a real relationship, just like this. This attachment to Dr. M is no more real than the silly attachment I had to that guy on the phone in 6th grade.
But it’s still really painful. I feel like I lost something important.
That’s all I wanted. For someone to really know me and think I was ok.
I guess it’s all I ever wanted but I am too afraid to let anyone in. But somehow I always take it too far, I always screw it up.
Damn it. I made a mess of everything again.
Maybe it is really not safe to know me.
Maybe my father was right.
When people get to know me, they will find out how bad I really am.
At my next sessionI no longer felt alone., we began the DNMS process with the new part I had identified through the left/ right writing -- the angry twelve-year-old.
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