Only his Princess

BIG TRIGGER warning  – child sexual abuse, physical abuse, torture, programming.

This blog post could be very triggering. I choose to publish it since it details how an abuser creates his own alter within a dissociative child. One could argue this knowledge should not be spread. Is it better the methods continue to be secretly shared within organized groups of abusers? If we learn how this works we can recognize the signs and better protect children and survivors who, because of dissociative disorders, are vulnerable to further splitting of the mind.

This is out of context unless the blog has been read in a chronological order.

Bianca, 4 1/2 years old:

It’s time for me to start preschool! Mother has secured a full time job. She is exited both about her work and for my sake. I’m lucky – I’ve been accepted by the best kindergarten in the whole City.

Everyone says it’s the best”, Mother repeats for the third time in a row, eyes glowing. It doesn’t matter she’ll have to walk a long way with my stroller to get there in the morning. 

”It’s an excellent daycare centre, the best.” The woods surrounding the centre are dark, ancient.

”Mom you’re like a parrot”, I giggle. 

The best preschool in the world looks like a normal building to me. It’s the outdoor space that’s extraordinary; within the kindergarten fence there’s a little bit of forest, a small meadow, a giant lawn, a jungle gym, a wooden bridge with a tower, a climbing frame, swings, a huge sandbox and some asphalt for riding bikes. Mother is with me the whole first day. Everyone are nice to us but I’m wary of Timothy, the man in charge of me. It’s a preschool with several sections, mine is called The Butterflies. One man and two women work here and each are extra responsible for some children within the group. Timothy stands too close to me, helps me with my outerwear when I don’t want help and looks at me too intensely. (Later, when Elijah comes to the centre, he’ll call Timothy ”Eye of Sauron” – always searching for us.) I feel so nervous, I talk my mother into staying with me another whole day. But on the third day I’m alone at the centre. In the afternoon, Mother comes to take me home and she asks me how my day was. I tell her it was fun to paint the name sign for my clothes hanger. She asks what we had for lunch and I have no idea. I only just woke up. 


I’m standing in a sunny room, children running everywhere. In front of me is a tall man.

”Hello”, he says. ”I’m Timothy. Are you Silent?”

I nod. My waist still hurts a little on the spot he pushed his finger.

”Good.” He smiles. ”We’ll have a little chat, you and I”. Timothy leads me to a small, white walled office. I wonder if he knows my family – there’s something familiar about him. Have I seen him before? Timothy shuts the door around us. 

”Now we can talk”, he states. He informs me I am here to be trained. My relatives have charged him with the task of educating my Selves. We have to learn obedience, pleasantness and above all else – obedience. He’s been told I’m a strong willed child and not easily broken.

”There were others asked to train you but they backed off! Such a reputation you have. I’m training you and in doing so, I’m saving your life. Your father is planning to kill you. You should thank me.” 

I signal thank you with my hand. 

”Not like that”, he chuckles. ”Like this”. When he pulls down his zipper I fight the urge to vomit. During the following weeks I try running from him, vomiting all over him, scratching him and biting him. He punishes me with accidents. Slamming doors on my hands, dropping heavy things on my feet, throwing me into the floor head first. It’s always when nobody sees and he tells his colleagues the story of how I hurt myself afterwards. I can’t talk so all I can do is cry and shake my head. Unfortunately that is not enough to alert the staff of what’s going on. To make matters worse, one of the women who works at The Butterflies – ”Barbie” – is a child sexual abuser who is having an extramarital affair with Timothy. She’s not aware of his physical violence but she believes sexual contact with children to be ”Love, only love”. If he is ever questioned, she defends him vehemently.

Timothy gets some alone time with me every day under the pretense of giving me medicine. One of my relatives has supplied him with a Doctor’s note. It says I need daily medication and that Timothy has been given training and instructions on how to care for me correctly. That I try to run away whenever he leads me to the office is used as an argument for how difficult it is to take care of my needs and how lucky they are to have Timothy, who strains himself for my wellbeing. 

”If you learn how to please me without crying, I’ll decide you’re trained and move on to another Self”, he comments one day. I feel like a traitor to the other girls inside me. I can’t stand any more suffering. I don’t want to live, I don’t want to be here. I use every bit of will power I have to hold back the tears next time he orders me to give him pleasure. 


During the first weeks in kindergarten, I am unaware of Giselle’s suffering. Timothy called me forth once in his office. I felt uneasy in his presence but he didn’t try to come close to me. 

”I’ve just had a phone call”, he said. From the look of him, it seemed he’d had a good cry as well.

”Your relatives have bad plans for you”, he continued. ”They want to see you killed”.

”Why?” I’d heard this about my father, but not about other relatives.

”For money. Now they’re love bombing you, but when the time is right they will sell you to your death. I wish there was something I could do to protect you.”

”Think”, I urged him. ”Think, Timothy, think!”

”I could create another Self in you. And make her fear them. Then when you’re old enough, maybe you’ll run away. Maybe. If you live that long.” He debates this back and forth and comes to the conclusion that if he creates a Self in me – ostensibly for his pleasure – it would be something forbidden. In order to hide the forbidden thing he’d done, he could program the Self to fear my relatives. Then nobody would suspect she was created to instill fear of them. 

”But not my mother”, I said. ”She’s not dangerous.” Timothy sighed.

”You’re mother is dangerous because she’s unconscious of everything and it’s useless trying to explain things. I have tried, you know. She started screaming and smashing her head and then she fainted. She would hand you over to your murderers with a smile.”

”But she loves me!”

”Yes, she loves you. But she is ill. I’m sorry.”

Timothy asks for my permission to create another Self. I agree on the condition that she will not be made to fear our mother. When we’ve finished speaking he orders me to forget the entire conversation and I do.


I don’t have many memories of my first year in preschool. Only arriving in the morning and sometimes sitting down at a table beside the windows, drawing a little. Timothy comes over to say hello. Then suddenly Mother is here to walk home with me.

”Time flies when you’re having fun”, Barbie smiles.


Timothy has decided I’m fully trained and asks me to open the door to Guinevere. I don’t feel good about this. There’s not telling what she’ll do. But I comply, I’m exhausted.


I’ve had nightmares of a tall man with dark brown hair. Now he is standing in front of me. There is something familiar about him, but I can’t recall if I’ve seen him before. How did I come here? The knock in the back doesn’t work on me. Grandfather says I’ll learn it later. There’s only one way for me to come out. One of my other Selves need to open the door. During exceptional circumstances, if the Self in the body is very upset, the door might open up a crack by accident. Then I can push through and defend us. 

”I’m sorry”. I hear Giselle’s voice in my head. ”I’m sorry I called on you. I wanted to protect you, all of you!” She is crying now. So this is the man who’s been tormenting her.

”Calm down”, I answer silently. ”I will kill him for you!” Then I take a good look at Timothy. He’s made of flesh, like everyone else. If I wanted to, I could make him crumble to the floor in a puddle of blood.

”I am Guinevere”, I say and then I laugh. ”You have no idea who I am!”

Some weeks later Timothy has reached the end of his rope. I’ve got knives and sharp objects hidden all over the preschool. I’ve assaulted him in every room and succeeded in cutting his throat twice, his crotch once.

”You’re impossible to train!” He exclaims. ”I banish you, for all time! You are not to set your foot within the gates of this property! Or else…or else I’ll collaborate with your father in selling you to your death! Do you get it? You would be tortured to death!” He’s threatened me with this for some time now.

”I don’t care”, I reply, faking a yawn.

”You’re stupid”. He’s got tears in his eyes. ”Wait until you see a sacrifice. You’ll see I was only trying to protect you.” 

”So banish me then. I’m not made to be obedient.”

Everyone are made to be obedient. Unless…you are what they say? But why?” Timothy looks thoughtful. ”You’re banished”, he declares. ”Now let Bianca return”. 


I suddenly find myself in the office with Timothy. My knees start shaking. I don’t know why, but this room scares me and I hate Timothy.

”Let me out”, I plead with him.

”Sure”, he responds. ”I’ll let you out once you’ve helped me with these papers. They need to be put together. Can you hold them like this?”

I hold the blank papers for him. He staples one of my fingers.

”STOP!” I scream, waving my hand in agony.

”Your hand moves to much, we need to fix it!” He snatches my other hand and fastens the stapler to my little finger. I’m horrorstruck. It happens so fast, I’m unprepared and don’t have time to defend myself. White-hot pain, my vision goes black and I fall.


I could hear myself crying while I was sleeping. My cheeks are wet. Someone is tending to my hands. Two of my fingers hurt so, so much. I lift my head from a velvet pillow. I’m covered with some glittery fabric but I have no clothes. I start crying again. 

”I want clothes”, I say to the man who is finishing bandaging my hand. 

”Don’t you know you always sleep naked. Like all princesses do”, he replies.

”I’m awake now. Please give me clothes.” I can’t recall who he is but I know I’m afraid of him. 

”I need to see you’re not hurt. You were attacked by an evil machine. You’re lucky I was here to defend you”. 

”I don’t want you to see me naked.”

”It’s okay. I’m a prince in disguise. And you’re a princess.”

I scream, he strangles me.

”Princesses Do. Not. Scream.” He imparts. ”They speak in whispers, tiny whispers. From now on you will whisper.”

When I am given my clothes back, I’ve understood I need to obey this man and whisper. I need to let him look at me and touch me, or he will hurt me. I’m dressed and follow him silently until we come to rooms filled with children. Worried women ask me what happened with my fingers.

”I don’t know”, I whisper. ”I don’t remember.” 

Finally they leave me alone. I sit on a chair by myself and gaze out the window. Suddenly I hear a girl’s voice in my head.

”Hi. I’m Guinevere!”

”Hello”, I say, looking around and feeling foolish. There is nobody here. 

”He is not your prince”, the voice continues. ”This is your true prince.” Suddenly my head is filled with images of a boy, older than me. He is strong, he lifts me up and swings me around. I see him laugh, I see his eyes smiling, I remember the feeling of him holding me and carrying me away from danger.

”This is the prince”, Guinevere says. ”He will come to save us! But you must keep him secret. Do not tell the false prince, or you will be in danger.” I look at the tall man on the other side of the room. Of course, he’s a false prince! That’s why everything about him felt wrong, so wrong. I hold on to the images I saw of The Real Prince. Prince Eric. He has a name! Eric. I will wait for him. I am only his Princess, nobody else’s.

Guinevere and Giselle:

We’re not called forth by Timothy anymore and we’re not allowed to visit the day care centre on our own. It’s not until we’re threatened with saintliness at the age of five we return. When we do come back, we pretend to be Bianca.


I walk by the fence every day, looking for my prince. Sometimes I cry and I repeat his name in my head. Eric, Eric, Eric. He will come to save me, he will. My whole world consists of the day care centre. Sometime in the beginning of the day I find myself here, and then in the afternoon I have to go sleep. Other children talk of evening and nights at home with their families, but I have never seen the sky darken. I feel like I have a good mother somewhere, but the memory of her is vague. I hold on to the belief Eric exists for real. He has to. I wander and wander along the perimeter of the outdoor space, until one day I can’t believe my eyes. There he is, on the other side of the fence! I run to him.

”Bianca!” He shouts. I know it’s my name, but I still look over my shoulder to see if he’s calling someone else. I’m crying tears of joy.

”I’ve missed you!” I exclaim. ”I knew you were real!”

”It’s been too long since we saw each other!” Eric laughs. I climb to the top of the fence. Then I hear Timothy’s voice:

”What are you doing, get down! Let that girl go”, he orders Eric, who has clasped my hand. ”On this side of the fence, she is mine!”

”Hurry, lift me over!” I beg and Eric grabs my arms and haul me over the railing. I cling to him like a koala. Timothy is angry.

”Who are you?” He asks.

”Eric.” Eric extends a hand, but Timothy refuses to shake it. 

”Eric, return Bianca here. She belongs to us.” Eric stumbles, loosing his balance and we fall into a heap in the grass. He stands up, brushing the dirt from his jeans. I see a wicked gleam in his eyes.

”Wrong,” he answers. ”She is mine. I’m her cousin, after all. I hear you pretend to be a royal. No prince worthy of his name would refuse a duel. Pick your choice: knives or knuckles.”

”You can’t be serious”. Timothy pales.

”Oh, but I am. Also, I’m feeling very thirsty today. For your blood.”

”You’re lunatics! I’ve heard of your family! Assassins, the lot of you!” Timothy spits on the ground.

”Why don’t you come a little closer and repeat that”, Eric suggests. But Timothy shakes his head and walks away. I’m over the moon.

”You saved me! Like I always dreamed you would!”

”Are you the princess?” Eric looks at me and laughs. ”We’ve been trying to reach you for some time now but we didn’t know your signal.”

”It is this.” I pinch my left arm and the left side of my waist. ”Both of them.”

Timothy was charged with the task of educating my Selves, which he did, to some extent. But he had no permission to create and train his own Self inside me. My relatives were upset about this breach of contract. 

But Grandmother chuckles:

”When a man really wants you, Bianca, that is what he’ll do. He’ll create a Self, only for him, inside of you.”

”I was never Timothy’s”, I counter. ”I am Eric’s – I always have been, always will be!”

My grandparents laugh at this. Grandfather gives Eric a solemn look:

”You’ve stolen her heart. Take good care of it.”


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