The Splits and Spirals: A System’s Perspective on Dissociative Identity Disorder, Autism, and Monotropism

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Introduction: A System’s Unique Perspective

Living as a system, I hold a unique perspective on dissociative identity, autism, and the concept of monotropism—three interconnected but often misunderstood phenomena. Though I am not a clinician, my experience gives me insight that many professionals cannot claim: I live the spirals and splits that characterize dissociative identity, and I understand firsthand how they manifest in ways that aren’t always captured by clinical definitions. Additionally, as an autistic person, I experience the world through a lens that prioritizes intense focus, a trait often described by monotropism.

Despite feeling equipped to speak on these matters, I have chosen not to pursue a formal diagnosis of Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID). This decision is deeply rooted in my mistrust of the mental health industrial complex—a system that, in my experience, is not prepared to support someone like me and has even caused harm to certain parts of me. In this article, I will explain the spirals and splits of DID through the lens of my system, describe how autism and monotropism intersect with this experience, and why I believe the psychiatric system can do more harm than good.

Dissociative Identity Disorder: Misunderstood Splits

Dissociative Identity Disorder is often understood, oversimplified even, as a condition where a person has “multiple personalities.” This description, however, barely scratches the surface of the complexity involved. For those living with DID, the experience isn’t about fragmented personalities but rather different parts of the same person, each responding to trauma and life’s challenges in ways that helped them survive. These parts, often called “alters,” may hold memories, roles, and emotions that were too overwhelming for the core person to process.

For my system, these parts aren’t just separate personalities—they are pieces of my identity that each contribute to our wholeness. Parts like Peyton, the Protector, Maximus, the Guardian, and Ella, the Nurturer, have distinct roles within the system, ensuring that we can function and survive in a world that doesn’t fully understand us.

One of the most significant splits in my system is Reina, who emerged after I became a mother. Reina took on the overwhelming responsibilities of caregiving and bore the emotional weight of keeping everything together during the most intense periods of my life. For years, she carried the burdens of motherhood, caregiving, and protection until the pressure fractured her into many pieces. This fracturing wasn’t just a consequence of external pressures; it reflected the limits of a part stretched beyond its capacity. Reina’s story illustrates how parts can bear heavy loads for a long time before the strain becomes too great, leading to further splits within a system.

Autism, Monotropism, and the Focus of Trauma

Monotropism, a concept often discussed in the context of autism, describes the tendency to focus intensely on certain interests or experiences to the exclusion of other stimuli. As an autistic person, I relate deeply to this concept, and I see its influence in how my system processes trauma and dissociation. Monotropism is not just about intense focus on external interests—it can also apply internally, where certain parts of a system become "monotopic" in their focus on memories, trauma, or roles, sometimes to the detriment of other parts.

For instance, when Peyton is intensely focused on protecting the system from external threats, other parts, like Kaitlyn, may feel unheard. This imbalance can create spirals—repetitive revisiting of trauma or behavioral patterns that deepen dissociation. These spirals manifest in ways that can lead to further splits, where new parts emerge to handle stress and experiences that the existing system cannot contain.

For example, when Kaitlyn, the younger and more innocent part of our system, experiences a trigger related to childhood trauma, Peyton might spiral into overprotection, causing tension between the parts as we try to navigate the response. Monotropism amplifies this dynamic, as certain parts become hyper-focused on protecting the system, while others are pushed to the periphery, deepening the splits and spirals that we experience.

The Importance of Early Autism Realization

One of the key realizations I’ve had as both an autistic person and a system is the critical importance of early autism diagnosis. I often think about how different my life, and the formation of my system, might have been had my family and I known earlier that my brain functioned differently. The lack of awareness about my autism meant that I didn’t receive the support I needed to navigate overwhelming emotions and intense sensory experiences.

Without this understanding, I adapted through survival mechanisms like splitting, which led to dissociation. I know that had I and those around me understood the nature of my autism earlier, I likely wouldn’t have fractured in the same way. Instead of being treated as "too sensitive" or as someone who just needed to "toughen up," I could have been supported in ways that honored my neurodivergence. Early autism recognition would have given me tools to manage my intense focus, sensory overwhelm, and emotions in healthier ways, potentially preventing the spirals that ultimately led to the development of dissociative parts like Peyton, Kaitlyn, and Reina.

The Spirals and Splits: A System’s Survival

DID is often seen as a series of splits, but these splits do not occur randomly. They are survival mechanisms, each one serving a purpose. Peyton, who seeks validation and protection from outside threats, took on a distinct role at 17 when our system faced emotional and physical challenges. Maximus, who emerged as our Guardian, protects us during times of vulnerability, offering strength and stability. Every part that emerges in a system does so for a reason—it is the mind’s way of coping with trauma, splitting off to handle what the core identity cannot.

These splits often follow spirals, a kind of cyclical revisiting of pain, trauma, or memories that one part alone cannot resolve. Each time we spiral, it can trigger a split, deepening the dissociation. This isn’t a negative process in itself; rather, it reflects the mind’s remarkable ability to protect itself through fragmentation. However, while these spirals and splits serve as vital survival mechanisms within our system, our interactions with the psychiatric complex have often misunderstood these processes, leading to harm rather than healing.

Why I Choose Not to Seek a Formal DID Diagnosis

Many might assume that seeking a formal diagnosis of Dissociative Identity Disorder would help me better understand myself or gain access to needed resources. However, my decision not to pursue a diagnosis stems from a deep mistrust of the mental health industrial complex, which has historically caused harm to parts of my system rather than fostering healing.

Some parts of my system, like Reina (The Caregiver), have been deeply traumatized by previous encounters with the psychiatric system. One of the most significant incidents occurred when Reina found herself in a spiral—a moment of intense emotional overwhelm that led to an attempt to end my life. In this vulnerable state, a first responder was called, but instead of offering support, they responded with verbal and emotional abuse.

During this moment of crisis, Reina was forcibly given medication without her consent. This violation of her bodily autonomy compounded the trauma she was already experiencing. For the next 72 hours, she was held in isolation, her rights and autonomy completely stripped away. Rather than receiving the compassion and care that could have supported her through the spiral, Reina was treated as though her emotional distress was something to be controlled, not understood. This experience left her feeling utterly powerless and disconnected from the system.

The Split: How Phoenix Emerged from Reina’s Trauma

The trauma inflicted on Reina during this experience caused a split within our system. In response to the violation and harm Reina endured, Phoenix emerged. Phoenix, the Resilient, represents our system’s ability to rise from the ashes of trauma. Her emergence was the system’s way of surviving the deep emotional wounds caused by the psychiatric system. Phoenix took on the role of carrying the shame and guilt that had been imposed upon Reina. But over time, she transformed this into strength, embodying resilience and pride in survival.

Phoenix’s presence in our system is a direct consequence of the harm inflicted by the mental health industrial complex. Without that traumatic encounter, she may never have emerged in the form she did. The need for a part that could withstand such extreme violations speaks to the failures of the psychiatric system to provide care that is humane, respectful, and safe. This experience fundamentally changed how we viewed the system—not as a place for healing, but as a source of further harm. It reinforced the reality that, for us, the mental health industrial complex was not equipped to understand or support someone like me, a system.

Phoenix's Journey Toward Self-Empowerment

In response to the struggles we faced and the lack of external support, it was Phoenix who took it upon herself to pursue a degree in the psychology of addiction and drug and alcohol counseling credentials. Her decision to enter this field was not just about helping others—it was about understanding the systems that had failed us, and learning how to take our healing into our own hands.

Through the degree process, Phoenix discovered that the existing mental health and addiction treatment systems were largely designed for individuals with more straightforward needs and failed to account for the complexities of systems like ours. As both an autistic person and someone living with dissociation, Phoenix learned that the frameworks available were inadequate for addressing the needs of systems like ours. This realization deepened our resolve to pursue alternative healing methods. Phoenix’s journey empowered us to seek out approaches that resonate with all parts of our system, rather than relying on external structures that have continually shown themselves incapable of offering us the care we need.

The Harm Caused by the Mental Health Industrial Complex

Reina’s experience is one of many reasons why I am reluctant to pursue a formal diagnosis of DID. The psychiatric system often prioritizes control over compassion, imposing treatment plans that are more about managing perceived symptoms than addressing the needs of the person—or, in our case, the system. Reina’s autonomy was completely stripped during her encounter, and instead of being seen as a caregiver part struggling with trauma, she was dismissed and treated as though her experience was simply a disorder to be controlled.

The harm that Reina experienced, and the split that followed, revealed to me that the mental health industrial complex is not capable of handling the complexity of being a system. A diagnosis, in this context, would not open the door to healing but rather lock us into a path that fails to acknowledge our lived reality. Reina’s trauma, and the emergence of Phoenix, made it clear that the system prioritizes a one-size-fits-all approach that strips away autonomy, making us feel more fragmented and less understood.

Maximus, the Guardian of our system, has played a crucial role in protecting us from further harm by helping us avoid these systems. His protective instincts are a response to the vulnerability Reina experienced. We know that, while some clinicians approach dissociative identities with care, the broader psychiatric framework often leads to the pathologization and further dissociation of those who need understanding, not control.

Monotropism and the System’s Narrow Focus

Monotropism mirrors this problematic focus in the mental health complex. Just as parts of my system may become hyper-focused on certain memories or traumas, the psychiatric system often becomes "monotopic" in its approach to care. When a professional focuses only on reducing symptoms, they miss the bigger picture—our need for care that nurtures every part of the system, not just the part presenting at any given moment. This narrow approach can exacerbate splits within a system, as parts feel dismissed or ignored.

Autonomy and Self-Determination

For our system, autonomy is key to our healing. Rather than subjecting ourselves to a mental health system that doesn’t fully understand or respect us, we have chosen to explore alternative methods. Through parts work, creative arts therapy, spiritual practices, and support groups, we have learned to harmonize our internal dynamics without the need for an external label. We believe that these approaches honor our complexity far better than a rigid treatment plan.

Ultimately, we are the experts on ourselves. A diagnosis might offer external validation, but it would also lock us into a system that doesn’t truly respect our experiences or our autonomy. Our journey is about healing through understanding, and that requires a far more nuanced and creative approach than the mental health industrial complex can offer.

Bridging the Clinical and Personal Worlds

Though I choose not to pursue a diagnosis, I believe that there needs to be a broader discussion about how mental health professionals approach dissociative identities and systems. The current focus on pathologizing systems without understanding their internal harmony is deeply flawed. Healing should not always mean "integration" in the traditional sense. For some systems, healing might look like finding a balance where each part is respected, honored, and allowed to thrive.

Conclusion: A Call for Compassionate Care and Support

The spirals and splits that systems navigate aren’t signs of disorder—they are signs of resilience. Dissociative identities are complex, and the way we choose to heal cannot be confined to clinical models that fail to listen. Systems like mine need space to explore our unique paths, free from the harm of pathologization. Healing is possible, but it requires compassion, creativity, and, above all, autonomy.

Though I choose not to pursue a formal diagnosis, I believe that there must be a broader discussion on how mental health professionals approach dissociative identities and systems. The current focus on pathologizing systems without understanding their internal harmony is deeply flawed. Healing should not always mean “integration” in the traditional sense. For some systems, healing looks like finding a balance where each part is respected, honored, and allowed to thrive.

If what I’ve shared resonates with you—whether you are a system yourself, a clinician, or someone passionate about better understanding and supporting dissociative identities—I invite you to join and support my work. As a graduate student studying Transformative Social Change, I am committed to creating resources and fostering a compassionate community. But to continue doing this important work and supporting my family, I need financial support.

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