High-pitched screams explode into the air, unrelenting, shot through with blind terror. A wounded animal? A torture chamber? A calm voice interrupts the heart-chilling cries, reassuring my reluctant, listening ears that the victim is in a safe place. But her fearful trauma haunts me, echoing in every straining sinew of my mind. I switch the tape off and lean back on the cushions of the over-stuffed armchair to better ponder what I have just heard. Those screams belonged to a small child - just a child - mercilessly gripped in the vice of uncontrollable and devas tating fear. What atrocity would have caused such a violent outburst? What unmentionable evil warped her budding innocence? Can I bear to hear more? Trembling, I stretch over and turn the tape on again, pushing the limits of my endurance to listen to more of this nerve-wringing tirade. I lean forward, muscles tense, temples throbbing, mouth dry. At last the screams fade to a whim per, as a steady male voice soothes the young victim. His words unruffled, constant. Her small, high whine gradually lulls to a moan, pathetic and painful. Weary wails struggle, exhausted, from the tape player on the coffee table in front of me: "No more...no more... No, no more...." Silence. He continues his balm of words: "You are just remembering, just remembering; I'm here. You are safe now. That was all a long time ago. It's all just a memory. No one is going to hurt you anymore. No-one. You're safe now." My unconscious sigh of relief jolts me back to the present and once again I stoop to switch off the tape, my shaking spirit daring my mind to consider the ghastly implications of what I have just heard. Will that child ever be able to describe what she has seen? Will she ever be allowed to express what was done to her? Will she ever be able to feel joy, freedom? And who is that child? I struggle intensely with that last question, horribly aware that I know the answer, though even yet desperately clinging onto the breaking branch of my unbelief. I know her well - oh, how well I know her I have heard her screams often. That child is me

This is a remarkable book written by a remarkable person. Within these pages Carolyn shares something of her own experiences and uses them to give us insight into the effects of trauma and abuse. Perhaps what is most notable is that it is all done within the glorious hope of the transformation that Jesus can bring to the darkest of places. Thank you for this book which brings hope and confidence that Jesus, through his Church, can bring healing and restoration to those who have suffered so much. Rev. John Ryeland, Director of Christian Healing Mission, London. Carolyn Bramhall is living proof that even the deepest issues can be fully resolved in Christ. As a sufferer from DID for many years she knows what she is talking about. Even better, she has now spent a decade or more living free of it and helping others to take hold of that freedom for themselves. If you want a good understanding of what DID is and how it can be resolved in Christ, it's difficult to imagine a better book to read. Steve Goss, International Director of Freedom in Christ Ministries

High-pitched childish screams explode into the air, unrelenting, shot through with blind terror. A wounded animal - A torture chamber - I know her well-oh, how well I know her I have heard her screams often. That child is me. Carolyn Bramhall grew up in what seemed to outsiders to be a normal home, with hard-working parents, surrounded by apparently caring relatives. She graduated from Bible college, married, found a job a youth worker. Then nightmares and panic attacks started to swamp her. Dhe, her husband and two small children moved to work in America, but the internal stresses grew worse - and a host of other personalities started to make their presence felt. In due course 109 separate entities, each created to carry some aspect of truly ghastly past pain, would identify themselves. What could she possibly do?