16 Hours

It has been a very long 16 hours.

During this past 16 hours, I went looking for a piece of art work I’d done for … something.  A shrink I think it was.

And in doing so we found the Journals.  The Lost ones.  (There will be more on that.  I just posted one blog entry “Sex In The Hood”.  I (we) have 2 other blog entries going right this moment and would be typing in them at exactly this second if I had more fingers to do the typing.  (Us and we and all …. and we are very sad and disturbed and perturbed and all – not due to this entry.)  We never found the art.  It is hiding somewhere – or we have hidden it from ourselves.  We do that sort of thing.  Only someone knows and we are suspecting who.  Matthews.

In this past 16 hours I found:

My wife … jeez, the pain.  Not being able to talk to her – and then when I tried: she shut down.  That is to say, she shut US down with these words: “I DON’T want to know.”

That’s part of the reason Matthew hates her.  Just in case you didn’t know, Matthew is my ‘other’ primary ‘alter’ (though to be truthful, we ALL hate being called that thing: an ‘alter’.  It reminds us of religion, and that’s a terrible thing.  Not religion: just so many things around it.)

We went wild last night.  Matthew, in his hatred, put on hard rock ‘n roll (AC/DC, full volume); we dropped the top on the Mustang – and took the wife for a wild ride.  West, as always.  Wishing we could go 120 miles an hour the way we did across the state of Alabama last year – cruising up from Mobile all the way to Atlanta (diagonal cut, so you know it took a long time.  And yeah it was fun and scary – but we are an excellent driver, unlike the 70% of the population that thinks it is – we know we are.  5 years of driving school plus more insured that kind of thing.)

We normally listen to ‘easy listening’, soft rock and things.  The wife knew something was going on, but she did not ask a thing.  She’s gotten like that: unwilling to learn, unwanting to know.

She is used to our driving.  And she loves the feel of the wind rushing through her hair.  Even if the man sitting beside her isn’t the man he used to be.  In so many ways.  In both her mind – and mine.

She trusts us.  But she doesn’t trust me not to do something stupid, like maybe Matt killing us all.  Just to get rid of his pain.

We discovered some of the reasons Matthew is so sad.  One of those is (another blog entry we are ‘cooking’ on) – is his lost family, and what he knows we’ll find in those journals.  One is his letter to me: seceding control.  It’s been an uneasy secession at best, with him coming ‘forward’ all the time and me going ‘back’.

Matt is one of the reasons we cannot cry.  He ‘steps’ in the way, blocking all tears and things.

And yet he weeps inside: bitter, lonely, soul wrenching pain and tears.  Weeps and cries with rage.  He is hurting so bad – and has been hurting for so long – and we are afraid we cannot help him.

He just wants to die.  Our child convinced him last night (or was it this morning?) not to pull the gun and blow away our brains.  Like any PTSD survivor; we sleep with a gun under our head.  We threatened to take the gun away from him (give it to the wife, as we have done before – but it would upset her, for she knows what THAT means) – and Matt, bitterly laughing, reminded us of all the guns we keep in the house.

A shotgun leaves a perfect mess.  There is nothing left behind. (We have seen this thing; only with a deer hunting rifle.  Again in that pile of art we can’t find: our son (in-law) – his head spread and flayed like a sprawling octopus across his neck and shoulders.  There was no head.  Just one purple eyeball staring out at us like …. some thing.  And his scalp was resting on the back of his hand; his hand upon his knee … like he was resting.)  See the symbolism in that – all that, folks.  If you are not too blind to see his pain – and what he had done to stop it.

This has been a weird 16 hours.  Remember that when I say something’s been “weird”.  Weird is not necessary a good thing; not in so many ways!

Kinda like interesting.  Weird is interesting.  And interesting?  Not always good.

Bad/good days to come.  Time to move on.  Other journal entries are waiting.  And there is so much more. (thinking “16 hours” – meaning the other 16 to come.)

“May you have an interesting life.”**  I guess I certainly have.

(** Ancient Chinese Curse)

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About jeffssong

JW is an adult childhood abuse survivor with DID*. He grew up in a violent family devoid of love and affection. He is a military brat and veteran. He no longer struggles with that past. In 1976 JW began writing "The Boy". It took 34 years to complete. It is currently on Kindle (http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004T3IVKK ), or if you prefer hard copy, on Amazon ( http://www.amazon.com/Boy-J-W/dp/1461022681). JW resides somewhere in the deep South. He is disabled and living with family. Note: Please feel free to take what you need; all is free to all. With that in mind, keep it that way to others. Thank you. We have 3 Blogs - One for our younger days, 0-10 (The Little Shop of Horrors); one for our Teen Alter and his 'friends' (also alters) with a lot of poetry; and finally "my" own, the Song of Life (current events and things)
This entry was posted in Alters, Anger, child abuse, child abuse survivor, Counselors, depression, DID, dissociative identity disorder, JefferyW, Life, Matthew, mental health, Mental Health Professionals, MPD, Psychiatry, psycho-analysis, Psychology, social issues, therapist, therapy and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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