Where We’ve Been

We’ve been busy . . . with LIFE.  You know that thing: things to do, people to see.  Life gets busy around here some of the times, and lately for a lot of good reasons.  Indeed, today I (and we) have committed to helping someone move their household to another city “far away”.  The phone could ring at any time; we’re just waiting on the moving truck.

“I” haven’t changed much ‘myself’, though the others are here.  (Yes, we are still a multiple sort and kind of being.)  But in many ways – we have changed a good deal down on the inside where it really counts and all of that ‘good stuff’.

We’re more tightly integrated, knowing ‘each other’ more (and loving ourselves – with deep respect and admiration) after what we’ve been through in Puerto Rico.  We found who does what; what works well, and more about who we are.

We’ve talked to friends and family – some understand, some don’t.  As a friend of ours (whom we admire deeply – he is a reasonable and smart man with a degree in pyschology) said:

“It is evident that something  happened – but we’ll probably never know everything that went on.”

He’d heard about me coming back; being locked up in a loony ward as a result, though most of those folks aren’t ‘loony’, just inadvertently trapped – and some just need some help through some things going on in their lives ‘at the moment’.  We helped a few; then helped a few others.  Some cried when we were ‘freed’ after the docs couldn’t find anything wrong with us (other that that bit of disturbing news that we were still ‘MPD’ and “shit” <- (another doctor’s word for the thing that was going on.)

Having known me since I was a teen – and gone through the service with me – and having been my best friend since I was seventeen (and sh** – meaning he and I have gone through much “Life!” together) – he took the news, thought it about it – got caught in a cycle of “His brother says he’s crazy . . . but he isn’t crazy . . . I know him . . . but . . .”

So he came over to see me and we talked.

He, like many, had originally thought that when I said “cult”, I meant about fifteen or twenty people.  But after I (and we) explained what went on, he came to the conclusion:

“It must have been a community of them.”

And I agreed – it was.  Everyone I approached (or this ‘man’, my old friend “E”) – was evidently either a relative of his, or they were another one of his friends.

In short, it seemed (in that community) that everyone knew him.  But that’s some of the beauty of the Puerto Rican culture that I’d found: the families are tight knit and live together, like a neighborhood – only something bigger, more intwined and interconnected.  To US, who had never had a ‘home’ nor a place to live that we could call home for more than ‘awhile’ – and NEVER with any extended family involved – it was something strange and great and wonderful.

“You know,” my friend said after we discussed “E’s” connections within this community and WITH the CIA (something “E” had confessed to many years ago – and repeated – and expounded upon – during our visit with him) – “You hear and read about shit like this happening all the time – but it always happens to somebody else.  You never expect it happen to a friend – or family! – of yours.  Especially you!”  Here he stops and stares at me and I bust out laughing.

“Hell yeah, you’re right!”, I (and some of ‘we’) howled in laughter.  “Especially when it happens to yourself!!”

We both busted out laughing.  Then (looking at me most seriously), he announced in his most pronounced voice:

“Of course you realize none of this is happening.  Actually you’re laying in some bed in some mental institution hallucinating on some drugs.”

And then we both burst out laughing again – because secretly we all know (and sometimes suspect this sort of thing):

“Life is but a dream!” (echoing refrains from the old Children’s song, “Row, Row, Row Your Boat” – and smiling at those ‘children’ of mine).

We are happier now – but also know when and where to draw our boundaries.  We don’t experience ‘rage’ as you know it – a more calm and peaceful existence is ours now.  That’s not to say we don’t get upset at some things – but if there’s anything this experience (especially at the psycho ward) taught us, it was this:

People don’t care.  Not really, not at heart; not most of them.   When you come down to it, most of them are going to be watching out for their own self-interest.  My friend is much like them when it comes down to this sort of thing.  And it’s not necessarily a BAD sort of thing – one’s gotta take care of one’s self . . .

But there’s gotta be a limit to what’s going on.  (Learned that my own ‘self’, professionally, a long long time ago.)

Most people wouldn’t step outta their way to help another hurt and aching human being . . . even if their heart was in it.


Because they’re scared of something.  Scared of becoming hurt.  Scared of hurting someone else.  Scared to death of something – while really never really knowing what those ‘somethings’ are.

And then they just get ‘afraid to move forward’.

As we say:

“You can lead a horse to water, but you certainly can’t make him drink.”

And that’s even if you beat him about the head with a board and then start holding his head under!  He’ll just hold his breath until he drowns or something . . .

Certainly no way to be bringing water to a horse anyway – I know, I’ve tried this one before (most notably on our friend “E”, still trapped somewhere down there in Puerto Rico . . . hoping he’s enjoying the ‘kinda hell’ we’ve been ‘creating’ for him down there . . . through friends, parts, and things he’s gotta learn . . .)

That’s another thing: we’ve learned to do more than just sit by simply watching.

Sometimes we just go away.

Offering advice never did anything – these people tend to be into ‘doing everything themselves’ – meaning all the hard lessons and things we do that tend to come back (if not forward) – and bite us in the ass.  Then again, there’s some of them that are caused by so many of us ‘other people’ – giving ‘you people’ something to deal with.  Go on and figure: don’t you figure somewhere and somehow, you’re kinda like us in some way?  Go on and figure.  It’s probably gonna take you some while – and some time, and a whole lot of studying . . .

Internalizing dialogue – the kind of thing we ALL tend to do so often: am “I” so much (and some kind of) different than you?

I’m kind of doubting it.

I’m kinda thinking I’m just like you – just in some kind of (much?) different way.  You’re gonna have to accept me (and WE, G-damnit) for what ‘we’ are . . .

Our little friends, Mikie and crew . . .
Our bigger friends, Matthew, and the “Soldier Being”.
And our biggest friends,

Yours truly,

et one and all.


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)
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