The Long Road Home. That fits what we’ve finally begun to realize. It explains a lot of the dreams; the images that we ‘see’; the things that we have seen and dreamed.
In a way it starts with little Mikie and the loss of his friends – his friends, his neighborhood, his environment. We were somewhat prepared, yet not prepared at all – for how can you be prepared for something which is outside your realm of experience? All we knew was we were moving to Germany . . . and that it snowed a lot there. (Never mind we were born and raised by a German nanny during our first year . . . we didn’t remember that thing.)
For it was there in Germany that we had that first dream; that very first one; and then while we were there came the second: the nightmare, the one which would come true.
We would dream sometimes that we’d returned to the Hood and everything would be different – the people would be gone (or changed so drastically that we could not recognize them); the houses changed – everything . . .
and when we came back four years later – it had. Everything was gone. We were living in my best friend’s house (and not so coincidently, in the house of one of my ‘abusers’) – I remember them pumping out the septic tank: it was full of condoms . . . a pink scum so thick it made even the workmen laugh . . .
Imagine there you are; a child – young, maybe ten – and you’ve been yanked from all you know and all you’ve been (for his was one of my alters) – and thrust into this quite literally foreign countryside, living on German bases which have been ‘converted’ to the military mind (US Military, that is) . . . you are moving twice, perhaps even three times a year (school is a disaster – and a nightmare! – at times) . . .
and all along while ‘over there’ – Mikie was unconsciously developing “13” (our alternate personality from the ‘end times’ of ‘that time’) – and Jeremy, the kid who evolved (was “quined”) from a ‘copy’ of our little one – growing into something which could quite literally be ‘fat and happy’ while he was over there (one outta two ain’t bad; we grew fat, but not quite happy enough sometimes). . . and then when Jeremy lost his best friend – coming back over here, little Mikie expecting to ‘take back over again’ when we got over here – the ‘shock’ again – the culture shock, again and again – shocking our system – no support, no ’emotions’ (my parents were very unexpressive about anything but anger and hatred and things).
So you got this kid who’s been mentally smacked around – again and again. Lost all his friends – quite suddenly! every one! Fell swoops, one at a time, over and over again . . . no wonder we came back . . . unprepared? Hurting and wounded, yes, for sure – we had lost our best friend – and coming back, found all our ‘best friends’ were gone again – the few that were there had changed; WE had changed . . . then there was this kid at school that finally ‘blew the whistle*’ – and we changed again . . .
(* “blew the whistle” we think means put such a pressure on Jeremy and HIS inside friends – little Mikie and all – that Mikie and Jeremy threw in the towel and said “F-it, we’re gonna create a ‘new friend’.” – in which case “13” came along – a transit personality which was used to “build” 14, which then created our inner one, Matthew, to handle the job.
14, we think, was built on request after (or during) my mother/parent’s divorce, and while we were going through yet another hard time – moved AGAIN, going to a different school (“queer counselor” I hear echoing in my head; and YES he was queer but he never made a pass at my ass cuz’ I was too goddamn ugly and F’d up.)
(sighing . . . “seeing there” the ‘switching’ going on; hatred at self; bad feelings all around (meaning that ‘being’ or ‘part’ – is it 13? no, 14, yes – that is the one . . .)
You see the insanity of giving in to this folks . . . it sucks. It’s enuff to drive you nuts.
Oh wait. I’m already there (LOL’ing going on) . . . taking a break because we feel a ‘secret’ anger inside – directed at ‘outside people’ – from . . . hmm, that pre-teen personality – the one who got hurt (and some bad mental crap went on; our parents were down to a) emotional / mental abusing, and b) restricting us in our room for weeks / months at a time, and c) we didn’t care because we were living in our room anyway; an alarm hung by the door so they couldn’t get in and hurt us while we were sleeping anymore . . .
Nothing like having a mad mom burst into your room wildly waving a wooden spoon – and using it (‘twack!’ ‘twack!’ ‘twack!’ ‘twack!’ ‘get up you lazy son-of-a-bitch!’ ‘twack!’) – or getting yanked outta our bed by one ankle and dangled upside down or getting beaten – or waking up with a shotgun in your face and your brother dementedly laughing that he’s gonna blow your F’ing brains out on the floor . . .
Good times (wry wincing pain) . . .
Yeah . . . some of my guys need therapy . . .
and all those ‘visits’ . . . those ‘trips’ – explain those dreams and symbols and artwork to which I hear: “phone home”, “go home”, etc . . . visions of little Mikie slugging it down the road (and the teenager there to help him; always the teenager there, giving him a hand – hating it at some times – but there regardless and nonetheless . . .
for he was once the little boy . . . and I guess Matthew understands . . .)
… feelings of sadness for them both (visions of them walking down that road; that lonely country road . . . for all time, together. And me . . . left behind?)
I don’t want to lose them. Not ever again . . . so I run after them . . . calling out … I am a friend.