This has been a very busy year. We have learned a lot, made many self-discoveries; gone on the Adventure of our Lifetimes (thus far, anyway) – had a ‘religious’ experience beyond belief of the normal world; disassembled and came back; ‘died’ inside six or seven times (another part of that religious experience) – were confined, starved, and apparently drugged by a guy who had an association with the CIA and may or may not have been a member of MKULTRA (or something like it); were ‘programmed’, reprogrammed; broke our programming – and came back for more and returned home injured, where we were betrayed by our family doctor – victimized for being a victim of abuse. There was some strange stuff going on. We published our book, “The Boy“, and we had a new alter come out – and by that I mean Jeff, or Jeffery Thompson, our new ‘being’.
We discovered that we have another ability: the ability to take on any identity (or persona) we wish to assume. We found we are very skilled at assembling – and assimilating – into another (read ‘foreign’) culture – we can build a personality ‘on-the-fly’, becoming one with him – becoming him – as needs have dictated. And if you go by our ‘recovered’ memories, we were trained and conditioned to do this kind of thing.
We have discovered we can switch rapidly back and forth sometimes. We discovered the purposes of our inner selves, and we have learned how to embrace them.
Our new alter, Jeffery Thompson, taught us a few things.
First of all, we had to ‘understand’ each other on a deeper emotional level – for instance, why little Mikie wanted some love, and was willing to trade this thing for that one. His circumstances and his need. Getting the teenager to understand it (and he still has some problem with this thing) – was something better. It helped reduce the fighting amongst them. Then, after understanding why they did this thing, we found some forgiveness and love for them. And in the process, for all mankind. (Believe it or not, it’s real.)
We learned to shake the shame of child abuse and molestation. We’ve managed to grieve some (albeit not a lot) of this hidden child of ours; mourning his lonesome past. And we’ve managed to forgive the groomed child in him; the one who wanted love so bad he was willing to do anything to get it.
We learned to shake the anger at our abusers. We learned to forgive them for simply being human. That does not mean we aren’t stern with them; but we harbor no anger nor ill-wishes for them.
We learned how to draw our boundaries better. We learned when “we are done” with a subject to just walk away and not just keep debating it with someone who doesn’t want to agree with the human facts and/or truths they are facing.
We got locked up for being too happy – some police officers escorting me to the loony ward, where we found you have no rights at all – nor can you be human. They don’t allow that type of thing there. And they don’t have to follow procedure once you’ve been 1013’ed. Even the police officers are trained and told: whatever it takes. They can forge records, lie, someone can pose as your family to get you in (committed) – it doesn’t matter. You have no rights and you must prove your innocence – unlike a court of law. And God forbid you get too happy . . . or sad . . . or agitated . . . or human about it. It just makes things worse.
We found that survivors and victims are revictimized by society and the people that are supposed to take care of them (meaning the law and mental health officials). We found they (for the most part) don’t really care.
So now my wife and I both hate and mistrust doctors, cops, and mental health organizations – hate some of them with a passion – no trust at all. Thank you very much civilization, for doing this to me. (and I just want to take out a gun and shoot you . . . “we” all were so happy . . . then you, society, kicked in the nuts of a survivor – for simply surviving . . .) We learned: Society will screw you in the end. They always do. The victimize the survivors. Even other victims sometimes victimize victims – especially if they are a man. Forget about being human.
We also have slowly begun to realize: we are a LOT different. Different even from other survivors – in some ways. But then again, we reconcile ourselves with the comforting thought that everybody’s different in some way. However that difference – that vast amount of difference sometimes – makes it very lonely. That and the lack of support for male victims of abuse in the society around here.
We learned society says: “It’s all right to be different – as long as you’re one of us.” Meaning thinking like us, morals like us, values like us – judgement like us, shame like us, pain like us – BEING like us . . .
It’s not ‘difference’ that they have in mind. It’s ‘everybody being the same’. Which has been happening just in case you haven’t got a clue. Through the internet and media means, the world has been changing (and not so gently sometimes) – by making everyone who is different feel ashamed or persecuted in some way. Especially if you are a childhood survivor or suffer from ‘mental illness’. Isolating them, cutting them from the crowd even while they are standing in the crowd. Hurting them while ‘trying to help’ – with no help in mind. Just making you more like ‘them’ – all the time. The pressure’s there – can you feel it, my folks? The pressures to ‘conform’, ‘be like them’ – value like them (money money money comes to mind) – control like them – and condemning anyone else who isn’t just like . . . you.
Sad kinda thing to be learnin’, ain’t it?
And then there’s this other thing: other things we have learned:
We learned we are a lot better off ‘giving into them’ – and this type of madness – than simply going on suppressing this sort of thing. Or trying to suppress it anyway.
Even our wife says it has done us some good. A LOT of good in some ways. She says we act even younger than ever before – we cut up and laugh like we used to – we have fun. Our sexual being has become somewhat wonderful – a regular stud muffin, able to wear her out . . . and (she’s smiling, I’m sure, thinking this sort of thing) – she likes it. She likes it a LOT.
We have learned that our wife loves us beyond imagination. She has put up with us for so long . . . we put her through quite a drag; quite a hell some of the times.
She said (this last August, as we were getting out of the mental institution):
“I never knew . . ,” (breathlessly speaking) – “I could be swept to such depths of emotion. Such heights. I never knew I had it in me.”
That’s the kind of feelings we have inspired in her. And in our own selves.
We learned my devoted (to her mother) and loving (for us both) daughter will step up and do anything – absolutely anything – for the ones she loves. Whether that’s out of a sense of responsibility – or one of love – makes no difference. She put all her cares and concerns – her entire life at the time! (she was moving) – just to be with her, my wife and friend and lover and mom sometimes. She did all of this for me. She’s a strong girl with a strong will and a sense of tenderness, empathy, fairness, justice . . . strong psychologist (though she has no training) . . . a good girl. And she was also willing to shoot me if needed. In the knee first, as both agreed. That’s the kinda daughter I have, and the one I raised.
We learned more about DID and ourselves and other things – like it takes “3” to make a crowd (so to speak) and we started ‘inventory’ in the past several times – finally got it ‘done’ – we’ll see. We’ve debated “bad wolf” vs. ‘good wolf’ sort of things with ourselves and our wife – feeding this “DID” vs. trying to put ‘it’ down (which seems to be impossible for me, for one – ‘we’ have been ‘we’ for so long it’s kinda become a trend, a track, a tread.)
Like I said – it’s been a busy year, and we haven’t even been trying. Lets hope this next one yields some fun . . . again.
And let the adventure begin.Jeffery Thompson first became ‘conscious’ – around the first of the year, though he may have been born last fall. He didn’t make his presence known until April 1 – April Fools day – but that’s after the fact. He was ‘aware’ around the first of the year. Only WE were not aware of him. WE thought we were doing something different. We were into publishing our novel “The Boy” (*which, BTW, you can read on Fictionpress – for those of you who are poor) and it occurred to “me” – the person who thought he was writing the thing – that it was written pretty much by my alters: Matthew (the teen) and our boy. Surprise, surprise – all the things we have found in there! Last count: over four hundred double (triple) meanings, symbols and such. To our surprise there was also a religious symbolism. This isn’t the first time this has happened. A novel we wrote in high school is the same sort of thing: our teenager’s loss of emotion – how he became the hard thing he’d become – while inwardly secretly dying from grief, sadness . . . alone. Just the way things are (or were) I suppose. (That’s him, BTW).