Random 04112012.14:21

We are heavy into avoiding something.  It’s like a road block to our healing and we really wonder why.  Why we can’t seem to write this ‘story’ of ours (one we’ve been trying to work on – and haven’t written a single word).  Why we are doing everything but working on that one.  Why it is so . . . dangerous? Harmful to ourselves?  What happened at that time?

I keep telling myself it was not so terrible; but it certainly wasn’t very good.  A couple of people died. Dynamics in the ‘hood changed at that time; we changed (we were on our way out, anyway) – our family left the hood, forced out by time and circumstance.  My best friend’s father died; I know that is part of it – but why? Why has ‘this one thing’ become so hard?

We have found that sometimes by beating around a bush we can define it some more.  And in this case it’s been horrible – this bush apparently has thorns which reach out and grab you; hurting ‘someone’ inside (and it’s little Michael; he’s been hurt so hard).  Soo . . . we go on ‘describing’ this thing, ‘defining’ it, and looking hard into the darkness of our minds.

My wife and I were making love the other night and when we were done (we had a romping good thoroughly enjoyable time) she asked:

“Who are YOU?”

And I replied (without really thinking about it), the numbers rolling out like time:  “13, 24, 52”.

And I suddenly realized (realizes?) I have a clue as to ‘someone else’ inside.  “21” we know is really a missing ‘person’ – he was formed when Matthew ‘died’; but 24?  Who (or what) is ‘he’ in me?  That is a very important number; has been since we were about ten because that is when we thought we would be dead.  When I joined the Marine Corps my enlistment would end when I was 24.  “We” met that family – or rather I think that family met (and ended up ‘adopting’ me in, saving me in some – many – sort of ways) – when I was 24 – but I think it was “21” who remembers meeting them. (They had come by to pick up a couple kittens; we were semi-famous for our cats that time; they were all ‘miniatures’.)

LOL – and here you see this: I am avoiding ‘this’ again: that end in the ‘hood.  OUR end in some of the ways . . .

And that’s what we’ve defined.

Sometimes it is by looking at the special effects (think Speilburg) that an incident has had that one begins to understand what happened at the time – why a thing is ‘so hard’ – when it really shouldn’t be.

And the effects are . . . shattering.

That’s what happened to “me” – I know from my childhood.  “We” were 3 (as in number of active personalities) by the time I was ten years old.  Easy.  Perhaps there were more.  But there’s ‘magic’ in three – that’s a special number (it seems) in many of us who are DID, for that’s the maximum number of ‘persons’ allowed to ‘come up’ or ‘come forwards’ at any one time – and it is through the mixing of those personalities that you get “me”.

Now I could go with the psychologist’s approach, and say “spirit, ego, and id” – but that’s not true and it’s certainly not the case ‘in here’.  Each ‘person’ has a little bit of their ‘own’ spirit, ego and id.  There is no one “me”.  (“ME”, as in the adult person who is writing this, actually has very little control; I am simply “M3”, the 3rd host in this lifetime; and a ‘hosting’ personality simply responds to the demands of the ‘other ones’) . . .

Avoiding again.  You see how this goes? (Which is why I put the title “Random” instead of “this is really hard”.)

Attacking this thing . . . do you know suicidal urges and impulses?  The desires to self-harm, hurt ones self – without knowing exactly why?  Or those thoughts that drift in unbidden and unwanted – ones saying “I wanna die”.  “There is no use.”  “What’s the sense in going on.”  “Why even bother when no one gives a S&&?” (I suppose I do, but I simply can’t feel it – must be a DID sort of thing.)

LOL, avoidance again.  Wandering off the issue (this is where a good therapist comes in; they can keep me focused on the thing if THEY are paying attention and really working).

WHY IS THIS ONE STORY SO HARD?

Well, taking a look back at it – the incidents weren’t so bad.  Nothing really ‘abusive’ happened, though a friend (maybe two) were betrayed.  I know . . . damn, that hurts! (A sudden wave of sadness from nowhere remembering the funeral . . . I should have cried.)

But we’ve figured out this much about this particular story:
1) It is not ‘bad’.  No one was beaten, physically hurt, sexually abused.  But yes: people died.
2) It shattered something inside of us.
3) Little Mikie “died” in a sense – not then, but later on.  A little bit later.

We know we ‘disintegrate’ or something when we go someplace.  “Someone else” takes over.  That must be why we can’t remember some things – like all the times that we moved.  “WE” can’t remember a single one from that time.  And yet we were due to move within a month’s time after this story – and “Mikie” disappeared.  Gone totally – or ‘put asleep’ – to resubmerge time and time again . . . lots of ‘things’ happened after that; when we went overseas to a Cold War Europe right across from the East German border . . .

We haven’t figured it out at all; but we know some things, and we suspect it was the ‘death’ of our inner child (or put away for some time) that causes so much of this ‘pain’ (kind of like a sense of sad upset, grief, sadness, mourning; loss . . .)

Our daughter told us something the other day.  We were talking about having family and friends and she said we grew up all alone; how that bothers her for she was raised in one place and has extended family and friends . . .

and we have nothing.  Except her, the wife, and yard.

We laughed and told her: yes: we planned it that way FOR HER – so she would not have the kind of life we did . . .

and we realized how right she was: we were alone as a kid.  Starting at about fifth grade up we were all alone; had to make it on ‘our own’ – while having our groceries and housing handed to us; being made to go to school . . .

But my parents, aside from handling the ‘essentials’ – didn’t do a thing.  They yanked me from one place to another – often with minimal if any warning – out from ‘the hood’ into another environment – and sort of ‘dumped me there’ . . . leaving me to forage on my own – figure things out.  In a foreign land.  Oh, yeah: there was plenty of ‘instruction’ – how to say certain words (our first was “excuse me” – suitable for a foreign kid) . . .  but as far as emotional or social development, we were totally on our own . . .

I reckon that, too, kinda ‘killed’ our little one inside – or rather, ‘we’ had to protect him by putting him away somewhere safe in our mind while ‘we’ developed another (several others, it appears) to cope with this ‘foreign land’ and life on a military base . . . while still maintaining a relationship within our own ‘nuclear’ family – which grew smaller instead.

LOL. Avoidance of an issue.

We’d make a good lawyer some of the time.

Or just a rambling old man who gets tired some of the time.

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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)
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