No. 9 . . . A State of Mind

We realized something as we began writing this entry.  “We” are one (duh!) and yet ‘many’.  Okay?  You got that?  Now: where did ‘they’ come from??

That’s part of the mystery and thing about being DID: discovering one’s one self.  Or selves.  But perhaps it is self again.

After all, think of it (we are!).  We’ve been breaking things down by the ages we’ve been.  Each individual set of circumstances (read: ‘move from one location to another’) gave birth to ‘someone else’.  Now I’m not saying each day or event gave rise to a new person; I’m saying some major events and changes in environment gave rise to new identities or functions (I presume).  Mostly it seems to have evolved around going places; times when we moved.  Despite what most folks think, the SEXUAL ‘abuse’ did not harm us in this way; it had nothing to do with ‘fracturing’ my skull; my parent’s abuse, however, did.  A lot of it came from there – and the constant uprooting and dumping in a ‘new environment’ – with no guidance of any kind.

We ‘sniffed’ a lot out using a process of deduction – that is, beating around the bush until something flies out at you.  Or defining the bush by what’s “not there” (meaning memories, emotions, experiences – an entire ‘childhood’ gone sometimes!).  I cannot overstate the importance of this thing when it comes time to find missing pieces of yourself.  You wait and you wait; you query and question: you not only find yourself asking “why?” time and time again, you find you must continue asking ‘why?’.  Or ‘what’ sometimes.  Sometimes it means forcing yourself to go into some deep dark place . . . and watch what boogin’s are wandering around.

I don’t mind I lost my mind – not much.  Never had much of one to begin with. (Tho’ some of my professors complained: “The boy’s a genius!  A lazy genius to be sure – but we gotta USE him!”  In some way they did – or might have. . . but then again, I don’t trust THAT pile of memories.  Some things are just too strange, and kinda scary.  Well, not scary, but . . . some things are hard to explain.  Like when I consider the ‘hidden’ memories and/or the ‘recovered’ ones – I feel a strong apprehension mixed with fear.  Many of my ‘selves’ do.  Why?  I don’t know.  Is it a lack of courage on my behalf*?  (musing)  Thinking so . . . a lack of emotional depth on ALL our part?  Again: perhaps (musing) . . . again: no: we have some emotional depth to us.  It just hurts a lot of times.

Which brings us back to this ‘thing’ of “Number Nine”.

The last thing I want to do is split up even further; I don’t want that.  It’s hard enough as it is.  The thing is that it seems I have no choice.  If I’m going to get on to ‘healing’ – whatever that is – then I have to know what happened and why; what ‘effect’ it had on me – not just ‘then’ (and to ‘them’) but now and today.  How those parts got to feeling what those parts do.  (Because their ‘stuck’ emotions are often my own – mixed in with a lot of ‘other’ stuff – like contamination of the mind – only it’s not contamination; it’s hurting.  “They” are hurt and wounded inside – and “I” am going to have to cure them – one by one by one.  (sighing)  It’s a slow process; very slow sometimes.  (I suppose I could do better with ‘help’ – but there’s no help for me; not here, and definitely not for any male survivor in my area.)

But what I’ve found (and here there’s a wry twist; a squinted eyed thing; one of those where you stick your tongue out, you are concentrating so hard) – is that I DO have to divide myself, albeit – and hopefully – somewhat (and albeit again) hoping I can ‘stick’ myself together again.  Can you say Humpty Dumpty, anyone?  Can someone pass the Crazy Glue – cuz’ I’m gonna need some for my head?  LOL’ing!  (that means ‘lots of laughing’ in my own particular parlance).

All the Queen’s horses and all the King’s men . . .
Humpty Dumpty’s on his own again.
LOL.

You see, here’s the thing.  Imagine you’ve got all these sides to yourself, parts stuck in time; little ones, big ones; ones that are . . . well, ‘special’.  Some of them belong on the back of the bus; some ride up front.  (some need kept in cages; they are so violent and sick in the mind.)  All of them are different.  And each was created by the environment and/or time he was ‘in’ – meaning ‘in control’, doing something – “#1” so to speak . . .

And here comes another one.  Number 9.  (Ain’t that the name of a special formula in a song I heard?)  LOL.  Love potions . . . I’ve got mine.

You see, ‘we’ finally figured out ‘we’ know what we’re doing, even if we’re doing it ‘blind’.  I hadn’t a clue to begin with – not so long ago – but today it occurred to me; it became apparent what is happening in my mind . . .

You see, in order to ‘heal’ each one of ourselves; to ‘come together’ – ‘we’ have to have everyone on board.  You can’t have someone hanging out there taking his own swim; you gotta get everyone paddling in the same direction . . . so we’re taking apart our mind.  (Don’t play with that thing!  You might end up losing all your marbles – and never getting any back in!)

And it occurred to me that perhaps this is what we are doing: subdividing our mind into ‘compartments of time’; blocks of time when we were one thing or that; another.  Meaning we peel off the layers.  And these are layers in time.  One such layer is “Number 9”.  Meaning the time we were 9 years old and moved off to North Carolina.  What effect did it have then?  The only way to know is to isolate it: and thus: “Number 9”.  That ‘section’ has been peeled off and held up for scrutiny.  What was he feeling?  What all the time?  What were some of the things he did?  What ‘affected’ him?  How did that matter in the future?  How does it matter at this time?

Truth be told, Number 9 is a ‘minor player’.  We weren’t there long enough for me to develop a full blown personality to fit that ‘future’ we saw coming at that time; the ‘future’ changed for us with each and every move.  And ‘we’ changed; changing to fit a new environment – BUT- having to maintain ‘one’ for at home; for at school . . .

A lot like you do ‘personas’ – only with a much deeper level of feeling; their own cognition system, “their” own way of looking at the world . . .

It is my hope that after ‘examining’ them – these ‘little bits’ in my mind – ‘we’ can fix some of them.  For instance, there has been ‘intensive therapy’ in my mind: ‘we’ are into ‘holding and loving’ any child we find ‘inside’ – helping them over the ‘hump’ and changing how ‘they’ feel . . .

Ideally we’ll get to where we can feel one emotion; one set of thoughts for one thing.  That would be nice.  And it might put an end to some of my inappropriate behavior sometimes (we are in the habit of saying what is REAL and what is TRUTH and not sugar glossing or coating it over . . . need some TACT it appears . . . or learn how to lie.)

But ‘we’ found it interesting that (sighing) we found the REASON we are ‘sub-dividing’ our mind – slicing things into ever thinner slices; chunks of time – and then taking them apart and seeing what makes them ‘tick’.

Number 9 is just one of them.  We know there are several more.  Some of them are big ones: 21 and 24.  28 (perhaps) – we’ll see.  One at a time; one at a time . . .

with any luck I’ll get us all on the same page, and all in the same time (now!)

Anyway: if you’re interested in reading what brought THIS entry on you’re gonna have to go to my other blog (The Little Shop of Horrors) and read the last entry I made.  This one gave me the clue: when I discovered that ‘that’ little boy hadn’t any words for the feeling he was feeling back then (it was only yesterday that I found he was feeling ‘lonely’ – a ‘new’ thing for him – and ‘us all’ I reckon at the time).

What is really sort of sad is that I know: I’m going to have to do this time and time again.  I can’t get into it; I can’t explain the ‘sadness’; nor the state of mind it gives: somewhat depressive (but then again: I have all these younger minds in me which are laughing and playing now, so I feel ‘good’ inside overall . . . but there’s this deep dark current of underlying sadness . . . no, it’s not ‘depression’ . . . just a dark black tide, like the ocean at midnight . . .

And I’m hoping the sun will rise and shine.  (As always, my friend, as always.)

 

*DID Lingo: “on my behalf” in my writing appears to mean “doing something not just for a single self, but for ALL of us inside; or to improve our life quality”