You would think that I’ve been pretty ‘dormant’, not writing much, but I am. Lord knows I’ve composed a post a day, sometimes even two . . . but don’t post them. They’re stuck there in my Drafts folder. There they are and they are about “13”, an alter who has been in need. (That’s better to say than ‘trouble’, because ‘he’s’ not in trouble, “I” am. LOL.)
But what is this alter? <- and see? there I go again; re-examining him; gotta fill his needs, write down his history . . . sighing, feeling somewhat disgusted at the task.
However, writing is something I do for therapy reasons as well as some other stuff. What, I haven’t a clue of.
But here’s the thing.
When I was “13” or so (meaning more like 14 or 15 and “13” was in control) ‘we’ started writing a book at the beginning of every school year, with a bunch of short stories thrown in, too.
Imagine ‘my’ surprise when I looked back across some forty-odd some years and found . . . a book describing ‘myself’ at the time; an excellent example of what I’d become, and what had happened to me . . . written in a junior grade. (H.S.) It was about a boy who’d lost all his emotions during a post-nuclear war here in America – fighting the enemy and living on his own – and gradually things happen. What he loves dies; is taken from him – his loss of freedom and in an enemy encampment – not far from his description of ‘home’. . . .
So you can see there where writing, albeit some ‘fiction’, pertained to my physical life at 14, 15 and so on. (It continued until I was 21, but that’s another story – and another alter to investigate, but not at this time. “He’s” agreed, tho’ 21 needs some help, seriously. LOL. Not being funny, guys. Come’on. LOL)
And I’ve found in my writings (and here’s where 21’s part comes in, so I’ll let ‘him’ take a go at that).
I found myself in a courtyard of doom, dead everything around me, stuck in a desert in my ‘imagination’. The parts in ‘me’ had had an epiphany. The system had fell apart/collapsed within 5 minutes. And ‘I’ was ‘born’.
And I found myself in a foreign land <- the teenager, busting out laughing. Memory references to “Stranger in a Strange Land”. LOL.
(host: okay, now, lets get serious, folks: let 21 go on)
(21. A bit aggravated. But I’m a patient one (turning ‘towards me’ the host). Me & he have agreed he’s gonna keep some of his stuff on the back burner. For now.)
Anyway – I wrote myself out of some stuff. For two years constantly battling a stage of depression I could not get out of. “The Pit”. And any of you who have been in it know what I mean. Where you become so damned depressed it becomes too hard to kill yourself. Self-punishments. That kinds of stuff. You know how it works. And that train light down at the end of the tunnel just won’t stop comin’, will it . . .
So we wrote about it, and a LOT.
13 had put this on us (manipulating in the background, pulling some – the? – strings):
Journal your way out of it. Keep on pounding, keep on asking yourself “why?” this thing and that and what you felt about it.
(21): That’s when ‘we’ began to suspect (distantly, and like smoke burning from an unseen fire) – that we had ‘personalities’. Hell, ‘they’ were ‘there’, we had given ‘them’ names; ‘they’ were their own beings in their own right, and sometimes one or two (or a faction of them) would overcome me.
So we wrote about it. And wrote down a lot of stuff. That’s why ‘we’ were able to get some cross-communication and get around certain boundaries. Lines drawn in the sand can be erased you know – just like memory. LOL. (We’re not certain who wrote the last of that one. Hmmm.)
And I find so ‘we’ again (who’s writing here? Me (host) or ’21’) – we’re a mix of some styles & patterns) are writing, though we often don’t ‘publish’ our stuff – because it looks too much like this, only somewhat messier, even worse.
So (end-game here, come on boys, time to wrap it up – get to what we’re saying – impatient host here – I gotta enough stuff to do) –
We need to work on “13” and his “stuff”. That’s a necessary given. We are wondering how. We’ve worked on it some.
And I want YOU to think about writing when this kinds of stuff comes up – whether it be alters, or just troubling emotions, or just simple things (which aren’t so simple once you get a good look at them) – like honesty & love, where you give them; where you do not, and more importantly ask yourself why you do so.
Then ask yourself again.
And again and again until you ‘get it’ – when you keep finding the same answer again and again.
Teenager: Peace, Bro! and hang out!
(and appropriate smiley face should go here, but I’m intent on not doing that one today, ‘dudes’ – 21.)
I can recommend it. (Claps & cheers by everyone, tho’ 21 is sulking a bit in the corner, and 13 is . . . hurt, curled up on the floor still. Not his fault. But he’s gone through some stuff. Probably grieving comes next. We’ll see. Not certain on how to handle this …. complex child of ours. A ball of wax. An enigma. A machine . . . broke down.)
Note: Most of the italicized is host butting in. Me. 😀 (big smile)