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oh, Stormy…

I was very Stormy the other day.

Stormy is one of my alters that I haven’t quite figured out. Well, most of them I haven’t figured out yet.

Stormy seems to be a mix of things; part tomboy, part ska beach girl, part free spirit. She has a littler body than most of us. When Stormy has taken over, I can tell, because my body feels like it’s shorter than normal. I suddenly have a junior high sized body, and a different walk. She’s a little more slouchy than most, and walks like Meg Ryan in Prelude to a Kiss. Or maybe that’s how Meg walks all the time, I don’t know for sure. The tomboy aspect comes out in how she does her hair, what shoes she wears, what clothes she puts on. She is spunky, quirky, and has a definite viewpoint that I haven’t figured out. I’m not sure yet what propels her, but she has a mind of her own and plays by her own set of rules. She is uninhibited, sporty and free, which is not really how I have spent most of my life up ’till now. At least, not in the way she does it.

Stormy will dance in the middle of the street if she hears a song on someone’s radio she likes. She won’t worry about what the drivers or people around her will think, she’ll just turn to her sister or friend and say “ooo, I LOVE this song!” smile a huge smile and start swinging her hips. Stormy will walk confidently into any room and not even consider what other people are thinking about her, go about her business, and leave. She can tell when a boy thinks she’s cute, and she might smile at them or wink, but she is so involved in the moment that she just LIVES it and doesn’t worry about any of that other stuff.

That’s not been me. A lot of my adult life – or a lot of the life I can remember – has been spent observing people, trying to gauge their reactions to me so that I can change my behavior if I sense danger or disapproval. If I’m too hyper, I can calm down. If I’m too loud, I can alter my voice. I need to be in tune with the situations around me in order to shift myself – either my personality or my characteristics – to stay safe; to blend in. Stormy isn’t like that. She just is what she is.

I reconnected with a friend of mine from my past, and he told me he was madly in love with me when we were young. I thought he had a thing for my sister, but no, it was me he was crazy about. He described a time we were in the back of someone’s truck, driving along on a summer night, and I was singing a song by the Eagles, or Styx. He said I was the most beautiful thing ever. I thought to myself, “Stormy”.

Stormy isn’t afraid of life.

She IS life.

She runs and loves and feels openly.

She embraces trees and people and ideas openly.

She is the essence of vitality, and what people dream of finding at the bottom of the fountain of youth.

And I have her in me…

I just have to figure out how to let her out…


Wild Child, part one

When I was about nineteen or twenty, I was living in California on my own. Well, mostly on my own; technically I was living at my grandmother’s house with her and my uncle, but I had a job or two, was going to school, and was paying my own way for things. This is when I met Ken. He was terribly cute. He had lovely brown eyes, a perfect straight nose, freckles on his face, and sexy hair. When he talked to you his eyes lit up and laughed a little, letting you know that he found you interesting, and that he was at the pinnacle of life, able to do and have anything he wanted. His compact, muscular physique was perfect; he played baseball in high school and may have been a gymnast earlier in life. His arms were strong and muscley, his chest was perfect and hairless, his thighs were thick and strong, and he had the cutest ass imaginable. His ridiculously good looks made him hard to ignore, but his personality made it impossible. Ken had a gregarious and fun loving personality, and an intensity and inner fire that burned bright. He was spontaneous, interesting, inquisitive and slightly daring. He didn’t seem to care about convention or norms, and was willing to say what he thought openly and without concern for the opinions others might make of him. He was a voracious flirt, a chick magnet, and a bit of a ladies man, and I fell madly in love with him.

Ken was full of a charm that was hard to resist. While he seemed to always have a girlfriend on his arm, it seemed he equally as often had a girl or two on the side. Perhaps that was perception, because he was so flirtatious that he SEEMED to be bedding all the women. Perhaps it was my fear, because I was hoping that I would be the one steady girl he would reign himself in for. Perhaps it was reality, because while I did get my chance to date Ken, it was while he was dating someone else. Ken had a girlfriend that he didn’t seem to want to be with, but wasn’t quite ready to break up with, and somehow I ended up in the mix. He’s come up today because I think I just scolded myself about spending time with him. I knew Ken through a mutual friend, and we ended up going to the same church back in the day, and eventually ended up working together at a pizza joint. Somewhere in there we started dating, though since he had a girlfriend it wasn’t really dating, it was dating on the side. One day he asked me to the beach, and of course, being an intelligent woman with eyeballs that worked fine, I said yes. How could I pass up a day at the beach with a hunk like him? Like all of the time I spent with Ken, the day was fun. He was always silly and lively and interesting. But inside I wasn’t really happy. I didn’t want to be a side dish for this guy, I wanted him to myself. I didn’t feel comfortable pretending he could be mine when he wasn’t, especially because I knew his girlfriend and liked her a lot.

This whole blog so far is really a distraction, because the issue isn’t Ken, but my lost time with Ken. Eventually the day had to end, and as we drove his VW bug back to his house, we got into a car accident. He rear-ended someone in front of us, and though the accident wasn’t serious, it was scary for a few of us; the girl we rear-ended, because she had just been in another accident, and me. Because I had let myself love.  I was talking to my sister today about “locking myself down”. This is a phrase and/or feeling I get sometimes when I have failed to do something I needed to do. Work on a project. Clean the bathroom or my bedroom. Make an important phone call or send in some time sensitive paper work. Everyone misses deadlines, it’s sort of a universal situation and frustration that is common and probably avoidable, but happens nonetheless. Having Multiple Personality Disorder can cause these situations to seem more drastic and scary than they maybe are in reality. A late bill can still be paid, after all, and a missed luncheon can usually be rescheduled. But there have been situations in my life when I have needed to take care of something important, say, go to court to argue a ticket. Having DID can make this situation frightening. What if I shift that day, and forget I have to go to court? What if I go to court and shift then, forgetting why I’m there or what I’m supposed to say? What if I shift while I’m there and I become little, and behave like a kid in front of a judge and a room full of people, and then can’t find my car afterwards? And if I do find it, what if I don’t know how to drive myself home again, because it’s a stick? Or what if I shift into one of my danger personalities, who likes to throw herself down stairs, or often thinks of driving off the road and into a nice fat Maple? More on this issue tomorrow…