the skin is so tender there,
so soft, so smooth.
i’m surprised at how easily it
opens for me.
like grating cheese
or cutting off a pat of butter.
it just opens up ~
and offers my inner secrets to
the bathroom tile.
and out seep my skeletons,
and cascade to my feet
like a little gothic convention
gathering in the night.
drip. drip. drip.
down to the ground
as though they have jumped from the
into the sea of grief
which is myself
and my skin.
and my bathroom floor.
which is now collecting these
secretive, skeletal remains
and is busy hiding the secrets
in cracks and
a splash here, a splash there,
a little sticky clump on the
it clumps up so fast, into
stringy little ropes, which makes
me wonder ~
are the skeletons trying to
form a rope on purpose?
are they trying to climb back
into my head to keep
hiding from the world?
or are they just trying to kill me?
‘cuz i can do that myself.
i’m emotional now.
driving to pick up my sister (whom i missed and i guess she had to take the bus, ooops) i kept getting a stab of a headache now and then.
i recognize this as one of my people, wanting to come out. i haven’t yet determined if the headache occurs when they are trying to take over, or if it happens because someone else doesn’t want to let go of the “driver” position, and shoves the other away, who then gets a headache. but headaches do seem to be associated with one or more alters specifically.
and since i’ve just been jilted by my shrink, i imagine it’s someone wanting to come out.
at this point, i guess i don’t know why i try.
i don’t know why i open myself up to people, when they just throw me away like an old McDonald’s wrapper. i don’t know, that is probably over stating it. it’s not uncommon for therapists and their clients to part paths. but, i guess because of my condition, i feel it might be useful for me to have someone who can help me, show me information i need about my condition, guide me in how to assimilate, or integrate, or just deal with this. i don’t really feel like i was an overwhelming client, but either i was and didn’t know it, or it was just time to move on.
but it’s excruciating for me.
it’s a diabolical difficulty for me to open myself up to people and trust, and let them in, and expose myself to them. because of this. because i get left behind. i’ve been given away too many times, and it literally hurts my brain. so i don’t know, i guess i’ll go it alone, without a shrink. what do they know that i can’t figure out? what can they tell me that i haven’t already discovered, or can’t teach myself? they’ve never been all that much help anyway, and i’ve kind of always been treating my own self for my own illnesses. ah well, physician heal thyself, i guess.
the more important thing to me is not closing up. normally, at a situation like this, i would hunker down. batten up the hatches. seal up all the openings. everywhere that i have opened myself up, i would pull back and slink inside. new friendships, old ones, lovers and hopeful lovers, all would come under the category of “toss overboard” when i’m feeling vulnerable and discarded. not because i don’t want these people in my life. but because i have to apply the statistics. i have to look at the numbers. i have to assume that the people in my life that claim they love me, or care for me as a friend, or don’t even say either of these, but occasionally look at me with fondness…i have to assume that these people will also, eventually, find me distasteful. unappetizing. disgusting. i normally sense this coming on, or the potential of its potential, and i pack up my bags and move along.
but i can’t really bring myself to do that now. i’m in too deep with the things around me. i’m too close to my sister, i could never bail on her now, because she is the life line that ties me to sanity. she has been there for me through everything and more, and i could never just escape the world if it meant leaving her behind. i want to sometimes. i want to run for Chicago, or make a break for Seattle, and just start over. create another name and identity, like i’ve done before. assume a new mannerism, a new role in life, a new personality. this gets me away from everyone that knows me and allows me anonymity.
but it is constantly severing. it brings new friends, but leaves me without people that know me well, and love me still.
but it’s safe. and sometimes safe means more than love.
but not today. not right now. i have too many people around me that i care about, and actually see as friends. i have too many hopes for my future to run away now. i have too much potential for happiness – FINALLY – in my life to ditch it all because i’m hurt and scared and have been told, once again, that i am too much to handle. but it is tempting.
still, i have to believe that somehow, someone out there can handle me. and maybe it IS only my sister that can do it. ok. but i hope there are others who can handle me as well, and will rise up like zombies in the night to surround me with their love and friendship. or maybe they could rise up like something less apt to consume my flesh, but i’m hoping that i’ve finally found a network of friends and lovers that can tolerate my reality.
and if not – if worst case scenario plays out and all my friends turn away from me – there’s always a Motel 6 with a light on i can run to.
here i am in the cafe.
mondays i tend to come to the cafe after my appointments with my therapist. because, if you haven’t forgotten, i’m crazy.
right now i’m a mix of crazy, detached and hurt.
i guess my therapist has dumped me. i don’t think i’ve ever had this happen, so i’m not sure how to process it just yet. plus i’m in one of my personalities that is sort of distant anyway, a girl who prefers to be sailing and traveling across the world to discussing the finer details of emotions and day to day bothersome tasks. this girl would rather be walking through a cathedral in Rome, admiring its architecture, instead of talking to a therapist who doesn’t seem particularly interested in whether or not the client gets better or perhaps gets hit by a car on the way home.
oh, heck, maybe i’m being unfair. the truth is, i don’t have insurance. and i’m flat broke. my therapist USED to get paid by me, but for a long time now she’s been seeing me on an exchange system, where we swap goods. she therapizes me and i bring goodies to her that she passes on to the kids she therapizes. this has worked ok, and she has told me a number of times how this really helps her clients. but perhaps she can’t afford to see me anymore, because times are rough all over.
and if that were the case, the only issue, then i would understand. if she had said to me, “hey crazy lady. i can’t afford to see you like this anymore, you have to at least pay this much money”, well then at least i would have known that i had to find the money or go without the help. but this was kind of sudden. this was kind of like, “well what do you want to talk about today?”
but really, i’m the other part of the equation here. i can understand that she may not have been able to handle me anymore. for the first seven months of our therapeutic relationship, i struggled with my diagnosis, although i’m the one that brought it to the table in the first place, suspecting it to be true. maybe it was easy to see me in the beginning, and now as i’m trying to work through this situation more extensively, maybe it is just beyond her ability. she isn’t trained in dealing with Multiples. MPD isn’t her speciality. maybe it’s more challenging for her than i had realized.
but from my perspective, it feels a lot like being thrown out. it feels like she’s doing spring cleaning, and just doesn’t want to look at this ratty old sweater anymore, so out it goes. because she didn’t even really seem interested in helping me try to find another therapist. not that i can’t find one myself, but really, how many therapists out there specialize in this field, or at least know how to treat me, and would do it for little money, or some sort of barter system? i guess not many.
so here i am, alone again.
i’ve never really had much luck with therapists, because i’ve always been able to convince them i’m fine when i’m really not, and that i’m somewhat normal, when i think that is probably not the case either. and this one seemed to see through that, and i trusted her, and care about her. so to have her “set me free” so easily, with hardly a discussion about it, well i guess it makes me feel emotional.
well ok, it doesn’t make ME feel emotional. i’m the one that would rather be traveling through Basil right now, remember? i’m too delighted by the weather and the parks and the freedom that comes with summer to bother to get emotional about my therapist jilting me.
but someone will be upset eventually. someone will go home and cry, and feel as though she is unloved, and think that she is too difficult for anyone in the world to care for, except her long-suffering sister. and then that person will go on a freak-out-bender, and think of suicide, and pills, and being a dramatic poet who tries to bake her brains like they are blueberry muffins, or maybe follow something shiny into the pool of life, never to return. and others in there will feel bad, and naughty, or abandoned, or maybe even pissed off.
but in the meantime, i guess i should enjoy the weather while i’m sane enough – and calm enough – to appreciate it.
i don’t know how to do this.
i don’t know how to open myself up, and leave my heart out for people, when i’m just not sure of the outcome. although that statement is pretty ironic, considering i’m sharing my soul to complete strangers who don’t know me, and likely don’t care.
i know that it’s what people have done for a millennia; give their hearts away, to lovers and friends, only to have their hearts dashed on the rocks or squished like grapes being made for wine.
and sometimes that’s how i feel it is for me. that the bigger purpose in life, humanity as a whole, is so much more important than my tiny life. that i am the grape. and the juice flows out of me, spills from my skin, just to feed all of mankind a thimble of wine. but am i only the juice? isn’t there more for ME as an individual? i’d like to hope so…but i’m wary.
i’ve spent my whole life hiding myself from people. it was a necessary part of my life, to hide my reality from those around me. my person, my soul has kind of been on the lam for forever. worried about people learning the truth about me, my dark secrets, the skeletons in my closet, the shame that i wear like a scarf around my neck. sometimes i will let out some little part of me, some white flag or token offered to a friend, but i’m always looking for a sign that i must retreat. i’m always ready to pick up my belongings and take to the hills if there is any movement that looks suspicious.
and i guess i’m being challenged right now, and i’m not sure how to proceed. so many situations in my past have made me wall myself up in a tower, like a creepy Edgar Allan Poe kitty in a horror story of love and not love. so i’m used to that, i’m used to the comfort of obliteration. i’m used to not having what i desire or deserve, because i’m too busy spending all my energy hiding my beauty and uniqueness from the world, and don’t see those around me who would actually love me, and treat me well, and honor my life instead of try to destroy it. and here i am now, faced with uncertainty, and fear, and small situations that mean a great deal to me, even if they don’t mean a great deal. and i question motives, and intentions, and actions. i look for hidden information in others, that might reveal to me that i am cared for, or longed for, or sought after. because i can’t always see it, even if it is right in front of me. because i’m used to cutting, not binding. i’m used to running from, not running to. and my soul wants desperately to pick up its skirts and take off at a breakneck speed, and dash away to the safety of my tower, and pull its hair up so that no one can ever follow.
but my heart doesn’t seem to notice. my heart just jumps back in the vat, ready to be trounced again, ready for the wine of life to flow from her veins. and what else can i do, but support the alcoholics of the world with my life essence?
And I know how to back out of relationships. I know how to make a guy crazy so he leaves me. I know how to run away from a guy when he starts to feel too strongly for me, or starts to see the “real” me. I know how to pick losers that I will eventually get bored with, or flight risks that I know won’t be able to stay around for too very long due to their nature.
What I haven’t known how to do was open up.
I haven’t known how to let someone in to that little part of my heart that has always been guarded. I haven’t known how to tell someone my darkest secrets, and trust that they won’t trounce all over my soul. I’ve made attempts to share my dark secrets and icky skeletons with men I cared about, but it’s never really worked out well for me. Usually I can’t actually say what I want, or they freak out and run away from my too much intensity kind of self.
I’ve heard many times that when you least expect it, and when you aren’t looking for it, love comes along. And yes, I understand that there are no guarantees. There are no sure bets and no fixed outcomes. Love may not come for me in the way that I’m hoping it will. The odds may stack themselves up against me, and I may well end up broken hearted, devastated, empty handed. I may be pushing all my chips in to the table only to find that my pair of two’s isn’t quite enough to win that delicious pot that is worth the risk of it all.
But who can say? Who can say what the future is? How do I know what the path ahead holds for me? I wish only the best for my fellow players in this round; I wish success and happiness for all. I mean no harm to those I bet against, and no disrespect to those I ante up to. I’m not trying to trick those at my table, deceive anyone with my hidden tells, or coerce the outcome I desire by manipulation or seduction. I mean only to throw in my lot with the rest of those at hand, and see how I come up.
Because at this point, what else can I do? To win big, I must risk it all. To find that which I desire, I must sacrifice some of the safety I have. To walk away with the spoils, I must give everything I own. And it’s crazy. It’s insane. It makes no logical sense, and there is no reason I should do it. What I should do is walk it off. Shake it off. Sleep it off. I should pick up my belongings and cash in my chips at the door. I should go saunter up to that cute bartender and see if he doesn’t have something that will cure my ails. Maybe that would be the more logical choice.
But I can’t. Because I’m already in. I’ve already fallen in. I’m ALL in.
getting ready for my demise
she eats the apple and sets the trap
and watches through wicked eyes
her left hand fills my easter basket
her right hand digs my grave
with crooked smile and tender touch
she makes me her little slave
she looks in the mirror to set her hair
she needs to look just so
with hood pulled over a vacant face
she marches me through the snow
and as the hours whittle away
the birds call me outside
showing me where to run and fly
helping me now, to hide
but the altar’s ready and the time is near
and i lay my neck on the stone
a little poppet that’s all used up
a dolly that can never go home.
(sound of steps walking down hallway)
*gets up and goes to door*
*opens door and peers down empty hallway*
*closes door and slumps to floor*
“damn. i guess i was just supposed to let him in.”