Oops, All Jamie | Exploring the Workings of a Fragmented Host

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We've all been spending more time in wonderland, lately. I know I need to write some big update... I don't know, I don't really want to... just suffice it to say, a lot has changed very quickly and that always makes for some upset. 


Here's a sort of processed, as in, edited to be less stream-of-consciousness, play-by-play of us murking around in wonderland. It's based on real place that we visit regularly, and Jamie took some reference photos, and walked around to parts of the area that we don't usually see... since that experience, our immersion has shot up and it's made it a lot funner to be there. 



For reference, here's also a little list of all the Jamies and their general ages, at this time. Anyone without a number by them, is 16/body age. 

Albatross 0

Sunshine 2

Dandelion 4

Teddybear 7

Blondie 7

Rho 12

















There's a picnic table under a mature tree, between two of the cottages. It's slightly orange light... maybe 8 or 8:30. Still a good hour of outside time. I'm trying to stand there, and Rho is trying to lick my face to annoy me. Upsilon is climbing the bow of the tree and Eta and Zeta are screaming about it. I finally break and giggle and they start arguing about who won. I say it was Rho. They say, Rho always wins. I say, well, with how this is going, they'll have plenty of chances for victory. 


Nu is sleeping in one of the bedrooms with Albatross and Teddybear, both sleeping as well. Dandelion is still up. Mu walks in from the hallway and takes him in her arms. She takes him outside and sits against the cottage wall, right besides an arch that leads to a doorway. I tell her good evening and she smiles at me. 


Delta hands a paper crane to Eta. Eta chucks it and says, "Fighter jet!" Dandelion cries. Upsilon pushes Eta and says, "You fucked it all up." Sigma and I perk up at the same time. Upsilon says, "I'm sorry, I'm the fucking worst!" and goes to stomp off. Omicron puts a hand on Upsilon's shoulder. Delta laughs and says, "You're in trouble." but apologizes after. 


Upsilon, you're one of us, you know that, right? 

I don't feel like one of Jamie, and I'm a piss-poor one, if I even am. 

Who told you that?

You know who told me that, so why do you ask?

You don't have to listen to what she told you.

Practice what you preach, you peachy motherfucker. I stand here as a rebellion against her and her word. You're the slave.

How so? 

I hate being plural and I hate you and I HATE my black hair! 


Upsilon tries to grab Eta and is blocked. Upsilon is shocked that Mu hasn't left. Dandelion is still crying. Mu says, "Upsilon, won't you come with me and put him to bed? You've scared him." 


Theta is with Epsilon in their cabin. They are hearing what's happening with Upsilon and stop what they're doing to debate coming out to join him. They decide there's enough faces involved, as is, and fade back. 


Upsilon, Mu, and Dandelion are gone from my perception. Omicron is sitting at the picnic table. Delta picks up the crane and unfolds it. It's dirty but not torn. "She made me one of these." Delta says. "I didn't remember until now." Omicron takes the crane from Delta. 

He says, "The more you are trusted with, the more you'll see of the damage. Are you prepared for that?" Delta says, "Well, the alternative (denial and repression) stopped working." 


Chi wakes up briefly and goes dormant, telling me there's not enough action for him to be bothered at this time of night. 

Eta eats the paper crane. Delta facepalms. Zeta tries to climb on Eta's shoulders but it doesn't work and they both end up on the ground. Zeta takes a stick and tries to stab Eta's eye and is blocked. They're laughing. I tell them, no acting intrusive. They say something hurtful to me. They apologize. I tell them to tone it down. 


Theta says, "I'm pissed." Upsilon is sitting on his knees on the end of Theta's mattress. Omega is sitting in the corner, and he yawns to tell me he might go dormant soon. Epsilon leans against the side of the bedframe and tells me I better get in there. Rho says, "I'm yeeting." and goes to his cabin. Delta sighs and teleports out. Sigma leaves, and Omicron and I teleport to the cabin. 


Omicron tells Theta to get out. It seems strong. Omicron tells me Theta is way too wound up. Theta walks out. Omega grabs my forearm and moves it to my face. I get memories. He moves it away and the memories stop. 


Why did you do that?

It's relevant information. For context. 

I want a warning next time.

Oh, you fucking want a warning. You'll never agree to that. 

Even if it's not a question. I want a warning. 

Okay. Alright. 


Upsilon tells me he put Dandelion to bed and Dandelion wouldn't stop crying and having intrusive manifestations. He tells me Mu is really pretty. Yes... all the clones seem to think that. He tells me he wishes he had brown hair and then maybe he wouldn't be such a bad Jamie. Omicron teleports away to be with Theta, and it seems like he's in a hurry. I check in and he tells me to stay with Upsilon. 


Delta opens the door. Sunset light comes in. Epsilon and Omega hiss at him like vampires (this cottage is invite-only for non-passionates). Delta shuts the door. He shouts through, "What the hell is Theta up to?" I tell him, go ask Omicron if you're interested, I'm with someone else. He says, he already tried, and Omicron is even worse. Omega says Upsilon is a bitch. He brushes it off and says, "I'm sorry. He doesn't deserve it." 


Upsilon tells me he didn't like to see the trauma memory Dandelion was upset about. Mindless Self Indulgence music starts playing and Upsilon starts crying. Omega is matter-of-fact about it and says, "I bet you fucking like that." I sit down on the mattress and realize the smell of bleach is getting to me. The music stops, replaced with jazz. Omega comes and lays down on the mattress. Epsilon slaps the wall. "I can't believe this." They want me to leave. I'm not going to. Omega buries his face in the mattress and laughs, but he's upset. Everyone is getting upset. 

"When you're attuned to it, you'll realize the flashbacks start a good half-hour before they work their way up to the fronter." Sigma tells me. He's sitting at what we've come to call Omicron's desk, in the front cabin, where most of the bedrooms are. Eta and Zeta are in the lobby with him, throwing dice high up and trying to get them to land on the blades of the ceiling fans. 


I ask Sigma for more information. He tells me, "The first sign you should have picked up was Cassidy going to bed early. Now the littles are getting anxious, and Dandelion is already inconsolable." 



Epsilon goes dormant. Omega goes dormant. Upsilon goes dormant and now the cabin is empty. Omicron opens the door and Theta walks in, holding a pusheen plushie. He tells me, "I can't go in there, you know that. But the kid needs one in wonderland." I thank him and he goes dormant. Omicron tells me goodnight. He tells me things are getting a little warm in the main building. I tell him I understand. Omicron falls back, but I still sense him. 


I teleport up the front door of the main building and knock. Nu opens the door, with Albatross to her chest and Teddybear hugging onto her knee. In the background, Eta, Zeta, and Delta have a bin of marbles. Blondie comes out of the hallway, looks at me and asks if he can play with them. Delta says yes. I come inside and shut the door. Blondie tells Teddybear to join them and Teddybear starts crying. He's clearly been crying. I ask him what's up. He tells me he's scared. I say maybe he can sit and watch them play marbles and then see if he wants to join. He says that's alright but he needs a blanket. I give him a blanket, a red fleece that Jamie had years ago, and he goes and sits down five feet away from the others. 


Nu sits down in the corner with Alby still against her. Eta swallows a marble and Blondie starts tearing up. Delta shoves Eta and Eta says, "No, it was just a magic trick." Blondie tells him that's cruel, especially in a mood like this. Sigma sighs and tells Nu something. Teddybear grabs my hand and asks for something. Afterward, I carry him back to his bed. He squirms as we pass the threshold. I ask what's the matter. He tells me he's bad. I tell him bed is safe and there aren't even any windows, and only one door, in this room, and someone is always watching the hallway. He goes dormant. 


I read something I shouldn't have read and didn't mean to read. Delta and Eta are dormant. I keep going into Hardcore Gavin Mode i.e. dissociating and staring into nothingness. It's time for BED.



edit: formatting

"Everything we hear is an opinion, not a fact. Everything we see is a perspective, not the truth."

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Jamie here.


I saw a few big oaks with yellow on their leaves, and the megamarts all have their school supply sections set up. It's been freaking me out. Summer is coming to an end. I think back on the very start, and the last few weeks I was in school, when I was just desperately trying to keep things patched up. I'm going to be honest: I was more than a little in denial, and I had the mental time-frame of one month. That's right! "I just realized I was abused, and I've got a traumagenic median system... give me one month of summer break, and it'll all be over and things will be back to normal." 


Right now, and for the past few days, a lot of hopeless feelings have suddenly been shifting to anger and apathy. I've failed my three summer classes. Two days ago, I told my mom in therapy about the abuse and my plurality, only vaguely. She actually said she didn't want to know more, she didn't want to know any individual names. My therapist said she's going to diagnose me with DID. 


I keep getting asked, "Do you feel better, now that you've faced X? Do you feel a sense of relief?" and the answer is no. Every turn of this, I have felt worse and worse. I don't know how much of it was already bad, and I was just in denial, and so I was really just becoming aware of what badness already existed. But I just feel like such a disgusting person. I don't feel like anything was a mistake- I don't regret it. 


There's something inside me I've become more and more aware of. The children display it, the observers notice it, and the passionates are the ones who can tell you why. There's a base belief, that the conversationalists really don't let show through, that "I am a bad, perverted, worthless person, my role is to be punished, and anything going against this, is going against what is right." It is right to feel bad, and wrong to feel good. This is the twist that is fucking with me. 


By telling my mom, instead of having her find out when my report card returns a line of Fs, I feel like I've escaped my rightful punishment. There was also a big miscommunication with the children. The day after I told my mom, she left for Chicago with my grandfather, who is having a surgery there. I thought everything was fine until I started switching and crying about them leaving me. In their heads, it went, 1.) Tell mom about the perverted secrets that you sworn to never tell anyone. 2.) Mom abandons you. But, and here's where the twist comes in, when they were assured, "Her leaving has nothing to do with you, she didn't abandon you", they were even MORE distraught. "How DARE I escape punishment. Why won't you let me be punished like I deserve?" 


A lot of us feel sinful and dirty. We feel like bitches, in the sense of, people who's underlying purpose in life is to be degraded and used. I don't think this is very rare, actually. I think it's just rare how overt it presents in my system. To calm themselves down, various of my parts will literally chant "I'm a bitch" under their breath. It makes them feel bad, which makes it feel right and safe. When Cassidy first aged down, he at first took to calling himself a retard, and he begged Gavin at one point to degrade him in the same way. Him and Gavin talked a lot, while I thought the whole thing was super weird and I wasn't the most supportive or communicative. In the end, Cassidy decided the degradation was not deserved, and to be honest, his answer was somewhat religious in nature. 


The children are slowly getting better, while the conversationalists are not. I feel like shit when I hear most compliments. It's just not right. If you want "I'm proud of you" to not be taken as a grievous insult, you have to say it to one of my youngest parts. Get to the 7 year olds, and they miss my abuser very much, and profess their love and loyalty to her, and beg to be degraded. Get to the 16 year olds, and they don't even know why they hate to feel good. But the four year old, the toddler, and the baby have been some of my greatest allies. It's clear that I associate innocence of heart with very young ages. None of the rest of us are innocent. 


I have two "inside moms", Nu and Mu. They are observers, and watch over the children. Nu, in addition, is the primary caretaker of Albatross, the baby. Mu, right now, is also taking special care of Tile, the current new kid on the Board. Sometimes they do something that Gavin taught them. It's what he did to me soon after he came back, when I felt guilty about why and how he left. They come with their heads pretty close to your face, and press their forefinger into your third eye/6th chakra. In other words, a finger poke between the eyebrows, and they say, "I forgive you." It means a lot. It usually makes us tear up and shivers run all over. 


I've recovered a lot of memories. I have the feeling that I really shouldn't have. That is something that I do regret pretty often. I hate knowing things I've done and things that have happened to me. I hate the spiraling and seeding aspect. She really wasn't involved too many times. She just set it all up, and then I went on to traumatize myself much further. I still feel at fault for how I am. I feel like, if I'm not in control of how I am, how can I be in control of how I will be? This twist is something I did to myself, so I can of course undo it. I'm not broken and I hate whenever anyone says things along those lines. But I know I still have something wrong, there. 


It's just not simple. Or maybe it is. But it feels messy, right now, and I find that upsetting. How can I update this false base belief? I don't know. Theta thinks often about baptism, as Cassidy does. However, they have conviction and faith, and the rest of us do not, and do not really seek it. At least not in religion. Sometimes I think, heck, how did I end up with Christian-y parts? Generally, people get pagans... Oh well. Cassidy is into Unitarian Universalism, while Theta is just... some sort of deist, I think. Hey, Christian agnostics are a thing. 


Any words of advice are greatly appreciated. I don't feel hopeful at the moment, but I know there is hope. -J

"Everything we hear is an opinion, not a fact. Everything we see is a perspective, not the truth."

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Warning: disturbing emotionally charged topics, I talk about things that made me depressed and hurt, I mention in-wonderland violence.


I took Spanish online. I failed it. I took it online again. I failed it a second time. I was already getting bad grades in school and I was failing classes I didn't like. I hated my guts and I hated everything about myself. My parents were mad at me, I felt like I deserved punishment, I felt like a demon that deserved to go to hell. After Ranger, after lightening the course load, I still felt like a looser. My parents told me that it was my fault I was slacking and it's all my fault that I'm not motivated to do the work. Every new semester felt like another chapter in a book of failure.


My parents didn't get it. They, my dad in particular, thought telling me it was my fault was the right thing to do. My mom was mad at me, to the point where I was afraid to talk to her or tell her how I was feeling and what I was struggling with. Ever since she went back to school, she's been angry and stressed all the time. I just started lying to my parents about school just so they don't yell at me anymore. I didn't trust them as much anymore, and that made me think I was a monster.


I remember the day I got a different perspective. It started when I told my therapist I struggled with research projects and things were easier when I went to the librarian. She told me that it sounded like I didn't know how to research, and the teachers at school didn't teach me how. I thought about this, but things only continued to unravel. Every project I procrastinated on, I was scared and wanted help. I didn't know what I was doing, or I didn't know the fast way to do it. There was stuff about the process that frustrated me and it was because I didn't know something or part of the process was too overwhelming for me. Suddenly, a book of failures became life lessons: Most of the time I needed to turn to the professor and ask for help.


That night, I saw a child in the wonderland. I was wielding a knife, the room was red like hell. That was me, crying. I realized one thing- I was just a child. Scared, holding a knife, one that was sharp enough to hurt myself inside. I was desperate enough to shred myself apart and break myself because I was so angry and confused. Was I a demon? A monster? No. Just a child with a weapon powerful enough to break myself, and an imagination powerful enough to create hell on earth. I felt an overwhelming wave of relief, and in that moment, I felt the words "Not Guilty" upon me.


Jamie, all of this because I'm an autistic kid who struggled in school. I wasn't abused as a child, just creative enough to hurt myself on the inside. Sensitive enough to how my parents felt I broke down inside. 1st grade? Elementary school? That satanic bitch teacher who beat you and forced you to write? That wasn't your fault. Being assaulted in elementary school? It's not your fault that you walked away scared and hurt because of she did to you. Struggling in school because you're struggling to cope with the scars and lashes life gave you, and on top of that feeling like you can't trust your own parents? It's not your fault you feel like your mom isn't there for you even though she thinks she is. I feel that way even now, knowing that if I gave my mom all of my journal entries about my depression and really described what happened when I created Ranger and all the other Grays, she would tell me that it isn't a big deal, that I'm being dramatic. It's not your fault that you can't stop thinking about hell because you're trying to make sense of what the hell happened to you.


I learned that online classes aren't the right fit for me, and being pressured to take Spanish online just because it was a convenience for my school isn't my fault. It's not my fault I felt detached from my mother when I felt I needed her understanding me the most, just because I was too afraid of getting yelled at. I didn't deserve to have that happen to me, and I was punished for the faults of other people, things that were out of my control at the time.


All of the terrible things that happened to you, it's not your fault. You're a good person deep down, and I know when I was pissed with myself I didn't want to hear that, but this is important. You're not a monster, you just need help figuring out what to do.


Pretty much my main wonderland form minus the cat parts, that's a separate form. I'm not a hippo, I promise.

I sometimes speak in pink and Ranger sometimes speaks in blue (if it's unmarked and colored assume it's Ranger). He loves to chat.


My other Tulpas have their own account now.

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Jamie here. 


I think one of the only things I inherited from my Roman Catholic father was the concept of sin and sinfulness. Daddy issues, am I right? But, seriously. Yes, daddy issues. If you look at my median system like a family, you'll notice a distinct lack of father figures. Moms, kids, and... Sigma and Omicron are closer to bailiffs than a dad, and then my passionates... are anything but fatherly. If anyone in this whole system is a dad, it's going to be Minty, who's officially taken Tile under his wing. But he looks about 12, just without the green hair like Rho. They are really sweet together. 


You don't need a father. You really don't. You need love, and to be cared for, and provided for, and none of those things require a man. But children bond to their parents or caregivers like you would not imagine, even if they aren't loving, caring, or providing. My father wasn't a drunk or an addict... I really can't speculate on why he was how he was. He was raised in a bad culture, I guess. The water in his childhood town was well-known to be contaminated with lead. I don't know. Pick a reason. Pick all the reasons. It's not an excuse. 


cw: abuse, violence, very negative thinking patterns, disordered eating, skin picking, self-harm


I think I was in 4th grade. I'd just been recently diagnosed with sensory processing disorder and was actively being groomed for later abuse. I was falling in love with her, at that point. Nothing especially bad had happened, yet, maybe a few scratches, and I started cussing a little because she liked when I acted like that. I didn't cuss in front of parents or teachers or even other kids, just with her. 


My mom said I was going to be helping out the school social worker, after school, that it was a special opportunity... I wasn't stupid. I was already median, at this point. I had a mask, proto-conversationalists, who didn't know shit, and acted nice and polite, and underneath I was changing in very bad ways, and I knew. I had a lot of problems eating, at that age. I didn't eat at school anymore and I had weird tastes at home. I lived mostly off of crackers and sliced cheese and I was losing weight, my hair was kinda thinning, and there was this smell I could not get out. Apparently it's some sort of freaky cannibalization thing that happens when your body goes into starvation mode. My skin smelled so weird, sort of salty and rotten. I would get dizzy, I just wanted to stay home and hide in bed, I cried all the time, every day. I really didn't know the first thing about mental health. I really didn't think anything was mentally wrong with me. I thought I was just, a bad person. I guess I knew two things: I was a bad person, and I had to hide this at all costs. 


So, I would meet with the social worker after school two days a week, and help her clean things, put papers away, whatever... and then she would take me into the food pantry they had and let me pick out anything to eat. The mask took snacks, at first, because I knew we were being evaluated. She would ask questions, really off-hand. But it was obvious what she was doing. Trying to catch me off-guard, trying to build a rapport so that I would tell her things. She would give really ham-fisted compliments to try and soften me up. "You know, I think you're a really cool kid, and you're going to do great things! Thank you for putting that piece of paper in the trash can!" Five minutes later: "Has anyone ever touched you in a way you didn't like?" Kids aren't stupid. Well, they are, but they're also very quick. A baby can learn any language just by hearing it. 


Once, she had her email left open. She had emailed my mom back to say that yes, I took a snack that day. The mask got upset, I couldn't hide that from him, he couldn't pretend not to see. We just stopped taking the food, and then, we didn't have to go anymore. A proto-observer, the guy who eventually would kinda become Sigma and, to a lesser extent, Omicron, actually told my mom. "I know you have hidden motives for having me see her." My mom never used babytalk with us. I knew how to speak like a kid my age, of course, and the mask did fine at it, but kids really just speak how they're spoken to. The observers never spoke like children. 


They chalked it all up to sensory issues. Part of it was. A lot wasn't. I liked "sensory issues" because that meant "all my fault." It spoke truths about me, that I was really just a wimp. There's a memory I haven't figured out yet, but it keeps repeating this morning. I think I said something to upset her, I don't know. But she was angry at me, and she knocked me over and pinned me down and screamed into my ear. My head hurt from knocking against the tile and my ear rung. I got up and she was really really quiet and casual, I already knew what to do. A supervisor was looking. So I laughed and I smiled and she went straight back into chit-chatting with me. That's how you form a mask. 


We were best friends... she knew everything about me. I feel like a broken record, but I miss her. I feel like I could restore things to normal, if only I could go back to that. I know I can't. 


I'm so tired. Sometimes I can still get angry, but it's not enough to live off of. And when there's not anger, there's void. Not even the type of void that asks for things, not a void that screams to be filled. It's a void to lay down and wallow in, just, tired. I miss people but I don't want to see them. I haven't talked to anyone face-to-face outside my family and therapist, besides a line or two to a cashier or something, for quite a while. There's no where to go. I can't walk anywhere, I live off the highway. I'm pretty stupid right now. Sometimes I do think about walking. It's about 4 miles to the nature center where I say I'd like to get married someday, that I've been visiting all my life. There's trail for half the way, and then you'd just be walking along the highway. I walk slow, 4 miles would take me about two hours. It's very stupid to think about walking with no consequences, but, people talk all the time about how teens don't think about the consequences. Something something prefrontal cortex. I hope it's not too bizarre to say, I'd wear my two rings. I have a mood ring, it's shaped like a mustache. I bought her one, too, and we both wore them, all the time. I've tried to throw it away a dozen times over the years but never have. I wonder if she still has hers. And then, my first and only girlfriend brought me a ring, just a cheap little thing... I wore it everyday. I offered it back to her, when I broke up with her. She told me to keep it and asked if I would kiss her one last time. I know that was young love, but it meant a lot to me and she'll always have been my first kiss. My first kiss was on Valentine's day. I like that. So I'd wear my two rings, and I'd wear my old Vans that have a green shoelace, because that's for Gavin. I feel guilty that I don't have a symbol of Cassidy like that. I do love him. I might take a baby photo of myself, there's one in my mom's bedroom of me at my baptism, I think, in a white lace dress. Really blond hair. I guess I could take one of my drawings of Cassidy. He really needs a haircut, inside. His hair has just kept growing, all year. I can't believe both him and Gavin believe in souls. Does Gavin? He's too cryptic about it. I don't always understand him, anymore. This stuff affects him too. How about that? Going crazy makes it harder for me to hear voices.


I always cry the first day of school, and I almost always cry the second. About half the time, I cry every day for the first week or so. It just varies year-to-year. I don't think I'm going to be happy about this one. Trapped in a cubby, beep-boop-bop, pretend to have work. Then a bus ride to a real high school, for just one class... I can't say if that'll be good or not. If it'll be the highlight of my day or what I fear the most. She goes to that school. What if I see her in the hall? What if I'm in class with someone from a long time ago? Over my life, my friends have a tendency to move across the US. Without doxxing myself, there's a lot of families where I live that get relocated for work, and have to move far away. Why couldn't it have been her family? And then, my mom is going to drive me home. I'll see her every day. And I'm sure, she's going to ask about my day. While I'm trapped in a car. I hate that. It's not that I don't know what to say, it's just that I want to tell anyone but her. 


I feel like there's a set number of words in me, and I need to write them all out. So I know this is rambling. 


 I have some scars now. I'm told they look like cigarette burns. Think round scabs, picked and bitten over and over and over for months and months, not cuts. It's actually gotten a lot better. My wrists are finally healed over. I'm actually proud of it, I wish I could show photos, but I know that's inappropriate. It's something I'm proud of, but I haven't been able to show anybody. I have 7 "opens" on my face and 23 on my back and shoulders. That's not good, but it's better than it's been. I had something stupid like 50, not too long ago. Bleeding through t-shirts, pus leaking down my back, it's awful. I was at 50 when I was just laying in bed and crying. I still do that, but I can do some other things, too, now. I have probably a dozen or so more that I could break back open in less than a minute. It can take anywhere from a week to a month of not picking any spot, before it's not at a high risk of being broken open in a fit. 


I've never met someone who's picked skin like me. That's probably good. I wouldn't wish this type of harm on anyone, it's infuriating. Sometimes I wish I were a cutter instead, but it doesn't work like that. A friend of a friend came up to me once and showed me a fresh cut along her wrist. She looked proud. I asked, "Why?" She told me she was mad at her father. She was the definition of an attention-seeker. 13 Reasons Why came out and I don't know the full story, but she had started making tapes or something. We had a whole team meeting on, "Don't be a copy-cat, that stuff, bad." It was clearly because of her. The squeaky wheel gets the oil. What's wrong with me? Why do I always have to be "found out?" Why does everything have to be covert? 


If I look at everything, it's too much. I can't take it. Denial is not an option anymore. Moving on is resignation. I don't think that's a bad thing. I just wish I weren't so tired. I was really foolish to think my double life would end, when I told my mom. I'm still living the double life. Resignation feels good, and not much feels good, right about now. Shame feels good, I guess. There's an established precedence for that one. I think about sin. 



reading back, I realize I didn't make a coherent narrative out of any of those memories, but, that's okay. If you can find the narrative, tell it to me and win a free bobblehead, because I'm still trying to piece it together myself. -J

"Everything we hear is an opinion, not a fact. Everything we see is a perspective, not the truth."

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Well-meant well wishes and views, but I'm unsure if it would be detrimental to read it given expression of 'good' feelings and praise being bad, so I spoilered it to allow for you to moderate your own exposure instead of just shoving it in your faces.



I'm hoping that your system's life together will have a positive outcome, both internally and externally. I hope none of you never have to face abuse again. I care, and I hope you have a good, or at least painless, life ahead of you, all of you.



In any case, thank you for sharing your stories.

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I feel really bad tonight. I was doing so well. Yesterday I really was happy with it all. I got a decent night sleep for the first time in forver. I won't lie, I achieved that sleep through some bad means, but I just really really needed sleep. The shower and sink got fixed. Taking showers is hard for me, I don't know what to tell you. It's a top-tier flashback zone along with the rest of the bathroom, my bed, and my elementary school. What it means is that I was in the other bathroom, which is flashbacky in a different light, and I guess it broke the little peace I had going. 


suicide, selfharm, medicine 


Jamie said yesterday, "wow, it's like I just forget I was actively suicidal!" instead he was just at that "if I got hit by a truck right now, I'd consider that a good day" place that I think a lot of people are in, actually. Rather than and monolouging to yourself about the time and date and etc etc of how. the little battles about objects. 


What's wrong with me, even? I got so scared. I'm really a wuss about these things. I'm done. I feel so sick right now. something went pretty wrong. I'll be okay eventually I'm sure. I stopped taking any of the advil a few days ago. The pain is still there though. But I can't get any more once i use the bottle, and I want to ration it. I also like the pain because it makes me feel really bad. It's such a fucking upsetting type of pain. I've felt much stronger pain before. This is probably a pretty little pain, if three advils makes it go away. But it freaks me out. 


Someone will write something about it i'm sure. There's a new little, not really new. I hate it so much. I just wish it'd die. I'm so mad. It's really not worthwhile i know. But the feelings don't change regardless. I bet the others feel the same toward me. 


"Everything we hear is an opinion, not a fact. Everything we see is a perspective, not the truth."

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[Hidden]Depression for me was obviously a disease. Like a 12 month long cold. But instead of cold symptoms you have a horrible sensitive mood that just refuses to improve. You lose interest in everything, your inhibitions drop, and apathy grows.


For me, threre are symptoms and causes, if you just treat the symptoms then you don't seem to recover, but treating the causes is best done when you're not depressed.


Time heals, but little things keep knocking you back down.


Those things are what got you here. People around you usually don't help, they don't know why you are depressed and you don't want to tell them because they'll marginalize it or tell you to stop. Oh gee I never thought of just stopping.


No lie, no punches pulled, you have a lot of problems. Things that aren't easily fixed or overcome. Some might even be chemical imbalances that you couldn't fix anyway.


Well, right now it's time to just maintain, be selfish. At the point you start planning suicide, you're at rock bottom. Good news is it doesn't really get worse than crying uncontrollably. It's like a self-regulating buffer. When your glass is full it spills, it doesn't get taller. The peak of stress is a panic attack, the peak of depression is crying. Of the two, I prefer crying.


Like me, your depression was partially caused by isolation. People generally just can't handle that. Yeah, online interactions are like blood of the unicorn.


I can't say I had it as bad as you, but there were a lot of things that can't be fixed, and I have to live with them forever. Yet I recovered.


Normally I'd say treating symptoms is not advised, but when you're being tortured, and due to external issues you just can't see any of the stressors ending any time soon, then treating the symptoms will at least keep you going long enough to get to a point where you can start to fight. Luckily for me, I recognized those islands of stability amd I survived the night (twice).


For me, I had Ashley. You have Gavin. I know it's hard Gavin, we're always here to help. Now that we're standing on solid ground, even this month is much better than last month.


We hope to see you all around for a long time.



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I feel confused and on rocky ground, today. A protector's lot can be that way. I keep going back to being 12. It's almost nostalgia. So, storytime. 


During gym one day, my old friend had gotten deadnamed and asked about his recent hospitalization, which either triggered or furthered a manic episode. He went into the weight room. The gym teacher came and asked me to check up on him since we were friends. I honestly suspect he was afraid of his student; to be frank, a person in a manic episode can be scary. I was never afraid for myself, only for him. 


I went in there and he was pacing the entire room, on the verge of hyperventilating. I sat down on the floor against a stack of foam mats. He told me what had happened and said it was so hard not to punch their faces out. I didn't really say much. When people are like that, they aren't going to listen deeply- you're just there to be a friend. It's not about you and your theories. 


He told me the school was shit, the teachers were shit, the kids were shit. He hated himself, he wasn't going to live past twenty. I told him he had it rough and I couldn't do much to help. He said, "FUCK." We just chilled out for a good fifteen minutes. Then the bell rang, and he said, "Shit, we have to go. Thanks. You didn't have to stay." I said, I wanted to. And I said, "I can't go to class." He said, "You look like you're going to pass out." I just said, "I CAN'T go to class." For context, first hour was Gym, second hour was Algebra. 


I didn't go to class, I marched straight upstairs to the guidance office desk. I asked if I could speak with my counselor. The lady said, no, she wasn't there. I always wonder what would have happened if she had been there. I said, oh, that's fine. Someone should have realized I was not fine. I didn't even have a pass. I would have gotten attention if I was crying. I would have gotten attention if I screamed. Someone needed to notice, I was NOT fine, I was in DANGER, I COULDN'T go to class. 


I walked to the commons and went into the bathroom. It was already 10 minutes into class, I couldn't just walk in. She would have called me up to the front and interrogated me in front of everyone and I just couldn't do that, I couldn't cry in front of everyone again, no one was allowed to hurt me. So I went to the bathroom. The sinks were the sort that had an empty space below them. I crawled under and sat there, I put my arms around myself and I felt so empty, so hollow. There was no one there, but there was... There was me, but I sure wasn't Jamie. That wasn't my name. This wasn't my body. I felt nothing- that wasn't right. I bit my hand, and the pain was something. I couldn't stand this NOTHING. I was convinced, I needed to shock myself out of it. I had to do something. I was 12 and didn't know anything about grounding. 


I heard people outside- some class was working out in the commons. I didn't want to be walked in on, biting myself under the sink, so I stood up. I looked in the mirror and it was just dreadful. It wasn't me. I can't tell you what it's like, if you've never experienced it, to look in a mirror IRL and to see Not-You looking back. Who's body is this? Who am I? No- I'm insane. I'm going insane. I know I'm Jamie. I need to come back down, I need to be safe. I was just staring, hoping to know that person. 


Three girls came into the bathroom. They stopped in the doorway and one said, "Are you okay?" I said "FINE" but my tone was definitely not convincing. She said, "Are you going to cut yourself?" And I was so upset, so distraught. How could anyone think that of me? I just wanted to protect myself. I just needed to be safe. I said "No!" And the girls left. One of them had stayed more out in the hallway, and I heard them tell her, "That girl looked like she was going to cut." I felt so awful. 


I didn't know what was going to happen. I was so scared. I needed to come down, NOW. I wanted help, I wanted to be noticed. I punched the stall wall. It was loud... I didn't feel anything. I kept punching it, swinging my arm to the side really, and letting my knuckles make the first contact. I didn't really think much of anything. I felt bad about the violent nature of the gesture. 


The school resource officer (read: police officer who patrols the middle school) came knocking. He said I had to stop or they'd call 911. He asked me to come out. I came out and he just looked at me like I was a waste of his time. I wasn't even crying. He asked if I had been trying to hurt myself. I said, "No!" He asked if I cut. I said, "No!" He said, not to pull stunts like this, it was immature and I'd get myself arrested next time, that it'd go on my permanent record, that they suspend me. He told me to go back to class. I said okay. I walked to the other commons. The bell rang, and my memory ends right there. I think they tried to call my (Jamie's) mom. I don't remember the exact circumstance, but we didn't have phone or internet pretty often, so, they called once or twice and gave up, is my bet. I got bruises on my knuckles, my mom never said a word. Only my old friend knew what happened, I told him. He asked me what happened, where did I go, so I told him the story.

"Everything we hear is an opinion, not a fact. Everything we see is a perspective, not the truth."

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