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

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I think I have a really good example of how having unrecognized triggers, and sore spots tucked away in noncommunicative alters, can really confuse and ruin a day. 


I had an important IEP (special ed accommodations) meeting today with a very good outcome. I was happy with how it went, of course it was a little stressful but I actually got an even better result than I thought was possible. But I came home and had the house to myself (still do, actually) and just had myself a breakdown. I've been feeling the pressure for a few days, so I knew today was a little higher risk, but still: I was really, really confused. I just got GREAT news. Exciting news, news that'll hopefully save me from a lot of grief. And here I am, dissociated and age-regressed as fuck, bawling and screaming my head off into a pillow. 


Just when I was getting not-scared about things, I got some really great news that has thrown me back for a loop. I feel like it shouldn't work this way. Cassidy has coped much, much better. My mom worked under a different school retirement system for some years, then switched schools, so she had two retirement funds. The old one, since she wasn't contributing to it anymore, offered her a lump sum instead of having to wait until retirement to get the money (since she has another retirement fund.) So within the next 8 weeks, she's getting 62k, enough to pay off all her debts, so that we'll literally have three thousand dollars more a month (that had been going to loan payments) and the house paid off. And then I had my IEP meeting and they said I can start in my second class MONDAY. They have basically a quiet study room for online classes, and I'm going to be leaving my special ed school after lunch, then having 6th hour taking my online classes in that study room, then 7th hour Honors Chem, 8th hour Painting and Drawing. Starting Monday. And if I don't break down this quarter, then next semester I'll go full time to the mainstream school, being in the quiet study room to take my online classes in the morning as well- no more special ed program. 


What the hell is my deal? Cassidy has been fine and happy, if a little nervous about the changes. I'm a neurotic meltdown-prone mess, I feel like I've slid back months. Cassidy never went to middle school. I think Gavin is actually the one freaking out, for once. There's a girl in Painting and Drawing that we were kinda friends with. She did recognize us. I don't really remember having any troubles in middle school but Gavin remembers a different series of events


Happy things have happened and it's really fucked with me, I don't know why. 

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

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"I don't want to do these regressive things. They are a crutch. They are harmful." 


When we were first diagnosed with sensory processing disorder, we were completely closed to the idea of fidgets, meditation, and noise-blocking headphones or earplugs. It was mostly out of denial: I WILL NOT BE DIFFERENT. I will not need coping skills because I will not need to cope. It is not a problem for anyone else, and it won't be for me, either. 


Actually... that's about how our femoral anteversion has been treated. "Just don't." You are different, try your best to NOT be. On the first day of class in the lower grades of elementary school, Jamie's mom would always tell him to go walk somewhere across the room, and then point out to the teacher how he walked funny. We only have that memory from above, and somehow I was the one to remember it, which are two big indicators of how upsetting it was. 



"I am working so hard to not be this way. Why would you emphasize my failure? You are harming me."


Of course, it probably wasn't wrong of her to do that: unless it's pointed out to you, you wouldn't notice the wrongness of our legs... unless it's a bad day, we don't even walk slow or limp or anything. But compared to other young children, we might look as if... we didn't care, we weren't hurrying, or we weren't putting in our full effort. It's not enough to make you go, "That's a disability", but it was enough for everyone at recess to ban us from tag since we must be choosing to never tag anyone... And enough to be chewed out in front of the entire PE class more times than I can count for what a lazy liar we were. "I can't do that, it hurts." No, you're wrong, you are normal, you are fine, you have no excuse, and I won't hear it anymore! 


We got our 504 plan after that PE teacher flipped us and we went down hard, purple bruises everywhere. Hah! Still can't do a cartwheel. Jamie's mom always reminded us, "No one will care if you can do a cartwheel or not." But it wasn't about that! It was about failing to be normal.  


He's asked me so many times: 

"Is this a road I really have to be dragged down, kicking and screaming?" 

Jamie used Struggle. It hurt itself with the recoil. 




If you have a broken leg, you have a choice. Will you use crutches, or will you drag yourself on the floor? You are clever and capable of so much: I know you can drag yourself on the floor while smiling and telling me you are supporting yourself. 


You have a broken leg. Which path will lead to healing? 


Other people cannot see your broken leg, but they do see the crutches. And they will ask you stupid questions, or maybe even falsely accuse you of things. It's not as simple as rotating your foot 180 inward and talking a few steps that way so that they can see that you're built wrong: they don't want to hear the words, "I'm healing deep-rooted childhood sexual abuse and mixed lot of other unresolved traumas." They wouldn't even hear, "I have alters. I have child parts. I have Dissociative Identity Disorder. I age-regress." Vaguer explanations are not likely to be enough. "I'm working through some things." "I can't explain to you how healing this is." "This is helpful to me." The most likely misconception is one that you REALLY don't want to hear: that these things are sexual;




Still. Which path will lead to healing? I am sorry, though. I know you'd still really, well, rather not have to use crutches. "I don't have to! I can drag myself." Not if you want to heal. 


Fun fact: instead of progressing from crawling to walking, we intuitively learned to hobble around on our knees, and this is what drove our mom to seek medical advice, testing, and a diagnosis. We didn't really walk until age 2. We knee-walked often at home, when playing, whatever, and to this day, knee-walking is sincerely more comfortable than actual walking, for our system/for this body. We have perfected the art of dragging ourselves around. Still. Learned to walk, had to go to PT twice already, have a predicted future of even more... This chain of events echoes around our life. 



"If I don't hate using crutches, I am slowing my healing." 



If you hate using crutches... it looks very much like, you prevent yourself from using them, and you are greatly upset. You drag yourself- and you don't want to drag yourself. 


When you don't need them anymore, that's another battle, and it is one that I am also sure you can overcome. Being weaning naturally off supports is a much better battle than choking down treatment, sputtering and cussing the entire way through. I can stand with you, rather than opposed to you. 


Hating crutches will not make you need them for any less time. On the contrary, it delays and poses a massive threat to healing. 


October 10th 2019

Honeybee is no longer (usually) a nonhuman alter, as of about a week ago. He (successfully) requested Omicron to be his dad, so we have our first in-system father figure. We attribute the increase in communication and the decrease in distressed behavior to our embarrassing, regressive, terrifying crutches :P 


Sunshine integrated 4 days ago, which could deserve an entire post of its own, but that aspect of our system is maybe better kept private. Also can be contributed to our recent crutch behaviors. 


(self-harm of a sexual nature, blood)


We had a bad spiral yesterday. I'm not sure who actually did this. We were dissociated enough that the answer looks quite like,"Nobody in particular." We forced an uncooked large egg up our front, completely dry. There was enough pain that I switched into the body, and when I took it out, my hands just filled up with blood, a few teaspoon's worth. The body still hasn't really stopped bleeding. It almost feels like a bad split lip, besides, well, deep inside yourself. Big or sudden movements, and then it starts up again. I couldn't really sit or walk without pain yesterday, luckily that's toned down- now it just feels like bad period pain. I'm not going to die, I just fucked up. 


It's something we saw in porn. 



Today, I went to church instead of Cassidy, and I found myself too frozen up to speak or write. Luckily one of the adults coaching the youth group seemed very much to be aware that I was out-of-it. We were supposed to write something down on a popsicle stick and put it in a jar. The adult running that said, "We won't go until we get ALL the sticks!" That's a challenge that I KNOW I'll win. The adult who knew better asked politely if he could have my stick- he filled it out and put it in the jar. There you go, ALL the sticks. I love resolutions like that. 


I nearly burst into tears hearing live saxophone. I almost didn't go to church, but I went for Cassidy's sake, although he's been mostly dormant today. It was so worth it. Live saxophone just resonates through you. I shut my eyes for the last third, just shut my eyes and listened. 





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

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Thank you both, and no worries in the slightest. - G

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

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Stuffed Animals, Age-Regression, and the jump from 11 to 12 


It's hard to sort out stims, from self-harm, from general upset behavior, from age-regression-inspired behaviors, sometimes. In a lot of these cases, multiple things are factors. As well, age regression when you're 7 or 9 is going to be different from age regression at 12 or 16: 7-year-old behaviors weren't age-regression when I was 7. 


When I was really little, I did like to suck on stuff and I had comfort stuffed animals that I carried everywhere. We're talking 3 or 4 years old here, so, pretty normal. I had TWO Ernie muppet dolls, about the length of a pencil. I had two because one was kept at my/my grandparent's house, and the other was kept in my mom's purse, for when I would freak out in public and ask for it. I don't remember them ever talking to me. 


Far more important were the stuffed animals in my bed: When I was very little, I got Purple, a small stuffed bunny. I think I got Tedyursa (I know that's not how the Pokemon's name is spelled, but it's how my stuffed animal's name was spelled) when I was 5, and I know I got Beary for my 7th birthday from a kid who I still see in the hallways now. Those were the big three, no one else slept in my arms at night. Purple against my chest, then Beary, then Tedyursa. Tedyursa and Beary got married when I was 9 but later divorced, yes, I swear to god, my stuffed animals divorced each other and I was in fact heartbroken by these developments. Purple never had any interest in anyone. Purple was an elder, in terms of my stuffed animals, and he didn't really play like the others. He was only friends with Tedyursa, Beary, and of course, me. 


There's a very weird gap between ages 11 and 12 for me. I know I was suicidal, I was constantly self-harming that summer after 5th grade, it was just an opportune time because I was old enough that I didn't go to my grandparent's house anymore, but my sister was gone all evenings for stuff, and my mom was working, so there you go, I'm alone, house to myself. I had, for the second time, told my abuser to fuck off on the last day of school, so I had no contact with her that summer and I was devastated. I remember I had a summer camp and that was when I had a biiiig old freak out, was taken into another room to cry, and I started year-by-year telling the teacher how I had driven everyone away. I was a rambling mess, so she cut me off at 3rd grade, and I realize now that if I had kept going for another 5 minutes, I might have set off red flags for abuse... the shit that happened in 4th and 5th grade was definitely a different beast from "everyone banned me from playing tag." I was doing the thing that I did for a few weeks straight last summer, and that I still do on bad days now: nothing besides lay in bed. Wake up, eat, lay in bed, eat lunch, lay in bed, house is empty, self harm until exhausted, cry, sleep, repeat. I remember a few instances of being asked to go out somewhere, go do something, and breaking down crying because I didn't want to leave the house, I didn't want to get out of bed. Always got yelled at for that. I remember really struggling to change my clothes- I still struggle with that, but I know a lot more tricks now, and Gavin helps. It's one of those grin-and-bear-it things that comes with SPD, that I just can't expect anyone to be understanding of, but it takes hours for me to get used to clothes, and when you know that changing your clothes is going to come with hours of discomfort, well, you just... really don't want to. Didn't change my clothes today :(  Neglecting basic hygiene was probably one of the reasons all the open spots on my skin got infected over and over again. I also never wore bandaids, I didn't have any rubbing alcohol, I wasn't even using tissues to stop the blood- I used my tongue for pressure.

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

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I had a big, "oh, shit, I'm back in the pit, no, I don't want to be this deep in the pit..." moments. I haven't really changed my clothes in like three or four days, I'm at this point where I actually should to shave my face and I haven't been, and the big one is, I'm just laying in bed and dissociating and crying. No one gives a shit IRL! The removable shelf on my desk fell out and everything, including a jar full of tiny aquirum pebbles, fell absolutely everywhere over the floor, and it's been there for like a week. I'm running on empty, just trying not to do bad things. 


I wonder if I fucked it up. Gavin had so many reservations about coming over to the mainstream school, and we had a bit of a spat (not an angry one) because it was likely that he was going to be fronting for all that time (true) but I was the one deciding it for him. Gavin didn't want to do that, I did, and my word had final say. But ever since I started going over to the mainstream school, I come home from school and I lay down in bed and I'm done. I'm empty. Lay down in the dark, dick around on my phone, age-regress, feed my hamster, cry and try not to

self harm

, fall asleep, repeat. It feels like a failure. It's been a wonder socially! I get to talk to people... I've made 2 friends already, and I'm talking to even more people. But I can't deny that it sucks up so much energy. It's not as simple as noise-blocking headphones. I just suck at existing, is the conclusion I keep finding myself at. 



Tao exists in one’s own true self.

It cannot be found outside of one’s true nature.

Hence, there is no need to leave the house to take journey in order to know the world.

There is no need to look outside of the window to see the nature of Tao.

The further one departs from Tao, the less one will be able to know.

Therefore a saint is wise to know without seeking for It.

He is wise to understand without seeing It.

He is wise to accomplish according to the Natural Way.



That is not my favorite translation of the Tao Te Ching, but I can't find my copy. 


I don't suck at existing. I suck at existing that way. High school is not where I'm really capable of existing. "Just as fish live in deep water and cannot survive after being taken out of the depths." My family bought an angelfish once and it died soon after being put in our tank. The tank conditions were clearly not right for it. Nothing was wrong with the angelfish. 


I woke up this morning still overloaded from yesterday, when I had some nasty flashbacks since my mom was, for some god-forbidden reason, telling me stories about my father on the drive home after therapy. I was drained and raw, and remembered that oh, yeah,


 was my dad's insult of choice. I think she thinks I remember but I just don't talk about it. I don't talk about him because I have very few memories. They really fought a lot. 

Why do I have to carry yesterday with me, this morning? I just want to be over this. 



I didn't want it to be my birthday, I just wanted it to be Saturday... My therapist had said some stuff to me that made me realize some things, and I was really upset. I realized I didn't have any clean clothes and I meant to wash some after school, but ofc after school, and grocery shopping, and therapy, I just went and laid in bed. My stomach started hurting so bad, and that started up flashbacks, and I just laid there. I woke up twice in the night, one of my littles did actually. I'm a little concerned someone has done something I don't remember. Everything was healing up, or at least I thought so, but now I feel so physically sick again... however, I also ran out of ibuprofen... And as stated above, I haven't been keeping clean at all, and I've just been curled up in a ball for the largest part of the day. 


I wanted to pull out of my birthday plans but I knew if I did that, my mom would be mad and call me rude. So we went to the bookstore, (and the grocery store again...) and the bead store, and then I came home and I curled up in bed. It was so much. Book stores, grocery stores, and bead stores are all places with so many little things with so much detail wall-to-wall, with lots of smells, and in the case of the first two, lots of people. I haven't had a sensory shutdown this year: I got really close today. 


I went to take a nap instead, but a little switched out and played with the new toys, in the dark ofc... but that was nice. I can't stress how much I just need a long time in the dark and quiet in order to function. I also can't stress how much it upsets me to spend so much time in the dark and quiet. Don't you LOVE your iron lung? 

Other people don't need to do this.

God, I'm such a teenager! Don't I know I'm not other people? Don't we all, including myself, deserve a compassionate and welcoming touch? 


I want to marry someone that's more introverted than me. I want them to look at me like I'd look at someone asking me to go skydiving when I say, "let's go out for dinner." Really? Really, let's do it. What an adventure! What a rare experience! What a thrill! Let's do that again someday- maybe even next year, if the conditions are right? 


You might say, how would you get to know them? What would you do together? Well, do you really get to know someone while skydiving, or are you more caught up in the nonsense of chemicals happening in your brain? You can't have a good conversation in a place that's too loud. Any room with 15+ people is likely to be too loud for me. I'm not going to get to know people in public, just about. At some points (like now), this fact makes me want to bash my teenage head against a wall. 



There is a new child part, really an old child part, but new to me. Cassidy had suspected his existence for quite some time, but it wasn't safe to pursue it further. Sometimes people need to stand on the peripheries and just be on that fringe of awareness, so that they can build up a little more trust and understanding. His being around has been a shock to me. They really do remember things I do not. The challenge and the danger was not for the little accepting us, it was for me (the older Jamies) accepting the reality of the traumas that this little remembers. 


I got this muslin doll, a blank one with no face or clothes besides underwear, but this little LOVES it. Had a panic attack and held the doll's hand for comfort, and boom, bonded. It's stiffer than most of my stuffed toys, I think that's the appeal. And it's a new stuffie, no baggage. 


When, instead of napping, a little came out to play with my new dolls, he was making them kiss. I asked, "Are they girlfriends?" No. "Are they wives?" Huh? "Are they married?" No, they're both girls. "Women can marry each other like women and men can." Oh... huh.... well they still aren't wives. Or maybe this one is married to another man, but I don't think this one is. 


(sexual trauma mentions, but it's about me figuring out a good coping thing) 


I've been really worried about how to react to my littles acting sexually, specifically, what should I do if they play-act imbalanced sexual situations? It's been sorta a nonissue, and often, it's beneficial. Saves me some skin, even. There's often that compulsion to reenact what's happening in a flashback, or just general confusion that ends up with masturbation because "orgasm will be the end of it, just get it over with, NOW." But several times now, just since getting the muslin doll and the cats, my littles have grabbed them up and showed me sexual things via proxy instead of via their bodies. I've tried drawing a few times, and Cassidy drew pages and pages of drawings when he was more age-regressed, but in general, it has a few big pitfalls. First, starting with a blank page is unappealing and intimidating. You have to go to draw, specifically to draw. With the dolls, you can just... hold them, or make them do literally anything else. Second, I already have bad history with someone standing over my shoulder and telling me my art is useless and disgustingly bad and I should stop it right there- I had a writing phobia for 4 years, and it's not so much cured as in remission. Dolls do not have that baggage, for me. Lastly, the art remains there... easy to rip out, rip up, and throw away, and easy to obsess over... "what an awful thing I made." With dolls, they can be put into positions and then put into new positions, with no evidence of what happened. Expression with very little trace. 



I want a dollhouse. I have all these memories of an old dollhouse I had. We got it in a garage sale and gave it away to the Goodwill. In my memory, it was massive, but really it was probably just about as wide as the average house window ledge. I love the look of Calico Critter dolls and clothes and the furniture, but the houses... eh. The dolls and furniture are worth the price, they are little works of art, but 42 dollars for this? (Just the house, not any of the furniture or the doll) 



Two rooms connected by a ladder? No thanks!


This is the only one that might be worth it, but I'd still try and find it used, because 75 bucks is a lot to spend on art, even art that doubles as a toy. 



This one includes all the furniture and two dolls for 75 bucks. I got a pack of 4 dolls for 20 bucks and a full room of furniture for 20 bucks today. So two dolls in this set would be 10 bucks, and then maybe 30 bucks for all the furniture, and that puts the value of the structure at 35 dollars. 35 dollars for a three-room house with a balcony and a porch. Then there's a log cabin that comes only with hammocks, no other furniture or dolls, but is somehow also 75 dollars? 


Even in a money-pit of a hobby like dolls, I have to consider cost over value. Some of these things are a rip-off. My phone cost 60 bucks. I want cute dolls and I want a dollhouse, but I wouldn't enjoy it if I know I could have put that money to better use. 


Luckily, the perceived value drops significantly for collectibles the second the package is opened, so if you're like me and couldn't care less about the box, you can buy used... I saw that 75 dollar set had sold for 20 bucks off Ebay, all pieces included, good condition. 


I know I'm talking a lot about dolls, but I honestly haven't been so stoked about anything in a long time. I nearly started hyperventilating when I had finally decided to buy them, I just wanted to go home and open them up and touch them, they are fuzzy and soft. 


I've talked and thought a lot, and felt a lot like I'm living a lie and that I'm not doing what will actually make me happy... I realize now, when I say, "I don't want things" or "I have no preference", I often DO, it's just that my parts inside can't form a consensus that will agree with Public Jamie. I went to the bookstore thinking, "I literally don't want anything out of the bookstore..." but then... they'd moved their toy section, expanded it, and I walked along the row of baby toys, and I said, oh hell, I'll go look through... I realized that Calico Critters, unlike a lot of other toys, are seen also as fancy collectibles, not exclusively for kids... and that meant, the older parts could allow the little parts to express their deep, strong desire for TOYS. I went from 0 interest and a level of frustration, to present-of-a-lifetime excitement and giddiness. 


Oh, crap, it's not my birthday anymore. Goodnight. -J

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

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Oh nice! Finding a long-lasting hobby is hard, especially when system-mates don't always agree. Might not be exactly what you meant with "parts". I find choices almost impossible if we can't agree on some middle ground. It feels hollow for whoever decided if co with someone who disagrees.

Hi! I'm one of the most active fronters of Unicorn Cavalry. I like timey wimey stuff and blue boxes. Make it timey wimey blue box stuff and we're set to explore all time, forum and space!

My system mates on here: Kurisutina, Udongein, Xarbern

Cbox, the chill chat room

Our Journey (Messy PR)

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Lots of death talk, be mindful of your mental state, I'm pessimistic tonight and always a weasel. 


Left that server :P

Was kinda my bad, I knew they'd get fed up of me. They were really offended that I thought being my gender had anything to do with trauma. Said it was transphobic to think that. And I've been talking about it all a LOT there. I think coming into contact with about a dozen alters that didn't know I was a guy, I dunno, affected me. Even in the gender department. 


It was one of those things, I liked the one older guy's advice, but there was this little cohort of trans guys that have only even been out for like a year or two, telling me off and insisting I'm not a guy and that I'm just ignorant. Kinda have to recognize your audience. They are members and proponents of the culture I've been whining against.... we don't like what we're saying to each other. 


I was told my gender confusions are because I'm not communist... then I thought, why tf am I listening to your advice? I'm so turned off, this isn't good for anyone involved. He kept saying I needed to read a book and then I wouldn't have problems because I clearly just don't know enough, I said okay give me book recs, he was actually upset that I asked? 

He said "you can read this if have a high reading level" 

Probably didn't mean it as insulting but I got insulted at that point, the one guy (who was one of the guys that had big beef with the other DID system in the server, was calling the system names in DMs, "come fite me


" shit) kinda posted a big wall about how I've been using them up and he doesn't like the words I use and I felt the click like- finally! I can go! This is permission!


So I left.


I always fear "using up" friendships and relstionships like tissue boxes, but I also actively do that. The hardest intrusives for me to toss out are those about

wanting those dear to me to die.

 It's a sticky wicket. I want out, out out out out! 


The only big human deaths in my life have all been to people who were suffering so much, they caused other people great harm because they couldn't control themselves anymore. And they were people that suffered such bad long deaths I was happy and relieved when they died. 



I feel such freedom when I'm cut free of bonds. I fantasize about hurting all my friends so that I'll be alone, I know lots of people do it subconsciously, but I want to actively push all their vunerabilities at once. I cannot stop thinking about

killing my dog and hamster.

It's just fantasy, out the door. But I feel like a bad person and nothing makes that go away.


I hate when I get honest looks at myself. It's like getting a view of your colonoscopy. Oh, is this what I am, shit? I won't stand for that. No, I won't stand for anything so long as this camera is up my ass. 


I am seeking help... I'm doing everything right and I feel worse than ever. When do I get to feel better? I just want out, I'm not patient. 


I was living off lies before, but haven't you seen the strength of bull-headedness? I was living off it. Now I have nothing. Everyone who tells me I can't go back now, I want to throw a toddler-worthy tantrum. They aren't wrong. 

Wah (?)


I don't want to be strange- I don't want to be political- I don't want to fall into the same traps- I don't want to be hospitalized- I don't want to have problems- I don't want to be mentally ill. 


I wish I could believe in God but I'm a faithless person. Fall on your knees once from intuitive knowledge of a greater divinity, you'll be like Cassidy and have a thriving relationship. Have it happen dozens of times over years, and go, "oh shit." It's just another chemical something, even if it feels transendent. Things that feel undeniable are deniable. Passion that feels endless can be nipped in the bud. Turn it away at the door.


I would like to be invisble... I laid in bed frozen for at least a half hour thinking that... I only left with the intention to find something to hurt myself with- but they were all missing, oh, Gavin...  rascal.


I think I made it all up... Or more specifically, Cassidy made up the memories that I have, of my abuse. 

Call the littles a kink, call the girls a kink, none of this is new, call everything a disgusting peversion to be hidden forever... I regret finding out about tulpamancy. I want to go back, back, back. It's changed my life so drastically. Who in God's name knows where I'd be without having found tulpamancy?


Occam's razor is not kind to my abuse denial. 


I am very upset at the idea of moving to my grandfather's house. It scares parts of myself deeply. I have blurry memories of lots of nights being whisked away to impromptu spend the night. Away from my stuffed animals and my mom.... 


I spooked awake and my first instinct was that I needed to go to my mom's room in order to sleep on the floor by her bed like I did when I was small: realizing that I'm 17, I cried deeply. 


Why did I open Pandora's box? 

Stoic beliefs do not like idiocy, the cornerstone is the rational part of the mind.


I'm sharp in the same way a broken snowglobe is sharp. Really wish I wasn't- oh, such a mess! 


I can't do certain things anymore but the stigma of the accomadations, the crutch needed might kill me... Gavin challenges here. But I'll have to answer questions I don't want asked. What, would you rather die? Oh don't get me started. 


Terror, shame; denial, repression. No one will have me as I am save for Gavin. Not even God. 



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

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I read the little self-help articles for shame and I agree theory-wise, but I hear their proposed solutions and think, "oh no, I need something far more heavy-duty." But it can't be freaking Christ! *wags finger at religion*


The School of Life's bit was that, if replacing your belief that "I'm disgusting" with "I'm beautiful" is too hard, instead believe that all of humanity is imperfect, you along with them, and have mercy and compassion. 


But I have standards for humanity- there are acts that I will not allow to fall under the realm of "normal and forgivable human imperfection." 


The typical litmus test is "Did it hurt anyone? No? Then it's fine." But, as I've been telling and confunding Gavin with, it's hurt myself. 


I feel like no one can understand, that I can't even really understand- and I wasn't even forced, these aren't actions I took in my abuser's basement, they are actions I took in my bedroom, freely. 


A new alter has been bubbling up, although I've noted their presence for several years actually, which is kinda cool, except I'm at that junction again where I have my hands over my eyes screaming "Oh god, look at this monster that shares a body with me." Hurting my possessions and acting without regards to my feelings or my sensitive shame. Gavin is so hands-off lately although I feel sometimes like he's got puppet strings all around my insides. I think he knows the more he preaches the less I hear. It's better for the traveling doctor to hear "What took you so long?" rather than "Why have you come again?" 


Cassidy is developing a sense of situational sharpness like Gavin, I can see him growing wiser to me. He gatekeeps well, as in, "You, come with me, you, time to go dormant, you, come to Gavin with me. No, he needs to cool down first, okay, now let him in."


I have to stop myself from shutting myself down from thinking of my extreme shame. It's a bit of denialism that pretty much everyone will support for me. I think these crazy strong shame-led thoughts, mostly suicidal things ("I can't live with what I've done.") and then go... "Gawd, what an edgelord." 


Oh ho ho, sorry for saying a shame-led thought! That's so edgy, phbbt. Nonsense! 


It really isn't socially acceptable for understandable reasons, but on the inside the rules are different. I can't dismiss my patterns of thinking even if they're "stupid edgelord crap." I really want to die because of the horrible things I've done and the shame that consumes me. It's not a "Oh there's no hope or reason" suicidality, although I've felt that one too... this one is pointy and says directly, "I morally ought to kill myself." I don't want to die so much as deserve to die. And that's pretty extreme, hopefully I don't need to say. The most common stuff I find about suicide is aimed against the "wanting" rather than the "deserving". 


I don't think it's at all uncommon for people to think they deserve punishments, or maybe even a certain type of death, but I don't think I've personally known anyone who so actively thought "I need to kill myself because of what I did." But maybe that's just because we all tend to not want to mention what we did.


I had an awful flashback last night, probably lasted 2 hours total which is horrendous. I sort of saw it coming, building up, but my response was to put off sleep... but that just meant I was exhausted... In order to avoid nightly flashbacks, I have to be put to bed like a small child, not allowed to get more than a little tired and sleepy lest I turn into a monster...


I was really panicky, Gavin was doing all the usaul things but it wasn't helping much. I hate the memories and how I feel when they hit. After maybe a half hourish I was just wiped and raw and I really thought the baby, Albatross, was going to switch in, which is incredibly welcomed because Albatross responds very well to comforting and will fall right asleep. But it was a different alter, who didn't recognize/respond properly to Gavin (big red flag), who could barely talk or communicate, and who had enough dark-magic stamina to actively hurt the body for an hour straight. Nothing permanent or even that damaging, I'm just sore and tired. But fucking hell. The shame. I'll say the word


once but my head will crack open ear-to-ear and my brain will jump out of my skull if I talk too much about it, at least at this point. 


 I can't take the road of "I didn't do anything wrong" nor "I didn't hurt anyone."  


When alters can't talk it makes me really feel grief. I don't know why that specifically. 


Give it like two weeks and I swear, this alter will probably be another pint-sized dweeb running around with Cassidy's little herd... or now, Mu and Nu have the attic really set up to be secure and comforting, and Omega, Albatross, and Honeybee (the three youngest) stay there mostly. Alters that don't communicate are wild cards insofar as mental age but I can't see this alter acting 17. Rough estimate of 7-9.



No one here actually goes by 17. The oldest is 14. My average is, uhhhh... well, 12 the last time I checked, but I'm going to guess it's around 10 now. And that should hopefully sum up why I don't want to date for a very long time. I'm not saying you can't date with underage parts, but most of my hosty parts even are 14, one is 12, and even that's hardly fair to fellow 17yos... 


I just want to grieve, when I find new parts... And I wish I could tell more people, even, but these things are so confusing... Wow!- look at you... 



Gavin's original name with one half a letter difference popped up in an off-topic thread (Don't go looking- you won't be able to find it) and it made him laugh a lot, in the context.


I have a pretty simple question, I'll ask it elsewhere.

- J

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

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