No Self
I am the mute who carries many of the secrets that are not to be told. I know Tir’s secrets and CF’s and Annie Charlie’s. I have been told to keep the secrets or we will die. But maybe there is hope that we will not die. Some of us have told already and we are still alive.
I feel extremely depressed. I feel like there is nothing worth living for. It is hot out and I don’t like the sounds of the heat. I am just little and he’s come back again but this time I will surely die. The pain is so great what can I do. I want no one to come here just leave me alone. I am crazy in my head and everything floats meaningless above me. There is no use in calling for help either. Someone Inside says nothing will help us.
Yesterday I told Patience (1) I couldn’t take it anymore. What does she do but turn around and smile at me. She reminds me about being in labour, the transition stage. Often the woman reaches a point and says she can’t do it anymore. She doesn’t think she can stand the pain at that point. It erases her sense of self, her being. But this stage is the moment of certainty. The baby is coming, no doubt. I wonder what this baby will be like. And then we dream of giving birth, an easy, gentle labour. We are on a beach. The umbilical cord is not yet cut. The baby is wrapped up and held close to our breast to begin sucking.
Her name is “Haughty Letty (2)”. What an ugly name! She wants to know what right Lyn has to interfere with things. She doesn’t think we need therapy. All it is, is an invasion of privacy. The Terrible Twos (2) want to hurl abuse at Lyn. I don’t want Letty out. Letty doesn’t want The Terrible Twos out. She doesn’t want their filthy words coming out of her mouth. Letty is very religious, very prim and proper. Very rigid. We wear the wrong clothes as far as she is concerned. (She sees a flannelette blouse with a high frilly collar in the window of a store and would like to wear it. Many of us would not be caught dead wearing something like that. Clothes that were forced on us when we were younger. Did we hate them then?) And she doesn’t think she is anything like the rest of us. She doesn’t fit in. She’s different. True that.
I don’t want anyone Outside to meet anyone Inside. But I do want to continue therapy.
A group is formed. One to ensure against any suicidal impulses, to keep us going and alive.
Julia (1) tried to be good, hoping that our stepfather would love her.
I have been missing some of the others. Ariel (1), Annie Charlie (1), CF (1), Othel (1). Ariel says you didn’t want anyone coming out so we left you alone for a while. Oh ... right. Oh well. I’m more open again – I think.
Othel is now studying psychology. He hopes that in the future we will take courses and work our way towards being a counsellor.
Who is Belle (3)? What is she like? Ariel says she has long blonde hair and always wears it up. She is not pretty but her plain face is somewhat attractive in its expression. A simplicity to her. A quiet honesty. And a sense of strength. She is aware of a lot more than she reveals to us. She keeps to herself but not in a cold way, just quiet and unobtrusive. However, once in a while she comes out with something in her Southern drawl.
Ariel is amazing. She remembers people from high school really well. She remembers their first and last names, who they hung out with, how they dressed. Crystal clear.
Shouldn’t we at least tell Lyn who I am not? That it is not me who keeps track of the conversation. It is not me who relives the memories. Not a “me”, not one person who relates to her. It is not me who keeps things continuous and what seems to be stable so she thinks she’s talking to one person. That someone Inside is very busy filling in any gaps. Shouldn’t we tell other people about all the switching and shifting? Maybe not. Isn’t that the whole point? Hide it so no one can tell there is more than one? Our sense of self never seems to be fixed but is more of a continuous floating and shifting, taking in, putting out, transforming. You can never pin down “who is me”. Whenever anyone touches us and hurts us we move, never being a fixed target. We become insubstantial so no one can ever grab onto us. Multiplexity protects the most inner part of us, our core. No one can ever get at that.
And in the middle of it all is me, the one named Shell (1, 2), the one who does not have some consciousness of her own, some sense of one in many. She does not know what is hers and what belongs to everyone else Inside.
Ariel buys some “boy” running shoes for n’i (2). She decided that n’i needed something that belonged to just her. Ariel does that for some of us. It looks funny to see those runners there – as if there is another boy in the house besides Graham.
Miss Angry (1) causes my doubts, is an integral part of just me – me-Shell. You’re just making things up she says. But then who is she?
Someone Inside hates Sundays. Family day. Panic. Don’t think I have felt fear that strong before, or seldom. The Time Traveller (2) was very busy yesterday. Giving us a sense that things were trying to surface. Memories about travelling with our family on Sundays, afternoon summer trips, after church. It was a very uncomfortable feeling and we had to pull together to keep the panic down. People packing up and off to the beach or a park. A revulsion Inside about that. We hate picnics and parks. ... an echo of loneliness.
I am introduced to Katy Ann (2). A precocious 8-year-old. Her eyes are hazel, almond-shaped and they sparkle. But there’s a meanness about her. An angry child.
A dream where I am asked how many alters I have 43 is my answer. When I wake up I check and am told that it is correct. So we have made a list of us. But only 30. Where are 13 more? Who are they?
To me, to many of us, sex is a repulsive thing. We do not understand how so many “nice” people do it. We can never get to a point of feeling it as a healthy natural thing. It is definitely something we would prefer to not have in our life.
Raven (3). Although we know that boys get abused too, we saw that happen many times, we decided at some point that our body was, is, male. We deny the sexual parts of a female. We make ourself feel male cause there were always more girls who got hurt. So if our body is male then we will get hurt less. We decide it will be called “Raven” and it is alter #31.
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Finally. It is Belle who is tired weighs us down a great pain she carries says Ariel. My head is so cloudy a great fog on me she says others wanting to surface that’s why sometimes it’s so hard a cloud-headed person in a fog. Razor Man despises people despises this society its stupid ways and someone else doesn’t mind. A warning about Tir a problem coming as she says the time coming for her to go back. What if she can’t what will she do? Too many trying to get out to see to be and headaches come and confusion overwhelms. Ariel and Othel always/often there so I’m used to them but not the pushing from so many others. Already we are missing Lyn we want to go see her. Part of the journey to see her is the ride on the bus the view of the houses the streets the route walking downtown the music the talking the feelings the hope of being safe of all of us to come out in some way of the horrible dark memories it all carries a certain feel a quality and we are missing visiting her now because that time is ours. It does not belong to the world but just us. A retreat from the world to Inside to where we can all be released.
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The Weavers are weaving the tapestry, the fabric that is us. They are in charge of our evolution, our growth, our development. Led by The Controller (2). Each new development is a coloured thread spun out to be woven into the tapestry. The warp and the weft. When will it be finished? What will it look like when it is finished? I am told that The Controller has the best idea but even he leaves a little room for surprise. I hear that the colours being chosen are rich and beautiful, and that much care is taken in deciding them. The final product will use everything we can of our talents, our skills, and above all, our determination. The truest colours to represent us. To be all we can be. But first there are many doubts along the way, many obstacles that we have to deal with. Knots and tangled threads. So much we have yet to unravel.
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