Monthly Archives: July 2012


Someone in the system decided to drink a glass or two of milk.  I’m not sure who.  The only reason we even have milk is for cooking (I use it for some of my baking).

I read somewhere that humans are all, to some extent, lactose intolerant, it’s just a matter of how badly.

Wait. Claire is telling me to back up and explain. Excuse me, I wasn’t aware of how much is known.

Milk causes our stomach to get extremely upset.  Not in an upchuck way. The other end. This is a trigger for us.
Someone (not sure who…) was triggered by reading a friend’s entry earlier today about toilet phobias and issues  (side note: this is NOT the friend’s fault. We are entirely aware of this trigger. It was stupid to not be prepared for the possibility).

So now we get to spend hours in the bathroom. Thankfully no one except the dogs are in the apartment, but it still puts us on edge.  Especially because it is an apartment complex, so technically someone could hear us….

badgirlbadgirlbadgirlbadgirlbadgirl need to be a lady otherwise we have to stay in the bad place if you wanna be a thing then youll be treated as a thing

Ahem. Excuse me. Anyway, it’s been very upsetting.  Since I’m the one who can best handle being alone in one place without much entertainment for long periods, I drew the mental “short straw”.
Whoever first had to deal with the upset stomach feeling had the presence of mind to grab the netbook before absconding to the bathroom, so I thought I’d try my hand at writing one of these things.

I really hope the stomach pills we took will kick in soon.  I’d much rather be playing piano.


To not be homeless…

I don’t know if this has been mentioned before, but our lease is up at the end of this month.  We currently cannot afford to move into another apartment on our own and have had a lot of trouble finding a roommate.

It’s been terrifying the past couple weeks because the only feasible place being offered was by our father.  But he had the first and foremost stipulation of us getting rid of Zoe, our dog.

I’ve never seen such unanimous agreement against our father.  Usually one of us agrees it’s easier to concede to him because, after all, he is our father and must have our best interests in mind.

But we all love Zoe.  She has been the only consistent light at the end of the tunnel of darkness we’ve been struggling through the past 7 or 8 months.  She stays.

We floundered for a bit, wondering what on earth we could do.  Then fate decided to remind us of our one real-life DID-er friend, Sleeping Shadow Dragon.  She is a wonderful person, and despite having her own issues and a household with two children and her husband (which you can totally read about on her blog), she has always been extremely supportive to our issues.

And yesterday she did the wonderful thing of offering us her third bedroom at her house. We broke down about yesterday’s upsetting text and having no place to live at the end of the month and she selflessly offered.  Granted, we’re a little leery (children…husband…the whole family life doesn’t usually suit us), but she welcomes Zoe and we don’t even have to hide our “condition”, like we’ve been doing with our current roommate for over a year.  I guess there are benefits to be being friends with other “crazies” 😉

It’s a nice feeling to not worry about being homeless…

And we all hope it’ll be enough to coax Kit back out of hibernation.


Horrific situation- a chat between Claire and Rika

(Trigger warning for the subject of miscarriage again and a warning for Rika’s awful potty mouth. Sorry.)

C: We just got a text from a long-time friend.  I don’t know what to do about this cataclysmic result.  I’m holding a semblence of control by “chatting” with you over the text in this post.  There’s no “inside room” to talk like we normally have. It’s just disappeared.

R: Obviously the fucking universe thinks it’s goddamn hilarious to do something like this to us after your last entry about the miscarriage and how we’ve been feeling today in general.

C: The text is a simple question of asking us how “pregnancy nausea” felt because “well, you’ve been pregnant”.  Yes. I suppose we have.

R: There’s a goddamn understanding with the fucking people who know us to limit their talk about pregnancy with us.  And definitely don’t goddamn talk to us about OUR goddamn pregnancy.  Why the fuck would you do that??? Something that had us almost commit suicide??? Are they just fucking dumber than a box of rocks???

C: I typed a brief response as best I could before the triggering overpowered us.  Now we can’t stop switching and we’re at work and it’s just…a mess. How are we supposed to work if Serefina can’t even stay out?  She’s always been able to override a “switch-off” in the past during a business day.  Her “powers” are career and work related.  That’s her area.

R: I’ll tell you goddamn why.  It’s because even us protectors can’t handle switching related to that goddamn miscarriage.  Fucking Charlotte and her fucking casual sex.

C:  Don’t talk like that.  That baby was loved by all of us and you know it.

R: No goddamn comment on what feelings I had during the pregnancy.  My point is Charlotte deserved a lesson on fucking protection and birth-control.

C: I’m wondering if we should make this entry private.  Especially with your mouth.

R:  Fucking whatever.  I never get to talk in this damn blog obviously.

C: All right. That is true.  This is supposed to be healing and cathartic.  You need it too.

R: Ugh.  You sound like fucking Roms.  Go back to writing and daydreaming about a white knight.

Emotionless (a Claire story)

(Trigger warnings: this entry involves father Issues (not physical), a psych ward, and the loss of a pregnancy/miscarriage.  Please do not continue if that will be too upsetting to you or your system.)

We don’t like talking about this, but it is necessary to know for this excerpt that the body was pregnant in 2011 and had a miscarriage. It was horrific and set us back to square one in our ability to cope with DID and lost time.


My dad and I have issues. Mostly trust issues, stemming from my childhood of psychological and emotional warfare. I didn’t know if the dad I’d see that day would be mad at me for clipping the bag of chips incorrectly or ecstatic that he’d heard me practicing piano the night before.

Don’t get me wrong- there’s no physical issues. But it has been hard to be able to ever really know whether he has an opinion on my existence besides the whole “when was the last time the living room was vacuumed?”.  He seems to have no interest in actually having a child beyond its usefulness to him.

He changed the locks on our house the day of my high school graduation because of some sort of video recording from my digital video camera of me going through my old boxes of my elementary and middle school assignments/projects. It was from the first month I had it where I was literally just testing it on anything the would appear on a screen. The file was buried in the depths of my desktop computer and hadn’t been modified or even viewed since the first day it was copied over. But I digress.

Dad changed the locks. Graduation day. My cap and gown are inside the house. He’s nowhere to be found. Our principal made a huuuuge fucking deal out of the fact “no gown, no walking”, so I’m understandably flipping out. Well, sobbing in the passenger seat of my then-girlfriend’s car. My version of flipping out.

Our relationship, though not really the greatest to begin with, pretty much went down the shitter that day. My mother had to threaten him to even come to my graduation. My mother never threatens my dad (they’re divorced, by the way). She pretty much just tries to recover what little parental-relationship she can with me, and ignores my father. Then he and I barely talked for months. Years.

Then, when things hit rock bottom for me a little over a year ago and I ended up in the psych ward, it didn’t even occur to me to call my father. I was sitting in my room when an attendant taps lightly on the open door and grins at me.

“Your father’s here to visit you.”

I blink at him. He has the wrong room. He has the wrong girl. This girl’s father has a thousand other things he’d rather do than visit his emotionally and mentally unstable daughter in the hospital. This girl’s father shouldn’t even know she’s in the hospital, because this girl is smart about making sure her father knows as little as possible about what a fuck-up she is.

This girl is terrified when she steps into the visiting area to see her father seated calmly at a table and looking at her.

Her instinct is to run. She hates being in that hospital, but even running back to the horrible room they have her in is better than facing more accusations of disappointment, apathy, and wishing this girl could be a good girl.  A real girl.

Somehow she digs out what little courage exists and goes to sit next to him.

It’s mom that told, of course. And she makes herself act contrite when he expresses surprise and confusion at why she wouldn’t call him. Or tell him that she was having such a “hard time”.

Mom shows up and we have a weird little family get-together, the likes of which I’ve never experienced in my life.

At some point, it comes up that I want to leave this horrible place. I explain the main reason as to why I haven’t been able to yet.

“The hospital won’t let me leave to live on my own.” I mutter. Recently I’ve come to live in a huge house by myself.
Me, myself, and I are the most destructive of friends, so this doesn’t work entirely well.

My father stares at me as if I’ve grown a third arm. I discreetly check to make sure I haven’t.

They have me on a lot of drugs.

“You know you can always live with me, right?” He says matter of factly. I feel like I’m in the Twilight Zone. Perhaps these are some other girl’s parents and the multiple anti-depressants and anti-psychotics they have me on just make me think they’re my parents. “Right?” My dad says again and I realize he is waiting for a response.

I give the one I’ve been programmed to give my father since I was a young girl.

I nod. Mutely.

He nods back. “So it’s settled. We’ll tell them and get you out of here in no time.”

It doesn’t feel like no time to me (almost two weeks), but it really isn’t long before I’m whisked out of the hospital and back to my childhood home. And I thought things would be better. I tried to talk to him like a normal person. It seemed to work a bit. For a long time he tried to treated me like a daughter. It was strange.

Then there is a distance that automatically happens when I have to tell him I’m pregnant. He kicks me out.  Again.  But I just figured it was life.

And now, I get a text from him mere days after being released from the ER for miscarrying.

“Everything going okay?”

I smile slightly. He cares! It’s a strange feeling. I don’t even quite know what to do with it. I’ve had a really crummy past couple of days, especially pain-wise, so it’s nice to be able to talk and confess this sort of thing. Makes me feel better. I briefly text back that I’ve had some pain and nausea, but am doing much better and I appreciate his concern.

His response:
“U don’t have 2 read anything into my question- just asking 2 make conversation….didn’t really want to know…”

The bottom falls out in my hypothetical little world where I am a daughter with a father who wants to be there and wants to care.

But it’s okay, because I’m used to it.

Another text from him a minute later. I think, I hope (because I am dumb like that) that perhaps he is recanting. Perhaps he was joking entirely, but realized that over text it wouldn’t be obviously read as a joke.

“Steak and bacon will cure that nausea right up. Wonder foods.”

I stare at the text. I hit the reply button and imagine myself saying how he’s put our relationship back to square one with this stuff. I imagine saying how he hurt my feelings. Then I remember how he feels about “emotional stuff”.  How I’m supposed be a good girl and a real girl who doesn’t have “those problems”.

I remember the response I’ve had programmed into me. I translate it into the universal text-speak for an apathetic head-nod at him.


Then I feel myself automatically reprogramming into the girl who’s father would rather hear about what interesting food she most recently ate rather than how her day went. It’s easy. That girl never really went far anyway.

And now that I had that experience with a guy who really didn’t want my child, but felt like in “this society” he “has to do the right thing”, I wonder about me.
If when my mom had to tell him she was pregnant with me, if he balked. But then felt like he had to do that “right thing” anyway.

And for a split-second, I think maybe the miscarriage wasn’t such a bad thing. Because I wouldn’t wish all the pain and feelings of being unwanted I’ve felt over my whole life on my worse enemy, much less a child I love and nurtured. And the feeling doubles back and cycles out of control until I’m now I’m back to the black hole of depression I thought I had finally dug myself out of days ago.

And I hate myself more for being such a fuck-up.

Of course, he’s probably right. Having emotions just causes problems anyway.

Trust Issues and Relationships

Charlotte may think she botched things the other night but that’s only because she is mostly a sexual sort of girl and that was just not the right direction.

We’ve known Jeff for a while. In fact, he’s one of the first people I did my first “coming out” around when I first remember being a conscious alter.
I’ve always had a special place for Jeff. It was me who asked Roms to text and apologize when Charlotte stepped out of line a couple days ago.

And he did text back; saying it was surprising, but fine.

We spent this past weekend together.

It was amazing. I was the lucky one who remained out most of the weekend (with the exception of Charlotte poking out during some intense making out).
There was no sex. Though there was…affection. It just sort of happened. We were watching movies and there was this magnet. It was delicious. We haven’t been so simply and tenderly caressed like that in years.  I don’t know if any of you have hear the song by Poe called “Fingertips”?  It was exactly like that.

Army is all about “wham, bam, thank  you ma’am”  (and that’s even pushing it with the ‘thank you’ part).

I tried to tell Jeff it wasn’t needed and he didn’t have to do anything he didn’t want to.

But he just understands us so well. In fact, we confessed the whole DID/MPD thing to him the other night.  It wasn’t intended.  Just sort of got pulled out of us.
He took it really well. Asked for simple explanations, then was accepting but not with the attitude of “ohhh, that explains EVERYthing!” that is always a trigger for us.

There are VERY few personal friends that know about our condition. It’s not something we just trust with anyone.

And the fact that Charlotte actually backed off and felt guilty the other night? That says a lot. She only feels that way when-

She says I’m “emotionally charmed” by him.

Maybe I am.

I think we may be tentatively seeing each other. I’m so bad with the whole dating world that I don’t understand that stuff, but Jeff promised to be gentle and understanding. He said especially in light of realizing our condition.

I’m terrified to make that trusting leap.

Last time we did…

We lost everything.



(Armes recently was inspired to ask us to all compile an entry explaining where each of our names came from. We try to humor her…lol. We must mention a mild warning for Rika’s language. Our apologies.)

my name means “the prophetess” (in welsh, apparently. tho i didn’t know that). i picked it because it’s pretty and because everyone always jokes about how “insightful” and “kinda psychic” i am about certain people and situations, despite being so young. i go by the nickname “masey” a lot. not “mase” though. makes me think of the ouchie peppery spray.

First and foremost, I’m a Greek Mythology nerd. I adore it, I know most of the myths by heart. The Perseus and Andromeda myth always struck me because it’s really the only one where the hero doesn’t screw over the girl in the end. I really wanted to encompass that trust, hope, and compassion.
I also adore the show “Andromeda” with Kevin Sorbo, so it’s sort of a double-whammy.  I hate the nickname “Rommi” though. Hence “Roms”.

Hm. My name “discovery/choosing” isn’t nearly as interesting as some of the others’.  That’s probably partially due to the fact that I’m one of the newer alters (I split in late high school when Kit was dealing with an abusive boyfriend) so I didn’t spend all that much time thinking about it. I think I got Clarissa from a story about a blind woman who lived in the south during the Civil War era and used writing to escape the injustice she felt about slavery.  The fact that she had this “handicap” (if it could even be fairly called that), but still cared so much about writing about the injustice of the treatment of African Americans just really struck a chord with me.
I shortened it to Claire a couple years ago because a former partner of ours would call me either Clarissa or Rissa/Rissy and I don’t…like to be reminded of that.

Goddamn. I don’t get the fucking point of this, but I guess since Armes asked so fucking nicely…
Of course, I don’t have a really interesting story. I really don’t give a shit about names.  A lot of people say it sounds like goddamn “anime character” or some shit like that. I dunno. Anyway, it’s not fucking Japanese (at least mine isn’t, I know there’s a fucking Japanese name that is Rika). It’s fucking Norse. And it means brave, powerful ruler or some shit like that. I think, me being a protector alter, my reasoning is pretty goddamn obvious.

Well. I dunno why, but I always thought the name Charlotte was sort of chic and sexy. I don’t even remember why or where I saw that. I never looked at the whole “name meaning” thing like Armes and Rika. Looking at it right now, it apparently has something to do with “free woman”. But whatever, I didn’t pick it for it’s meaning. I just thought the name itself sounded pretty. And don’t, for the love of god, call me Charlie. I am not a boy or man.

I chose this for a couple reasons. It means emerald and my eyes are bright green (the body’s are a forest green, but mine are more truly emerald). I also love the melon liquor that goes by this name.  The name is of Japanese origin and I identify with the Geisha culture a lot. Not the sex aspect, but the distant, cultured, creative, beautiful, loner sort of women they were. I can only play the piano at the moment, but I have dreams of learning to play a stringed instrument like the shamisen that the geisha played.

This has a couple meanings, all having to do with “angel” (from seraphim), including “fallen angel”, “fiery angel”, “pretty angel”. Honestly I didn’t choose my name. It was chosen by our former partner (in an endearing sort of way) and unlike a lot of the other alters, I don’t shy away from being reminded of the best relationship of our life. Despite the eventual betrayal, it was beautiful and healing for the five years we had her.

I’m surprised I’m even included on this list. My name is mostly inspired by the whole Victorian era. I like dirty things being repressed and kept secret like they did in the that era. I also like the beautiful clothes and art that came out of it. Do not call me Vicky.

This is Roms, I’m going to explain Kit’s for her, since she’s in hibernation (and I’m one of the oldest alters).
Kit isn’t really the original personality. That split long ago. She is the closest to the original and the most complete/well rounded of all of us. Kit is also not the body’s legal name.  However, Kit has a large love of foxes, due to their ability to blend in and look pretty (foxes are actually the body’s “spirit animal”).  She also occasionally goes by “Vixen”, for the same reason.  We actually have a tattoo of a fox and butterfly on our shoulder. The butterfly represents the soul in Greek mythology.


And that should be everyone. Hopefully this was at least semi-interesting…

little time!

i already saw with some of our DID blogging friends that it must be “littles day” or something because it seems like we’re all getting some playtime.

mine isn’t playtime so much because i’m scared of a lot of things, including leaving my bedroom. but i have both dogs, zoe (our dog) and sofya (army’s dog) to keep me company while i’m alone. we’re watching movies too. claire and roms are really nice and made sure all the disney movies are right by the tv, so we don’t even have to go into the living room. they’re really nice to me.

i have some ouchies on my leg though. i think it’s from middy (midori). she got out last night to create and play some music on the piano but it made her really sad so she had to find some blades and the take them and-

no. i don’t wanna talk about ouchie things. i’m sorry. that was bad. bad bad macey.

zoe is giving me kisses now. she knows when i start to get really scaredd and think about hiding. but she doesn’t want me to hide because she thinks i’m the best cuddler and player. i throw the ball for her and everything.

here’s a picture claire took earlier today so you can see both dogs

now zoe is rolling on me and sticking her nose against my tummy to make me smile. she’s such a good dog. i’m glad we have her. daddy wants us to “get rid of her” but i know we never ever will. we never disagree with daddy because one of us always wants to avoid a fight with him, but we all love zoe.



Gin and Sex

(Roms says I have to put a slight trigger warning since I tend to talk a lot about sex….so…slight trigger warning)

I really don’t like admitting any sort of fault or wrong-doing but….even I have to admit I think I botched something last night.

Due to my “behaving” lately , and the fact that Kit isn’t even hanging around, I was allowed to have a bit of “out” time.
Army invited his best friend over to watch movies and started mixing drinks, as he likes to do for people. I obviously asked for something with gin. Gin is my man.

I got pretty nicely sloshed, as I prefer to be when I have strict “no sex” orders. Doesn’t stop me from flirting of course. And this is the part where I botched things I think.

Ahem. There is some back story I have to state quickly. Bear with me. Army’s best friend? He’s actually a guy we’ve known for a long long time. We went to school with him when we were younger.  He is the male we’ve confided in the most.  We actually almost ended up dating him before we starting fooling around with Army.  And by “fooling around”, I of course mean me fucking him at every opportunity.

Which was mostly my decision to begin with. I don’t like us being with anyone who can understand our mental state. Army has Asperger’s and is just…a complete dick and doesn’t care about our emotional or mental state. Which is entirely safe and fine by me. And Rika thankfully. Decisions are always easier for us when you’ve got the protector backing you up.

Army’s great in the sack too, which just rocks my world.

But I digress. I should probably come up with some sort of alias/name for Army’s best friend. Let’s go with…Jeff.
So Jeff is a fantastic guy. Much more attractive than Army, honestly. But there are a couple bad bad things about him that have caused us to withdraw and not be close friends over the past couple years:

1. He understands us way too easily. It’s effin’ creepy.

2. We’ve been friends for so long…I don’t want to say he’s “friend zoned” because I don’t believe in that shit. But there is a certain amount of tentative-ness we have just because he’s so valued. Something to do with that some friends are gold, some friends are silver bullshit.

3. Dude’s a virgin. We found this out one particular night when I tried to make the moves on him. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t hate virgins. I’ve de-virgintinized my share of people. But he’s the type of virgin where you know he’s just going to read so much into that “first time” and it’s going to be “magical” and shit. Ugh. Don’t need that.

4. I started fucking his best friend. About a month after I found out Jeff was a virgin and stopped putting the moves on him. I know, I’m a bitch. It’s okay, I’m highly aware.

But actually, Jeff was surprisingly cool about the whole thing. I think it’s because he has the creepy understanding of us and got that we were just with Army because he was so emotionally safe. Not to say Jeff didn’t withdraw a bit, he’s only human.

Which brings me to last night. Hm, that was a longer tangent that I thought. Sorry about that.

Anyway, Army’s being his normal distant self. Except when Jeff’s in the bathroom. Then Army decides to paw and grope me to his heart’s content. Whatever.

Point is, Army went to bed before us because he had a long work shift in the morning. Jeff decided to put on a stupid campy horror movie because we were both drunk and it seemed like an excellent idea.

I then proceeded to cuddle and nibble at him.  Hey, the rules only said no sex.  And Jeff seemed to enjoy it, but he was really drunk, so I suppose I don’t really know.

Then I went to bed a little after the movie was over.  Because Jeff was staying over, Army insisted on sleeping in my bed so Jeff could have his.  I went into my bedroom and Army immediately tells me to shut the door. I do and we proceed to have some rough (albeit, quiet) sex.

And I keep thinking about Jeff.

And I sort of wonder why Army was so “raring to go” as well.

It’s sort of freaky.

Anyway, this morning when I take Jeff home (he doesn’t drive), everything is normal, chatty, and not really awkward. I imagine an air-pump with my arm, as I’ve really gotten away with my shenanigans!

Then effin’ Roms decides to text him after dropping him off like a STUPID COWARDLY CONSCIENCE WE DON’T NEED, and apologize for “any inappropriate behavior” from last night.

And the part that hurts the most….it isn’t Roms sending that text.

It’s that he hasn’t replied.

I think I’m growing effin’ morals.

I hate them.


The Work/Job Aspect

I’ve been handling the work aspects of this system for many years now.

Our jobs have entailed highly complex analytical and logical aspects since the first time we were gainfully employed. It is the main reason that a lot of doctors/therapists have hesitated to diagnose us with an official DID disorder. They don’t find it “feasible” that someone who has dealt with lost time, multiple personalities, abuse and neglect as a child could handle any sort of career that involve legal expertise and adhering to state and federal financial program guidelines.

I am proud to say that I have (at times, single-handedly) managed to keep us from total financial destitution by forcing myself to handle our day-to-day employment despite struggling with triggers, switching, and self-destructive alters.

The trouble becomes that I’ve been given a label of “protector alter” because I am able to overcome any other alter (at least in a job situation, I’ve not tried in other situations) and my “always-sober” aspect. That is, if another alter has taken something, be it drugs or alcohol, it does not affect me.

However, I’m not really sure if protector is a correct designation for myself. Rika is the one who can take over at will in any situation where the body needs protecting. Granted, I’ve never attempted that, but that is because I’ve had no compulsion to.

I don’t find protecting the body my primary care or goal. I find myself concerned primarily with making sure we do well at work. And I excel at this. Because of the way I’ve tailored myself in the system, I detest social situations.

But today our office is having a bowling event where attendance is mandatory. I’m not sure how best to handle this social/work situation. I do not wish to socialize or bowl, but I suspect business will be discussed and the social-type alters have no idea how to respond to such topics.

I have a mere three hours to discover some sort of happy-medium solution. Perhaps we can manage a dual-switching comfortably for a couple hours. Normally rapid repeated switching gives the body severe pain, migraines, dizziness, and exacerbates the medical condition we’ve been diagnosed with.

Perhaps I can just suck up my distaste for socializing for one evening.


Damaged Road to Recovery

This road we’re on is full of potholes.  It is littered with broken glass, sharp turns, deep shadows, dips, and rough patches.

It’s usually night on this road, but if we’re lucky it may be a misty or foggy twilight.  Sometimes there is a carriage or cart supplied by a loved one to help us along this road.  But mostly we have to walk it with our own two feet.

Our feet are sometimes sprained or broken and we have to stop and take a long rest.

But we push forward.  Reaching the end of this road makes all the difference in the world.