Tag Archives: ex-boyfriend


I am splintered.  Really struggling with the whole unity and “I”.  Feeling only like a “we” the past couple days.

And we are not agreeable or allies in any way.

I’m not sure what made me decide to confide in him over text about being fat and ugly and needing pills and laxatives.  I’ve never spoken to anyone about it before.  I did take some pills and washed them down with a couple shots of liquor.  It makes it easier to not think about food.  I don’t need food.  Food makes me fat.

Then he texted us.  And sent everyone into a tailspin.  Charlotte is squirming in that nasty way she does.  He asks if I’m all right.  If I’m coping with all my new stress.  He says he misses me.  He asks about the new guy.  I don’t want to talk about Craig.  He says he’s worried about me.  He wonders if I’m handling living alone all right.

And I tell him.

I tell him I’m so fat and I have to take the laxatives on the weekend because otherwise I can’t go to work.  That during the week it’s hard and I struggle so bad to be a good girl.  That the other ladies at work always look so chic.  And they notice when I lose weight.  They notice every single pound.  And they are so happy for me.  So very happy.  They praise.  They congratulate.  They sing and shout and smile.  Their white teeth take up their whole face like fence posts in front of a perfect house.  A house a lady would have.

He cuts off my rantings and calms me down.  His encouragement and praise for my body being the way it is skitters into my brain and wraps around me like a blanket.  He dismisses the thoughts of blubber, of fat, of sludge.  I tell him it’s been weeks since he’s seen my anyway.

He says it doesn’t matter.  He doesn’t like me being so cruel to myself.  He says he cares.

How can he care?  He just leaves and dismisses me.  He doesn’t care at all.

He never cared when Audrey was hurting from the mess he made.
(he never thought the pregnancy was a two-person effort)

Why am I the one who feels pain at his words?  I don’t care what boys think.  What is wrong with me?
Charlotte’s affecting me too much.

More pills.



I’m not exactly sure who told Craig our address.  My best guess is Charlotte or Kit.  It’s hard to know.  All I know is this boy stands in my living room, offering gifts of chocolate, ice cream, diet coke (Kit’s weakness) to try and make our back pain better.

But I barely know him.  I certainly don’t know him well enough to chose to let him into our residence.  But someone thinks he’s safe.  I think about enlisting Rika to help me boot him out.

It’s Charlotte that surfaces instead.  She entices him into the bedroom, saying they’ll watch a movie.  I wrestle control enough to stiffly watch a movie with him.  The damn muscle relaxers are messing me up badly.  Me, who can handle most pills like a trooper.  It is my talent, after all.

The rest of the evening slips past me.  I doze at one point.

The body dozes.

The boy doesn’t leave.

It’s me who wakes up in the cold light of morning and feels the pressure of an arm slung over my waist.  Rika fights her way forward but is caught by something.  By someone.

And suddenly I am gone.



no one knows self-sabotage like i do.  the boy moves closer, muttering something about mornings and food.  i remain perfectly still.  i am a statue.  i am always a statue when they want me to be.

but he wants to get up and go get food.  i stare at him.  he remarks that i can’t go to a restaurant in pajamas.  i look down and notice that i am fully clothed in a t-shirt and the loose pants that say coca-cola in red.  i glance back up at the boy.  he is fully clothed in jeans and a black t-shirt.  he tilts his head slightly and says something.  then he smiles in a sickeningly honest way.

i run


I could eat.  I change clothes in the bathroom and accompany him to Bob Evans.  Breakfast sounds the best.

I am a little disappointed over the lack of activity last night, but he seems to be the type who isn’t into a quick roll in the sack anyway.

In my disappointment, my thoughts easily drift to Army as he natters on about his antics with friends back during his school days.  I wonder how much Victoria’s craziness scared Army.  It doesn’t seem like much, considering he last texts are about how he’ll always listen to us if we need it and all he wants to do is help.  I idly wonder what sort of help I might be able to get that offer to extend to….

I snap to attention when Craig mentions children and stare at him.  He speaks again, talking about how he-wants-a-family-and-he-has-name-ideas-and-he-thought-his-ex’s-baby-might-have-been-his-but-the-timing-wasn’t-right-and-that’s-probably-a-good-thing-anyway-because-he’s-done-with-her-and-a-child-should-be-with-someone-he’s-attracted-to-and-cares-about…

His eyes focus.  I blink.  And frown.

No fucking way.

I fucked that shit up before.  I am not gonna be the one to crack open that jar this time.  Not to mention that the last time was a complete accident.  This guy sounds like he’d hide our birth control pills.

Fucking hell.


Monday Night

(This was password protected, though I decided to remove it, so obviously there’s some trigger warning- for talk of sex. Not graphic though.)

It was supposed to just be a casual hanging out, making-up (NOT like that) sort of night with Army.

He made a big deal about how he missed being close friends and that he had bought “Cabin in the Woods” just to watch with me.

And we have such a hard time cutting ties with people.  Especially when they sweet-talk.

Army never ever sweet-talks around other people, or in any remotely public way.  But when it’s just the two of us…
There’s a reason he charmed me into his bed the first time.

Basically, we ended up having sex.  Multiple times.  And it was amazing.  I mean, there’s a reason I stayed with this man for a year, despite his social-emotional-inept-ness.   He knows his way around a woman.  And he was so sweet the whole time.  I mean, I almost had a freakin’ crying-orgasm.  Thank god I didn’t, as that doesn’t need to happen around Army, but it was very enjoyable.

He even pouted when I couldn’t stay past midnight, saying he missed “just cuddling all night” with me.  Granted, that’s a bit strange, considering he and I haven’t cuddle since April, maybe even March, when things started going to shit.

I was reminded of all the good things about him Monday night.

I talked to him about my mistake with James and how stupid and terrified I was.  And he actually didn’t get all lecturing and judging.  He praised me for how I did handle it as best I could, and commended me on at least getting my car fixed for free.  Of course, he also encouraged me to get a CCW and a handgun.  But then it went back to him gently soothing me, verbally and physically.

I talked about Jeff and he listened and sympathized, completely unbiased.  He wasn’t upset with me for what happened.  He understood why I did what I did, and why I needed to step back, despite it breaking my heart. Well, not my heart but a lot of the others’. I don’t have a heart, obviously.  Just a hole that needs to be filled (yes, pun intended).

I forgot that he and I were friends before we were lovers.

I forget that you can have both, even in a casual “friends with benefits” sort of relationship.  Everything got so complicated when we got pregnant.  And he didn’t know how to handle it, obviously.  But he professed to missing his friend too.  He didn’t even insist on the sex.  He insisted on being friends more.

And that, more than the fantastic sex, is flattering and healing.

I didn’t think it would be so healing for me.  I’m feeling greedy and dishonest, but I don’t care.  This night was mine.  Technically Army is mostly mine.  I don’t want to share, even with the others in the system.

I password protected this entry for a reason.  But not the reason you’d think.  I don’t care about the others knowing that I hooked up with Army again.

I don’t like admitting that I enjoy his friendship more than the sex.  I’m not supposed to be that kind of alter.  I don’t think I’m fusing or co-conscious with anyone.  I don’t understand.  It’s frustrating to evolve, if that’s what this is.

I miss the old days sometimes.

But when he kisses me as a tender afterthought and gives me that smile, I forget.

What is wrong with me?

The Good, The Bad, and the Ugly

(I adore “Fistful of Dollars” much more than “The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly”, but it made sense for this post)

This post was really hard to write, but it needed to be done.  We need to work through some of this and cleanse it from our mind and psyche.


The Good:
His poetry was terrible.  Looking at it a second time, Kit started to crumple the paper before she hesitated.  No one ever wrote poetry about her.  And he did talk endlessly about her eyes in person too.  She smiled and stuck it in her locker.  She couldn’t take it home where her father could see it.

“Ready to go?” He asked.  She turned and shrugged.

“I don’t really want to go home.  Dad’s been even worse lately.”

“Well…” He winked at her, “I do have a car. It is capable of going places besides your house.”

“Really?” She answered with teasing skepticism.  He laughed and grabbed her hand.

“Come on.”

He took her to Lincoln Park to walk around the pond and through the trees.  It was beautiful and she forgot all about her father.

That night he convinced her to sneak out after Daddy came home and lay on the hood of his car, staring at the stars.

Sometimes he could be romantic.

The Bad:
Kit saw every time he stared at Texas extra long.  She knew he was driving Texas home while she volunteered at the library.

But she said nothing.

It came as no surprise we he said he was dumping her to be with Texas.

Though it didn’t hurt any less to be unwanted.

The Ugly:
There were the days he refused to give rides to any of their friends and just took Kit straight to her house.

Her dad didn’t come home until after 6:00, which gave him almost a full three hours.

It always started on the couch.

It always ended on the bed.

He always found ways to scar deep into her mind as well as her skin, despite her being adamant about not doing “it“.

There were so many things that weren’t it.

Maybe it would have been better to just do it.


The Good:
Their anniversary was Valentine’s Day.  It was always a big deal.

There was the year Kit planned an elaborate two day event where they shut themselves in their house with plenty of food, drink, and snacks and watch the entire first season of “Gargoyles”.

The last year Katherine planned a beautiful night in a hotel room for the two of them.
It was a surprise and Kit was blindfolded on the drive over.  The surprise floored her.  Romantic actions always did, even though Katherine was frequently romantic.  Kit was always unsure whether she deserved that. They cuddled and watched plenty of “Dexter”.
[Kit tried to force herself to have the sex that was expected, but the dreams and flashbacks had been dark and Charlotte was far away those days.]

The Bad:
Katherine’s employment was always an issue.  Sometimes she was employed for long hours and treated in such horrible ways that had her upset or depressed a lot of the time.

There was a long chunk of time where she was unemployed and Kit had to bite back anger and frustration at having to pay all the bills and still do most of the chores.

But the hardest was when Katherine had a job that had her working third shift and Kit had to sleep alone.  She hated that.  The dreams were dark and the bed cold.

Being woken with a kiss only just made up for it.

The Ugly:
Being dumped broke her heart.

But her heart broke even further when Katherine took their dog to a completely different state.

The dog that had gotten her through those first few horrible months of loneliness.  The first dog to save her from suicide.  She almost refused to let the policeman in her house when Kally’s bark sent his hand to his gun holster on the porch.  She begged him not to even think about shooting Kally, tears streaming down her face, before she unlocked the door.

She dreamed about her sweet dog constantly and in those moments between asleep and awake, it always felt like the lab-chow mix was curled up at her feet.

She never was.

Kally, the lab-chow mix. She’s smart, sweet, and protective.



The Good:
He is always good in a crisis.  Always.

From the first semi-medical situation he offered to help with (a horrible allergic reaction after going to see 4th of July fireworks and both of Kit’s legs broke out in huge rashes that had her sobbing when they brushed against anything) up until the migraine medicine shot he gave us a couple weeks ago (this entry).

When we miscarried, he was upset that we wouldn’t tell him which hospital we were at.  He didn’t force us to come home when we first took refuge at Daddy’s empty house (who was in Las Vegas) until we’d been there for two days and when he checked on us we were drunk as a skunk and playing with the notion of downing our bottle of prescription narcotics.  Then he dragged us to his car and drove us home.

He easily let us come back to the apartment after we were hospitalized and said he would happily shoot Stalker if he came looking for us there (despite Stalker being a military cop).

And he has always been so sweet to Zoe, from day one.

The Bad:
She really didn’t want to tell him.  But she knew she had to.  She started with a cowardly text.

“Want to get a late lunch today? Missed you last week.”

He agreed to meet at her place within the hour.  She rocked back and forth on the couch.  Then she quickly made sure the front door was open so he could just walk in.  She didn’t trust herself to open it when he knocked.

He walked in to see Kit white-faced, chewing her bottom lip nervously.  He tilted his head and let out a chuckle.

“Did I catch you playing with yourself?” He joked.  Kit barely heard, but both Rika and Charlotte rolled their eyes internally.  Kit mutely shook her head.  Army stopped and looked at her carefully.
“What is it?”

“I have to tell you something.” She whispered. He paused.

“Well, as long as you aren’t pregnant.” He joked.  She didn’t answer. It was his turn for his face to go white. “Are you?” He demanded.

“Yes.” She whispered.

He sat on the floor, hard.  “Fuck.”

She curled more tightly into herself and tried to go back into the head, but none of the other alters were having that.  She was shoved back out.  She hugged her knees.

Suddenly he got up and walked out the front door.

She gaped after him.

She guessed she probably should have expected that.  He made such a huge deal about not ever wanting children the one or two times that topic of conversation casually came up.

She was crying when he walked back in and closed the front door behind him.  She stared, then wiped at her face, trying to compose herself.

“I-I thought you were j-just leaving.” She stuttered out.  He frowned.

“Wow. You really think I’m an asshole. No, I left the car running for us to go to lunch. Because it’s so hot out. But I’m way too nauseous to eat now. Plus we should talk.”

She thought it was sort of weird that he said he was nauseous.  That’s what had tipped her off to the whole possibility in the first place a week ago.

They didn’t talk.  They sat there in her living room for over an hour.  Occasionally a sentence was said.

“So you’ve actually seen a doctor?” He would ask.

“Yes.” She would softly reply.

Or he would just repeat cuss words over and over.

She wondered if she truly was that repulsive.  After an hour passed, she figured she should make sure he understood where she stood.

“You don’t…have to like, stay with me. I can just…handle this. If you want to just go find some other casual kind of relationship.”

He stared at her like she was an alien.

“I mean…obviously I must be…completely unsexy now. It’s fine. I get that.” She continued. His frown came back and he scooted closer to the couch and her.  He awkwardly reached for her foot and stroked up her thigh.

“No. I’m not going to run. You aren’t automatically unsexy. I mean, I have to follow something like this through. Do the responsible thing. Even if it sucks.”

Fantastic. Now she’s a responsibility.

The Ugly:
Mere weeks after she miscarried, he got a vasectomy.  He didn’t even tell her about it in advance.  The only reason she knew the day of the surgery was because his sister-in-law texted about it, assuming Kit knew.

It wasn’t that she wanted (living) children with this man.  She knew she didn’t.  She had found out over the past 5 months how much he didn’t want them and it made her think of her own father too much.  She didn’t wish that on any possible child of her’s.

But she was still grieving.  And she certainly didn’t have the mental capability to take care of him after a surgical procedure.  She was still not back to work full-time due to her lack of full health.
And the fact that he didn’t even mention it to her felt like a slap in the face.  She thought they were at least attempting to be a couple.

When she tried to explain to him, he did get it at all.

And that’s when she fully realized what kind of man he was.

And the depression clawed at her further.  They hadn’t even had sex in weeks.  Was he trying to be “prepared” for someone else?  Why else schedule it so quickly? He scheduled not only within weeks of her miscarriage, but within weeks of them not having sex. For the first time ever. Maybe he just couldn’t go that long without sex and found someone else. Someone better.

The suicidal thoughts raced around her head.  She toyed with the Vicodin, Tylenol, and Codeine she had.
There were multiple nights Army came into her room because he “heard strange breathing” and then he would yell at her for what seemed like hours for taking a handful of pills.  He called her stupid and silly.

Of course she was.

That’s why she wanted to die.

It wasn’t until she was given a tiny fluff-ball of fur by a friend that she realized she had to pull it together. This tiny 6 week old puppy needed her.

And we named her Zoe.

Tiny Zoe gets a belly rub

The corner was her favorite place to sleep those first few weeks

She’s gotten so big since then!!

#7 – Cigarettes

#7 – A Vice That Cheers Me Up:

(Note: this vice mostly has to do with Charlotte, so she’s writing this entry, from her perspective)

I have many, many vices.  But most, like the self-harm, sex, and drinking, are pretty much just destructive.

Cigarettes, on the other hand, have some perks.  The mood lifting, the removal of a migraine and lowering of my blood pressuring due to the relaxing of the blood vessels that nicotine does.  I’m entirely aware of the negative impact as well.  But I only smoke about once a week.  A pack will last me about a month, if not two.  And if I can’t afford to buy them, I don’t.


My first smooth drag of that cancer stick was when I, and the body, were sixteen years old.

Germany and I were really close and I was dating Uniballer.

Germany was attempting to date his best friend, Bret.  That day, we getting ready for homecoming and making this huge deal about it.  This involved making some elaborate meal that I can’t even remember for the four of us.
She was very focused on it when she noticed Bret hadn’t been in the house for awhile.  Uniballer was sitting on the couch watching something or playing some video game.  I dunno.

She asked if I would go check on him.  She was worried he was smoking and for some reason, before Germany hit 18, she was extremely anti-smoking (she now occasionally partakes with me).

Bret was totally sneaking a cigarette in the side yard.  I walked up to him and sighed.  He spun around, eyes wide and tried to put the cigarette behind his back.

“Seriously?” I asked, “I’ve already seen it.  Germany’s gonna be pissed. You swore you quit.”  He looked properly shamefaced before he took another drag and looked at me beseechingly.

“Look, I really want to quit. And I’m not trying to be dishonest. It’s just…I’ve never gone to a dance before.  I’ve never taken a girl to a dance.  I’m way nervous about this whole thing.  And Josh seems so relaxed with taking you and I don’t get how he does it.  So I just needed one cigarette to sort of…get me through this.”  He stuttered out.  I stared before I smirked at him.

“You, nervous?” I demanded, relaxing.  I had a bit of a crush on Bret.  Though I knew better than to do anything more than tease him.  Germany is our best friend and mucking things up with her is the ultimate no-no.
But Bret was this bad boy type, ridiculously tall, dark mop of hair, smokey blue-gray colored eyes and a crooked smile.  God save me from crooked smiles.  He smiled back at me in that sexy way he had.

“Shut up.” He said.  I stared at the cigarette.  I adored the way it smelled.  He smoked this musky brand that just made sense with his personality.  It made me think of sex.

“Give me a drag.”  I said, reaching out.  He rolled his eyes.  I should mention that Bret was two years older than us, so he was legally smoking these cigarettes.

“These are not for kiddies.”  He argued.  I gave him my full patented sexy-Charlotte look.

“I am not a kid.  Give me a fucking drag.” I paused, seeing him still hesitate, “If you share, the cigarette will be entirely a secret.  If you don’t, I tell Germany I caught you.”  I warned.  I had no problem with blackmail.  He chuckled.

“Wow. Didn’t realize how much of a firecracker you are. All right.  Here.”  He offered it to me and our fingers brushed a bit longer than necessary.  He raised an eyebrow at me as I easily held it between two fingers and brought it my mouth, inhaling smoothly.

“Never smoked, huh? I dunno.  Most people cough their first time.”  He said teasingly.  I winked at him.

“Guess you’ll never know.”  I took another drag.  He groaned.

“You said one drag!” He started to grab for it as I twirled out of his reach.

“I think half a cigarette is enough to bolster your courage for tonight.” I retorted, trying to finish off the cigarette.  He grabbed my wrist roughly and I froze automatically, triggered into that state Uniballer preferred.
With his other hand, he pulled the butt easily from my fingers and sucked one last draw, still holding my wrist, before he saw my expression.  He dropped my arm immediately.

“Sorry.” He said quickly.  “I didn’t…mean to grab you.”  He stamped out the butt with the toe of his boot and looked at me carefully.  “Are you all right?”

In that moment, I wondered if he knew about the stuff Uniballer was into.  They were best friends after all.  And he seemed to see something on my face that embarrassed him.

He touched my shoulder gently.  I glanced at him and blinked.

“Yeah. Fine.” I clipped.  He started to say something else when I heard the side door open behind us.  I turned, expecting Germany to bust us smoking, but it was Uniballer.  Bret jumped guiltily away from me. Uniballer frowned at us.

“What’s going on?” His tone was angry and I smelled trouble.  Punishment would be coming. Bret stepped forward and replied easily.

“She was asking what I wanted to drink.  Apparently dinner’s almost ready and she’s getting the table ready.”  He glanced back at me, “Coke’s fine.”

I nodded and quickly walked back to the door, passing by Uniballer.  He snagged my elbow and I froze.  He leaned close, looking at me carefully.

“You smell like his cigarettes.” He hissed.  I didn’t answer, waiting for him to release me before I hurried in and set the table for our meal.

I sampled a couple more of Bret’s cigarettes over the next couple weeks, always in secret, and always with that strange and exhilarating tension between the two of us.

But after some nasty things went down with Bret and Uniballer (that I can’t get into right now) and Bret disappeared, I found I couldn’t stand the smell of his brand of cigarettes anymore.

Now I smoke either Parliaments or American Spirits.  I love the smooth, burning sensation, the tingling of nicotine in my mouth.

And I love the social aspect of it.  Splitting a cigarette with a friend and talking about nothing.  Some of the best conversations I’ve had with Germany, with Grey, with Texas, etc., have been over a pack of cigarettes.  It mellows people out and let’s them open up.

And it’s so tough to open up.

Fiona Apple

I was actually exposed to Fiona Apple in a weird way.

I thought she sang the song “Ugly Girl”; a guilty pleasure of mine that I associated with an ex, and him dumping us for someone supposedly not as pretty (according to others- we never trust our own opinion on what is beauty).

I already purchased a couple of her albums before I realized that the song “Ugly Gil” is in fact sung by Fleming and John (if you Google the song though, a LOT of people think it’s Fiona Apple).

Too late. I was addicted to the haunting melody and husky sort of voice quality that Ms. Apple has.

Today one of my favorites, “Paper Bag”, came on our iPod while driving to work.  I was technically out, but the lyrics of the song struck everyone pretty personally.

I thought it might be nice to share it.  Plus, everyone should check her out anyway.

Paper Bag

I was staring at the sky, just looking for a star
To pray on, or wish on, or something like that
I was having a sweet fix of a daydream of a boy
Whose reality I knew, was a hopeless to be had

But then the dove of hope began its downward slope
And I believed for a moment that my chances
Were approaching to be grabbed
But as it came down near, so did a weary tear
I thought it was a bird, but it was just a paper bag

Hunger hurts, and I want him so bad, oh it kills
‘Cause I know I’m a mess he don’t wanna clean up
I got to fold ’cause these hands are too shaky to hold
Hunger hurts, but starving works, when it costs too much to love

And I went crazy again today, looking for a strand to climb
Looking for a little hope
Baby said he couldn’t stay, wouldn’t put his lips to mine,
And a fail to kiss is a fail to cope
I said, ‘Honey, I don’t feel so good, don’t feel justified”
“Come on put a little love here in my void,’ he said, ‘It’s all in your head’
And I said, ‘So’s everything’
But he didn’t get it

I thought he was a man
But he was just a little boy

Hunger hurts, and I want him so bad, oh it kills
‘Cause I know I’m a mess he don’t wanna clean up
I got to fold ’cause these hands are too shaky to hold
Hunger hurts, but starving works, when it costs too much to love

Willing Sacrifice

Why did we have to go through puberty and gain a libido…?

(Trigger warning: this entire entry concerns the creation of and main purpose of Charlotte. So…lots of sex talk. Nothing graphic, but be aware please.)

She was just a girl in a toy store

Seeing the puzzles, the boardgames

Stuffed animals, coloring books


Then in the blink of an eye

The dolls had genders

And parts

It was disgusting

(picture from here)

I’m not one of the illustrious original alters.  Not like Rika, or Middi, or Masey. Obviously a 7 year old girl has no need of a nymphomaniac.  She only disassociated when those kind of things started happening.

We used to all be just fragments.  My first memory that was truly mine is brief.

His rough dry fingers brushed under our shirt before moving lower.  Instead of pulling into our robot-selves, the deceitful libido of this teenage girl-not-yet-woman sent heat low into our abdomen and I was born. The nails of his other hand scratched over our tailbone and I grinned.  This could be good.

I caused all sorts of issues from the start.  Rika was blaring warning bells about Uniballer left and right while I just wanted him to bite harder and brand us longer.  I perfected the sweeping gaze from underneath my eyelashes within months.

Daddy hated me.

“You are only with that boy because he has a car.” He sneered, glaring at me. I tried not to let a smirk slip out. He caught it anyway, “…it isn’t the car. I raised you to be a lady, goddammit. Get out of my sight.”
I was happy to comply.

He tried to overcome his own curiosity with disgust when we started dating a woman.

“How…how does that even work?? There isn’t the right stuff for intercourse!” He hissed.  This time the smirk fell easily from my lips.
“It works wonderfully.” I murmur, running my hand discreetly over the blooming bruises on my arms and legs. No more short sleeves for now.

But then I must have done something wrong because she didn’t want to play with just me anymore.  She knew about the others, even without us telling her.  It was strange, but we took it to mean she could read us so well.  She started wanting to “work” with the others.  She liked the change in temperament.
She wanted the equivalent of a virgin.

I acquiesced. It was the stupidest thing I’ve ever done. I have ONE purpose in this stupid system and I can’t even fucking manage that.

Obviously I’m a failure.

And I only become a further failure as the years pass.  Katharine leaves us.  I try not to care.  But she leaves a brand she didn’t even realize as I discover quickly that the only kind of things I get any pleasure from are twisted. Sick. Dark and rough.

I want to be held down. I want to be tied up. I want to be bruised, scratched, flayed open, branded, claimed.  I want a hand to close around my throat.  I don’t ever want to seem like I have any control.
Even while I have all the control.

That’s exactly how the whole BDSM world works.  The one who seems like they are giving up all control are actually the ones who control the game entirely (assuming it’s done correctly, without abuse).

I want them to want me so badly that they can barely get the door closed on the public world before they start tearing at my clothes and flesh.

And yet Katharine, with her demand to have time with “all of us”, unintentionally made us more than we were.
We spent so much time outside in the body when we weren’t just serving the one purpose we were created for.

Roms grew to see beyond yoga and complex Pagan rituals.  Serefina stopped thinking merely in law and regulations. Claire stopped being semi-mute and completely blind.  Those who did not have names were given one.
I was no longer Lust (or slut).

I smiled the first time Masey let me semi-integrate to watch Beauty and the Beast.  My eyes fell closed in rapture when Middi offered me one of her famous chocolate chip honey cookies.  Rika taught me to drive and I loved it, radio blaring and me singing along loudly and probably completely off key.

Then the bottom fell out.  The psych ward changed us.  We lost an alter (we thought forever) who couldn’t deal with not being with Katharine.  I joined Rika in the eyerolling at her lack of strength.

And I fell back to my simple ways.  My one-track goals.  I found websites and friends who set-up blind dates.  Dates that I wished I was blind for.  Not a spark of lust in me for a single one.

Until Matt. We first met at a movie theater. I don’t even remember what movie we saw. It was the invitation to a New Years party that peaked my interest.

There was plenty of booze (no gin, but my second favorite, vodka, was everywhere).  There was a game of beer pong going on and an unused air hockey table in the corner.  A stereo was softly playing boring soft rock.

I pulled my trusty iPod from my pocket, chose “Charlotte’s mix” and plugged it into the aux jack of the stereo.  Dark, vibrating and danceable strains came through the speakers and one of the beer pong players looked up and met my eyes.
He grinned at me. I winked back.

I had no idea it was Matt’s brother.

I challenged Matt to a game of air hockey.  His testosterone insisted he inform me he was a champion at his high school.
I creamed him, 7-2.
His brother approached to take over.  The game was a little more of a challenge, but that was mostly because I was having more fun throwing him sultry looks and leaning over as far as possible for trick shots in order to get his eyes glued to my chest (thank god I wore the push-up).
I still won, 7-5.

The night ended with me playing beer pong on Matt’s brother’s team and getting pretty sloshed.  By this point, Matt’s feeling pretty left out so I reward his patience with an almost X-rated dance to one of my favorite songs by Buckcherry.  He kisses me clumsily, but we’re both pretty tipsy so it doesn’t matter much.
It’s a week later when I realize he lives with his brother, is unemployed, and doesn’t even drive a car.  I could tolerate all of this if it weren’t for two glaring factors.

He constantly demands rides from me.
And the one time I tumble into bed with him, it is awful.

He will not stop the simple motion of intercourse for FORTY-FIVE MINUTES, until the friction is too painful, even for me to stand.  For the first time in my life, I fake it and pull out all my tricks to force him to finish, even though he groans about wanting to last longer.

I ignore him for days and finally Rika sends him a short text getting him off our back.  I don’t feel guilty at all.

I feel like I’m owed something better for standing Matt’s terrible attempts.  I make one of the worse decision of our lives and take control of the body for  a good three months.
Until the missed period.

I am a disgusting slut and should not be anywhere near the creation of life.  To this day I think it’s my perversion that wouldn’t let the life continue to grow.


Daria is right.  I only destroy.  I don’t help us function as a normal member of society.  I ruin friendships, relationships.  I have desires that are so wrong, so bad that I should be tied up and tossed down that well and never allowed to surface again.

As I’ve done so many times in my existence, I offer my wrists up to be bound.  For the first time it isn’t for sex and for the first time it’s right.

Daria’s right.

Tribute to Charlotte

Armes requested that we all do a sort of tribute to Charlotte to try and help her.  Some of us don’t feel like saying much, still a bit too shocked and wounded by the whole situation, but we’ll do our best.

i like how she always take over the body if someone or something scared me. she doesn’t always get along with the others, but she’s always nice to me.
i don’t like how her dreams are bad sometimes. she dreams about people doing hurting things and taking her clothes off, but in the dream she liked it. she refuses to tell me about it and always says she’s sorry her dreams upset me.
she watches disney movies with me too, though she doesn’t like other people to know that. she said she didn’t want anyone to think she had a “romantick side”.
she sneakes me strawberry ice cream or milkshakes if she’s out.


I hate how she fucking flirts with almost anyone who has a penis.  I hate that she usually manages to make that work for her.  I hate that she almost never listens to my advice on whether people are trustworthy.
I like that she did listen with Stalker, even though she flirted with him past the point she should have for our safety. She was really regretful about that though. I like that she handles any sexual encounters that upset the others, even if it isn’t the “type” of sex she’s “into”.  She still understands her job, unlike most.
I hate her cravings that work their way into the system and body.
I like that she takes care of it herself most of the time.


I love how she’ll usually split her cigs with me, even if they are sometimes those disgusting Parliaments. I love how she praises my baking to high heaven, even if she pretends to bitch about the calories making it “harder to flirt”.
I hate how she rips on my music, but then I catch her humming the tunes sometimes.
I hate how she twisted the BDSM lessons we learned from our exes into something pleasurable for her. I like how she doesn’t let anyone else drag us into sex games anymore. I love how she’ll talk to people at a doctor’s office when I can’t contain my fear enough.  I hate how we both can’t handle hospitals.
I love that she’ll look the other way when I swallow a couple extra pills and help me slip some baking supplies into the cart during the next shopping trip.
I hate what Daria did to her.


I like that she knew better than to smoke around family (besides Grey).   I hate how she jokes that Claire and I are “practically the same”. I love that she can always tell us apart, even with her eyes closed.
I love that she’s sweet with Armes.  I love when she lets us all share snuggles with Zoe, even if it’s her rightful time out.
I hate that she doesn’t realize she’s stronger than this.


I hate that she thinks she isn’t worth anything unless a man wants her.  I hate that she loves it even more when it’s more than one man. I hate it so much that she decided it was better to shove away someone who was so good for us because of rumors of another man’s sexual prowess.
I love that she made herself not do that this year. She said it was just for me, but I know she really was realizing her deep-down morals. I love that she let herself feel attraction, even without sex for weeks.  I hate that I felt a little jealous of Saturday night, even though it was my own stupid fear that made her take over. I love that she didn’t turn in into some kind of depraved type of sex…
I love and hate that she mourned so much for Audrey and the loss of the pregnancy, even though she refused to be around “the grossly pregnant body”.
I hate that she tried to be some sort of stupid hero last night and I hate that it made her so scared.  I hate that it scares me so much to see her so scared.  She’s always been mostly fearless, like Rika.
Please don’t be like Audrey. You’re so much stronger than her. We need you so much.

Dreams Again

(Trigger warning: some of these dreams are…R-rated, so to speak. Not X, just R. Read safely please.)

Last night’s were a weird mix of not-quite-memories and just fears we’ve been having…but again, in the quick slideshow-type way that we rarely get.

A gray truck hovers behind us as we drive around our old neighborhood.  We can’t quite make out the driver, but we know he is male and smoking as plumes of smoke ooze from his open window.  Though we know these streets better than our own mind, no matter how fast we turn and double-back and flip around, we can’t lose him.


The red-yellow of a desert surrounds us and as we spin around taking in the beauty of it. A cough escapes us and we suddenly realize we are incredibly parched.  Automatically we glance behind us and see a campsite.  Heading over, there is a figure hunched over a smothered bonfire.  He’s holding a large canteen of water.  He turns as we approach and starts to offer it.  We reach, our hand just about to connect before he flips it over and pours out the contents onto the dry earth.  It is absorbed into the thirsty ground in an instant.
“Sorry cupcake, all out.” His voice says and we realize it’s the voice of someone who’s smack in the middle of puberty, not quite a man. Glancing up to his face, it’s those hazel eyes and the floppy blond-brown hair and we fall back onto the ground, our tailbone smarting from impact.  We start to skitter back and he chuckles.
“Wanna play hide and seek?”


We are determined to prove to them can we can bake drunk.
Midori smirks at the three skeptical faces. “I can bake the hell outta cookies drunk.” She states firmly, then heads into the kitchen. It’s a good thing it’s Daddy’s kitchen and she’s able to automatically reach for ingredients in a place she’s been familiar with since early teen years.
He follows us in, just as drunk, if not drunker. Midori is only half-listening to his rambled thoughts, even as Claire tries to listen harder, recognizing the deep importance of them.  Midori shoves Claire away roughly so she can mix the dough. She easily molds it into balls and puts them on a sheet before popping them into the oven.  She starts to wash her hands when she feels him draw closer.  The intimacy and heat of it has Charlotte out in a moment, grinning and tilting her head down and to the side in submission. Her stomach coils with that tight heat in happy expectation of what will come next.


A red silk tie dangles in front of our eyes, swishing back and forth a couple times.
“You know the rules.” Our Master says firmly. Charlotte steps eagerly forward and immediately kneels on the bed, head bowed and wrists presented forward.
“Yessir.” she says softly.  Despite the body of our Master being female and being referred to as such in the public world, Charlotte knows better than to allude to this.  It is a firm rule in the bedroom.  The tie quickly binds our wrists before being securely tied to the top post of the bed frame. Charlotte twists in ecstasy.  Suddenly our Master frowns in recognition.
“I did not request your presence.” The voice says darkly. Charlotte freezes, her face turning petulant.
“But Sir…”
“No Charlotte.”  The tone leaves no room for argument. Charlotte sighs and mentally steps back. Our face is blank for a moment before it turns fearful. Our Master smiles. “There we go. Hello Clarissa. Turn on your side now.”
“Yes…sir.” She whispers.


We stand at the base of a statue of Mary and try not to think of the irony as we turn to face Becca.  She smiles slightly.
“You can tell me anything. You know that.”
Kit trembles, but forces a smile, “How do you know I wanted to talk and not just hike?”
“Come on. We only come here when you need to vent. Badly. What’s up? Fuck-buddy thing not working out anymore? Wouldn’t surprise me. Army’s a complete asshole. I told you not to.”
“I can’t do…real relationships anymore.” Kit murmurs, a hand reaching into the front pocket of her jeans and pulling out the Zippo etched with a butterfly. The hand flicks the top on and off compulsively.
“Bullshit.” Becca says with an eyeroll, “I still say you should have given Je-”
“Stop. Shut up. That’s not what this is about.” Her trembling is worse now and Becca finally notices. Her eyes soften.
“What is it?”
“My period is super late.” Kit says bluntly. Becca blinks. “You know I’m like clockwork.”
“It’s probably stress.” She replies smoothly. Kit winces.
“I already took a test.”
“And?” Becca asks. Kit lets out an annoyed hiss of breath, Rika merging with her for a split-second.
“Would I have you out here if it were fucking negative?”
“Jesus. Who the fuck have you told?” Becca says, sinking onto a bench by the statue. We remain standing, the nervous flicking of the Zippo speeding up.
“You. And Grey. That’s it.”
“So…not Army?” She states. Kit trembles again, but this time she can’t sustain. She flees. Rika sighs and sits down on a bench across from Becca.
“Fuck no. I’m not a goddamn idiot.” Becca stares. “Well. I mean, I guess I have to eventually or some shit. But…maybe I don’t. I could totally not fucking tell him.”
“That’s a terrible idea.” Becca murmurs. “He’s an asshole, but that’s not fair to him at all.”
“I could go to Germany with you.” Claire says, her eyes wild. “Just…sell everything, sell Pete [our car] and have enough for a plane ticket.”
“Run away, huh? That’s your answer for everything. I’d love to have you come with me, but I love you and you’re not allowed if it’s only to run away.”


It’s Audrey who first notices the blood.  She freezes and suddenly pushes Army away firmly.  He blinks in surprise before he glances down and sees it.  Audrey faintly wonders who’s idea was it to own a freakin’ white couch.  Her face drains of color to match it and she trembles.  Her place of blame is immediate, and probably unfair, but at this moment she only thinks of his distance (especially when she cries), his constant demand for intimacy. She doesn’t think of how he makes sure there is always strawberry ice cream for her constant cravings or ginger ale for her morning sickness. Or how gentle he is when she gives in to his advances.
He will never touch her again.
Within a week, Audrey is gone, never to resurface. Charlotte doesn’t mind taking over the physical demands. She quickly introduces him to her darker tastes and he embraces them easily.


Roms decides to go to this Pagan circle meeting for a second time.  The first was a fluke- the meet-up was near work and we wanted an excuse to not have to go home immediately.  But we could go for the apple cider the coffee shop carries.  Texas agrees to join us and we walk in, immediately recognizing the circle’s leader, SD.  We smile and introduce Texas before SD mentions there will be someone new coming tonight.  When she talks about him, it is in a warning way.  He is deeply flawed and we need to be aware.  She warns us of his dark and flirty nature and Roms frowns, making sure Charlotte is firmly corralled.
When he walks in, SD’s energy shifts entirely and she positively grins at him.  Roms is startled until she feels Rika’s chuckle from the balcony of our mind. “Well…look at the parade in that one.”
Roms hesitates before a small smile flickers across our face.

Beauty of a Best Friend…

This is another lazy post mostly for ourselves.
But if you happened to be curious about the dynamic between my best friend, Germany, and myself, then continue by all means.
She did a fantastic job of pulling me out of my funk, as per usual. And she’s super witty and hilarious and will probably make you smile too.

(FYI, This is all through a chat service)

(I apologize for Germany’s mouth and nastiness. She gets….extremely mean about people who upset me. We’re like sisters. It’s how it goes. Oh. She also has absolutely no tact. None.)


me:  Are you doing okay? I had a scary dream about you last night. I don’t remember most of it, but I woke up feeling really worried about you

Germany:  Actually, yeah. Yesterday was stressful but today I’m walking on sunshine and rainbows. Sorry you had a scary dream. I didn’t mean that sarcastically, I promise.
I have two job opportunities that fell into my lap. Now I gotta choose. So I’m out of my mind happy.

me:  Oh good, I’m glad. I did think you were being sarcastic for a moment, so thanks for the clarification. Lol.
Was the scary-ness just the lack of job opportunities?

Germany:  Nope I had to take a test. To see if I am smart enough to do the job. It took an hour and a half, it was timed, it was all in German, and I couldn’t retake it at all.  Technical, hard German.

me:  Is this the eye-doctor’s office thing?

Germany:  Nope. Hörgerätakustikerin.

me:  …..yeah, my Deutsch ain’t that good

Germany:  Making hearing aids for old people. I don’t know the ‘merican name for that.

me:  Ah. Sounds…interesting. So would your job be more factory or administrative?

Germany:  Not really factory so much as laboratory, and it would be a little of sales too. Like, someone comes in and needs a hearing aid, I help them out and make it for ’em. I fit it to their ears and make sure it works and shit.

me:  Ahhhh. Cool. Gotcha. You’re good at shouting too.

Germany:  Har har…I’m hoping for more lab time though because I’m still hesitant about my German skills

me:  I see. Well, maybe this’ll fast-track your improvement. Soon you’ll be super-fluent. But only at slightly above normal volume of speaking. Like, CAN I HELP YOU?

Germany:  I talk above normal anyways. I’m a noisy American. Americans are THE loudest people

me:  True. You’d be like: NO, WE ONLY HAVE IT IN GRAY.

Germany:  Who wears gray hearing aids?

me:  I dunno. I guess it would be flesh color.

Germany:  Yeah. If they need gray, they’re dead

me:  It would match their hair

Germany:  lol

me:  For the ladies

Germany:  Sooo fashionable nowadays with other geezers

me:  I mean, the ladies hair could like, hide it and shit. Miss you.

Germany:  I miss you too

me:  So that Terra chick is a jerk. The chick you briefly heard on Skype last week

Germany:  Yeah. How was she a bitch?

me:  When Zoe was climbing on her and trying to be friendly, she goes “She doesn’t seem to want to sit with you. Is she climbing on and licking me because I actually have boobs?”

Germany:  ….

me:  Seriously. I’m not fucking exaggerating. You can ask Texas.

Germany:  What does that even have to do with anything? I mean, why the fuck would dogs care?

me:  Terra’s like, really curvy and that’s why she has boobs  (look at me even now trying to not be rude and call her fat), but do I say something about that back? No. And I have no fuckin’ clue what that has to do with ANYTHING or dogs.

Germany:  You should’ve. Should’ve said, “Maybe she’s just confusing you for the Pilsbury Dough Woman… or Aunt Jemima”. BAHAHAHA! Get it? Cos she’s black?

me: …Aunt Jemima? That’s ridic. But sorta hilarious. You are terrible.

Germany:  Yes. And not ridic. Gotta put jerks in their place. Fight fire with maple syrup.

me:  Well, I left early and texted Texas to please not invite Terra over anymore when we’re having our girl-time.  I didn’t even know Terra was going to come over…

Germany:  Yeah. I’d have ditched. I’d have left with ya and gotten Starbuuuuuuuuuuuucks. And made you try to get lost. Which we would fail. And get home by dark. And laugh ourselves silly. And by dark I mean after dark.

me:  Hahaha. All that driving around and getting lost apparently has actually improved my sense of direction. I was directing SD all over Kettering flawlessly the other day. I miss that. I have no other friends who like just driving around and shit. For the hell of it.

Germany:  That’s how I roll. Givin bitches a mini me inside of em. Only, ya know, not the fetus kind of me. Just the map thing.

me:  ….mini you is freaky.

Germany:  which one? fetal one or map one? Either way, I’m thinking of “Alien”.

me:  Sure. Both. Both are freaky. One is slightly less.

* skitter skitter skitter*
* acid spit*

me:  Lol. Maybe that’s why the dream about you freaked me out. You were an alium.

Germany:  Exactamundo

me:  Hm. Not sure how to spell my pronunciation.

Germany:  uh…ayeleeuhm? aaaayleeeummm? 😀 What else is neeeeeeew?

me:  Uhhhh. I officially live at SD’s now. It’s weird.

Germany:  DID YOU FUCK JEFF YET? Ahem. I mean, how’s it going with Jeff?

me: -snort- Between you and Texas, I swear…
She offered to leave me condoms at her place when I mentioned I may watch movies there with Jeff while pet-sitting. Anyway, yesterday was the worse day ever.

Germany:  Hahahahahahahahaha. Texas is awesome. Anyways. Worst day ever.

me:  First of all, Saturday was Family Fun Day at Cedar Point for the bro’s bday. It was awful because I hate being at amusements parks (without you).

Germany:  Of course

me:  So I’m all grumpy about that. Plus it was a long ass drive and I didn’t get home until like, 2am. So I wake up late Sunday. The day I’m supposed to move my furniture to SD’s (I’ve been sleeping on a futon). But I feel shitty, and SD is feeling meh, and Jeff wants to hang out and I haven’t seen him in awhile. So I decide we should get lunch together and then pick up my bathroom shiz and some work clothes and that’s it.
I text Army to make sure he’s clothed after we finish lunch. SD has never met Army. It was fucking weird. He was all weird and I think he was pissed off. I dunno. It was weird.

Germany:  Was it weird? It seems that you thought it was weird? Soooooo weird.

me:  Har har. Anyway, we get my shit and GTFO back to SD’s place, watch some movies, then I drop Jeff off. Fast forward to Monday. I’m still feeling blah from the weekend.
I remember that Monday evening is a PNO (Pagan’s night out), this social thingy-ma-bob-er. I haven’t been all Pagan social since Stalker-mc-creepy-douchebag has been all stalker-y. SD says she wants to go, Jeff said he’s interested so we decide to go.
We fucking forget it’s a fucking Monday night, which is the normal night for Stalker’s fucking circle thing. So he’s fucking there.

Germany:  Stalker is period panties guy, right?

me:  Yeah, he is.
And he’s all fucking creepy and talking to me about his (ex)wife trying to Facebook stalk him and SD and how she thinks SD means something to him. Like romantically. Obviously trying to get me jealous or something. So I’m like “k….”
And he’s like “We should get together. I have some PRIVATE things I need to discuss with you. Super important.”
I’m paraphrasing slightly to give an idea of how fucking creepy he comes across with the combination of his body language and words.

Germany:  Of course. Either you’re going senile or you think I’M going senile. I remember how you work, silly.

me:  So I skitter back to my table on the OTHER side of the room where Jeff and SD are. But now I’m fucking edgy and upset, so I need a goddamn smoke. So I go outside and start smoking. Jeff graciously follows to keep me company.

Germany:  Good boy, Jeff

me:  We chat while I totally hotbox a cig. Then FUCKING STALKER comes out all nonchalant and is like “Made me crave a cig. Ha ha I’m a douche.”
I try to ignore him and smoke faster. SD comes out and quietly asks if we want to leave and I’m like, “Totally. Let me finish this cig though since I’m driving and need some serious nicotine to process.”

Germany:  Right on

me:  Meanwhile, Stalker is glaring fucking daggers at Jeff, even though we aren’t standing close or anything or doing anything that would make him think we like, an item or anything.
Reminds me of fucking Katharine. Wants like, no penises to even look at me. Jesus.

Germany:  You should’ve grabbed Jeff. All sexy-like. Seriously. Doesn’t matter what stage you guys are in.

me:  That’s more a you thing…I suck at that shit.

Germany:  Tap that card. Dude.

me:  You mean…like sex? What if it’s terrible?

Germany:  Oh my god. Fuck.

me:  Oh god. But what if he’s totally expecting us to bone at Texas’?

Germany:  That’s not even what I meant. I meant that Jeff is the kind of guy who would be more than willing to help you out of a situation like that with Stalker-Fuckface. Just explain beforehand and he’ll help ya out.

me: Oh. Never mind then. Ignore my manic turn of phrase.

Germany:  Chill. We can address that in a mo.

me:  So we leave PNO. Go back to SD’s. Start watching a movie. I’m still all upset (just too much stress building) and shaky, so I decide gin is a good idea (dunno why. I’m dumb). I drink some gin.
But since I’m stressed, exhausted, and have barely eaten in days, I get tipsy quick and fall into sleepy-drunk quick.
Jeff is again, super-gracious and is totally fine with me going to lie down. I worry about getting him home but SD is all like “I’ll do it. You go rest.” I’m like, cool. She’s a friend and shit.
So I wake up yesterday. Feeling like shit cause I slept like shit. Not quite hungover though. I’m woken by SD coming in to tell me I got a parking ticket because my plates are expired.

Germany:  Boo

me:  And I”m like “That’s totally impossible. I totally renewed those…wait. Shit. I was in and out and of the hospital that whole month. Fuck fuck fuck.”
Then SD launches into some long-winded thing about Jeff and dropping him off and talking to him for hours. She started saying how she talked about and figured out his mental state and psychology shit and how she thinks he’s an awesome guy and has similar mental issues to me and her.

Germany:  Mkay

me:  And it sounds like exactly how she talked about Stalker before a buncha shit was revealed about my mental state and then used against me, and then Stalker was like “I have the same mental problems, so we’re like twinners!” because SD kept talking to him about [BPD and DID, and disassociation].
Now, this was before I realized what a complete creeper he was. I dunno. I’m dumb.
And I’m obviously not over the incident because I start getting really nervous and upset that she’s going to try and twist the psych stuff around again and Jeff’ll go for it because I have hang-ups and I’m not sure whether I can handle a relationship with a fellow broken person or not.  Not to mention whether he’ll want that sort of baggage from me.

Germany:  Jeff isn’t that kind of guy. Believe me. You could ask her nicely to back off the psych talk.

me:  You assume I’m logical and shit. I did start to say something about that and she was all like “Jeff’s so much better than Stalker. I think he’ll make an awesome friend addition to our group.” And then I chickened out.

Germany:  Yeah…. well….Jeff won’t use that brain-stuff against you.

me:  I guess. I was pretty upset all yesterday morning. Ended up crying in my room like a dumbass because I already regret the corner I’ve painted myself into.

Germany:  Sweetie, during most of the time you and I were on the out and outs and not talking, HE was the bestie until I came back from China. I know Jeff. No way he’d pull some bullshit like that. He’s had the opportunities, but he’s got integrity. If you’re that worried, bring it up with him.

me:  I did.

Germany:  And his reaction?

me:  I actually was brave yesterday and bluntly told him all my dumb insecurities and how I wasn’t trying to seem crazy but I have certain issues I need to put on the table up front.  He thanked me for being up front and said that he was glad I said something,  so he could make sure to not make me feel a position of insecurity in the future.

Germany:  Told ya

me:  😛 I knew he’d say something like that. I know what kind of guy he is. I just don’t know if he really just doesn’t realize what a complete fuck-up I am.

Germany:  K-girl, shut your brain up for two seconds and let me talk… type… whatever.

me:  …yes ma’am.

Germany:  Have you ever, EVER heard me say anything REMOTELY close to “I trust (your love interest’s name here) completely in this instance.” EVER before? No. Why? Because I didn’t. Your previous relationships have all been scum bags and morons and evil people. So when I say that I trust Jeff to do what’s right with the person I love like my own sister, do you understand how important that is?
Because if he takes advantage of any situation that he knows would end up breaking your heart, hell will have frozen over or someone is threatening your life or his or his family’s or he’s lost his damn mind.
In which case I’ll kill him naturally. But the odds of that happening are slim.
You now have permission to respond.

me:  I love you

Germany:  I know

me:  I’m trying not to get all Gilmore Girl teary-eyed at work.

Germany: 😀

me:  I know you’re right (as always )

Germany:  Yep

me:  I’m obviously am such a fuck-up that I don’t even know how to handle a sane, normal, none-asshole person in a relationship-sense.

Germany:  It takes practice, patience, and a little trust

me:  Stupid trust. I hate that. I hate giving it to anyone anymore. I’m just tired of building relationships, of any kind. Friendships, romantic. All of it. I just want it to jump to the comfortable stage immediately. No learning. I just want to know the person.
But I feel like I’ve maxed out all that I need. I mean, it sucks that you’re so far away, but I just don’t want any more close friends than I have at this moment. Blargh.

Germany:  Mkay… Then stop building relationships. Just kinda go with the flow. You’re so concerned with controlling your life that I think you’re stressing yourself to death. RELAX! Let people come to you. Give them a smidgen of trust, but not all of it. Build from there. Don’t try to make new close friends, you’ll just end up fighting it, even if part of you wants someone close. Just relax, let people do what they will, and worry about figuring out what you want out of life.

me:  I guess. I dunno.

Germany:  And realize that you can’t plan every little detail. Come up with a vague plan. Like mine was “Move to Germany”.

me:  I wish my stupid brain didn’t prone towards stupid broken-ness that makes me depressed and crazy and stupid and self-harming if I can’t feel like I’m loved enough or in control enough….

Germany:  Mine is too, dear. I just stopped sharing that part of my brain with people. I never got the reaction I wanted from people when I shared it. But that doesn’t mean I am not the same. But the control I let go of.

me:  I think you’re better at controlling parts of yourself than I am at mine. I’m terrified that I’m not going to be able to handle a severe reduction in sex. I never have been before. It’s always made a side of me do dumb, stupid things that most of me hates.

Germany:  Well… it takes practice and creative thinking. But you can do it. Look at how I was in high school.

me:  I’m 24. I should not be as fucked-up as a high schooler. Obviously that means there is something horribly wrong with me.
And dad’s right. I’m a complete immature failure of a citizen.

Germany:  No. That’s not what I meant. And you’re dad is a fucktard. I think you and I need to set up a Skype time sometime and we can talk a little more about this. But you’re not a failure. You just don’t really have someone to help you. I had to help myself. But I can help you if you want. You’ve grown up a lot. You have.

me:  I don’t feel like it

Germany:  Yeah, and sometimes you’ll feel like that. But that doesn’t make it any less true. You’re not in a dependent relationship anymore. You realize the signs of one. You are trying to get your life together. You cut out Stalker a lot sooner than you would’ve in high school (like Uniballer).

me:  True

Germany:  You have made steps towards adulthood

me:  I’m actually not letting myself be cowardly with Jeff despite the fact of his intuitive understanding of me terrifies me.

Germany:  See? And, by the way, that terror should also be accompanied with joy. It’s scary, but it means you found someone who knows you for you instead of who they want you to be.

me:  It is nice being able to not have to put on that mask. It’s getting pretty tattered.

Germany:  Yeah, your mask isn’t helpful.

me:  It’s helpful with some family still. Mostly dad’s. And my stepdad.

Germany:  Yeah okay, but your family is a special, fucked up case.

me:  Heh. Yay.

Germany:  Besides, what good is a mask when you can’t wear it because it’s too tattered. If you are sick of feeling this way, I can help. But you have to tell me that in your own words. You have to say, “Germany, oh bestest friend of mine, I am sick of feeling like I’m immature and loser-y. I want to change.”
Because if you don’t mean it and you want to stay where you are and complain, then I don’t want to waste both of our time, ya know? I don’t mean that in the harsh, heartless way it sounds, but still. If you want to improve and are willing to put energy towards it, I am always here and happy to help

me:  Lmao. You mean stroke your ego at the same time then?

Germany:  Har har. No. My ego needs no stroking.

me:  Heh.

Germany:  Unless you want to 😉

me:  Lol. Well, I’ll let you get to fixing food and eatin’ it. We’ll talk laters.

Germany:  All right. You have a good rest of your day. And cheer up! Jeff likes ya, you got a job and a roof over your head, and a bestie who lerrrrvvvvves ya (even if it’s an ocean away)

me:  Very true. Take care ❤

Germany:  You too, dear. Buh bai ❤


Good vs. Bad

(warning: some triggering talk of self-harm, a miscarriage, and sex)

A simple comparison of all our voluntary relationships…


We’ve known him since middle school and he’s always been vocal about his crush on us.  We ignore it for the longest time.  Then all our friends start dating and we feel the pressure of that peer pressure.  We cave and agree to “go out” with him.  Of course, so early in life, this merely means holding hands in the hallways (his are always clammy) and occasional sloppy kissing sessions (he uses way too much tongue).  He’s extremely socially awkward and not much to look at, but it feels nice to not be one of the single ones.  He makes us laugh and over the summer he writes us long heartfelt letters.  We are charmed, though far from infatuated.
It still hurts like hell when he dumps us.
We remain tentative friends, due in part to having a lot of mutual friends and in part to the fact that we don’t care about him enough to be wounded and shy away.


He is in a class with Germany and us.  He sends us flirty glances and soft smiles.  He finds out we are Pagan and explains that he’s been drawn to that and wants to learn.  He writes us the dorkiest poetry on the face of the planet, but we smile and keep them in our locker anyways.  We like feeling adored.  When we cave this second time, his hands are dry and firm, his kisses electric.
Eventually the electricity burns as he pushes further.  Red flags go up and we retreat for two long years.
Then he finds us again and tricks us with talks of fate and pining desperately for us (our body).  We are tired of being single.
And we miss those electric kisses.
The second time he pushes harder and we have no choice but to allow the electricity inside.  It claws it’s way through scratching nails and sharp teeth.  He talks about claiming and branding.  He says we belong to him.
He breaks our heart when he leaves us for one of our best friends.  We realize how undesirable we are and start making sure no one will touch us again.  The razors are a sweet escape and our stomach eventually stops expecting food.
When we see him again months later, the electricity is completely gone.  But not the scars.


She’s been our friend for a couple years and though we know she is bisexual, we think nothing of it.  We are broken and weary from our last relationship, but every morning we paste that mask on tightly and step out into the world.
She sees right through that mask.  She drags us to her house after school and convinces us to eat enough to not starve.  We decide to go to the Turnabout dance to forget and she accompanies us (she has to film it for Media anyway).  We invite her to spend the night after.
When Charlotte makes a move on her, it doesn’t take her much time at all to smile and go along with us.  She says she has been waiting.  We’ve heard the fate line before, but she floors us with the line of knowing there are “others”.  She delves into our psyche and tears us open and we like it (at first).
She sinks her claws in deep and the relationship becomes one of codependency in no time at all.  For a good while there is a good amount of give and take. The sex is dark and rough, but Charlotte takes what she can gets.
It is perfect.  But she had a white knight syndrome and soon she thinks she has fixed us enough.
She finds another wounded bird to rescue.
It turns our world upside down.  We beg, beg, beg.  We swear we can be exactly what she wants, what she needs.  She is deaf.
We are living alone for the first time in our lives when she leaves us.  The house is monstrous.  It feels like a tomb.  We think perhaps that is best.
The pills go down easily and the slashing is even easier when we are high as a kite.  Then the switching and paranoia becomes too much and we hide the basement from those who will find us and take us away.  We battle our fear and triggers as it becomes harder and harder to breathe.  Finally one of  us (Rika…) gets fed up and forces the body upstairs and onto the front porch, where she calls an ambulance.
Rika realizes the mistake when we land in the psych ward fighting to keep ourselves semi-sane.
We have to call Her to ask her to check on our dog.  How could we have been so stupid as to leave the poor puppy alone.  When we are released, we go to collect our stuff to move in with Daddy.
She is there, watching TV.  She looks at us.  She sees that we are a horribly broken, wounded bird.  We could not be any be any more broken than this one moment.
She goes back to the TV.
We leave and Rika sends her a nasty text about getting the #$@% out of our house.
She eventually leaves the state.  But not before she spends a good amount of time trash talking us to our friends and calling us all sorts of names (slut).
We have to scrub, scrub, scrub her influence from our mind because every time she calls (too much), she is able to twist our system into knots and turn us against each other.  We cannot scrub that influence.  We cut the tie.


Charlotte takes over for a while after the psych ward and prowls around the dating websites before she discovers someone she wants to meet.  He takes her to a new year’s party where she drinks too much and flirts with his brother.  He doesn’t seem to care as she grinds up against him during a song and kisses him during a match of beer pong.  Over the next couple weeks, Charlotte quickly gets fed up with him as she discovers he’s terrible in bed and doesn’t have a job (even a slut has standards).  She brushes him off.


After thinking we really shouldn’t be dating for awhile due to our issues, we are asked out by a guy we used to go to high school with.
We don’t particularly like him (he’s a supreme asshole), but Charlotte is again peaked due to rumors she’s heard from friends about his sexual prowess.  She is surprised when he is polite during the date and even walks us to our car after the late movie.  A couple days later, she has him in bed with her, as she wanted.  And it’s better than she expected.  She likes that he leaves soon after and insists on “just a casual relationship”.  She can do fuckbuddy well.
She is momentarily distracted from her fun when she is late for a period.  Impossible.  Our body is like clockwork.
When the nausea and constant exhaustion sets in, she flees in terror and doesn’t come out for months.
He feels the need to be responsible even though he (really really really) didn’t want this (and jokes about running to Mexico).  It is horrible to have to tell people.
We lose friends, our health insurance, and our place of residence (Daddy says we’re a badgirl…badgirls can’t live under Daddy’s roof. Or use Daddy’s health insurance. Only ladies.)
We move in with him and the stark reality of his true personality (Asperger’s) and quirks (that is waaaay too many guns for one person to own) comes out.
Then it is awful when we miscarriage.
He goes into his medical mode, which is momentarily helpful, but he does not know what to do when we sink down, down, down and start back with the old habits.  Pills. Cutting. Not eating.  We are harsh in the punishment to ourselves.
He only calls us stupid and says to “cut it out”.
Soon Charlotte is the only one who can stand being around him most of the time and so the constant and wild sex starts up again. It’s ok, he got fixed. No birth control needed. Children are awful he says.
For the first time ever, Roms (not rika) thinks nasty and angry things. She hates him for the way he is relieved about everything we’ve gone through.
And soon, even Charlotte gets fed up with his ways and lack of compassion for most things.  She is disgusted with her formation of a conscience and blames it on being bored and ready to move on.


There aren’t many bad things we can say about this one.
The bad things are all us.  We abuse his trust and compassion and flee every time he tries to get close.  Charlotte tries to turn him far away by taking up with his friend.  She feels no sense of triumph when he does distant himself for awhile.
There are temporary things about his situation that annoy some of us.  He seems to be a bit further behind the life stages than us, but perhaps that is something that is needed now.
The kisses are electric for the first time in a long time.  Charlotte toes the line, but surprises all of us by pulling back before going too far.  There is an ability to banter without turning to insults that we love.  And for the first time, we voluntarily surrender the information about our mental state.  It is a bit of self-sabotage as we assume he will not want someone so broken.  But he takes it in stride.
We waver, feeling that cliff we are standing so close to.  This one could definitely pull us over.