Tag Archives: high school

First session

“I’m lying there wondering what happens next and I hear a voice. It says, ‘Man, this is not a way to live. This is a way to die.'” -Cornell, “28 Days”


Today was the day. As the alarm blared, and a hand reached from under the covers to slam it off.

Fuckin’ alarm

She shrugged off the echoing words, well-used to strange thoughts and ringing words she didn’t remember thinking. It matched well with scrawled notes she didn’t remember writing and stacks of books earmarked at pages she didn’t remember reading.

The strange bruises and cuts on the canvas of her body. A quick glance in the bathroom before dressing showed there weren’t any new ones today.

Her stomach felt strangely hollow, but she ignored it. Breakfast wasn’t happening anyway. Running too late. She shoved a wad of cash into her hip pocket. She’d get food at lunch. The worshipful caress of her sharp hipbone said otherwise, but it wasn’t noticed.

Time hop-skipped and she was at her locker. The hopscotch jump of lost time didn’t faze her. Thankfully it was a routine school day and she could easily see by the clock on the wall that all she missed was the trip to school and maybe a bit of pre-homeroom socializing. Nothing she would be required to recall at a moment’s notice. But then a post-it on the inside of her locker caught her eye.

Meeting with the counselor today- after lunch

Panic rose. She would have to discuss “things” with this woman. Explain why her schoolwork was slipping and why her friends never saw her eat.

“Hey. Today’s the day.” said a voice to her left. She jerked silently before noticing it was a real person standing next to her. Katherine.

“Yeah. Today.” She replied.

“Are you still mad at me for telling your mom?” Katherine’s bright blue eyes were concerned and Kit momentarily wondered why she wasn’t mad. Normally she would be. She had been furious at Sarah back in middle school. Telling the school guidance counselor about having to prevent her from drinking bleach at a party. That anger seemed to bubble and overflow for weeks. Months.

But Katherine telling her mom about not eating? Nothing. Even though it was the missing piece in the mystery of “Kit’s mental status” that her mother was trying to untangle.

“I’m not mad.” She replied honestly. She had a sudden flirty urge to play with her hair. She squinted for a moment, trying to place the urge. It didn’t feel like hers. Katherine raised an eyebrow.

“What are you planning to talk about? Josh? Texas? Your dad?”

“I dunno. Maybe. Depends on the person.” She shoved the locker closed and twirled the lock compulsively.

“I think you should tell them about everything.” Katherine pushed. Kit’s eyes cut away, fluttering.

Another pair looked up.

Everything?” came the sharp reply. The eyes accompanying the harsh word seemed in contrast. They were a bit shy, but also warm. Katherine turned a bit pink. Her turn to glance away.

“Well. That’s up to you.”

The sharper eyes fiddled with her small green purse, pawing through it with purpose. Suddenly a rattling sound announced success and she pulled out a small bottle of painkillers. Katherine frowned. “More headaches?”

“There’s always more headaches.” Midori replied. “Today’s upcoming party isn’t exactly a help.”

“So you are mad.”

“Jesus Katherine. I said I wasn’t.” Midori huffed, tipping the bottle expertly and dry-swallowing a couple of the oblong white pills. “I’m going to be late.” She shoved the bottle back into the purse and looked expectedly at the dark haired girl in front of her. Katherine glanced at the clock.

“Oh. You’re right. I’ll walk you?”

“Whatever. Your tardy record.”

“Media doesn’t care. As long as we turn in projects, we can pretty much be wherever.”

“Should have gone the media track.” Midori replied, automatically falling into step next to Katherine. Sometimes their arms brushed. It was one of Midori’s favorite parts of the day and she hoarded the feelings jealously.


It was lunchtime by the time Kit was aware and she automatically headed to the table she shared with Germany and a couple other friends. She avoided glancing where Josh and Texas would be sitting, half in each other’s lap.

Charlotte peeked out and saw. She rolled her eyes, knowing she was better at pleasing Josh anyhow. Not her fault he preferred the sane.

Germany never asked why she just drank a diet coke. The excuse of headaches and migraines worked well for Kit’s supposed closest friend.

Lunch didn’t last as long as Kit hoped. As her other friends threw the remnants of their lunches away and headed towards the classrooms, Kit clutched her half finished diet coke and walked towards the faculty side of the building.

It felt like a death march.

The kids all knew where “special meetings” were held at the school. Whether it was tutoring, discipline discussions, or counseling, there was only one area it happened. Kit opened the door to the lobby and tried to dodge the eyes of a secretary she’d never met before.

Blackness

It was Roms who surfaced this time and timidly walked up to the counter. She recognized the sign-in sheet, similar to the one for when she arrived after third bell. She filled out the body’s name, then finally met the eyes of the secretary. The woman was obviously judging her, but Roms tried not to think about that. Someone important needed to attend this meeting. This meeting could not be lost entirely. That’s something a crazy person would do. Sane people remember. The primary goal was to appear sane.

The secretary glanced at the sheet, then at something on her computer screen.

“Room three. It’s the last one.” She pointed down a short hallway. Roms gave a brief nod and headed towards Room Three.

She opened the door and saw a woman already in there. She paused.

“Are you K____? You’re in the right place.” The woman said, a smile on her face. She was younger than Roms expected. Barely out of college. She entered tentatively, the diet coke held in front like a shield.

“Is this all right?” She asked. The woman nodded with a smile.

“Sure. I’m Joy.”

A derisive snort exploded in the back of Roms’ mind, but she ignored it. Fought to not let the offensive sound reach the air verbally.

“K____.” She lied automatically. Joy nodded.

“Do you know why you’re here?”

“Because my father won’t pay for a real psychologist and doing it through the school is free.” Midori interjected bluntly.

Roms pushed back the sensation of a blush but wasn’t positive if her face remained passive. Lately, her and Midori had less of a wall. They synced in many of their goals for the body, so perhaps that was why.

Joy had about as good a poker face as Roms herself so there was no way to tell if the blush avoidance was successful.

“What are you hoping to get out of these meetings?” Joy asked

Roms paused, considering.

“You can be honest. It stays between us.” Joy encouraged.

“I suppose it would be whatever is needed to reassure my parents and friends that I’m fine.” Roms answered truthfully.

“Are you fine?” Joy asked.

“No.”

“Do you want to elaborate on that right now?” Her tone seemed hopeful. Rom felt the immediate upheaval and internal lip curl.

“Probably not.” She said quietly. Joy nodded easily.

“That’s fine. We don’t know much about each other yet. Please do sit.” She offered the open seats at the round table she was at. Roms chose one diagonal from the therapist. Not across, not next to. That seemed the most comfortable. Joy made a note in her pad.

“Let’s start with some easy stuff. Any pets?” She asked, her tone disarming. The buzzing bees of Roms’ head increased. Suspicion was high. Roms pushed back as much as she could, trying to focus on the fact that getting through this meant parents backing the fuck off. That thought decreased the buzzing.

“Two cats. Girls. Velvet and Ashes.” She went ahead and supplied the names. Knowing that was the logical next question. She’d handled enough guidance counselors to know the line of questioning.

“Do you take care of them mostly? Or your parents?”

“They’re only at my father’s house. But I mostly take care of them. He will on the weekends I’m at Mom’s.” This commentary caused another note made to Joy’s pad.

“Do you see your parents equally?”

“That’s the technical deal. But since school is here, I’m at my father’s more. Most of my friends live here.”

“Understandable. And your parents are okay with that arrangement?”

“Yep. Friendliest divorced parents you’ll ever meet.” Roms’ tone edged on facetious as Midori crept out slightly, “Their separation was a business arrangement. Neat, organized, timely, and emotionless.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.” Joy said, her expression remaining fixed. Midori rolled her eyes.

“Okay.” She replied without argument. Joy seemed to react to this, and made another note.

“Why do you say it’s like a business arrangement?”

Midori slumped slightly in the chair. She definitely hadn’t taken enough painkillers for this woman. It was ridiculous that Roms thought to go along easily with this bullshit.

Midori debated a moment on letting Rika out to just end the session bluntly. But that could end with further counseling and possibly school faculty involved. Rika was not good at censoring her language.
Last time in Geography when the boy had made a crude pass at Kit, Rika’s response got her kept after the bell. Thankfully the teacher liked Kit, and had heard part of what the boy said. So the discussion was mostly for show. Not a true disciplinary action.

Rika in this situation would end differently, Midori was pretty sure. She sighed heavily.

“Look. I get that I’m here to ‘sort things out’ or whatever. But I really hate the constant ‘why’ follow up questions to things I say. Can we do this a different way?”

“I appreciate the honesty, K____.” Joy replied matter-of-factly. She did not make a note on her pad. Midori wasn’t sure what that meant. “Any suggestions on the best way to do this?”

“The way that gets me out of here and my parents no longer pissed.” Midori answered.

“Well I’m going to be honest with you then, K____. That’s going to have to involve some whys. I have to be able to see why things are not fine. Eventually. Or the parents probably won’t be cool.”

Midori picked up on Joy trying to make her speech more high school causual in its rhythm and some word choices, but it mostly sounded odd. It put the whole head on edge. Even distant parts of the pieces who were truly unaware of there being a system.

“I’m not sure what to tell you.” Midori said stubbornly.

Then there was a push and Roms gave way. “I guess I should say I just got out of a long relationship. For high school. Almost a whole year. I was dumped a couple weeks ago. He’s going out with one of my former best friends now. Found out they were already doing stuff behind my back for months. My other best friend that I sit with at lunch hasn’t noticed I haven’t eaten at school in three weeks.” Roms paused, hesitant with the last big tidbit. Then she focused again on the goals of just getting through this as honestly as they could without getting committed.

“And my third best friend…she’s the only one who’s noticed anything different about me. But I think I have a crush on her. I don’t know how to feel about that. I’ve only liked boys. I still like boys. I’m not a lesbian.” Roms’ tone became desperate at the end as pieces of emotions breathed in from other corners of the system.
Being more abnormal was a fucking disaster.

Why couldn’t they just be normal.

Joy was silent for a long time. It felt like forever. Roms was resisting the urge to give way to The Compulsives, who would pick or scratch, or toy with something and make the abnormal even more obvious. She remained rigid, in body and head. The headache increased.

“Thank you. That’s very helpful.” Joy said, finally starting to make some notes on her pad. “I think having feelings for people who care for you can be good, healthy, even if they seem confusing. I think we really got through a lot of stuff today for a first session. Is it okay with you if we stop early today? I think you need to pause after telling me all that. And I need to pause too before talking to you about all that. But I’m glad we were able to open a little bit of this box you keep.”

Roms stared, resisting the urge to drop her jaw in open-mouthed surprise. Joy knew about the box. Joy carefully didn’t meet her eyes while she finished writing and Roms composed herself, mentally running through all that had happened in this room. With Joy.

It was vital that Kit be aware of this whole first session.

Roms had a feeling these sessions with Joy would determine some important direction for the future. Others were more skeptical, but Roms was the one who was usually right about those sort of predictions.

Something important was at work here.

The Root of the Problem- Mistrust in therapists

The first time I saw a therapist it was under duress.

I was seventeen years old and a senior in high school.

I ate an average of maybe four times a week. Sometimes less. My grades slipped whole letters, going from the normal A’s to C’s and even a D (unheard of for me).

This all followed on the tail of Uniballer dumping me for Texas mere weeks before. Part of it was the stupid emo-teenage loss of a boy.
The other part was the loss of a best friend.
And even bigger: no one gave a shit. No one noticed me falling apart. Not my parents, my teachers, not even my other best friend, Germany.

It was Katherine who brought it to the attention of my mother. Mom took a mental step back and realized just how much weight I’d lost. She called my favorite teacher (the subject was German) and asked how I was doing.

It looked bad.

She tried to talk to my father about the idea of me talking to a professional. He balked, as he doesn’t “believe in psychology” and said I just needed to suck it up. In a rare moment, my mom put her foot down.

The therapist’s name was Joy. I rolled my eyes when she told me.  I didn’t want to talk at first.  The voices (I wasn’t aware of what the DID was at this point) told me not to trust anyone with feelings or secrets.

Slowly she got me to open up a bit. I told her about the betrayal of my ex and friends. Joy was the first person I confided in about my attraction to Katherine, which terrified me as I was so sure I was straight. Being seventeen, I still blindly thought love had to be firmly defined.

Then we got on an even bigger subject. My father. I went on about his emotional distance, his firm rules, his apathy. I talked about how he reminded me constantly that I had to move out and go to college.

Her response?
“This is all because he loves you. He loves you so much. I think you’re just having trouble seeing it.”

The internal whiplash was physically painful. The voices swirled and buzzed in anger.

I stopped seeing her pretty soon after that (I had turned eighteen, so it was my choice).

It was Katherine who got me to start eating more regularly.

And it was a long time before I tried to trust a therapist again.

Learning to Ride a Bike (Claire scribble)

My parents didn’t teach me to ride a bike without training wheels.

Daddy tried to.

We lived next to a park at the time, and one day after school when we were about 7 or 8, he had this momentarily flash of parenting.  He insisted I get my bike out, he’d take the training wheels off, and then we’d go to the park and he’d teach me how to ride it.

His parenting urge and patience only lasted so long.

The second time I fell down, he heaved a big sigh.

“Maybe you’re just not able to ride a bike right now.  I guess we can try again some other time.”  He stared at me a moment, then turned to walk back to the house.  He didn’t look back.

To be fair, our house was a mere 100 yards or so from the open grassy area of the park where we’d attempted this.

But I still remained on the ground, my knees skinned and bruised, trying not to cry.  Daddy hates when I cry.  Crying makes you worthless.

I pull away from myself as someone steps forward to handle the skinned knees for me.  Mute does not have emotions, so it does not have to worry about the possibility of crying. Mute heaves to it’s feet, pulls the bike firmly upright, and trails after Daddy silently.

We make sure the bike is safely stowed in the garage before entering the house, carefully removing our shoes before stepping on the carpet.  Daddy is nowhere to be seen.  He must be in his room.  We go the opposite direction, to the kitchen and Mute calmly gets a glass of water to drink.

“You need to clean those cuts.” says a cool voice behind us.  Mute is gone and Rika swings around defensively.  Daddy is looking at our knees, a strangely regretful expression on his face. “Come on.” He leads us to the bathroom, where Middi pops out to handle the sting of the alcohol and carefully applies the band-aids herself (Daddy does not like to touch us).

The next afternoon, the training wheels are back on our bike.

He doesn’t offer to teach us again.

______________________________________________________________________________

We don’t have a bike at Mom’s house, so there’s nothing for her to teach us on.  Plus, over there she and Roms are too busy looking after Grey.  He is a feisty toddler.

______________________________________________________________________________

Daddy moves to a big house in a nice neighborhood.  It is down the street from the high school and only a little further from the local middle school I start attending.  I have to walk.  I’ve never walked to school before and at first, it’s a liberating experience.  However, it takes awhile to get there and I don’t like how early I have to get up.

I see other kids riding to school on their bikes and it occurs to me that this mode of transportation would be much faster than walking.  My old bike is in the garage and I pull it out one day after school.

Daddy isn’t home- the new job that caused the move has him working late.

With a bit of help from Rika (she’s surprisingly tool-savvy), I manage to get the training wheels off myself.  I wheel it into the driveway and start attempting to ride it.

It goes horribly.  I am frustrated and puzzled.  It seems so easy for all the other kids at school.  What on earth is wrong with me?

The next day, a contractor arrives to start working on Daddy’s upstairs room.  He has the whole second floor and is converting it into one huge bedroom with a walk-in closet.  We are never to go up there.  Ever.

I watch the contractor and his helpers when I get off school.  I am a bit wary, as they are men, but most are older than even Daddy, and that is a relief.
I’m only truly edgy around one of the helpers who is in his late teens, though I’m not sure why.  When I try to think about it, I hit a brick wall in my head.  Angry whispers tell me to leave well-enough alone.

The lead contractor, Terry, goes out of his way to talk to me, in a uncle/grandfatherly sort of way.  I finally get comfortable enough to stop just sitting silently on the porch or in the living room and go about my business.

Which includes struggling to ride that bike.  I haven’t given up.  I know it has to be accomplished at some point.

Terry comes out to get something out of his truck one afternoon a couple days later and sees me.  He stops and tilts his head at me, calculating something.  I freeze in embarrassment, both for my age (too old to not know how to ride a two-wheeler), and that I’m still not able to smoothly handle it.  He lets out a soft chuckle.

“Well now, no wonder you’re having trouble. Your tires are almost flat.”  He goes to his truck purposefully and pulls out a black box with a wand and hose attached.  He motions to me.  “Come here, I’ll pump ’em up for you.”

I glance down at the white tires of my femininely pink and purple bike.  I study it for a moment, but can’t determine how he’d come to that conclusion.  However, I slide off the seat and bring it over to him.

He fits the wand into a part of the tire and flips a switch on the box.  There is a roaring noise and I jump.  He glances at me.
“It’s okay, just the noise the air pump makes.  Loud, ain’t it?”  He laughs, then looks back at the tire and pulls out the wand, “They aren’t all the way flat, just enough to hinder you.”

“I-I-I know I’m sort of old to be…” I trail off nervously.  He gives me a soft smile.

“I learned late too. Just didn’t have a reason to ride a bike for a long time. Better late than never.”  He fits the wand into the back tire for a brief minute, and then pulls it out and pushes the handles of the bike towards me.  “There ya go.  Should be a lot easier now.  Go ahead.”  He stands and waits, watching.  I hesitate.  I don’t like being watched.  But he had nicely filled the tires and he wasn’t judging me for being in middle school without having learned to ride two-wheeler.

I clamber onto the seat, settle myself for a moment, then push the pedals firmly.

The bike flies smoothly forward, perfectly balanced and I don’t wobble a bit.  A grin slips onto my face as I make multiple loops around the driveway.  Terry cheers.

It’s amazing how a little air in the tires makes all the difference.

#7 – Cigarettes

#7 – A Vice That Cheers Me Up:
Cigarettes

(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.

Support for Claire

Claire is very upset and depressed from Monday.

Let me backtrack:

We had a couple friends over to Daddy’s house to talk about a party we’re hosting this weekend.  Most of what went on isn’t important, especially to this entry, but there was a point where one of the friends, who was a close friend of (almost exclusively) Claire’s in late middle school/early high school started talking about the stories Claire wrote back then.

And she was mean about them. I mean, nasty. I usually try not to speak ill of people, especially friends, but…it’s hard not to in this case.  Plus, it especially wounded Claire.  She knows they were middle school writings, obviously not something that would be published and read by adults.  But it was something she was proud of in middle school. It was her outlet. And she didn’t show her stories to anyone until this girl.

Rika was trying to get out and bitch out the friend, but it wasn’t the appropriate place.  I ended up having to take over for Claire, who went off into a mental-corner and hasn’t really come out.

Writing means a lot to her.  She doesn’t care about being published, or being a best seller, or anything like that.  But she does value it and only shares it with those she deems trustworthy.

(or in the case of this blog, anonymously)

I’m not really sure how to handle this.

Armes thought perhaps I could write an entry on the blog and get some support here.  Claire values all of our followers so much.

Maybe it’s a silly idea.

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.
Exactly.

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.

-Claire