Our Song

For Love

In the evenings, when YJ gets home from work, she follows her usual routine, and we've been watching a show called “Severance.” It's a science fiction psychological thriller series that follows employees at the top-secret biotechnology corporation Lumon Industries. These employees have undergone a surgical procedure called "severance," which ensures they retain no memories of the outside world while at work and have no recollection of their jobs once they leave. This leads to two distinct personalities for each employee: the "innie," who exists solely within Lumon, and the "outie," who lives their personal life outside of work. The only contact that can be made between the two of them is through video recordings, and the communication can only go in one direction.  The outside is allowed to talk to their inside person, but the inside person is forbidden to share any information with the outside

In the “Severance” series, one of the Inside people accidentally meets his Outside person's son and immediately becomes invested. Two Insiders fall in love. Burt and Irving are two older gentlemen who develop intimate feelings for each other. Irving walks to Burt's office and sees his coworkers celebrating. O Burt left I Burt and his coworkers a video message saying he would be retiring and that this would be his last day. Irving gets upset and asks everybody if they are going to sit there and let Burt die. They find love and meaning in the place where they exist. It opens the idea of where you go when you become unaware and what that means.

Outside, Mark had chosen to be separated from himself to avoid the pain of the loss of his wife. Inside Mark falls in love with one of his co-workers. Outside, Mark finds out his wife is still alive. The pain he had been avoiding isn’t there anymore, and he sends a message to Inside Mark, telling him he will quit his job now. The insiders stage a hostile coup of the bodies and bypass the circuit. Finally, both Inside and Outside Mark find a way to talk between themselves. They are arguing, and I Mark asks O Mark why he should care about his wife after he has locked him in a box for two years. He tells him that he is not just a part, that his life is just as valuable. He tells him he may not have much life, but he has made the best of it and created one. 

“We accept the love we think we deserve” Stephen Chbosky, The Perks of Being a Wallflower

Somewhere, we read that we choose partners that are like an abusive parent. That’s messed up. It's a matter of not having anything to contrast it with. It's interesting how much constant suffering we got used to, even as adults. We felt like it was normal after a while. It's like, does a fish know it's swimming in the water? It knows that they are living somewhere that not all animals live. The fish has spent its whole life there; a different existence is unknown. It's easier to chase reoccurring life experiences, even if they are abusive, instead of facing the fear of the unknown. Even when other alternatives have tons of logical evidence that they are better, there is comfort in the familiar. 'It’s better to dance with the devil you know rather than the devil you don't.’

We have had to learn about healthy relationships and understand how they feel. Our hindsight is not 20/20; we don’t have one, so our foresight is a hot mess, significantly impairs our insight. The first half of our adult life was a series of bad choices, one right after another. We did not find our squiggly puzzle piece until we were almost there 45. That’s a long time to wait, but some people never find it.  Yj has taken the time to try to get to know us. She’s never unkind to us, even if she gets frustrated with us.  She doesn’t raise her voice.  She keeps our home safe. We feel like Yj and Jenny love us.  Feeling unlovable was something that resonated deeply throughout us. Being unlovable was why so many people hurt us; being unlovable is why they left us behind. This is the first time we have been given the gift to be happy.

Things went to shit in our early twenties. Dana and Terry had finally finished school and work and made enough money to pay the bills and eat. They worked diligently to make the American Dream come true—two kids, a house with a picket fence, and four years into their gold watch retirement.  Things were going as smoothly as they ever did. Unfortunately, they had two kids in two different houses. It was exhausting.  It wasn't very clear for everyone around us as well. Josh - I did not like Dana’s partner at that time.  She also just showed up randomly in my world.  I would get upset with her and invite her to leave, opening the door for her. The next thing she would be back here again. One time she came back pregnant; what the actual fuck.  

Something similar occurred in the next town over with the other parent, but it was different. He worked with her, and she is an unhappy person.  Cary- I did not like her, which carried over to our son. I started to resent that she was kind to him but short and ill-tempered with our other boy. I didn’t want that to affect how we treated the boys. I didn’t sign up to be the parent of anything; I didn't want to ruin a child, yet here I am.  We did end up in therapy with this one.  

Keeping that situation off Dana and Terry's radars is complex. For instance, fortunately, they both gave up on things like trying to balance a checkbook. They could never add the numbers because they can’t remember why the money is gone. It would make Dana crazy, so he just gave in to the flow. Rectifying a ledger that hasn’t been maintained is difficult. Cary's method is to keep a running total in his head. He rounds the number up and records it. He tells me that, in theory, we should always have more money than we think we do this way. His theory is laden with logical fallacies, and it's in our best interests not to mess this up. I prefer the old-school pencil and calculator method of measuring numbers, but I don’t always get my way. 

The outside sons have jeopardized our meticulously crafted system, casting uncertainty over everything we've built. I find myself at a loss, overwhelmed by the weight of our predicament and uncertain about the path forward. We need some guidance and someone to give us an outside perspective. It means letting someone in. How are we going to find someone who can help with this?

Finding Jenny

As we flip through the Yellow Pages, we see an overwhelming number of counselors—almost an entire page dedicated to mental health professionals in our area. Each entry presents the bare essentials: a name, an address, and a phone number. Choosing is daunting without additional context or descriptions outlining their specialties and without insight into their qualifications or therapeutic approaches. No listing says, ‘Specializing in How Not to Destroy Your Child.”  It feels as if I might as well tape the directory to the wall, toss a dart, and hope that whoever it lands on can help us find our way.

Toddy– I Remember the story! Jenny Elf.  Elves have wisdom that even the Ancients don't have. They use their words to save lives and turn the foolish into wisdom. People beg them for a glance of wisdom about improving their lives.  It’s perfect! 

Josh and Cary- We called, and she is taking on new clients and has openings available at the end of the week. That's good; there is less time to overthink and catastrophize what could happen. What will we tell her, and how are we supposed to handle the delicate task of bringing Dana and Terry into her office without triggering a whirlwind of panic among them? We make Terry and Dana hear us like we’re just background noise. We will explain their problem to the counselor and then toss one of them out.  It’s a better plan than some of the others.

We started by telling Jenny why we thought we would be a shitty parent.  We gave her examples of how horrible we were as a child, what we had done, and what the resulting parental correction plan was.  They were things that we would rather not do to our sons.  

We are very leery about this whole ‘seeking outside counsel’ shebang and how it can potentially disrupt the fragile equilibrium Josn and I have built, much like a delicate game of Jenga, where a single misstep could cause the entire tower to come crashing down. Each moment in her office is thick with tension and uncertainty.  We had very good reason to be uncertain; our towers did crash in a fiery September 11th, controlled demolition, imploding into the pits of the earth style of going down.

The Workshop 

Dana attended a management workshop organized by his company. Participants completed a quick questionnaire to reveal personal characteristics influencing their management styles. The workshop introduced six distinct management styles, each identified by a specific color symbolizing its unique traits and approaches. What began as a straightforward true-or-false question soon evolved into a complex analysis that resembled an intricate physics professor's chalkboard. The final paper was cluttered with myriad notes jotted in the margins, lines running vertically and horizontally, and arrows directing the reader's attention to the back of the page, where scattered thoughts and additional insights continued to spill over. This chaotic layout made the paper feel alive yet overwhelming. 

We snapped back and saw that we had written much longer than our peers. The contents of that paper lingered in our minds long after the workshop concluded. We couldn't shake off the feeling that it was filled with concepts and notes we hadn’t penned initially ourselves. Their origins were a mystery; they echoed our collective discussions or unspoken reflections of our internal group's dynamic. It ended up being the start of finding the words to tell others and each other that we are here and who we are.

During a subsequent session with Jenny, we made the nerve-wracking decision to hand over the bewildering paper. As we did so, a wave of discomfort washed over us, and we couldn't pinpoint the reason. Was it the fear of judgment, the vulnerability of sharing our unfiltered thoughts, or perhaps the weight of the uncharted ideas that filled those pages? The atmosphere was uncertain, making the moment feel significant and unsettling. 

We had been seeing Jenny for a few months. During this time, we noticed a subtle yet significant shift in her approach at the beginning of our sessions. Her office was at the end of a narrow, wood-paneled hallway. She would politely walk behind us down the hall. It made our Achilles heel zing, and we wanted to cry. Finally, we shared it with her. She asked why, and we shared with her how Dennis would walk behind us with a tree switch because we hadn’t been paying attention to where our sister was or if we were somewhere we were not supposed to be.  Walking behind us reminds us of another time still, and it still stings. Jenny never did it again. It felt better once we got into the office. She respected our out-of-place discomfort. 

She also started to lay out crayons, markers, and different kinds of paper on the table between us each week. The colors were reds, deep blues, and sunny yellows; they always seemed inviting. As she continued to arrange them for us, it started to feel like she was looking for a way to let us express ourselves and find a way to listen deeply to our internal dialogues. After more time passed, she asked us some questions; most of the answers were yes, but the questions were odd. She wondered about memory lapses or lost time.

In second grade, my parents fought after Dennis got home from work.  It turned into one of those fights.  He stops at the bar after work every night.  I prefer it when he stays there, but it greatly upsets my mom. She cries until he gets home, and then she picks a fight with him as soon as he walks through the door.  She’s a stupid drunk.  She doesn’t even hold back long enough to see what kind of drunk he is before she turns him into an angry drunk.  He had a double dose of anger, him coming home pissed drunk, then her needling him into an enraged drunk. She does this. Every. Single. Time.  This time, he started pushing her, and she stabbed his hand into the cutting board.  His hand being impaled turned the scene into a bloody horror show.  I hid under the bed and hoped he didn’t remember I existed so he wouldn’t look for me. 

My name is Malcolm, and I’m 11.  I am a ghost, unseen and unheard, wandering through a landscape of silence without love. My days blur into one another, a monotonous cycle of loneliness. My parents, lost in their struggles, forgot the warmth of nurturing. Instead, they cast aside their responsibilities, leaving me to navigate a world that feels too big and cruel for my smallness. During these bleak moments, I find comfort in the companionship of my soft dolphin, Max. My grandma bought him from the zoo when she visited. He is my only friend in this house and my peace in the chaos surrounding me. I sleep better with him. He watches out for me during the night so that I can close my eyes.  

Max is a toy, but he helps me feel calm. Dennis says I'm too old for toys now, but Max has a way of making the world feel a little less heavy. His bright plastic eyes bring me happiness; they sparkle like my grandma’s, reminding me that love does exist, even in the darkest corners of my life. But as the neglect deepened, so did the shadows around me. The weight of my despair is suffocating. I hold on to Max and let his fur touch my hands, reminding me I am here. 

Dennis is drunk, and he has reckless anger; he has lost control. My heart shatters as I watch helplessly; the warmth that fills my imagination instantly extinguishes. Max, my protector, and my light is gone, leaving an emptiness that rips through me. I’ll take Max out of the trash after he sleeps tonight. I will glue his eyes back on at school and hide him every morning.  When Dennis gets home, I will put Max in the box in the closet I hide in at night. 

Josh and Cary- The next thing we remember is being jolted hard on the school bus. It became clear this wasn’t the usual ride; the faces around us were all wrong. A cacophony of laughter and chatter filled the aisles, unfamiliar kids sprawled across the seats while the rumbling tires drummed against the pavement, creating a rhythm that felt oddly out of place. The seat is too hard, and it smells like socks. We’re looking around and can't see anything familiar. We are lost and not sure what to do to get found. Mom will also freak out that she will have to call me. I have my address and phone number on the tag on my wrist, but that won’t help me figure out where I am so she can pick me up.

As the last few kids stepped off the bright yellow bus, the driver, a middle-aged man with graying hair and a friendly smile, turned back to check on us. He furrowed his brow in confusion when he noticed we had not followed everyone else. We were feeling disoriented.  For some reason, we mistakenly boarded the kindergarten bus before lunch rather than taking our bus to take us home after school. The driver approached us with patience and concern and explained that he was returning to the school to pick up more children for the afternoon trip. As he spoke, the afternoon sun filtered through the bus windows, casting warm beams of light that only added to the surreal feeling of being stranded in a sea of lost bright-colored backpacks and notebooks. When the bus arrived, we returned to the classroom with the teacher we had started the day with. After a bit of a struggle, we reoriented. We were supposed to go out for lunch, but we thought it was the end of the day, and we had gotten caught up in another time loop. 

We recall when time seemed to slip away in the fourth grade. We were very competitive and got into tetherball games with our arch-nemesis, Chad.  I’m taller, so I can slam the ball right over the top of his head, but he is left-handed, so if he can return my volleys, it’s just as hard as I throw them, but they come back right at my head.  On most occasions, it misses; if it doesn’t, it doesn’t hurt; my head is hard and sometimes a necessary sacrifice for victory.  This time, the ball returns as an uppercut to the jaw, and I bite through my tongue.  It hurts, but the amount of blood coming from my mouth is disproportionate to the injury and scary for all involved. I remember the playground attendant taking me to the school nurse, who immediately called my mom.  I asked when she would be there to get me, and the nurse said she wasn’t coming.  

Suddenly, It was the end of the day. I was in the cozy confines of our 4th-grade classroom.  Our teacher, Mrs. Etter, had a unique way of capturing our attention. A soft warmth enveloped the room as she dimmed the lights, always inviting us to let our worries fade. With a gentle voice, she would dive into the pages of captivating stories, drawing us into worlds filled with adventure and imagination. One of our favorites was “The Box Car Children,” by E. Nesbit, a book that held us spellbound as we listened in silence, wholly immersed in the characters' lives. Mrs.Etter became a cherished part of our childhood; she knew the magic of storytelling and how to transport us far beyond the classroom walls. 

The ‘Where Are We Now’ Game

When we begin to explain what dissociation feels like for us, we use a familiar analogy. Dissociating is like daydreaming and passing your exit on the highway. We can work with that because it does help a singleton internalize the experience, and it's not wrong. Highway hypnosis, also known as "white line fever,” is a trance-like state that can occur when driving long distances on a highway, especially on a familiar route. A partial or complete loss of awareness, reduced brain activity, and a lack of focus on surroundings characterize it. Drivers may experience a distorted sense of time and have difficulty recalling the details of the drive; it’s called “Highway Hypnosis.” 

We drove alone from Utah to Washington and back a few times a year for 9 years. We get so caught up in our internal conversations, storytelling, and rando blurts about cows that we pass our exits and run out of gas. Once, we missed an exit and were in Pocatello, Idaho, before we noticed. There is only one way in and one way out of Pocatello, so it was a long drive back. Another time, we drove past Snowville, the last place to get gas, before heading through the Forty Mile Pass of Nowhere Utah to Tremonton.  We didn't notice how much gas was in the tank until we hit the point of no return. Triple A passed by us three times. We drive by muscle memory and not brain sparking. They say that people who dissociate are highly suggestible. We have a nasty case of “White Line Fever.”

In an ideal world, the one who fronts is supposed to be the one of us who is most effective in managing the current external demand.  It keeps us functioning and also invisible. However, the world is not ideal, and in overwhelming moments with ignited memories, we often find ourselves thrust into the forefront of these challenges without any say in the matter. In these instances, we may be unable to know who was in front right before us; we can't be sure of our situation's current date or specifics. This disorienting experience is marked by significant lapses and brief interruptions in our perception of time, leaving us grappling with a chaotic sense of reality.

Coming to the front feels like that optical illusion you see when your car isn’t moving and the car next to you gets a green light.  You catch the moving vehicle out of the corner of your eye, and it feels like your car is moving backward. Fronting feels like slamming on the brakes during an optical illusion, and we don’t know we are in a car.  It can feel bright outside; our eyes pour water, and we get used to the light. It can be disconcerting and takes a minute to respond to questions.

A few years ago, I came across a blog post discussing "Star Theory," which visualizes dissociation. Within the healthcare and disability communities, the "spoon theory" is often used to illustrate the day-to-day lives of people with chronic disabilities and the amount of energy they have left after completing various tasks, measured on a scale of one to ten spoons. We learned about "star theory" from a Tumblr blog that has since been taken down, so we’re sharing this concept to the best of our memory. Star Theory is based on similar principles as Spoon Theory but is specifically adapted for those who experience any form of dissociation. 

In contrast to Spoon Theory, which quantifies less energy with fewer spoons, Star Theory indicates that the more 'stars' we have, the more dissociated, triggered, unsafe, and afraid we feel. The idea of stars originates from cartoons where characters appear "dizzy" or "zoned out," often depicted with swirling stars around them, which is easy for younger individuals to understand. For instance, we start the day with zero to five stars. If we wake up from a nightmare and feel switchie, we might begin the day with two stars. Various triggers, stimuli, and situations may cause our star count to fluctuate throughout the day. With no stars, we are completely non-dissociative and present, devoid of fogginess. Conversely, five stars are highly dissociative, struggle to function and think, lose track of time, or even be unable to communicate verbally.

Here’s an example of a 'star meter' based on this theory:

0 stars; Non-dissociative. No issues at this time.

1 star: Very mild, likely not noticeable. There are little to no issues.

2 stars: Mild. Possible problems with identity, memory, etc.

3 stars: Moderate, noticeable. Issues will likely begin to emerge.

4 stars: Stronger dissociation. Issues with time, memory, etc.

5 stars: gone: unsure who we are, where we are, or when we are, and we struggle to function.

The flaw in this method is not knowing how dissociated we are once we’ve passed two stars.  So if someone asks how many stars are spinning around our head at any given time, once we’ve hit three stars, it’s a free-for-all on who will answer the question.

This also leads to very real everyday problems. We lose our keys before they get hung up on the hook. Our Wallet is in the kitchen in an elephant dish Yj got for us because an elephant never forgets. You can’t just make that up. We can’t remember why we are somewhere; it’s not like going into a different room and having it slip your mind about what you went there for. We are in some McDonald’s drive-thru somewhere in the world, wondering why we are paying $4 for a strawberry milkshake. 

We get lost, lose the keys, and lose the car. We got lost and couldn’t find our suitcase, wallet, or vehicle on one occasion. We had been out of state for a few days and landed back at the Spokane Airport after midnight.  We knew where we came from but had no idea where we landed and couldn’t find any signs that gave us any information quickly. That started our Panic- and we went from no stars to one star.  We begin to feel our head turn into a 50-pound weight, which physically makes our sinuses close, so all those ‘breathe deep through our nose and out through our mouth’ Belly Breathing lessons are rendered useless. Our ability to think was fading, but still at the point where we didn’t notice our anxiety impaired us.   

We were pretty familiar with The Spokane airport.  When we walked out of the door, it had snowed while we were gone. It was pretty until the bus dropped us off in the economy lot. Almost every car was covered with snow, and we hadn’t made a detailed internal memo of where we had left the car. The economy parking lot is enormous, and all the vehicles are covered in snow. Fuckity Fuck Fuck. Two stars. It’s harder to breathe and harder to problem-solve.  So we begin just walking partially up and down aisles, sucking air.  Our internal fix-it prepper kid figures out to walk around and use the key fob to honk the horn and flash the headlights. Great idea, and it worked.  

We get to the check-out gate and need to pay for parking.  We smack around the pockets of our trousers and recall putting our wallet in the front pocket of our suitcase.  We walked to the back of the car, and the suitcase was not there; we didn’t remember to pick up our suitcase because of the first star. Now, the imaginary lights start flicking like fireflies around our heads, and problem-solving is now on autopilot.  We had to sit down and catch our breath. The only option is to drive back to the airport.  We returned after two in the morning and parked next to the doors to run in to get the suitcase.  

We have gotten this far, and things are improving now that we at least have the car. There is a sign pointing to luggage pick up. The spinny thing with the suitcases was no longer spinning, and the airport was silent. Three stars set firmly in. They could not find our suitcase and asked what our flight number was because they had sent some luggage back to Salt Lake for those who had lost it in the other direction.  Four stars knocked out any competent adult inside right before they found it. While this shitfest was unfolding, they had been calling on the overhead that they were going to tow a car if it was not moved.  With no adults out, no one recognizes that they are describing our vehicle.  We get to the parking garage with our wallet, suitcase, and keys, and the car is being taken; our vehicle is being pulled and chained onto the back of the tow truck. In the middle of four and five stars, someone bigger than me catches our breath and gets the tow man to give us back the car, then drives home in the snow.  

The next morning begins with the ‘Where Are We Now” game.  

Multiples in the Movies               .

We have to make a significant effort to pay attention to the outside. For us, it's hard to tell people what's happening inside; we can't put a word to what we see and hear, and sometimes the two together are just barely out of sync, so the question gets lost. Sometimes, it takes us a long time to answer questions.  Films do that for us.  The pictures and words are in sync.  When we want to explain what something feels like, it's easier to use those as a reference for singletons.  We can try to explain what an internal civil war is like, but singletons don’t have a frame of reference for it. Telling a person to go to a scene in Moon Knight when he is fighting in the mirror and then crushing it with his foot shares the experience of internal fighting, what it looks like, and how it feels.  It’s nice to have them watch it instead of trying to explain.

When we try to watch a show, we can get through for a while but have to rewind fairly often when we get the drifts. YJ helps us when the storyline goes wrong for whoever is watching.  We don't recognize faces well and can't remember the names of the people. We know who Patricia Arquette is because she has a crooked right incisor tooth. We thought that an actor only got one or two major movie parts. They worked hard to make their dream come true and have their “one big chance.” They got it, and it was over. Meryl Streep finally broke through; she is in several movies, and many of us enjoy her. We also recognized her from Pop Media. In films with similar actors, we can't follow what looks like timeline jumps and plot twists that don't exist. We didn't know Jody Foster and Helen Hunt were two different people.  Things start to break down more if we can’t tell two other people apart in the same movie. Every woman in “Gladiator” has long, pulled-up brown hair. They have the same body build and wear period-piece costumes. We understood the killing each other part of the movie, but the love story quickly became a teleported throuple, and we felt sure that was not the screenwriter's intended takeaway. 

In films like Harry Potter, when the actors age between films, they become two different people, so we can’t carry the character over into the new storyline.  This one does bother YJ just a bit. Complex storylines exist in movies like Lord of the Rings or the Marvel Universe.  She wants us to understand the inside references to other films that carry over characters and plots because she enjoys it and would like us to enjoy it as much as she does. We don't have enough continuity to scaffold new stories.  We have to rewind frequently; sometimes, she has to explain what's happening in scenes quite a few times. She often has to explain parts when one of us would also like to see it. She teases us about it, and we remind her that it’s a new release for us. Some of us have seen a scene so often that it has burned into our retinas. 

Assault and Battery

In the show” Severance,” the outside person chooses both because he controls the body and has all the information. The company tortures the inside person until they comply without question, and by being severed, he can’t tell anyone who could help. If their inside person is miserable and they become desperate to get out, they are stuck there if their outside person keeps going to work. One character is new to the group and becomes miserable quickly. She tries to turn in her resignation, but her outside person denies her request and keeps returning her to work daily. 

Her inside person threatens to cut off the fingers of their hand if she makes her come back to this fresh hell. In response, her outside person sends a video telling her she is only a part of and will do her job, then threatens her back, saying that if she tries again, she will make their lives as long and miserable as possible.  Subsequently, her Inside person attempts suicide.  Because they rewired their brains, they wake up while going down the elevator, so they never perceive time as passing. So even after hanging herself, she immediately wakes up at work again in cleaned-up clothes. This is a System's real life. The elevator never quite makes it to the top.   

When we are unhappy, overwhelmed, or afraid of something and something is going on. Hurting the body sends a clear message to the one of us who is causing their distress. Right now, we have a youngling slicing our fingers. I don’t know him, but I feel confident he is around because Miss Jenny is on vacation.  Jenny and Yj are both very good at being mindful of our pre-routine change. The younglings' feelings of abandonment are a big deal.  I’m lying; feeling abandoned is a big deal for all of us. Self-harm is more of an assault and battery situation; the guy harming the body is usually not harming themselves; they are harming another one of us. We see, hear, and feel ourselves as separate within but affected by the choices of our teammates. 

At times, this journey has felt overwhelmingly heavy, leaving us grappling. One particular period when emotions spilled over, leaving Dana grappling with complex feelings that lacked contextual understanding. Dana, then a 13-year-old in 7th grade, would awaken each morning with a singular focus that consumed him entirely: a quiet determination. As dawn would break and the soft light filtered through his bedroom window, he would mentally tally his class scores, each number a considerable weight on his shoulders that reflected both academic expectations and personal fears. In-home economics, he received a C. It was an innocuous grade, perhaps even a cause for indifference, but for Dana, it felt like an anchor dragging him down. For Dana, that seemingly simple letter carried an overwhelming burden, representing not only academic performance but also the fear of disappointment, the struggle for validation, and the pressing anxiety of not meeting our dad's expectations.

That morning, he hid around the corner of the school, waiting for the bell to ring for the start of another day. Once the flood of students and staff streamed into the building, they descended the steep campus hill, each step heavy with unspoken anxiety, descending toward the baseball field. Behind home plate, a sturdy chain link fence stood guard, a barrier designed to shield spectators from the peril of a stray foul ball. At that moment, he was struck by a profound yearning to escape, to find solace amid the tumult, an aching desire for the pain to fade away. I felt this deeply with him. He scaled the chain link fence, his fingers grabbing the cool metal. He reached the top. A heavy sense of loneliness intertwined with emotional neglect swirled around him like a persistent fog. Each thought tugged at his heart, growing insistent until he felt the weight pushing him over. It happened in an instant; the moment was fleeting. It wasn’t like on TV Shows. There was no pondering long enough to be talked off the ledge; it was just scrambling over the top and dropping on the packed dirt. 

He instinctively reached out to brace himself for the fall; his hands collided with the ground, which helped protect his head from the most severe impact. However, the force of the landing broke his arm. The sharp crack echoed as the weight of our body hit the earth, leaving him momentarily stunned and breathless. He had sealed our fate; our mom would have to be called, and this time, she would have to come to get us. Causing her any inconvenience and unpleasant results. This day was no different. She gave him his math make-up work on the drive to the hospital in the form of a word problem.  Do you know how much it costs to lose three hours of pay and how much this doctor's bill will cost? If we have to make $20 monthly payments for your arm plus your quarter of the bills, how much money are you costing Dennis to live every month? He wanted to say $232.34 because she couldn’t do that math even with a pencil, but making wise was also not in his best interest.

This afternoon was the first time we cut Dana. They were awkward cuts with our left hand because our right hand was immovable. We used a dull and sticky box cutter. It tore as much as sliced. This was not childish fear. We overheard her arguing with our Dad on the phone.  They were fighting about child support and who would have custody of me. I heard my mom sweetened the deal with their brand-new color television if he would take me.  Dana needed to be warned not to make us beholden to Dennis or to make my mom give us away because we cost too much.

“Stop whatever you’re doing for a moment and ask yourself: Am I afraid of death because I won’t be able to do this anymore?” - Marcus Aurelius

We’ve watched’ Severance," to a certain point, quite a few times.  At the end of the first season, the characters bypass the implant and suddenly become aware of their outside person; they jump into the middle of their Outie's everyday lives.  We didn't understand how Inside Mark could teleport his mind into Outside Mark's body in the middle of a dinner party that happens five hours in the future from the time he leaves work.  We tried so hard to explain to Yj why it wasn't possible. I regrettably pushed my point past what was comfortable for her. 

Todd is at work and leaves at five every day. He switches in the elevator, and we always wake up in the parking lot outside the Building at 5:15. Todd only knows what happens at work, so he stays there and never leaves. Inside.   We took two fidget balls and put them in a jar. Then we took the jar inside the office building. At 5:15, Todd leaves work, and the circuit jumps while he’s in the elevator.  We switch, and it’s me. I am at a dinner party that night around 9:00, then the circuit jumps, and Toddy bursts out at the grown-up dinner party.

Finally, we understood what Yj was saying. After the elevator ride, Toddy would be turned off.  The jar was empty of one of us all of the time. It hurts to think about this. It hit us hard. We started to cry at the thought. It wasn't about not being here that upset us; it was the thought of one of our littles just being gone. We don’t experience each other this way. When we hear Toddy, we also see him in his ball cap, utterly separate from us regarding his life, body, and relationships. We see, hear, and feel each other when we are close. It’s like tin cans and a string; the closer we are, the clearer we hear each other.

“The children’s grandfather wanted them to like his house. He wanted them to live with him all the time. So he had made over some of the rooms just for them.” Gertrude Chandler Warner, The Boxcar Children

Where Do We Go?

Cary—Jenny notices when things seem to be getting ready to snowball downhill way too quickly.  She helps us quit rolling and adding unnecessary snow to the ball. She has taught us to put bookmarks in places when we get past what we can handle. Then, we can look at them a little later. It helps keep the floods away; it helps put them back where they belong until we can look at them again.   

I’ve been asked where I go when not in the front, and I see my library. There is a long path made of stones that have been walked on so many times and have worn down.  There is a large wood door at the end of the path. It has a heavy metal lock, the ones that slide up. Inside are two levels of books with a fire in front of two chairs.  There is a table between two chairs with a lamp sitting on it. Next to the lamp's base is a key to unlocking wooden file cabinets.

Sometimes, somebody is with me if a guy asks for my help, like when they have big feelings and nowhere to go. I hold out an envelope and let them put whatever they need away until he is ready to look at it again and share it with the rest of us. I file it, and then I lock it. Leaving the keys on the table, I shut the heavy door, slid the lockdown, and let the guy feel his feet on the ground. Sometimes, I ask Jenny to accompany me when the envelope is too heavy.  I can’t look at some of it. It feels like vicarious trauma when I still have to figure out what to do with mine as well. I feel like I’ve always known my way back here. The ground again.  I leave him where he can find his way home. Some have extraordinary treehouses and parks; I am jealous.  Then, I find my way back to the door and wait for the sun to come up.  That’s where I go. 

The Littles in the Meeting Room

Zeek - I watched Cain, Simon, Noah, and Jonah gathered together, sharing stories and laughter, while Josh and Cary joined them, adding to a better atmosphere. Each person brings a unique perspective to the group, creating an engaging and enjoyable dynamic. Cain is known for his sense of humor, while Gabrial and Noah, the quiet observers, contribute thoughtful insights. Jonah and Orion keep everyone entertained with witty anecdotes. Toddy is also a storyteller; he captivates us with tales of his and Iggy’s adventures and pranks, and his infectious laugh fills the room. Meanwhile, Josh and Cary add to the group, seamlessly integrating into the camaraderie that unites this lively group of kids. The meeting room is much louder now that we have let the little ones inside, but Todd has created a quiet corner so the rest of us can think.

“But you will go though the weather is foul. On you will go though your enemies prowl. You will go through the Hakken-Kraks howl. Onward up many a frightening creek, though your arms may get sore and your sneakers may leak. You have brains in your head. You have feet in your shoes. You can steer yourself in any direction you choose.” Dr. Seuss, Oh, the Places You Will Go 

Toddy’s Magical Crayon

When we asked the littles about their experience on the inside compared to the front, Toddy said it was like “Harold and the Purple Crayon.”  Harold is a four-year-old boy with a magical purple crayon that brings his dreams to life. One starry evening, yearning to stroll under the soft glow of moonlight, he discovers the night sky is devoid of the moon’s luminous presence. Undeterred, he draws a radiant moon, its silvery light casting a gentle shimmer across the landscape. 

He sketches a winding path, and he explores the wonders ahead. Harold embarks on enchanting adventures, each more fantastical than the last. He encounters a fearsome dragon, its scales glinting in brilliant shades of emerald and gold, as it guards a magnificent apple tree laden with glistening red fruit. He sets sail on his boat, Harold navigating through deep, azure waters where the waves dance playfully beneath him. He soon hosts a delightful picnic, a feast filled with nine tantalizing flavors of pie, each slice bursting with sweetness and vibrant colors. Finally, he takes to the skies in a colorful hot-air balloon, its bright fabric soaring high, whisking him away to safety as he begins to tumble from his dreams. Each moment crafted with his crayon unveils a world of wonder and imagination where anything is possible. 

Eventually, Harold grows tired and searches for his bedroom window to go to bed. He draws many windows, drawing an entire city, yet none are his. Finally, Harold remembers where his window is situated, constructs his room and bed, and nods to sleep. Jenny tells us that the triggers that hurt also give us superpowers. She wants us to work together to not only make the pain disappear but also to have adventures, fun, and laugh

Jonah, Orion, and the Treehouse

Jonah and Orion- We go to our treehouses. Our dad’s wife refuses to let us inside the house whenever my dad isn't home during the day. She enforces a strict rule, leaving us standing on the porch, feeling the weight of her disapproval. We can’t shake the unease that builds inside, telling us it's better to be left outside.  Some of them inside are afraid when the door won't open, but we are not!  It's an adventure!

I walk to the park, where a drinking fountain provides fresh water. It's too high to reach, but I’ve figured out a trick: I use an empty glass bottle to catch the water while pressing the shiny silver button. I used a broken bottle that left me with cuts, so I was happy to find one that was not broken. That was a lesson learned; it was not good for me. If I get hungry, I can walk to the corner store just a short distance from my home. On my way back at night, they always hand me a wrapped sandwich. I find another sandwich and a cup of milk waiting for me in the morning, placed by the corner door.  I didn't need to ask for it; they told me it was for me, and I appreciated their kindness. I nod at them and smile when I see them, even though I never talk.  

I play at the park with the treasures I’ve hidden away. The park also has a necessary bathroom despite its unpleasant smell of mothballs and stale urine. When the sun is up, my favorite toy is the Merry-go-Round. I like to lay on it with my head as close to the middle as possible, then lock it in with my arms. The other kids push it around, screaming and laughing on the warm summer afternoons.  I use their momentum to watch the clouds rip circles in the blue sky.  

When it's dark and I’m waiting for my dad to get home, my favorite spot to stay is the swing set. I often lay back on the swing, allowing it to cradle me gently as I push myself slightly with my legs. I look down into the sand and let my gaze drift until I see the grains below me shift back and forth. The lights on the basketball court turn on at dusk and off at dawn; they illuminate the area, and I think about all the joyful afternoons I’ve spent playing here. As I rock gently on the swing, I eagerly anticipate the fun I’ll have when the sun rises, and the other kids join me in the park’s adventures.   

I have a friend with an enormous tree in his backyard, its thick branches sprawling wide and perfect for climbing. The tree is surrounded by a soft bed of grass and wildflowers, making it a serene spot for us to hang out. We also have another friend who stands out with his vibrant red hair, which always seems to catch the sunlight. We love to spend our afternoons climbing the tree, competing to see who can reach the highest branch. 

My friend with the tree lives on the same road as the dump; people often discard perfect items, from furniture to old toys. We usually walk there to see what treasures we might find amidst the discarded belongings. We began by gathering flat pieces of sturdy wood from the ground, carefully selecting those that were both strong and long enough. Determinedly, we constructed a makeshift ladder that reached the side of the tree, its rough edges scraping against our hands as we worked. Once we reached the next largest branch, we built another ladder designed for the thrill of climbing even higher. We felt invisible from our perch on that branch—only those standing directly beneath the tree could spot us hidden among the leaves. 

Excitedly, we searched for more pieces of wood, crafting a spacious platform that spanned between that sturdy branch and its neighboring one. The platform was our secret sanctuary, elevated high above the ground. We lay back on the smooth, sun-warmed surface, surrounded by the rustling leaves and the whispers of the wind. In our little hideaway, we shared stories and giggled about the silly things adults often dismiss as foolish. We play games like Pirates, pretending to sail on a vast, imaginary ocean or transform our backyard into a mysterious island inhabited only by adventurous kids. Together, we build a sturdy ladder that reaches higher and higher up the gnarled branches of our favorite tree, testing its limits until we find the last branches that can safely support our weight. From here, the ground looks like a distant world far beneath us, a patchwork of grass and dirt.

Sometimes, I sneak up to the treehouse early in the morning before my friends wake up, the soft light of dawn brushing the sky in pastel hues. I sit quietly among the thick, leafy branches, gazing through the swaying greenery, searching for the first rays of sunlight to emerge. It’s a magical moment I cherish, knowing that the sun will rise brilliantly every morning, casting a warm glow on our little kingdom of imagination.

Mountain and Beach Boys- 

Jonah- Today is the day we go camping! It’s outside of Coos Bay, Oregon, on the coast. There will be days and adventures soon.  The adults leave me and my cousins at the beach while they go fishing in the deep ocean for the summer season, especially crab. They plant two small trailers in the hard, grave sand on the bay's shore.  There's not much in them; they are locked, but we broke into them years ago; it's not hard. There are mountains with small cliffs and high green trees.  The hill is safer at night than the trailers, anyway. People think people are in trailers; people don't look for kids on a mountain.

My cousin and I built tree houses at our dad's houses, so we built one here last year with the washed-up wood on the beach. We used a hammer and nails, which showed up here. The hammer still has the sticker on it. Some of the wood is too heavy to carry, but there is enough to make the walls high enough to sit on and enough for the six of us. People look down for things; they rarely look up. It takes both of us to get the small cousins up and down the trees. Parachute rope is in the trailer, so we use it to pull them up and lower them down. It takes both of us, one to lower and one to catch. They are not big, but they are heavy. My next youngest cousin is finally old enough to help, but the three youngest are a grief. They are like trying to save the anchor on the Titanic. 

There is a small town near the marina. There is plenty enough here. People leave beer cans and bottles near where they are boating. The store gives us a nickel for a can and a dime for a bottle. After a couple of days, we can buy bread and peanut butter. There are crab pots on the decks. The crab pots are useless on their own. I looked around and around and found some tangled fishing line that had been snagged on some rope. I usually find a piece with the tackle still attached if I look long enough. It gets caught in the brush or high grass when people cast their rods. It doesn't take too long, and I score.   

A long piece line that still has a small hook and a small lead sinker attached. I roll the line up on a stick. There are muscles attached to the dock pilings. They are easy to break off, and I stomp on them. I can get the soft meat from the shell and thread it on my hook.  I dangle the line in the bracken water from the last dock out on the Marina and easily catch a small fish. Now, I stomp on the small fish.  I feel a sickening crunch under my foot. I slide the big hook in the middle of the crab pot through the gills and mouth of the fish and toss it in. My cousin and I wait; we usually share a soda that we got at the store. Once we've finished that, we pull up the pot. A six-crab day is perfect. 

My name is Ignatius - I got the hammer and nails. I steal things from the store and sometimes from people's yards.  I pilfered a large, weathered tin bucket from a house in town. As evening descended, bringing with it the rhythmic sounds of the surf, we returned with our catch—glimmering fish and lively crabs clutched tightly.  My excitement grows as I gather smooth driftwood from the beach, stacking it carefully until it resembles a small bonfire. The flames leap to life with a splash of lighter fluid, crackling and dancing under the darkening sky. I love to feel the yellows and reds against the skin on my face.

I fill the bucket with seawater and wait for the water to reach a rolling boil. Once the water bubbles fiercely, I drop in the crab, some muscles from the pilings, and some small clams on the sand's top in the early morning. All of their vibrant shells contrast beautifully against the shimmering saltwater. The air fills with the rich, briny aroma, a simple yet rewarding feast crafted from our day’s adventures. The younger cousins wrinkle their noses at it. We crack open the red shells for them; it never takes the new ones long to figure out how to loosen the crab from the shell with the smaller and sharper bottom part of the claw as a scraper. They will get used to the fish, as we all did. Until then, they are stuck with peanut butter and bread.

Christopher- The fire lights up the dark and warms me before Jonah and Orion take the cousins up the hill to sleep safely. There are fields close by with white bee hives. The keepers of the bees come in the very early mornings.  They use smoke to make the bees calm.  This technique would make me the opposite of calm, but I use it. I take Iggy’s fire and hold it as far away as possible so the smoke is not hot.  I don’t know if it helps the bees, so I stay still, get closer, and reach in.  The littles think it's magic, but it's not; the bees do not think I am charming; they sting me; I’m getting the honey for their sandwiches. 

Cain- the young cousin, cried when we put out the fire so no one could see us. The mountain is dark and cold, but the light of a fire will give us away. We've taken all the blankets and sleeping bags and have them here. We've learned how to bend and interlace the upper bows of the trees to keep the rain out. My cousin and I sleep on the edges so the smaller ones don't fall out. It's also warmer with all of us under here. 

I don't tell any of them, but the mountain isn't as safe as they think.  I wait for them all to fall asleep and then sit on the edge. Ben never goes out on the ocean with the rest of them.  He says it makes him sick, and he could never be on a boat for five days at a time.  He says he is going to stay home but doesn't stay home. I tell them I have to go to the bathroom and I will be right back. I want to keep him from looking for us, so I return to where he can find me, and he will leave them alone. I return to the trailer, start a fire, and wait. 

Continue Boys Rooms

Dreams

I considered starting this with a pithy quote about nightmares, but I want to share something more personal. The truth is, I have a deep affection for my nighttime dreams. While I do experience recurring nightmares that can feel unsettling, there are also wonderful dreams that fill me with joy. These are the dreams I find myself reluctant to leave behind when morning arrives—those moments that feel like having to close a captivating book just as the plot thickens. It’s a bittersweet feeling, waking up just as the adventure peaks. I want to stay asleep and stay there, but I wake up to the returning weight in my stomach as our anguish returns in a moment. 

I had a dream about being multiple one night. It was one of those dreams that feels so real that you can't tell you're asleep. I was sitting in our recliner and watching my two outside sons and three of my inside younglings playing together. I even saw a kid's video playing in the background.  My son took away a toy from one of our boys inside, and he started crying. Usually, I would have brushed this off as a child's overreaction; they would have to find a way to share. I felt so bereft when my boy took a toy from my inside kiddo.  When I woke up right after that, I woke up still feeling this profound and unfair loss. I felt what they felt and could no longer deny they were here.

The littles get pissy that our hands are big now. They have a hard time playing video games that require dexterity.  It is very frustrating for them when they know the answer to the puzzle but can not react quickly enough to beat the bosses. They blame us for their case of “Nintendo Thumb.” They are not wrong.  Not being able to accommodate the littles only works for so long, but this is a complex request. 

We went to the optometrist last week.  Yj and our guys made the plan. The guy with the worst vision with our old glasses gets the new pair this time. The plan is easy peasy lemon squeezy. We get to the end of the exam, and she says that the last optometrist was high, our old glasses were much too strong, and didn’t correct our astigmatism. Lemon squeezy was not achieved. Nobody was surprised. 

We've forged a pact with our boys: during part of our day, they are free to play and immerse themselves in their worlds. Their lives are filled with colorful chaos, Lego creations, and imaginative arts and crafts: intriguing puzzles and a treasure trove of captivating books. Time often slips away in this playful place; our inner boys have unique ways of making their presence known. We strive to keep their enjoyment at the forefront of our minds, prioritizing their happiness and creativity. This is new. Before understanding why they were being little shits, we were harsh; work came first. When we unintentionally forget our promise, the boys feel justified in taking matters into their own hands. Orion and his buddy Jonah, Young Ignatius, and his loyal buddy Toddy, who orchestrates the bullshit and shenanigans. 

They have three rules:

1-Don't come out at work 

2-Don't drive the car

3-Don’t buy anything on Amazon without asking first.  

Random Thoughts 

Flash Backs

The walls our inside boys have are semi-permeable. Their constant state of hypervigilance is their shield, driving them to defend their buddies and brothers from the chaos that often surges inside them. Trying to help them navigate their memories without triggering a flood of emotions is crucial—achieving seamlessness in our day-to-day existence is daunting.  We have deep apprehension that setting the system off balance and losing control of the littles and tweens is triggered when something zaps and overwhelms us all.

We also had flashbacks that are just as dramatic as they look in movies. That in-color visceral reaction for illustrative effect plays out in real-time.  We had a door slam behind us at work, and it grabbed us by the chest and threw us on the ground. We went from two stars to five stars in a millisecond. Our inside kid walked into the other room and held the wall to keep standing.  He had white lights spinning in the corners of his field of vision right before he felt like he was going to pass out. He sat down and started an internal dialogue with his close little guy, “It’s in the past,” “Take a breath.”  That’s all fine and good, but what is in the past that we are supposed to be leaving there? What we hear is screaming inside, and what we feel is terror. It's an experience that we can't control or even explain well. We didn’t know how to describe what was happening. 

The weight of our feelings and memories can often feel suffocating, like an anchor pulling us deeper into despair. Dissociation serves as a defense mechanism, a protective shield your mind constructs against the unbearable pain of your experiences. This profound sense of disconnection highlights the urgent need for support and guidance. During overwhelming despair, we turn to Yj. She is a lifeline—reminding us of connection, warmth, and kindness, which offer a grounding effect, providing the escape from spinning we need and helping us regain control.

Self-Sabotage: This is the Reason We Can’t Have Nice Things

Like Self-harm, Self-Sabotage is more complicated when it becomes Selves, and the two are not mutually exclusive. These are things that get hard to look at.  Part of that first tier of healing between Carol Ann and seeing Jenny the second time required us to spend a much more uncomfortable time looking in the mirror and owning the parts of the aftermath we created for ourselves. It was painful.  It is painful.

We had to sift through the dust of our battlefield and decide what shrapnel came from where, what damage was done, and if it was friendly fire or not. Holding ourselves accountable allowed us to reclaim part of ourselves. At least once you know it's you who is causing the problem, you can stop doing it. You’re no longer a victim. For us, it felt like shedding that feeling of having a target on our back. It’s like the joke about telling the doctor that it hurts whenever you poke yourself in the eye. We didn’t feel like we were in constant threat, and I think our central nervous system finally cut a break. 

Those years in the mirror were excruciating. We had an excellent counselor in between the times we saw Miss Jenny. Carol Ann Conrad is her excellent chapter.  I don’t know if we’ll get there.  We hit a place of equilibrium for about 10 years after seeing her.  She helped us end all of the physically abusive cycles. The only way out was to run away, so we moved from Southeast Washington to Provo, Utah.  It gave us the distance to gain the insight and foresight we needed.  We also took the outside kids to keep them safe with us.  It was a solid foundation for the first time.  We found out that we could keep ourselves and our children safe on our own. It was grounding, and we mainly functioned.

Middle School Director: Are you coming to pick up your children today?

Us: Yes. It's my week to drive the carpool

Miss Sharon: I know; they are all still here.

Us: Shit! Is it an early out day?

Miss Sharon: it's 4:00 pm

Us: crickets

We were distraught and took our youngest with us to get diapers and wipes for his butt, hoping the drive would help us calm down.  We put him in the baby rack on the top of the cart and went into the abyss of mark-downed prices. We leave the baby in the aisle to free up movement so that we can accomplish the required task efficiently. One of the employees crashed an end cap display right behind us and took us from one to 3 stars at sonic speed. We put the diapers and the wipes in the cart with the baby and bee-lined to the self-check-out.  I looked up at a furious Hispanic woman as we inserted our card.  We didn’t remember doing anything that would warrant that kind of hostile look from a fellow member of the general population, and then she pointed at my son.  I looked at him and noticed that he didn’t have on his stripey overalls, and I had the wrong brown baby at the checkout stand. There was no graceful way out of that potential “Adam Alert.” 

Despite forgetting the children at school or checking out the wrong child at Walmart, they helped us keep our feet closer to the ground than at other times.  They are young adults now and have to sift through their childhoods and find where they want the pieces to fit into their narratives. We were incredibly hard on ourselves after an incident, and Carol Ann said no child walks out unscathed and that the best we could do was to commit every day not to harm. We weighed every choice with outside kids with this premise.  It was not foolproof; We know our outside kids love us. They are already turning some of those memories into funny stories, which is good. A lovely couple living in Eli, Nevada, occasionally checks the internet to see if that family they gave a ride to town after getting lost with his wife and three teenage children was ever heard from again. 

Coming Back

We returned to Washington shortly after getting married. We left Washington upon Carol Ann’s wise counsel, and it helped with the physical healing, but coming back ripped that band-aid right off, especially after we got hurt at work and went down the hole in the road. The good thing was that we saw the hole coming, but not before hitting it. Hindsight, foresight, and insight have a sweet threesome in our heads for a change, so we called for help sooner this time. But not before, not harm.  

We had become so entrenched in functioning continually at three stars that we didn’t notice how self-destructive we had become, but on our one-star days, we regretted our choices. We had to have surgery to repair our rotator cuff after tearing it while lifting a patient at work.  This accident financially wiped us out, and it was the trigger for the second great implosion. It had been that decade, and there had been some change since we heard from Jenny.  She had family needs that required her to move to this side of the state. She transferred our care to Carol Ann then, so we knew she was somewhere nearby. Fortunately, computers had replaced the Yellow Pages, so she was not challenging to locate.  

We were nervous about contacting her. We weren’t sure if it would be worse for her not to remember us or if she would say she wouldn’t see us again.  It would have been fair.  She has not come out of her time with us unscathed.  The first hostile takeover happened while we were seeing her. One night, we were fighting with each other in the parking lot of a Conoco after spending the evening with our mom and her then-third husband.  She had everyone so upset that people were throwing away dirty dishes to escape the chaos of having to stay and help her clean up. 

The hole- mom Dennis taking notes- inspector- 

For a good reason, fire is a go-to for some of our youngsters. Good place to note this: when the little ones hurt one of us, they don’t know restraint or unintended consequences, so they do the most damage. We quickly slid down the ranks of internal arsonists to one of the youngsters who had a plan of lighting us on fire with the gas from the pump and our cigarette lighter.  This means opportunity and intent with a viable strategy that can happen as fast as a gunshot with the flair of the fourth of July.  Professionally, we would have lost our shit if we got this phone call from one of our patients as well.

Self-harm and Self-Sabotage have a finely choreographed dance with substance abuse. There are shelves of self-help books regarding addictions. It’s a perpetual need to tamp down the stimuli.   We can’t speak to other drugs, but drinking and being multiple is a horrific plan. For us, it's just a matter of a few drinks that things start going array.  We don’t get adult drunk; we get “Little” drunk.  Yj hides candy for them as a means to coerce behavior, but they don't self-regulate well and will make us sick, and they will even be a bit of a dick if one of his teammates ate a piece that he had been saving. Yj has to try to make that work. She can be diplomatic in representing Cheerios and Lucky Charms in The Cold Cereal Conflicts.

She, too, has been deeply affected by us in ways that hurt to be introspective about.  In all seriousness, we may start drinking while having a one-star evening, and nothing happens.  We've shown that getting us from one star to another doesn't take much of a spark.  Not every toddler has made good choices after drinking a couple of Panty Rippers at the swim-up bar on the promenade deck. I'm just writing that, and I see a bunch of pint-sized passed-out Jolly Rogers. That makes them sound more cute than they are when drunk. It's Gizmo to Gremlin in less than an hour. Our inside kindergartener was impaired and threw a massive tantrum in her car,  a 6-foot-tall tantrum in a small SVU; we threw things out the windows and crushed glass into the car rug, screaming. We destroyed some very sentimental little chotskis on her dashboard and, more importantly, scared her.  

When we hurt our arm at work, we ended up back in that very insecure place of not making the bills and not having a way out that we could see. It dropped us off right on the page we left it when we moved to Utah.  The final straw last time was breaking our leg and being helpless and hopeless and having it rubbed in that it made us useless. It didn’t matter how often Yj told us we were okay; we knew she was lying.  Couldn’t she possibly want us to be happy without hooks? We made sure to test this. Thirty cases of reactive attachment issues are unfair, and drinking is gas on the fire some days. 

Finding our way Home:

We rarely share our internal boys with others; doing so would only draw them into our labyrinth without a compass. It’s a ticket to the tranquility of our mental haven, and there are only a few tickets.  This often pushes people away until they prove themselves trustworthy through what seems like an exhaustive set of trials we put in place for them.  Those who attempt to understand our world often imagine it as an unrelenting barrage of noise—a cacophony devoid of harmony rather than a nuanced chorus of voices. There are moments of dialogue that punctuate our experience, revealing the vulnerable layers beneath our calm exterior. The walls become perilously thin during these instances, exposing the chaos we sometimes endure. 

Yj came to fold clothes while we watched a lecture about dissociation last month by Colin Ross. He had a two-hour lecture, and when she asked why we were watching it, I told her we were assessing whether we exhibited any listed symptoms. She started checking them off, saying, “Check, check, and check.” So that wasn't very pleasant. This is why the debunkers don’t understand what they’re talking about; they are too skeptical. We have front-row seats to the shitshow while they are sitting in the bleachers in the left field. 

Switching cannot occur on cue for entertainment or for a random doctor who asks to see one of us—it's inherently chaotic and disorienting. The rapid transitions are often accompanied by a flood of emotions, confusion, and a lack of control, which makes the idea of having an outsider observe it feel incredibly intrusive and distressing. When we decide whether or not to tell a person that we are here, we self-check before making any personal disclosure. Why are we saying it, and to whom is the information beneficial? Know your audience and consider your timing.  We would always interview providers by tossing out a piece of bait, some actual painful feelings we were having, and then we would see how they would respond. If that went well, we would give them a chance, and If they dismissed us, we wouldn’t even bother. We, too, have tried to believe we are not here and have had little success with that approach.

We needed to get a copy of our medical records and laugh now when we look at them.  We were admitted to the same state hospital under the care of the same providers three times.  Shit, you not; they gave us almost every "personality disorder,’ on the market.  Borderline, Avoidant, Anti-Social, Dependent, and Obsessive with a healthy dose of Bipolar I with psychotic features,  depression, anxiety, and ADHD. Somehow, this was easier for them to chew than PTSD with severe dissociation. 

This also happens with providers' opinions on organized abuse; it's dangerous to dismiss it because it feels sensationalized and couldn’t possibly happen.  

We still play this game with ourselves when one of us spins about having it or not so we can dismiss each other.  We saw a video from someone who looks pretty genuine, and they pointed out that questioning whether you're a system or not is a very system thing to do. They take a camera around and ask people if they had a typical childhood, and when they say yes, they ask them if they ever worry that they are a system, not a single yes.   Somehow, it’s validating that no one knows what we're discussing.

Naked and Afraid

Dismissive providers were more damaging than we initially gave them credit for. We did not want to exist as much as the provider didn’t want us to. It’s easier not to take up space. When a doctor told us it was not bad, we believed them.  We desperately wanted it to “not be that bad.”   We got on a kick watching the show, “Naked and Afraid.’ Each episode chronicles the lives of two survivalists who meet for the first time naked and are tasked with surviving a stay in the wilderness for 21 days. They can each only bring one survival item.  They gave them two items by season six because very few people made it even to the point of getting clean water before they took a header. If anyone tries to convince you that a human is an apex predator, tell them to give it a few seasons. One team called themselves the "Alpha Males,’ and they found a honey hole of electric eels. They hunt that hole almost every day for two weeks. They use a spear, but when the eel starts to escape, they grab that knife, and it zaps them hard enough to fuck with their heartbeat, and they do it over and over for 2 weeks. We sat puzzled at how often a person can stick a butter knife in the toaster. 

Yj tolerated us watching the 18th season finale, and contestants were half dead on the beach, sunburned after a 10-mile hike in the hot sand, standard. They are somewhere in Central America during the storm season. Then the two get into a giant pissing match about the best way to build a shelter, and butt burned boy takes his knife so that no one gets a shelter. A massive storm rolls across the coast, and it starts pouring rain, and they are huddled up under their little palm frond. The rain stops, and the teammates wait a minute until the insects come out.  A few things consistently remove most people from the game, and the bugs get to people before hunger and thirst. 

At this point, the contestants were weeping, wailing, and whining, and we looked at Yj and told her that we felt confident we could last 21 days. We told her that if that happened to us, we could shut down under that one palm frond for 21 days or until Wilson found us. That came out of our mouths without thought, just a matter of statement. Something else came up later, and we immediately dismissed our abuse as being significant; we lived through it, and eh? It was not bad; the food could have been better, but there were no big complaints. The roaches in the bathroom are good company, but bring your own sammie; they don’t share.  We have very low bar expectations in life. We came to believe that we were lucky to have the palm frond, and we did shut up, and we were grateful. 

Inherent Value 

“We all can be superheroes. To become one, you must find your unique power or ability and exploit it for the greater good. The cape and mask are optional accessories, but a kind heart is essential.”  – Robert Clancy, writer

In the show, O Mark has chosen to be separated from himself to avoid the pain of the loss of his wife. O Mark finds out his wife is still alive. Finally, both I and O Mark find a way to talk between themselves; each is in love. They are arguing, and Mark asks O why he should care about his wife after he has locked him in a box for two years, just sorting random numbers that he bins by emotion. He tells him that he is not just a part of it; his life is just as valuable. He says they may not have much life, but they have created one and made the best of it. 

In Moon Knight, there is a scene where Steven falls overboard into the Sands of Time forever, and Marc goes to the Elysian Fields. When he realizes Steven will be there forever, he makes them take him back to find him. He finds him frozen in the sand and holds his hand. Marc tells Steven that he is the only superpower he ever had.  We all have someone that we are closer to than others because we went through it together with them. Josh has always been with me. He is my best friend and worst enemy, lovingly loyal, the person I confide in, and, more importantly, he always shows up for me when I need help. There are good parts to being dissociative, or it wouldn't work. The whole coping mechanism is quite literally to  “Find Your Happy Place” and go back as needed. 

It took a long time for some of us to trust anyone. It can be very frustrating that it takes so long or we meet a new guy. It’s one step forward, one step back, no progress.  We spent a lot of time berating ourselves for not making progress.  Josh and I did the math one afternoon.  We spent almost every night afraid to go to bed from when we were two until we were 18; that's 5,840 nights alone and scared.  It might take a minute to get through. Jenny listens to each of us, helping us find the voice we were never allowed to use. 

It takes a long time to get a feral cat to trust you, and she has been trying to herd a pack of feral kittens. Jenny has helped us find our words and how to use them. It is the way we are starting to learn how to care for our littles. We can support them after they have shared their histories. " Those words didn't come from thin air.  Yj has given us the space to use our words and be safe.   They have taken the time to wait for us patiently, helped us talk nicely to each other, and not consistently berate ourselves about having DID. 

"I am looking for friends. What does that mean--'tame'?" Said the Little Prince.

"It is an act too often neglected," said the fox. It means to establish ties."

"'To establish ties'?"

"Just that," said the fox. "You are nothing more than a little boy like a hundred thousand other little boys. And I do not need you. And you, on your part, do not need me. I am nothing more than a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. But if you tame me, then we shall need each other. To me, you will be unique all over the world. To you, I shall be unique in all the world.” Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince