Friday, April 8, 2011

We / We Get Random / We Have Questions

This is in response to yesterday event: 
We Freak Out - If you haven't read it yet you probably should. A little straight up context to better understand this one.

We're sitting at work, our head is swarming with the things we want to say, with questions we have. So much excitement. It's like we are in a fever....

We talked to her, after we finally got done writing yesterdays blog. (if you don't use twitter, read from the bottom to the top of each section/image)

@IAmTheCrews comment above is in response to a Tweet we deleted, that we had written while sobbing on the floor of the living room last night, that stated: 
"she hates you, she doesn't want us to follow you, She is scared"

We are still scared to read too much of her blog. Like we always do, we want to figure things out for our self. It's too hard for us to focus. Plus, we don't want influence, even if we could read it. It's why we don't read about DID anyway. We already knew what was going on. We're just not used to being that right. We will have to start to read about it eventually. Maybe.

We had questions for her, so we're posting them here for her, we read a little on her blog (we read a new entry she posted last night), and related with it, so it's going to be a weird set up here.


That's where Bitch left off this morning. There was a started sentence of three words that we could make no sense of, where it was going to go, what she had planned to write. She started this entry; she was so excited this morning. She actually skipped to work, danced on the sidewalk a little. She was in a good mood. Not sure where she went, but "we're" sullen now. 

We figure she was going to set up this entry differently.

The Jeans walked into our office right after we hit the wall, and was being all smart assy and said "What's wrong? Did someone unfollow you on Twitter?"

“No, jackass.” That's what was in our head. 

"No. We're just in a bad mood." We said, as we sat, chin in the palm of our hand, glaring at the computer screen. Our head felt funny. Not like right now. Now it feels like there is pressure in it, it’s full of cotton, and our neck hurts a lot today. Stupid car accident injuries. We're going to have severe chronic pain forever, unless we continue the deep tissue massage therapy. That shit hurts too, though. Our entire back is destroyed; at 31 years old no less.

Honestly it was like a dive, and she was gone.
We make sure that our "manger" sends us an e-mail about everything, so we have some markers.

"Can you send me an e-mail to remind me of that?" we said to him on Monday, in regards to being put in charge of taking the company vehicle home for a week.
"But, it's only a week away...." he trails off.
"Please, just do it. Trust me. it will sit in my inbox so when I open it up I am reminded." What else do you say? Sometimes saying you have a bad memory just doesn't get across how bad it can be sometimes.

We’ve only used “we’ once with the “manager”

"Well, on Thursdays we do menu planning" we begin, in our talk with him on Monday about our job duties because he really doesn't know what our job entails.
"You mean you and [The Jeans]?" he interjects.
"Uh". We had just gotten done telling him about the MPD (Multiple Personality Disorder)
"Nooooo." We make a face. Our eyes shift to the floor. We do something funny with our lips, half chewing on them. "I know that's confusing". We look at him.
"Yes. It is" he looks off into the corner, doesn't make eye contact with us and continues to talk.

It's funny when we are with The Jeans, or FNA, or Fabulous People and The Pup, and we blend/switch, which is when “we” slips from our mouth these days. Not so much in front of the "manager". We are getting too comfortable with the idea of being able to be “out”.

We were telling Standby, a recent ex of sorts, that we wanted to write our stories, but "I" didn't feel comfortable to use. We hadn't yet revealed anything to him in a clear way.

He stared at us dumbly. 

Of course he did.

He was the first one who really knew, but he refused to take it seriously because his pride was hurt. The only good thing he did was help with the destruction of The Other Girl (TOG). She would have spent the rest of her life with him, wrecking the possibility for our future. She was a threat to us; so was he.

On Monday afternoon when the "manager" sat down with us to discuss a potential drastic  decrease in our hours, "we", lost our shit. That was a bad situation. Our trucker mouth came out that day. We actually said something about our "employers", how they could "Fuck themselves in the ass with a hot poker". We swore a lot in that hour and a half.

Don't you wish you worked with us?

Some things we don't need to ask Marisa, this mother/wife/grandmother, this recoverer of Dissociative Identity Disorder that we met just yesterday. Like what triggered her switches before she recovered, because we know that those things are unique to the individual - what her triggers were, while they may have a common theme, will not be the same for us.

We know the negative triggers: irritation, stress, frustration, confusion, a smell; like Unpleasant Woman’s perfume. Lately we think there might be a color that is setting us off, the room we spend a lot of time in on Tuesdays and Wednesdays. Those are the days we seem to typically have our worst days. It's usually okay until we get in that room.

The room in question is large and open, so it’s not a space issue; we can't really get into too much detail though. This room however has the most putrid peach colour walls that you can imagine, akin to a minty green that hails from the same era as the building, straight from the 50's or something.

Until recently we hadn't noticed how angry it made us, we just knew that being in that room for a long time made us angry. We don't know why. We do know that this Tuesday we didn’t have to be in that room for one of the first times this year, and we had a good day. The Jeans even commented on how well we had performed that day, how much better we had kept our shit together. We didn't have to stand behind that desk, with all those people milling about, and that disguising colour fuelling our anger.

Wrong noise can trigger us too. When we try to write there are times, not days, when the music just cannot be on, because it makes it so we can't get our thoughts out properly; when paired with a cat meowing, we spew obscenities; yelling at the them; calling them names. Later, when we are done writing we are sad and we hold them in our arms, apologize, and sometimes cry. 

You are a horrible person, we say. But which one of us is horrible? 

When we are not trying to think much, music makes us dance. Even in public. We dance in the grocery store, when we walk down the street. I say that's Bitches department. She likes dance, and yoga, and things of that nature. 

Smells are triggers in good ways too, like that slightly musty warm scent of aged paper. It brings to mind the yellowed pages of the books that The Father used to read through the winter, when he was around more because there was no field work, and we would be snowed in for days on end, in the country; every winter, as long as we can recall, he would read the Laura Ingles Wilder The Little House on the Prairie series to us. The only time we ever saw him read anything. The time when we could be safe from the reality of The Mother, and people at school.


This morning we read Marisa's newest post, it was a Questions post from one of her readers.

Here is the question in Marissa blog that got Bitch the most excited.

She sees it and yells “That’s me you’re looking at!” I know immediately what she is talking about.

Yes, yes and yes. Stay tuned for answers and examples to be posted in the other blog. (this is linked to Bittersweet Gestalt, Marissa Feathers blog, an after recovery blog)

With every ‘yes’, Marissa answers a question we have, each time confirming what we suspected.
Bitch got excited and in Marissa comment section we wrote:
"OMG, it's like you explained our whole life! (we wish we would have met you sooner...thank god for Twitter!)
The out of body experience*; The facial changes** ("you look different today""you have death in your eyes today") 
The Jeans can tell just by a shift in our eyes...we have an aura and what has been termed "expressive eyes" by many.*** 
We still wonder if there is more of us, and I wonder if I am just assimilating all of them to Bitch, just to make it easier to understand...
How did you figure out how to separate them? Did a doctor help?
We just have so many many...
Did some of them exist together? For example Bitch and I seem to be together most of the time but then there are clearly times when it's just me, and there are clearly time when it is just her...or not ME...and then there were times when it wasn't me at all, like we've written about; and it was The Other Girl and Bitch....
Does this make sense??
Do you think it would be helpful for me/us to try to separate out and figure out who's "in there".
We feel like screaming in excitement from meeting you; especially now that I'm better about it.
Anything you can share from your experience, prior to the recovery would be great; we want to understand our self better....finally.
Thank you Thank you Thank you!!
Much <3!!!

There were some real consistencies that we had always been curious about. Finally some clarity.
*The out of body experience: This is something that usually only happens when we are outdoors, walking listening to our iPod. It's the strangest feeling. Literally it's like we are looking at our self from above, or at an angle. This probably doesn't make sense to some of you, others it may. The other time we recall this is during an unsanctioned session, a significant event we will be writing about.                   
**The Facial Changes *** Our Expressive Eyes and AuraMarissa said the members of her family knew "The Crew well enough to know just by the look on my face." People around Us can tell differences by our energy when we walk into a room. We give off something to people who pay attention. 
Our face changes, our eye color can change. Sometimes it's like a cloud over our face.The Jeans has been witness to many of our shifts/blends. Last Friday Bitch was enjoying her work day, she was giddy and happy, and The Jeans made a commented "where is that girl I went drinking with yesterday." 
One day when we were out for a walk discussing where to eat and upon suggesting a place that upset us The Jeans immediately mentioned a cloud that passed over our eyes, a severe shift in us. He notices a lot of things in our face, he can read shifts, we know he can because he comments when it happens sometimes and we try to blow it off, he just doesn't know that's what he sees. He does now, because he not only reads our face, he reads this blog.
We, of course, had some specific questions for her. She answered some of them openly in Twitter:

We asked her if we could post the other questions we had on our blog, so she could read them here. She agreed. This made us happy. 
We got interrupted in the middle of putting together the questions, and by the time we came back to them we had misplaced them, again. *sigh*

  • ·        How did you come about figuring out separating the members of The Crew; or figuring out how many there were?
  • ·        Do you think it's beneficial if we try this (providing it doesn't involve a white coat...) 
  • ·        How did you come up with ages?
  • ·        What is the most significant thing you gained from separating/categorizing your personalities?

This is all we know about us:

Sometimes we are confused when an emotion/feeling just seems too extreme. Like hyper-sexuality, or anger, excessive silliness; and they swing. Within seconds we are somewhere else.

There is a male influence we are currently more aware of. He's very mean, says mean things to us and tried to heavily discourage our writing and sharing. He makes us yell out loud and we tell him to shut up. We mentioned him briefly in a post from the other day about relationships and love. in response to a reader/follower question. We asked Fabulous People to find out if this is normal, at this stage, to hear something so different. We have not discussed it too much with her. We searched the pockets, trying to figure out if it was different, if we can recall him.

We had three that we know of. Myself, Bitch and The Other Girl. We disposed of TOG; that’s something we have been working on writing about, the whys and events of that weekend, but it leads us to bad places. It's a slow write. We have to start with the event that made us strong enough to do it in the first place.

There was a witness the day I emerged completely again; the man involved, FNA, will remember that day for the rest of his life, we can only imagine. We had to ask him some questions a couple days later. We only remembered it up to a point. It was one of those “out of body experiences” with a lot of fuzz, and a lot of strange events, emotions, thoughts...and results.

That story will come at some point, and we will have to end it with the series of events that made The Other Girl weak, because she shattered that day. FNA was with us when it happened, when The Other Girl splintered into fragments of something new, one that made her just weak enough. We felt wild and out of control that day, and the weekend that ensued, that we had blogged about, in a very vague confused manor, was the weekend we did it; the weekend when we killed The Other Girl.

We have out shit together better now, as far as learning how to work through our events and write about them, so when we can finally find the strength to finish writing about it, we will.


This is ending abruptly, we know. We're tired. It's been one hell of a week.

Marisa has made us more comfortable it talking about our DID openly. We will try to continue to work this out in the open, because it might help others who are just as afraid of doctors as we are. We have a feeling we've been misdiagnosed several times in the past, mostly because past trauma never made it into our therapy sessions. No doctor ever had the full story. 

Even though we were terrified about it yesterday, after deliberation, we decided that Marisa is a blessing, in so far as we believe in such things.


  1. this is one of the reasons it was time to put it back online. blessing... it fits. you are a blessing and inspiration to carry on with it.
    some of the questions you posed in the previous entry will be answered this morning. the ones here too. I just have to type them from my hand written notebook.

  2. Thank you Marisa <3
    We'd write more but we seem to be having a difficult day. Too much thinking about The Other Girl...and if there are others (because it's not impossible in my opinion)...and we feel like we're (on of us, in this case) is swinging from a metaphorical noose...does that makes sense? Do we ask that too much? *sigh*

    Drinking. I think drinking will shut her up.

  3. i get the metaphorical noose. one of ours lived in a graveyard for 22 years until we found her.
    yes it makes sense, no you don't ask too much.
    take your time on the questions if it's too much.

    drinking... one grandbaby has gone home and hubby is taking care of the other. i'm hoping a good drink will lubricate the rusted shut tear ducts and allow me to let off some steam.