at four years old, i am many. i contain multitudes, a collection of beings resulting in “we”. i am separated into facets of the self, and imaginary friends, who speak and who guide me. i am not alone in my mind.
at seven years old i experience a fugue state. no one believes me. i come to covered in nutella in a bathtub. my mother is yelling. between me and the world is a thick cotton sheet, forcing me out like a rubber band, always throwing me out of its clarity. i look into myself and there is nothing. people are singular. i am alone in my mind.
at eight years old a girl receives two letters from me; one kind, one mean. i do not remember writing the mean one. when i learn that she’s received it, i cry. no one else could have done this. i am alone in my mind.
i do not remember being nine.
at ten years old i nearly die. the pain in my head is greater than any pain i’ve felt before, and then, in a moment, it is numb. the anime boy i have a crush on comes to meet me and explains that i am dying. we live together, in my head. he tells me to bid my final farewells to the world. i come to on the couch, surrounded by paramedics, and the boy is gone. i am alone in my mind.
at eleven years old, there is something there. a feminine presence, something terrifying and divine. i know that it is me, but at once, i don’t control it. i am told that this is normal. one horrible night she takes my body from me, leaving me limp inside of it, and yells at me. to straighten me out, she says. she strikes me hard across the face with my own hand. the next night, i am crying, and the same hand is taken from me, to stroke my hair and shush me. i hear her talking in my head. she tries to tell me her name, but i interrupt her; i’m not crazy. i am alone in my mind.
at twelve years old i am made of fear. the divine thing is gone. i am unconscious for much of my life; many times i think i’ve slept all day, but am told by others that we spoke. i am told that this is because i am an alcoholic. i’m nervous for a conversation, and it goes perfectly, though i’m painfully aware that i have no control over what i’m saying. words fall from my mouth, so charismatic, without so much as a thought from me. i do not name the thing that talked for me. i do not ask him any questions when i hear him talking in my head to another. i am alone in my mind.
at thirteen years old i’m gender fluid. the girl-genders are not me. every one is different. i get older. and older. i am alone in my mind.
one day i see her again. we look at each other in the mirror; i stare into her eyes, and she stares into mine. i know what she is. i know who she is.
what do you say to something you fear so deeply? something that will change the course of your life in such a deep, terrible way? something that proves, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that something unspeakable has eroded your brain?
you ask her name. and she doesn’t remember, but she tells you the first letter. it was D.
we are not alone in our mind.
blakekathryn
stormborns
baratheonpilled
turnnoffyourmind
ellievsbear
