lost as i was
yet knowing where to go
but lost i stayed
and forgotten.

this home, oh ye forgot
in the forefront of ye mind
but in the crevices
thy home lurked
ever reminding me how lost
i was staying
and losing my way.

is it ye or is it me
or is it I that will see
how lost we’ve come to be.

months go by
and years of little words
that fill this home
but in the pockets of thy home
hidden in secret passageways
words and time have passed
and locked away each their own.

perhaps we will stay
in this home we’ve longed for
yet parted ways with
as we filled ourselves
with fear and worry
of those that would find
our home and we would
surely die from the knowing.

is it true, thy saying
of the truth and freedom
or is it just farce
that will shred
what little is left of us?

shall we worry
if thy mother should know
or the ones who watch
and surely know
we are asking for death
for that is the price we pay
when silence is spoken.

and what of the people
who may find that all of we
and all that has passed
and made us a we,
what would they say
and think and do
if they knew the real us
that we once dared to show
and open thy doors of our home
for all to see, but alas, only here
for our home to them
is but a mask they see.

how crazy we must be
for being open for all to see
and yet others do
while others don’t
and which is right
and which is wrong
we don’t know for us.

and so we come
tip toeing our way home
peeking out through thy corners
lifting the curtains and opening
the windows and taking deep breaths
to write here once more again.

a bunch of us writing which is why it is so different and not so great throughout but it is what it is

p.s. our home we talk about is really our online journal

we stand here
waiting for you
to come around
to our side.

you don’t want what we know
yet you seek it
then run and hide
such is your way.

desperately come
desperately go
that is your way
asking then hiding
and locking yourself away
from us

you think it is gone
the pain that was so real
as though we are fine
and it wasn’t real
but it is
if you looked again
and stood with us
for the pain
consumes us
and spreads
like molten lava
and poison in the lands

there is no love
here or there
just lock us away
and we know our bad
will be our good
of silence
evermore
hidden
so as to not knock at your door

when will you knock?
when will you stay?
when will you not run away?

our pain is our own
yet you can’t stand to be close to it
as if it will swallow you up
and sink you in its quicksand
but who cares
just leave us here
like you always do

you lack function
like we do

I could write
upon your eyes
lighting up your sky
with nothing to show
but your own dark clothes
of nothing.

Nothing but your dark
clothes show as the
sky lights up
your eyes.

Take me as I am
I am neither here
nor there, but am
just a piece in your eyes
to ride upon and
write upon your life book.

Flowing downward
onward we go
I cling to the sides
but there is nothing to hold
sailing as you take me
scaling the walls I try
but there are no walls
to scale
in this empty hollow
of darkness.

Can you see
the light in your eyes
that darkness brings
its ring of fire.

Onward we march
along the night ward sky
downward we go
hidden from those above
who know nothing
of that we bring
to the earth above.

Dance. I say DANCE
to the darkness
the light of your life.
It’s a celebration
of life and sacrifice.

Take this with you
wherever you go
or you shall be forbidden
to know what we know.

What? You don’t want to know
what we know? Dare you say
such a vile thing?
Shackle her. Spank her.
Smack her. Beat her.
Tie her. Rape her.
Spin her. Hang her.
Leave her to dry
or die by light of day.

Must oh must
we pull her away.
Never. She hasn’t learned
her lesson for today.

Make her believe
Nothing has happened
and It’s not true.
Then shove her down
into the mine of minds
and she will eat the dirt
of light and right
and see the left of light
that illuminates the dark
of righteous right.

Yes, that’s more like it.
There she is.
Wanting to know
and desperate to do
whatever she is told.

The fight is gone
We have won
but never fear dear,
it’s only just begun.

How can you
find me in her
and take me as her
while hating me when you see her
because I am not her.

How can you
touch me as her
fuck me just because
you are there
and I’m here for you
because that’s what I do.

A child.

How can you
say you believe
the multiplicity but deny
your abuse, for it was love
in your eyes
and an accident if we
ever spoke of it to you.

How can you laugh
at our pain and
our memories of abuse
with your threats
and special ways
to let us know
you will do it.

How can you
never say
you abused me
you hurt me
you did it
and still live with yourself.

How can you
be my father
when I don’t want one
don’t know what one is
and yet want one
because that is what people do.

How can you…

if i could
i would tell it again
if only to show
you can do it

again

again

the night draws near
hanging with it
the lights of night
crosses under
the land of fright

don’t worry
i won’t tell
a soul
for the soul i bear
is dead once more

don’t take me away
for i’ve gone away
on my own
but you know that,
now that you own
me

oh that flattened me
for you know it is a
we
of a family
oh that we are
inside
and out
but shame the inside
and flood the out
with smiles and masks
for we are all in this
together

we dance left right left
and sing chants for
natas

and the silence
begets silence
for the silence
stops the silent
fingers telling
and never oh never
shall the silence
whisper a sound
but silence
and nothing oh nothing
will be told
past natas

you know me by “if i could”

So what is it? What could be so vile and so intrusive that would mark such a meaningless post of melodramatic neediness and speaking of abuse that really isn’t real abuse.

The neighbor boy (R)- he was only at most a year older.  Although he had an older brother (D) several years older than that and some inside say also abused them.   And yet, in the young girl’s eyes, R appeared and seemed so much older than her.  So much bigger than her.  How silly and stupid of her to view him that way, and yet she insists that he was bigger and older than her.

To tell this dumb “secret” in public, to an open audience, is so much harder than it should be.  The fears that if the details, the additional information, the whole picture, if all of this is written about, given, portrayed accurately, that anyone reading it would surely know that it really is her fault (my fault? our fault?).  And I suppose one of the bigger issues, is that it would utterly be true that she was and is making a big deal out of nothing and being melodramatic and needs to shut up and get over it.

And the sad thing is, the more this is written about, the greater the build up of intensity of “what is it?; what happened?” and of course this all leads to such a stark contrast to what really happened.  Not much and yet, enough to imprint itself deeply into this young girl’s heart and mind forever.

Can I do it? Can I write it? I can’t really begin to tell the memory piece without providing some general history information to provide a better understanding of how it affected her.

The walls have come down hard and come up hard.  The switch happened and it is locked shut.  How many times will we do this before we write it?  Before we just tell it.  Not to only our therapist.  Not to perhaps a trusted friend, though only pieces of it.

Another attempt gone by.  Perhaps inching closer to the reveal.  The reveal wherein the fear and belief is so strong that this will indeed prove it was nothing at all and we made a big deal out of nothing.  That somehow this has haunted us always– for we have always remembered pieces of this memory… parts of it were never forgotten.  We always knew it happened.  The shame constantly eating away at us.  It is hard to believe there is anything left of us after all these years.  The self-hate and badness looming and proving that it is so much greater than anything we could ever do to overcome its truth.

And truly, this is in many ways, a “mild” memory.  I mean, worse things were done, and yet this affects us.  It is the emotional content and dynamics that have left scathing wounds.

And so it lives on buried within.

Even though I was ‘around,’ it wasn’t me who talked about the information pertaining to the memory.  I’m frankly not sure who it was; yes, L.J. was there, but these days there is a growing awareness that there are other kids besides her fronting.  We are trying to give credit and space where due, particularly since admittedly, L.J. is highly revered around here and she is the automatic default for any remote hint of it being her.  Or as often is the case, it begins as her and others chime in while L.J. flows in and out closer to the front and back and then L.J. usually ends whatever is going on.  This isn’t an exact science and it doesn’t always happen exactly as described– it’s just a general description of what seems to be happening.

So, yes, to the topic at hand, though I’d much prefer to not write about it, and yet, oddly, I’m the one writing it.  It’s not my memory, and yet the inkling of a tiny aspect of me

And we’ve switched.  That is so weird.  Damn it.  I’m starting to get better at noticing this ever slight manner of switching.  I’m not sure if it happened exactly like this, but I think it went something like this.  “Purple” (someone from the purple group) was writing.  The main collective awareness (not sure what to call it right now) was becoming aware that she was there and it wasn’t me (Julie), and not only that, but Purple was sort of “outing” herself in a way.  Purple was asked who she was and she began to become more aware of being in the body and attempting to locate her name.  While it may not make sense to some people, and I can tell she is closer now suddenly, but anyway, okay, me more again.  Weird to be so faintly aware of these things.  I know it probably doesn’t matter in some ways, but in other ways, it is important that we become aware of these things, particularly amongst those of us in the Julies/julies groups.  I mean the shifting is so slight and quick and barely noticeable (if at all) to others externally, and for that matter, oftentimes to some of us as well.  Okay, right, a reminder from someone.  I have sidetracked.  We were trying to stay focused on describing something.  But first one thing.  Name information and history information is often blocked from being accessible once someone is fronting; it is often only available internally.  What I mean is they know who they are and stuff inside, but in the process of coming out front, certain pieces are automatically blocked and not allowed to enter the external realm.  And for a moment while writing all of this, we had another insight or sense that this may have a linkage to the whole Michelle incident growing up.  We shall have to write about that sometime.

Okay, so now I have to go back up and figure out where I left off at.  So Purple was trying to locate her name for those of us aware that she was out front (we could sense an energy shift difference, a holding of the body differently, and also the writing style and voice and just stuff was different).  So that was happening.  Then she wrote about writing and how she was surprised that it was her writing there and she didn’t really want to write about the memory stuff, but she was going to.  And she was going to do so.  She began to think more about the memory and it was in the conflict of it not being her memory (i.e., not her experience and not really her memory), but at the same time, she had identified something suddenly and was going to describe it– a sense of something that connected her to this memory at the same time.  It is hard for me to describe because this is where everything quickly changed and got all mushy.  What I do remember when I tried to go back and analyze to figure out how the switch happened and what was right before it, etc.  I mean, I can figure out and analyze and make sense of why the switch happened.  That’s like an in your face obvious.  She said she didn’t want to write about it, but she was going to do it.  I know she was fine emotionally because well, she doesn’t really “do emotions,” but it was in the moment that she connected, ever so briefly of a few seconds, to the sense that this memory does have something to do with her… like a tiny inkling of a piece belongs to her– and the feelings of that connection began to pour in, then boom, she was gone.  But I swear I don’t think she meant to leave.  I really don’t.  It just happened so automatically.  And she had that flash of connection, and then began thinking of how to describe it accurately, and then boom, another thought from the left came flooding in, but it was more like suddenly my thoughts and stuff had come plowing in from inside to the front.  And then I kind of recall some blinking or a few blinks and just something so mundane and so fluid and really, I can’t imagine someone observing us to notice it unless they were watching the body and face intently.  And even then… it seems like someone would have to know or be looking for it, but I could be wrong about that.   So her whole thought process was totally interrupted and when I came in, I was dumbfounded and had a complete disconnect of what the hell she was trying to say.  Whatever she had connected to emotionally was completely disconnected for me.  Whatever she was thinking and about to say– it was completely disconnected from me.  Obviously though there was something being shared (at least in the moment) since I was able to describe all of this, but when I fully came to the front, it was completely disconnected for me and I was at a total loss.  And I just sort of knew automatically to pick up from where she left off.  Like I was going to try and connect to what she had been writing about and try and fill in the gap and words for her that had suddenly been interrupted when she left and I appeared, but then I realized what had happened, and so I thought I ought to write about it.  Maybe if I could describe it more, it would help in some kind of way for us.

I still am unclear who it was that was here.  I’ve tried asking inside, but I can definitely sense that one of The Functions or The Keys is interfering.  I know it is a safety measure, but I wish they would realize that this particular safety measure really isn’t needed today.  The only thing I could tell is that she was from the Purple group and mostly I could tell that because she knew that much and it had gone into some shared information area.  But even if she didn’t know that and I didn’t find that out, I would have totally guessed it by way of the writing style and the way the body was being held.

What’s really weird is that I went back to read what she wrote and it suddenly doesn’t sound all that different to me or seem all that different to me, but when she was here fronting, it was very different to me.  That doesn’t make any sense to me at all, but I guess there must be something about it that makes sense, because that’s what I’m experiencing.

Well, so much for writing and telling anything about the memory (ha, not sure we were going to be able to do that anyway), but we had wanted to talk a little bit about the after-effects of having told and just other general stuff.  But I guess we’re not quite ready since all of this happened and ended up being written about instead.  And now we’re tired and I just don’t want to “go there” right now.

Julie and ??? earlier