January 18, 2013

'Mes' - the plural of 'me'

Enough of all that formal, respectful, compromised, castrated, unemotional language bollox.  Documents don't need to be legal to be historical. You know what's going on behind all this emailing? A reluctance to admit that there is a lot more work to do in terms of the 'mes', and the 'others' the boys, the men, the old ladies, the blondes.  If I start reading or talking about my own experiences of multiple personalities and dissociated states I start feeling like my brain is being spread on toast.  I don't feel I know much about the others.  If I was able to do that they would be another me and not a totally separate person.  I'm not even sure I can tell them from actual other people when I start to think about it.  I used to love to make up new versions of people I met.  Fantasies about what I thought that person could of been if they had been nurtured and encouraged instead of brutalised.  Then I would try and go about doing all the things that the made up person would of done.  I really believed I was tapping into a person's spirit or soul to help it try and repair the damage the real person had done.  There is plenty of delusions still going on but they are total black outs in regards to some of the rape, false beliefs that people did everything they could to avoid hurting me, that they didn't choose to.

I've been seeing scenes that remind me of field hospitals in WWI, except bigger.  Miles warehouses or hangers of trolleys with various size, shape and injuries mes on them. Walking mes, some in daft wee nurses uniforms with the pointless hats doing their best to help them.  I'm trying to make some doctor types, some in elegant suits, perfect hair and expensive shoes, scruffy old trainer types and all are exceptional physicians.  Some with tans.  We had to stop putting patients in my bed or in my therapists office when we found them shivering and dirty in damp dark corners there just isn't enough space.  The accents though.  If you close your eyes and listen you would never think we all have the same face, the exact same DNA because we all sound so different.  There isn't any old ones of course, I'm only in my thirties now.  Most never had the time to know me like I know them.  Their births were auctioned   Their mothers were scooped and brushed up and taken off sets in squelching blacks sacks after their final close up.  I watched it all and felt everything they felt.

What next then? Well I need to start looking at the pictures of the various buildings and seeing what pops up. Think I will start with the new one.  That guest house, think some of the young men that are starting to appear at bedsides and in the aisles have something to say.  I'm not sure whats worse not being able to give them any names or being able to give them names.