Officially this is from April 2011, written, apparently, by a couple alters: ’13’, Matthew, and perhaps “21”. I just happened to stumble across this today – of did “I”?? Why look now in those old archives I’ve got stashed in various locations on “The Web”. That’s one of the questions and mysteries of dissociative identity disorder, especially the “multiple personality” kind that DID people can face on a daily: “Who did this?” – and then trying to puzzle out why . . . which I’m still doing.
And now on with “13’s” story . . .
“You shouldn’t wish your parents dead.” That thought crosses my mind every time ‘I’ (or ‘we’) think about them. But the fact is, part of me still rages at them (trapped in the teenagehood); part of ‘me’ is still scared of them (after all, mom tried to kill me more than once, and my dad used us for his experiments). And both of them (my parents, that is) are probably technically insane, though my father hides his sadism under a charismatic coat of smiles and religion. He’ll lie quite blatantly to your face, while my mom stays in a constant state of opposition within herself, her thoughts, her mind . . .
“They are driving me crazy, I tell ya! Crazy!” goes a voice in my head. Teenager again.
Too late, dude. We’re already there.
and yes, it would be a lot easier if they were dead.
Just today my mom came over bitchin’: “He’s getting stronger.” Two sentences later she criticizes : “All he does is lay around.” (She’s talking about my dad, who is in his late 70’s.) Then she says: “I don’t want him getting stronger. If he gets stronger the VA (old soldier’s home) won’t take him.” A paragraph later: “He NEVER exercises. He’s just getting weaker all the time.” Then: “He’s applying for physical therapy (at the VA) and I’m going to have to take him.”
I finally “lit” into her.
“Mom – what is it you want? Have you heard what you said? Which way do you want it? You just said you wish he was stronger, then you say you don’t want him stronger.”
“I just wish he was dead,” she says bitterly.
That’s my parents for you. I get sick of them. I WTF (wish to F***) they had stayed up North 800 miles away.
My mom is going to show up tomorrow to pick me up in her car. HE has a doctor’s appointment and she’s going to show up 2 hours early for a 20 minute drive. And I’m not even there for that.
I’m going to park the car. That’s all. She’s going to drop herself and him off at the entrance so she can take him in while I park the car. And she’s going to be an hour and a half early because she says it takes so long to find a parking spot and walk from the parking lot to the entrance (about fifteen minutes in reality, if it gets really bad). So we’re going to be sitting there for two hours – and this is the VA, so they’ll be another hour and a half calling him – and then thirty minutes or so . . .
and if she insists on driving home, I’m gonna lose my mind . . . again, perhaps. (Having multiple ‘minds’ or personalities, I assume ‘one’ can lose their mind while the others all hang on for the ride . . . wouldn’t be the first time some host went out of control – which is why it’s useful having a multiple personality: I can get lost, enraged (no doubt!) – while ‘another’ part hangs on and directs something . . .
I can be quite civil if I have to. Or (more typically) more honest than I should . . . (gets me into trouble all the time: ~ “13”.)
I had to give my mom her gun back. She was threatening to waste money on another one if I don’t.
I’m kinda disappointed with that. I wish she’d go ahead and shoot him in the head.
“It would kill two birds with one stone,” my wife’s pointed out to me. (yes, I know: possessive noun – it isn’t used on context, it should be pointed out. Nagging mind: grammar police of my own. )
My brother meanwhile lives in ___________ about 250 miles away . . . and can’t see why I keep “having trouble with them” and tells me how to manage things as he’s greedily rubbing his hands together, telling me how much I’m gonna make – should they die – and that they “owe” me.
No they don’t. And I wish I didn’t owe them a thing. Sometimes my life even.
“You two shouldn’t have ever gotten married,” I tell them.
“Then you wouldn’t be here!” they are quick to point out. I shrug and tell them the truth: to me it wouldn’t make any difference. They seem disappointed to hear that. I guess I can’t just substantiate their argument for me being alive – or their continued existence, either!
Funny thing, too. My dad’s charade has broke once and twice and a neighbor caught him . . . it shook her up and made her shake her head.
“I’ve never seen such spiteful & hateful looks in all my life,” she said when I was talking to her. She was shocked by the man. She found it even more disturbing when I told her: out of the two, my dad is the good one. My mom is five times worse.
And they are friends. She didn’t know that.
The family keeps the cover on tight. I don’t. Sometimes the steam kettle blows up. Sometimes it doesn’t.
But it’s hissing right now – all at the seams. I am tiredly and once again giving up (participating in their game that is) while having to be in it up to my head sometimes . . .
It’s good to have a multiple personality, cuz’ I can get along just fine.