Infiltrate, assimilate – that is what we were trained in.
But on the other hand, isn’t every kid ‘trained’ – instinctively driven by Nature – by the need to infiltrate and assimilate the world around him?
It makes sense to take a kid – subject him to all kinds of different environments – and see how well he fares – how he assimilates and integrates the world around him into a life of his own.
And what happens when you take this kid – as soon as they have ‘assimilated’ and grounded themselves in the world they are in – and yank him into a different world. And then another one. And another. And another. Ad infinitum. On and on it goes.
What happens when you do this to a child who is six, seven, eight years old? Nine, ten, and eleven? When you keep jerking him to and fro – changing not only the outside aspects of his world, but the inner ones as well?
What happens when you yank him here and there – letting him assimilate one culture at a time – in a whirlwind blur? When you go from abusing them in one moment – and then ‘abuse him nevermore’?
Never happens, never did: the abuse goes on: it just changes form, like the world around him. It went from physical to mental and beyond.
What you end up with is an extremely adaptable child – one who can fit in anywhere – and yet due to what’s happened to him, fits nowhere – nowhere at all.
A lost child, but NOT a bewildered child – one who is just struggling to get along – cope with what he is feeling (without having those skills – that, too, is something he has taught himself: how to get along. Not just with others, but himself as well – learning to ‘manage’ his disparate selves; how to ignore them – how to ‘get along’.
(shhhhh . . . don’t tell him how. Let him figure it out on his own . . .)
You are not allowed to ask any questions. Puzzles placed before you – entire foreign lands – and you are ‘dropped’ in to ‘assimilate’, infiltrate, move on . . .
And being from a military culture, what does this kid zoom in on? Why military things of course! Targets and assets and the like. Noting them in his mind. As well as the way the people speak; dress, do their hair. Mannerisms and gestures – everything! we simply absorb it in . . .
making it ‘ours’ – or rather, a ‘new one’s’ – that is, a new personality in our mind.
That’s what I think we did. Making a ‘new’ one all the time – each time we’d move (which is why I don’t remember the thing; ‘we’ were blanked out for moving, and we’d ‘awake’ into this new environment – and the the assimilation process would begin. We would begin to change, inside as well as out (meaning in behavior, thought and things). We would begin to become one with them (whoever ‘them’ are – or were in the past) – those ‘foreign beings’ – becoming one with them, in them – because of them – our mimicking skills gone wild – adjusting and controlling from within . . .
until we were ‘there’.
We would have one of ‘him’ – or ‘them’, if you prefer. An ‘alien’ entity; another part of ourself to ‘carry on’; move on – thrive and survive in this ‘new society’ of ‘his’ . . . becoming ‘like them’, one with them in ‘mind, body, and soul.’
All the good Germans said “What a good German he’d make!” not only when I was just a child, but later on . . .
the black folks at work said the same thing . . . how I was ‘like them’, was ‘one of them’, which was why they could talk to me so freely. (and yes, I can imitate them quite well . . .). Not dispargingly so – but FEELING it, and BEING that sort of thing – not a white man anymore, but something different – a kind of ‘blend’ . . .
same goes for abused children.
Same goes for just about anything.
I can sympathize with the psychotic; I can get into their head; I can sympathize with . . . just about anything – which kinda tears apart my mind, heart, emotions sometimes.
Being DID is more than just a feeling . . .
It’s a way of thought.
(thinking I might assimilate this thing . . . this computer I’ve been working on . . . LOL’ing going on . . . nothing, no emotions, just pixels on the screen . . . and I’m turning it off right now.)
Until later . . .
a troubled Jeff, et all, and Friends
(mostly Matthew’s in here; this one, as well as our small child, and I, the being called ‘Jeff’ am a little bit perturbed . . . this ‘job’ I’ve had in mind is a little bit more difficult than I’d thought, my friends inside . . .)