#actuallytired

I hate how I can’t sleep and it used to disturb my ex on a biblical level, because I couldn’t keep the same work hours he did, so he could keep an eye on me

I hate how one of my partners has his own triggers but couldn’t care less that i do too.

I hate my flashbacks and how I get locked in them and other people don’t understand my rage and confusion even when I’ve told them about my life and what I think to be the root of them, but with DID you just don’t know sometimes.

I hate how i am a prisoner in my own head to that shitty voice that keeps telling me I can’t, that I’m not trying hard enough, that I’m a fake that I deserved everything i got.

I hate how I switch and some people don’t like some of my alters so they try to tell me not to let them front when they are around, which by the way is a very abusive way to try to control someone else’s system. I wouldn’t be able to control that for long if at all anyways.

After I heard his feet hit the bottom landing, I cried, loudly like a child. On my soiled knees in the bathroom only a few feet away from what could be ‘help’. I was in pain, the catheter strung and I couldn’t go and there was blood. I cried and no help came. Our partner had gone home because our housemate is selfish, our other partner had gone to the hospital due to an infection, probably worse in his finger and I was in so much pain I couldn’t stand up. R’s voice echoed in my thoughts, and far away a child screamed. “He doesn’t care about you, he wants only one thing” those sentiments were spoken to my alter, my wife (one of them) Trystan but right now they rang true for both of us. No one was there to care for us and i will have to learn to care for all of us.

I was with my cousin, she was having a seizure in my grandfather’s basement. My grandfather’s basement had all sorts of rooms that I’d never seen during waking hours. Rooms with torture chambers and this mob of kids who were after us. To younger ones, one boy and two girls.

My grandfather lived in the city in a big yellow house during the 90’s let’s just say terrible things happened there, no with him but in his house.

My cousin and I ran out of the house through the basement and it’s rooms pursued by these horrors. We ran deeper into the city which looked different at night here too.

But suddenly it was day time. I’m a teen dressed in a catholic school outfit and these kids are screaming at me from across the street. They want my head. So now I’m running again. I end up running into this fast food restaurant, sitting down with the manager and talking about a job inside of his restaurant that looked like a castle. He said he’d hire me so I’d have money of my own.

Now it’s night again and I’m afraid. Everyone is headed up these concrete stairs. They are giving 50 cents to see the moon as she really is. But where they are putting the money looks like a hollow dug out above the stairs with one concrete wall in front of it where a person couldn’t possibly fit to take our money but two hands comes out to do just that. I ask for someone to loan me some coins someone does. The moon outside is a turtle, she goes back and forth in her casing. The moon is bigger than i ever remember seeing her. A play is being put on. My sister is the star of the show. She swings down stage left to show us the true story of the moon goddess. There is a grand balcony. Which i am at the top of, Below is a statue, the moonlight glints off of it. It’s all so magical. I leave this sacred spot and I am taught to fight by moon priests.

Now it’s day time. I meet my grandfather in the alley he gives me a ride on his bike back to his house.