Session 1

Mitchell at work is more than likely lying to me about playing DOOM, but because he is clearly a lonely guy because he has a huge stutter, he was so happy to finally have someone who would talk to him without mentioning it, that he’s gone along with it from the first time we talked. He mentioned playing video games, and I was the one who mentioned it. He said that it was scary, and while the game is intense because it’s difficult, there are no parts that I would classify as scary. I mentioned the fire-head flying enemies today, because they were annoying. He said that yeah, sometimes he’d have to fire a whole clip into them to kill them. The strange thing is, the game doesn’t use clips at all (you never have to reload), but the enemies die easily in 1-2 hits, depending on what weapon you use. There isn’t really anything else that he could have confused this with, it’s a pretty iconic Doom..character? No, Enemy is the right word. Debated whether or not to edit that or not, but I decided that this is supposed to be a stream-of-conscious journal. And I suppose that it’s going to end up having to be typed, because there is no way that my hand can keep up with my brain as fast as my fingers can. I’ve always been a fast typer. Typist? Whatever. Helps that I played a bunch of typing games as a kid. We didn’t have very many computer games, so the ones that we were excited to play were usually the educational ones. I guess that was the intended outcome, so point to you mom.

Don’t have much else to say at the moment, but at least I started this. Took me long enough, and I really didn’t want to lie two sessions in a row about writing this shit down.

I should sign these even if I pause for any length of time, because I have a feeling that I will more likely than not switch before I come back to continue. Even in the span it took to write that sentence, I had two voices in the back yell different things. One started worrying completely preeminently that we were eventually going to have to show people these, therapists and such. The other ridiculed me for writing about shit like video games when there are way more important ways to spend my time. Fuck them. Whoever they are.

I don’t really even know who I am.

This could make an interesting book. That sounds like something that an author would put in there as an attempt to break the fourth wall by going “hey look, I said all the way back then that I should make this a book, and then I did, and here you are reading that. I predicted that, and therefore you should actually believe the rest of the shit that I’m going to tell you, 78% of which are lies too.

Shit I switched somewhere in there, and already have a bunch of people in the back yelling about the things they want us to write. Feels a bit like each one is trying to manipulate individual fingers, in order to tell their story first.

I’m not sure who I am right now, will return to that if I remember. Because I didn’t sign it because I had so many things to write, I thought I would finish the idea first, and then sign it. And then it went on for another…make that 6 paragraphs.

7 now. I’m gonna say…Gwen. And I’m…Hope. I don’t know what that means. But I need to find a way to..god there is a lot of screaming in my head.

Okay.
Breathe.

Take a hit, because you’re not stoned enough already. Thanks, Gwen, for that. We were going to go to store and pick up some more so that T could have some tomorrow, and then go to bed early. But no. You had to sit here until 10 in the fucking morning, smoke three bowls, get fucked up enough that Diana won’t let us drive, and then get sappy about a fucking idiot boy who’s maybe lonely because he’s an asshole and it’s not your fucking problem.

Clenching my fists doesn’t seem to resolve any of the tension, and there is quite a lot of that, and just makes it impossible to type. And unless we put it down on paper, it doesn’t exist. Hey, you could even tear out a page of this book, or delete it off my computer. The host doesn’t retain information unless they say it out loud or type it. For example, someone is currently trying to interrupt my train of thought by taking notes about how to actually fictionalize this into novel form.

For example, what Hope was trying to say, was that she thought that we all needed a way to communicate to you, whoever is reading this, whether one of my therapists or someone who picked this off a library shelf, who is speaking. That is not to say who is hosting, that being the predominant alter who has control of the main thought stream and control of our decision making. While one alter (on rare occasions, two or more) has control, others can speak up, and the host-alter hears what you would call normal thoughts in neurotypical people, but in our head, they all sound like different people. Every alter has a specific voice, and each has a distinct vocal pattern, as well as individual tics. These would be rather difficult to explain in detail every time, and we’re not exactly the most motivated person to begin with. Colors are easier. I think Hope wanted red.

Thank you.

That was easy enough. This is going to be a bitch to edit, though. Maybe fonts would be easier. We’ll see.

Yes, Hope, you can keep the red.

She did a little dance and ran away. Alters can be in the control room, where the host-alter sits in a chair, in front of a huge monitor, with controls in front of them. Those look different to each one, and whoever is present in the room is there in that environment. If no one is detected as hosting, or if a host hasn’t made any changes, it defaults to a grey room, with a small computer desk in the center, with a small monitor and a a keyboard. Above it, is a larger screen, with speakers sunk into the walls. The other alters can be present in the room and watch and comment, or interact with the host-alter, or they can be…elsewhere. I’m not sure what happens then, but my brain has constructed a house that they would presumably all be living in.

It’s now 10:15, and I should be getting to sleep soon. I have to get up early (4:30ish) in order to go buy weed and make dinner before work, instead of getting a bit more sleep, because someone decided to stay up and smoke and play video games like a fucking child. I lost the time on both ends, and it’s going to be another day where I physically need 1-2 energy drinks a shift to get my body to move at all. Having all of this going on in my head, combined with working a warehouse job where I’m constantly moving and running around on concrete for 10 hours a day, makes us so fucking tired. jesus I could literally do wrestling and probably have a similar or lessened effect on my body than working at >redacted<for the same amount of time.

That’s probably entirely wrong and naive of me, but I’m starting to hallucinate now. I actually don’t know how much Gwen put in our system tonight. It’s hard to keep up with. I’m just glad we put the foot down on drinking before that became a problem.

See, Chloe? Sometimes we can come together and fix something for the good of the system, sometimes we don’t all have to be selfish assholes who break things and then run away without having to deal with the consequences. And she ducks her head in and flips me off. Nice.

The last two paragraphs were a combination of side tangents, the first of which being that I thought of the time, which caused someone (the same someone every damn time) to play the song 3:41 AM by Mercy Me. That was a band I listened to a lot as a kid, and was the first concert I went too. Since then I’ve essentially sworn off them, because that one alter is the only one who still wants to listen to them. And by association SwitchFoot, but some are willing to compromise on that one, because it’s not explicitly bash-you-over-the-head Christian music every time, there are just missable references. But anything that is explicitly Christian music got vetoed and burned at some point down the line.

Around that time, it must have been..2005 {check the date here.}

Any edits come from Diana, who is essentially our Mom. She’s the one with the huge book in her office that tells us the story of our life, and since she knows all the answers, she can veto things that will take us off of that. So there are things that, regardless of alter, we wouldn’t be able to do. Examples include killing myself, putting our situation in jeopardy by spending wildly on unnecessary things or by quitting my job (or doing anything that I knew would get me fired, even if one of the less inhibited ones took over). I guess she chose to talk in those brackets, and will be editing this as we go. We all experienced things from our own perspective, so she’ll do her best to oversee that at least the times/dates line up, so the entire story is easier to piece together. I will leave her edits, so there’s visibility and honesty here.

We’ll figure out someway to distinguish ourselves tomorrow. We’ve got two nailed down for Hope and Diana, which is more than we did when we started. I’ll just put the bits that were obviously Gwen in…whatever font I chose there. Hey. Don’t complain. I could have done you in Comic Sans. Or Wingdings. I could have done Wingdings, and there’s not a damn person who would have cared enough about you to translate.

Shit. That was mean. That’s the one that’s been fighting with T lately. They don’t have a name yet, but they’re causing us a lot of trouble these days. There are so many trains of thought that I just didn’t complete, so I’m not going to go back and figure out anymore, it wouldn’t be 100% accurate at this point, my dissociation’s so bad. I currently am Jennifer, so I will keep this font, I guess. I’m not going to try to describe myself every time, because I’m honestly awful at that. You’ll get a better understanding of the differences between us just by reading.

I don’t know if that’s Diana who just went back and removed the place I work. The font is different, but I have no idea how this works. I work at >redac and live in >redacte c ddddd

I was not kidding when I said that I will have two more alters fighting over control of the keyboard or other motor functions. Leaving things like that in too.

Actually going to bed now. I hope. Signing off, either way.

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