thecouncilofali

[thecouncilofali]

Sleep cycle

So for three nights in a row now I haven’t been able to stay awake, falling asleep in a neurological shut down around 10 and 11 pm, and sleeping in longer each time.

I stopped trying to fight the sleep itself, alone - I’ll do things to keep me awake, but it’s also paying attention to what’s causing the stress, without going on a which hunt. After the way my neurologist explained how my stress could be causing this, and other symptoms, I’ve eased on hyper-focusing on in the moment triggers, and looked for something that built up over time, something that might be setting off.

I’m anticipating myself to make a mistake, to cause a problem, to fuck up somehow that ends with me waking to hurt and angry friends and people, to snide and self deprecating voices, voices reflecting my own panic, that it’s a reflection of my own failure. Spurring on self punishment for not pulling through somehow, for not doing more, for not doing enough-

For not feeling like I am enough. That I’m losing a fight to myself. That I am a failure and nothing I do matters. I’m not changing. And at this point, I never will.

I fear this every damn night, the higher my overall stress is, the more prone I am to knocking out. The more I knock out, the more this belief gets reinforced, the more scared I get-

The more I don’t want to wake up to my own cycle again.

I couldn’t get myself out of bed right away this morning. But I got myself up, a lot kinder than I have in the past - without shoving and threatening and bullying myself to get up, but encouragement to self empowerment to, with a list of things i needed to do to take care of myself running through my mind. And I got up without feeling even more worn than before.

I’m feeling drained today, and self doubting. I’ve been in a more fragile state lately and the idea of pulling through today only to pass out again tonight scares me, and have those beliefs reinforced again.

But I feel like this is something where focusing on changing little things will help to counter the belief that I can’t change at all

[thecouncilofali]

No One To Fight

Whats up? Aimee, “there’s... nothing to fight.” Anne, “nothing to fight with them?” Gloria, “then who are we fighting?” No one. There’s no one to fight. Anne, “what about the parents? Asher?” Aimee, “what about proving everyone wrong?” Prove who wrong? Why do I care? And why fight them all the time? Instead of stand up for myself and push to leave. Aimee, “.... teachers, people in school, our parents. We’re more than they saw in us!” Why do I care what they think? About what measuring stick they use? Why should my life be about them? Anne, “.... you had a point to prove”. Which would have done what, the way i was planning? Aimee, “it... would have left you ignored. No change would have come of it. You’d get harassed.” Explain why. Gloria. “... because you’d be a white female complaining, and continuing to complain without learning, without researching, without acting. It would be drawing attention to yourself while expressing strong opinions and get a lot of negative attention.” Good. Correct. Anne, what would acting on my own passions and learning along the way bring? Anne, “it... means you would be adaptable, and adapt over time. It means you’re acting on change instead of complaining on what needs to. You would end up as... leader of or as part of a team working on the same mission. And acting on those things will get you connected to people and keep you safer.” Atta girl. Acting in spite gets me angry and burnt out. So acting on what I’m passionate about and who I love will fill me with more energy for living than any part of me has ever known. This, girls, is the path that takes making different decisions, choices, and choosing how to act instead of reacting. Same idea for acting out in spite of Asher. He is angry and cruel. He will reap the consequences of that. I have nothing to prove. Anne, “what about when the others ask for too much?” I feel like they ask for too much because I react out of false obligation. And it drains me. They never ask too much. They wanted to exist with me, which scares the shit out of me, but it’s not too much. It’s something to learn. “... yes Ali”. Anything else? Gloria, “... if theres no one to fight and nothing to prove, doesnt that mean we have less to despair over? We’re not losing a fight that doesnt exist, we dont have to be wealthy by 30... we make choices.” You are absolutely correct, good job. Aimee, “but what if-...” Yes? “... what if we hurt people again?” Practice. Learn. Move on. Anne, “we won’t have to live in the past anymore?” Never had too. But thats something to work on too. And the tools i have now will help. They all three nodded. Anything else? “... not for now.” “No.” “Not... right this moment.” Alright. Lets make new choices together then.

[thecouncilofali]

Abuse

"We need to talk," I say, sitting across from the girls, fidgeting with the hems of their skirts and shirts, picking at the tears in their pants, under their nails.

"About what?" the boldest one, Aimee, asks, not meeting my gaze.

"I want them involved," I say sternly, my gaze narrowed at her. She turns her head away, and I wait in tense silence with her, waiting for her to speak.

"Look...," she starts, licking her lips as if her mouth is dry.

"Let me make this clear," I say, scooting closer to them on the floor, not breaking my gaze from her. "I'm not fighting anymore. I'm not fighting you. I'm not fighting myself. I'm not fighting to exist. And there's more I want in life than fighting for things I believe in. I want love. To feel it and act on it and receive it and nurture it and keep it. Every form it takes. Now why the hell am I running away from that?!" My voice goes sharp at the end, almost shrill, my desperation seeping in, and I take a breath and sit back, keeping in mind to keep my back straight. "Tell me everything," I order.

She swallows, finally turning to face me and sits up, and I can feel the struggle with talking.

"What do you feel?" I start.

"Fear," she answers immediately. "Anxiety, paranoia, that I'm weak, that I'm worth less than them, that the closer we get the more we'll drag them into this cycle and I'd rather the entire body be in stasis or sleep than to watch this happen again but it is anyway. All of us have issues with feeling close. With emotional intimacy. We can't be a friend - we can't!"

All three girls have tears streaking their faces, eyes reddening, their faces puffing.

My fingers tap along my knee a moment. "What are you reacting to?" I ask. This feels redundant, but even so, asking this question of myself helps me understand what's going on a step further.

She tugs at the bottom of her jeans, sniffling, and trying to do so unnoticed. "The fact that they want ... that they feel closer than I do some days. Not all the time. Just some. And I feel like ... it feels like it's screwing with them if some days or some moments there's just nothing. I feel sociopathic - I feel sociopathic Ali!" She screamed the last few words. "One moment I love them so much I could burst, and the other I feel nothing! Nothing!"

The other two girls are now weeping as much as she, though trying to remain silent. I didn't notice my own cheeks were wet until now either.

"And then the moment they get hurt it's heartbreak? And how does that leave them? No wonder they think we're out for attention with behavior like that! Responding only when they're distressed. We must look like we're faking everything!" she continues, her voice going shrill again. "And then even then it's not every time? Me and Glor will be feeling upset but Anne will be feeling overwhelmed and so will you so the upset is there but everything feels like too much at once? And then it's like..." she trails, staring at her hands a moment. "Like I'm hopeless and stranded there. I'm hopeless and I should have never lived to them. I'm hopeless and I should be replaced!"

Her voice cracked, and the damn broke on the tears. I scooted closer on my knees, grabbing her by her shoulders and pulling her in, feeling her tears soak into my shoulder. Stroking her hair, slowly, I look to Gloria, in a worn, once-white dress.

"What about you?" I ask, my voice softer. "What do you feel? What are you reacting to?"

She looked up from her half-curled hand trying to cover her face, her eyes now dark pools. "I feel ... like ... " she started, wiping her face and sitting up. "I feel like I must be fake. Like my wants are wrong and manipulate them, near every time. Like every time I mean what I say I act different and I'm just... a monster or a fraud to them."

"Keep going," I say, watching her as she starts to tremble, feeling her urge to vomit swell.

"I'm reacting to everything Aims said," she said, her own damn breaking. "I can't be real if I feel both ways can I? They're better off without. They're better off with someone else!"

I made a small gesture with my hand, waving her over, and she shoved her face into Aimees back, one hand gripping at her, the other gripping at my shirt, along my side, and pulling fiercely to pull me closer.

I look to Anne.

"Your turn," I say, my voice more stern with her. "What are you feeling?"

"... Fake," she said, after forcing herself to look up to me. "I feel fake. I feel like no one. I feel like I have to be perfect in a role because I can't exist as someones friend-" Her voice broke on the last word, and the streams of tears turned into rivers.

"What are you reacting to?" I ask softer, eyes on her, my hand gripping hard at the back of Gloria's dress, the other holding the back of Aimee's head.

"... That I took ...," she swallowed, her entire body starting to quiver. "Because I feel nothing sometimes, I have to compete to mean something, because I..."

She trailed off, starting to curl into herself, biting her lips, and I stare, waiting for her to speak.

She shook her head, going mute.

"Say what you're so damn scared of," I say, sternly again. This time the two in my arms look up, turning their heads to look at her.

"C'mon Anne..." Gloria says softly as she watches.

Anne began quivering again, gripping at her arms, before taking a harsh, fast breath. "If I can feel nothing then..." she trailed, biting her lip harder. "That means I must be corruptible and I can't ever be trusted."

"What do you care about most?" I asked immediately.

"I- the others. That they're safe. That they're not being hurt-" and bit her lip again.

I just stare, the stare I was taught, the expecting wait.

"That I'm controlled in a way that makes me safe or I'm gone. There's been too much damage. There's too much- I've - I couldn't control enough I'm sorry!" she wailed, her dam finally breaking. "I'm sorry I couldn't take care of things - I'm sorry you're not secure - I'm sorry I can't control myself enough to stop this and make them feel safe too I'm sorry you're alone again I'm sorry I'm sorry- I'm sorry-"

She's outright sobbing, mascara staining her cheeks, repeating the apology desperately. "I wasn't enough- I wasn't good enough- I couldn't stop- I'm sorry-" she gasped out, and I made the same small gesture to her, waving her over.

She stared at me with wide eyes, looking frightened and confused.

"Come here," I say sternly, watching her.

She stared at me, hesitating, and I can hear the thoughts - I should kill her. I should integrate her. She's a failure. She's no alter, she's a fraud, a toxin.

But she doesn't say these, she doesn't protest. She scoots over on her knees, using her hands to pull closer, her head pressed slowly into Gloria's back, and my hand gripping at Gloria's dress moves to Annes back, as I feel the other two girls grips tighten.

And for a moment it's quiet, just the four of us in this pile, leaning into each other, and then Anne's cries break through again, and I feel the other girls gradually lean into her more.

"I'm sorry," I say, after her wailings quiet down. "This scares me. To feel so apathetic and removed sometimes. And I labeled it, associating it with the sociopaths displayed in fictional crime shows. I felt if I could feel this way, I could be a danger... and I fought myself over it. Picking at wounds over and over again to feel. Hitting and beating at my own sore spots to respond, so I'd always react. There's nothing wrong with you. There's nothing wrong with me. There's nothing wrong with us for this."

"It's like I have a map in my brain that says this is how I protect myself. That's all it is. I'm so sorry for tormenting every inch of me as punishment for it. For twisting you into pain. For obsessing over causing my own pain over something I didn't understand. That I was friends with someone who made things worse, who scared me further. I'm sorry."

I take a slow breath, shaking a bit before squeezing them all tighter, and I feel their hands slip inside. None of them leaning into integrate, just ... connecting with their hands, to my center where I feel rotted the most.

"I'm sorry I exhausted myself fighting this. I'm sorry for everything I put my loved ones through for this," I say softly, watching my vision blur as my cheeks wet again. "I'm sorry for running and fighting for everything."

I bury my face into their unwashed hair, gripping harder, feeling their own hands pull out and grip at my clothes again, pulling me closer, their heads buried into my shoulders and under my chin.

"Same step by step as the super heavy emotions. It's a defense mechanism. That's all it is. There's nothing to hate. There's no one in here to hate. There's no grounds for self hatred for this."

They nod into me, and it's quiet outside of the sound of breathing and clogged noses.

"I forgive myself for passing cruel judgement on myself as a child for something I didn't understand," I say softly, before giving them a squeeze, and pushing them back just enough to look at them.

"No more sleeping, not until it's safe. No more hiding from them," I state, staring at each of them.

They all nodded, giving an out of sync chorus of "Yes Ali," before sinking back into me.

That rotted void doesn't feel as draining and bottomless right now.

"You know, while everyone's vulnerable and talking, what happened? When I got diagnosed."

Aimee looked up, wiping her face. "Why the crash was so bad?"

I nodded, and she leaned her head back down on my shoulder. "It was like ... someone other than you can hear us and see us. We all wanted to scream. But like, it wasn't just us in there. Like, Kor- Alirese wanted to be first and loudest, and her head was scrambled you know? So we pushed with her and the others, and like, we were fighting amoungst ourselves, until Sue and Jen picked who was first, really. And the rest of us got shoved off and told not to speak. And like ... that's the start of everything that happened on our end. You were afraid of everything."

Gloria, "And still not over Matti, or Ryn, or John. Malnourished and under medicated. The suicide Christmas was just months before. You were in pain and scared of losing your car. You didn't trust Kathy. Trusting Tavi and Neil was new. And now you have a war going on that you never asked for, on top of-"

Anne, "Everything you do to yourself. You're fat, you've been used, you're worthless ... you have to work or Tavi won't be as close if you can't help her too. You have to do everything. Everything at once, everything now. And people are being kind. And you're told to stay in bed. And you're being fed. And people are noticing you. And its everything new."

Aimee, "And then there was Mary."

Gloria, "The woman who explained she was an expert in this, declared herself our mother, focused on  us more than you... it's not really a mystery."

Anne, "There are records of you screaming in here, feeling trapped in your own body while this happened. And you didn't know how to rest and recover either. You've never set boundaries before."

Aimee, "You didn't know who you were anymore."

Anne, "It became and endless drain."

Gloria, "And... then came the start of you clinging to Tavi anytime you felt you were drowning again." She paused, before looking up at me. "Everyone got hurt during that. So did you. Stop blaming yourself for everything, ok?"

I start breaking out in fresh tears, managing to nod and resting my chin on her head, gripping onto the others.

And I make note of the fact that I don't want to crawl into bed this time. I don't feel drained. I don't feel the nag of something missing, something I'm not grasping, something to dig for.

Not for this.

[thecouncilofali]

Voices

So something started bugging me today. I feel the thought’s crossed before, but, even more so today.

There is constant talking, commentary, narrating in my head. At all times.

And when I did physical therapy today, everything was quiet.

When I was making crafts, painting, they were quieter, softly chiming up as I debated how to progress, what colors to use, what tools might work best.

So I started wondering what exactly they were reacting to, and why, for each.

If I have the thought, I’m going to be alone... It goes dead quiet. Not a thought but my own.

If I reach for my phone with the intention to reach out, fear spikes, anxiety spikes, there’s intrusive thoughts of my own suicide. Scripts of what the people I care for all “really” think.

When loneliness swells, they hit impulses to contact people non-invested and semi-responsive.

Everything that takes effort, that involves change, that involves me ... letting others get close.

They scream.

It’s screaming, yelling, shaking, headaches, black outs, space outs.

If my alters get close to me or another alter, after a point one of them snaps and becomes paranoid and abusive, if not both. Every time.

Everyone wants attention. But “behind closed doors” attention. And for me to be isolated by all other means.

And I’ve swung between so many phases. Of confusing the boundary between myself and them, of sacrificing myself to help them, of being a bully of a dictator and shutting them down and out.

And yesterday, specifically yesterday, I cracked and became heavily suicidal, and they spurred it on as I fought to stay present, to stay there, to not move and not act on any of the violent images playing in my head.

Giving affirmations to myself, of who I am and what I think and feel, and the advice of “I’m always me” has helped, and I’m noticing what I say, what I know I believe in ... and what I hear from my own mind are two different things.

I know what I believe in, and I’m being fucked with.

I know who I love, I know what I want, and I’m letting this hold me back, I’m letting this drain me into wishing death for it to stop, I’m letting this hurt everyone I care about, I’m letting this break apart the life I want.

I’ve already lost too much to it.

This feels bigger than me. Like I’m thinning while they all make their roots in destructive isolation.

But it can’t be bigger than me. They come from me .... and the skin I wear is mine. Not theirs.

My head is filled with voices of doubt, of shame, of “it’s too late”. Of I can hope, but I won’t be able to change things, change me.

They’re liars.

They’re liars. I’m always me. And I believe I can change. I believe things evolve over time. I believe no matter what mistakes or decisions are made, you always step forward making the decisions you think are best at the time. I believe in smiles and love and hope and that the world is filled with things worth fighting for. That everyone has a story worth telling.

My name is Ali and this is me.

And... I find I’m apprehensive to face the onslaught of voices.

I’m afraid of a repeat of two years ago, of them all clamoring to be heard, to be seen, to be known.

To be louder than me.

And lashing out at everyone and everything.

... This is what I fear, but I know where the reigns are now.

I heard gasps.

[thecouncilofali]

Anne

I passed out- no, it’s not passing out. This wasn’t from exhaustion. I switched out from stress last night.

I let my alter walk all over me.

I let her be my squip.

I spaced out, blacked out, lost time. I would come back and in a blink, I’d lose myself again.

I spent a lot of time asleep and scared, honestly. I wondered why did it happen. I wondered why it was so easy for me to lose myself in an instant - seemingly - like that.

It’s not “in an instant”. It was a build up of stress and triggers that brought me to that point.

And I was half listening to my friend, half trying to force myself through it. And forcing yourself through DID flare ups doesn’t work.

It’s exhausting and it’s not handling why you’re flaring. It’s not handling why for anything.

I am not made of some super human energy to “mind over matter” my disorders. My brother believes in such nonsense. And he’s unhealthy, paranoid, has quit every job he’s had, and claims he’s “never sick” as his skin breaks out, red inflamed patches from lack of care, trying to survive off of carbs and no nutrition.

I have mental disorders.

I have mental and emotional disorders.

And that’s ok.

Something changed when I started to wake up though, and I’m writing this out mainly to work out why. I started to stir, and that fear, that panic started gripping me. I didn’t want to wake up. I didn’t want to face my “failure”. I didn’t want to move, to see the day-

Talking yesterday helped ... talking almost helps, but now I have a baseline without that fear I’ll get with most people. That “you’re better than me so I have to prove I’m ‘better’ than I really feel around you too.” I started to with him. And then I stopped caring along the way.

And it helped things settle in more about my isolation tendencies.

That helped ... I don’t want to hide this morning.

And then I heard Anne, speaking louder, telling me what he thought of me, what all the people I cared about thought of me. How they would react. That I wasn’t good enough. I wasn’t perfect. So they hated me.

I felt her claw, I felt her try and grip, I felt her try and tell me how crucial it is I’m perfect, how much I should worry about their perception of me.

And then I pinned her to the wall and plastered signs all around her saying, “I’m never going to be perfect,” while repeating it to her.

Because I’m not. I’m not now. Nor will I ever be,

No one else is either.

And my first reaction was honestly panic, as was hers. My first thoughts were that this labeled me a failure.

But the more I repeated it, the more I started to click that it doesn’t make me a failure. It’s liberating. I’m never going to be perfect. Which means there’s literally no point in trying to be. And if there’s no point in trying to be perfect, then what is there to fear about mistakes? What is there to fear about the clumsiness that is learning? What is there to fear about being a live and learning how to live it as I go?

What was I so afraid of? What have I been so petrified of?

This was followed by the thought that, no one else is able to be either. And I felt this toxic need to compete and compare with other people - other females - to be better, smarter, more perfect, more put together - ease. It eased. Cause what’s the point? No one is perfect anyway.

She was squirming, arguing, repeating just that I did, without reason, before shifting. I felt her pull away from me as she stared, changing her words to, “well I have to be!”

And so I tore down the signs, and put up new ones.

“You’re never going to be perfect.”

She’s still in distress over it, trying to not look at the signs, squirming against the wall where I left her. Trying to restart my fears like a spark to a flame, who’s fumes are so toxic, I suffocate.

But I’m never going to be perfect.

And while processing this, while Anne writhed, not wanting to face this truth, I carried another thought. Because I still had that pull to not message. To not alert the people I worried repeatedly into exhaustion, as someone mentally ill, as someone in an abusive household, as someone suicidal, who had disappeared - behind a locked door, yes, but a locked door that has been broken into more than once. I didn’t want to let them know that I was alright because I felt ashamed.

How self centered is that, in retrospect? To be so self conscious and wrapped up in self punishment I can’t bear the thought of letting the people I care about know I’m safe and awake.

And that I’m sorry.

In the moment this decision seems entirely reasonable, but that’s also how fear as well as mental illness in general works, I think. It makes nonsense seem like truth. It makes fears realities, even when they haven’t actually come to fruition. It makes toxic decisions feel like protective ones - sure my friends are upset with me now, but they’ll understand that me isolating while my thoughts replay violent images of myself with a knife while I panic and believe they all hate me was for the greater good, to protect us both. They’ll understand. I have to be this way. I’m ill. I’m not safe.

I feel like that’s one of the hardest parts to handle when learning to cope with disorders, with any sort of panic. Even if you can’t bring yourself to make the right decision in the moment, because suddenly asking for help seems dangerous, or you don’t deserve it, or it’s burdening them so you’re fine - at least let someone know, no matter how much you’re bones and skin and thoughts are screaming otherwise... and trust that this person maybe knows what helps more than you do right now. Because for you, the world has turned on its head, and it’s been set aflame, or turned lifeless, or is filled with other peoples whispers about how you really are.

So I’m standing there in front of Anne, eyes not yet open, feeling the phone in my hand, petrified to reach out.

And I have the thought, what if I wasn’t ashamed of myself anymore?

That’s such a simple question but it covers so much. What if I didn’t shame myself for not being this phantom idea of “neurotypical”? What if I didn’t shame myself for being a burden to the people who constantly reached out to me? What if I didn’t shame myself for switching out last night, for losing control over the stress ... for all the times I’ve done that this past week and a half?

What if I didn’t shame myself for being afraid?

What if I didn’t shame myself for being paranoid?

What if I wasn’t ashamed of cutting my own hair? Of putting glitter and blue on metallic nude nail polish because being called “adult” for wearing something plain didn’t sit right with me, and I was craving a color pop? What if I wasn’t ashamed that they looked sloppy, despite doing my best, despite loving the color contrast?

What if I wasn’t ashamed that my curly hair turned into a disheveled poodle puff on the top of my head in the mornings, or after I showered, because it didn’t look “adult” enough? My hair curly and kinked out was childish. Despite that being my natural hair, despite me loving it weird and quirky.

What if I wasn’t ashamed of loving dress up games and having an obsession with character creation? What if I didn’t explain why because I felt ashamed, self conscious it comes off as embarrassing? What if I wasn’t ashamed of my weight? Skin soft and squishy, a human pillow, a marshmallow, and I like the feeling of my weight moving on my body when I move certain ways.

What if I wasn’t ashamed of myself and of my existence?

What if my existence wasn’t something to be ashamed of?

I opened my eyes and messaged that I was awake. And that I felt in a weird state.

It feels like my thoughts are taking puzzle pieces and trying to smash them together, trial and error, until this new picture made sense.

And it feels good.

I’m not sure what all came together to help spark this change of thought. My “what if’s” have always been “what if I die” “what if I’m forever sick” “what if I don’t deserve a thing”.

To “what if I wasn’t ashamed of a damn thing?”

I went from obsessed of meeting and surpassing what other people wanted me to be like ... to what if it’s fine if I’m fat, colorful, loud, and mentally ill with voices in my head? What if it’s ok that when I panic, my entire chemistry emotionally disconnects from people I’m close to as a means of self defense? What isn’t ok is if I let that run my relationships.

What if how I choose to respond matters, and who I am is cared for? And what if that’s all that matters on this level.

What if I forgave my past and forgave myself for being an asshole and reached back out to the friends I pulled into my own turmoil, and when I said I was here for them this time, I didn’t disappear?

What if I did still, at some point, overwhelmed and stressed and disorders feeling like they took up my entire world? What if I made that promise but I still fucked up sometimes after? But I handled it differently after. So that all it was, was a bad day, instead of a disorder running my entirely relationships with them.

I can’t tell you what exactly changed. All I know was it was easier to talk yesterday, than maybe it’s ever been. That I was fighting harder to stay there while my friend yelled encouragements to keep talking, even if I did fall through in the end. That my thoughts were different since waking up. And I made the choice to wake up, instead of forcing myself because I have to.

What if I was proud of the disorders I have, and the insights they gave, and I let other people in close without shoving them away after, close enough to help me get stronger with them?

What if I let myself do things that made me feel alive, and nourished my spark for life again?

What if me being stubborn, fighty, aggressive, playful, childish, determined, loud, and always determined to find something to be hopeful for, always seeking reasons to smile and enjoy life while I crushed the air out of my friends lungs with bursts of affection, while I spent hours telling a story, while I laughed as I accidentally broke things and tried to find ways to fix it after, while I stopped giving a damn what people thought of me as I dressed in the colors of spring year round and I let my curling hair stayed kinked out in weird directions-

What if that was all OK?

What if I found myself attractive while acting on all that?

What if I allowed myself to change?

[thecouncilofali]

Wright

“Fuck you. Fuck you this isn’t enough. This isn’t ok. I don’t want to get close to them again. Not again. And again and again and again.”

“Hurting them once is one thing but then I hurt them twice and gods I just want to fucking- leave me alone, don’t come near me, I feel like a freak, I feel like a freak and I don’t know who I am anymore. I used to feel like part of something but I’m not. I don’t know who I am on my own and it’s scary. Please, please just, let me back off. I don’t know if I’ll find it then. I don’t know if I ever will. But gods I hate this.”

“My hands hurt to type because I’m pent up and I can’t type fast enough to get the words out. I don’t trust myself on my own anymore. I don’t know who I am and I don’t want to know and I don’t want anyone else to either because all that’s been for the past two years has been hurting the people we care about again and again and every time it happens I want to push away harder.”

“Nothing was ok. Nothing at all was ok. And if I do that then I’m better off locked away in that fucking room and just leave me to rot there. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t want me hurt them anymore. Please - let me lock myself away. I don’t want to do this anymore. The stress of it physically hurts I don’t want to-”

He was screaming and crying in the headspace. And I stopped and held him.

The weight of the world is not on us.

The weight of the world is not on me.

Why does every misstep crash on you so hard?

“I’ll make the world around me crash. I’ll bring them down.”

I’m not walking on eggshells. Not every step has to be tiptoed. What are you reacting to?

“I want to isolate so I don’t have to look at myself,” the tone much softer. “So I don’t have to believe what’s there. I don’t know...”

Don’t know what?

“I feel like I’m made of grey and getting darker. Like someone tried to paint me on the page and my ink is bleeding over everyone else and I’m not sure where I start and begin anymore.” He took a breath. “So I isolate.”

How about this - work with me. If you’re feeling lost we can sit down. I can make time to write while we’re feeling well. And we can always have something to look back on when we’re not feeling ourselves. And filling out the coping outlines in my phone will help unbleed those lines whenever we feel like we’re losing ourselves again. Things will be ok. I am a person, with beliefs and a heart and mind and people I care for and people looking out for me. I have definite likes and dislikes and shit I’m still exploring.

I can work myself out again. Find where I am and where I want to be. Put it in a nice summation so I can ground every main point I feel I stand on. But we have to be honest.

He nodded. “I’d like that.” And leaned against me.

[thecouncilofali]

To start this meeting... here is where I stand. I am an abuser. This is something I’ve been running from, not wanting to look at, thinking, well, maybe I’m not, because I care, and abusers obviously don’t.

That’s not true. I have manipulated and misused those who get close so, so fucking much.

And ... Why? Why do I want to do this? Why are there literally desires and impulses to cause those around me distress? I want to be happy. I want those around me to be happy.

I don’t want this on my hands ... this doesn’t feel right. This feels angry and bitter and selfish. This feels like fear and greed. This isn’t the life I want to live, but I want to continue doing it. These aren’t the relationships I want to have, but I don’t stop.

Why?

Ben: “Sometimes... we don’t know what else- that’s not true,” with a sigh.

Anne: “We know better.”

Aimee: “Tell her already.”

Josh: “You do it.”

Ben: “No, you!”

Wright: “Ali, it’s ...,” he swallowed.

Anne: “It’s because we...,” she swallowed as well.

Why are you all terrified of saying it?

Anne: “You’ll hate us.”

And the entire group of them nodded.

A lot of what they called out tonight is stuff I feel nothing of, but they’ve heard from you. Which means I need to start with you. I need to connect. And I can’t work on the self hatred until I’m able to process and lay to rest what I’m self loathing over!

Josh: “... it’s because we know we’re like them. It’s ...,” and he sighed. “We know we’re exactly fucking like them. They gave us the answer a year ago too. But we hate that we are, because it’s bad. You’re literally treating yourself like an abuser, while being one, while punishing for it, because you deserve to crush under the weight of anyone good in the world for being what you are and where you’re from. There’s no mystery.” And made eye contact with me. “You’re biggest fall is self hatred. And self punishment.”

Anne: “And everyone else is fucked up right? So why does anyone deserve anything but punishment. The best we can do is distract. There is no righting wrongs.”

Ben: “We’re going to repeat our past.”

Why does it feel right, feel justified, to act out like that?

Ben: “We don’t like being punished! Or tormented by our past. Every time.”

Aimee: “But we feel like we deserve it anyway and provoke situations where sometimes she quotes one of us from months ago, and it’s from the situation that, we haven’t changed.”

Ben: “We don’t deserve to. All we’re worth is fat and alone.”

Josh: “It’s a self fulfilling cycle, of we hate ourselves, so everyone must hate us. And we copy cat others-”

Wright: “Sometimes out of a mix to continue to drive others away. Sometimes in failed attempts to “correct” ourselves, into the person other people want. To be accepted.”

Anne: “When we can’t accept ourselves.”

Josh: “You know... for as much as you try and positive talk yourself, you disconnect from us while you do it. And.. we do it to you too, honestly. I don’t want to do this anymore.”

Anne: “There’s no excuse and even this is a pathetic one.”

Josh: “... the main reason we block out your past still is because you... we blame ourselves for all of it. Instead of ‘oh shit this person did this awful thing to me’, it’s ‘look what I provoked, look at what I am, an abusive child of an abuser’.”

Anne: “That is part of it too.”

Aimee: “We were treated as such a bad child that we started fulfilling the role after a point. If you expect nothing but problems from me, well, here it is. I’m what you wanted, apparently.”

Josh: “And then in middle school...”

Aimee: “We gave up on ourselves. It was long before Ryn.”

Anne: “College was hopeful, such a new start, to everything - no longer under their roof, things would change this time, we had room to... And then we isolated. And abused the spaces away provided as well.”

Aimee: “... and then we stopped hoping.”

Josh: “And fell completely into self loathing.”

And, why did you think I would hate you for telling me this?

Ben: “You preach hope so much, on the surface. We thought by saying we had given into self loathing entirely you would resent us.”

Wright: “Kick us out.”

Anne: “End us.”

Aimee: “... I feel like you have the right idea, but you’re not working all the way through. You... don’t have to have personalities to have layers. It’s like steering a boat with just the wheel, when you have to navigate the tail, the sails, the ropes, watch the waters, the weather. And you’re steering without all hands on deck helping the rest follow... Teaching us how to stop being angry too.”

This is... all of it, though?

Josh: “.... honestly, yeah. Like we can get down into the nitty gritty of what our parents did to us and shit but ... this is how we took it. It fucking feeds.. into most things with you.”

Aimee: “You lashed out at Matti out of self hatred. You’ve lashed out at Tavi and the boys for it. You’re still attached to your parents through it. Self hatred justifies, to you.”

Josh: “We do honestly think it’s... called for, but that certainty has turned into a maybe lately.”

Ben: After nodding, “I don’t think this is the right way anymore.”

Aimee: “But you need to be clued in to stop!”

Anne: “Which means we have to full accept ourselves and each other as part of one person, and hide no more secrets.”

Ben: “That scares me.”

Wright: “That scares all of us, but the captain needs to know to run the ship.”

Gloria, you’ve been quiet.

Gloria: “... I still believe it, with near certainty. We deserve to starve. To suffer. But I want to do it alone. Give them something nice and then, leave.”

Ben: “You’re romanticizing again. There’s no leaving on a good note. There’s no relief in leaving.”

Gloria: “They should be happy without me!”

Ben: “That’s the problem!”

Josh: “She is worn and broken and may fucking leave, the others might too, we have gone beyond our second chances, and thirds, fourths - and Ali’s only able to admit to herself tonight how ugly she is and how much she disconnects from everyone.”

Anne: “Congratulations team, we have helped her feel like the shell of a person, a self fulfilling prophecy, of being the person she feared becoming most. Yes, Gloria, why don’t we make this revelation and then run away.”

Gloria: “They don’t want us anymore!”

Ben: “I don’t give a care if they want us or not - I mean I do - honestly I do - but right now that’s ... that’s not the point. I want to feel wanted-”

Josh: “But these are beliefs that are going to lead her to misery, endangerment, or actually tip her over to killing herself. And then we’re all gone. Life isn’t about keeping people liking us. How about we figure ourselves out first and see if they want to stay?”

Anne: “And reach out while doing the work.”

I’m scared of relapsing again.

Ben: “Take if from your doubtful side, that will literally cause you to relapse - when fears come up, even over yourself, if they aren’t settled by questions, and somethings still nagging, figure it out.”

Anne: “Or we’ll all stay as silent as you were in her room today. We are you, after all.”

Josh: “And continuing to put doubts in yourself like that will keep you abusive because holy hell you’re fear driven, and you won’t ... be yourself. And help create something better for people, like you want.”

I am the captain but there’s more to steering this ship.

“Right,” in chorus.

Gloria, keep talking.

Gloria: “I don’t want to hurt anyone anymore! I hated her in tears. I froze. I went numb. I didn’t know how to react or what to say. I could see the boys shutting down and stressing out. I can’t bear it. I can’t bear to do this anymore. Just ... leave me to whither. Cut the ties. Let me die. Please. I don’t want to do this anymore.”

Ben: “And that’s... the thinking that leaves her stuck.”

Anne: “And the behaviors and actions that leaves friends in tears, wanting to back off, to cut ties. Wanting her to leave the room. Setting friends up for a month of fear and hell, and her not speaking to us for weeks again, while not saying a thing because Ali figured it was her fault. Leave her name spat on their lips. That’s the thinking of ‘woe is me, I’m running away from my problems’.”

Gloria: “I don’t know how else but to feel this way! This feels like the only way!”

Ben: “Well, start with why. Why do you feel like that.”

Gloria: “Because I don’t believe I will ever change.”

Ben: “That’s why we work as a team! Ali taking the fall for us on her own ends up hurting her too. Us taking it means she’s not learning. As a team. We have to learn as a TEAM. As parts of a whole.”

Josh: “Unless we forgive ourselves and start boosting ourselves, and work like a team, together, owning up together - she’s not going to get any better. She’ll stay bitter and loathing and abusive. She will die. We will all die. And we will die leaving things like tonight in our wake. Not good memories, not ‘oh poor dear’. We will be the human who killed ourselves and abused those close to them because god damn they couldn’t stop hating themselves into civil wars.”

Gloria: “... you’re right. If nothing else, I don’t... I don’t want to leave that behind. I don’t want this to be who I am. I just fear that’s all there is to me.”

That... hit the chord. I fear this is all there is to me. Alright, so ... how do fix this?

Ben: “They said certain things like that, it’s breaking the loop, right?”

Josh: “You’re going to have to touch on trauma again. You don’t have to make it squeaky clean just, reinforce stuff.”

Gloria: “... on all fronts, with all of us, or else it won’t work again.”

Josh: “Starting the change from the core, and spreading outward. And getting us hope again to.”

[thecouncilofali]

August Fifth - Early Evening, Pt. 1

“Alright,” I say, plopping down at the head of the table, and watch as they start to show up. “I’m still learning your names so we’re going in order of the last one I wrote? First off I’m really proud of everyone. Tavi’s birthday sure as hell wasn’t flawless but she enjoyed it and I had fun too. And we’re catching up on- well, no, catching up is the wrong phrasing. Catching onto handling our problems. There we go. But I’ve been off since we’ve returned? Time to get some stuff out.”

I point to Josh, his hair look like it was washed two or three days ago, and longer than it was before. “You start. Whats up?”

He fidgeted. “That respect shit is stressing me out. She’s female, you’re female, and you’re saying respect is based on earned, and positions, and to pay respect positions? What is that?” he snarks, shoulders rolled forward and sinking into the chair, fidgeting with a pencil anxiously.

“I mean it’s not new, it’s just a new way of handling it? We’ve respected Mr. Williams, Mrs. Steuller, Mrs. Goss. Some of our older neighbors. But the difference now is instead of assuming they deserve no respect for their training and work and time put into getting those positions unless proven otherwise, it’s earned until shown otherwise. Pay people respect until they show they don’t deserve it. Same with people in general? I don’t know their lives. They haven’t lived mine. There’s no grounds to assume and get a superiority complex because I’m so massively insecure.”

He nodded, and fidgeted with the pencil more, eyes fixed on it. “I mean just... the gender thing though.”

The moment he said this, I flipped through a bunch of images for gender fluid, before sitting back at the table and looking at him.

“What’d you see?” I ask.

“I ... people are both. People are people. You can’t ... slot someone based on their gender.” I nodded as he stopped fidgeting with the pencil, gripped it tightly, and then stood up. “I have to go, I’ll be right back.”

And near instantly he walked back into the room, his hair brushed to the side to show a shave, simular but not quite like mine, in a magenta skater dress, with thick black boots and a black belt, and he sat back down.

“There,” he said, definitively.

“You look good,” I smile, feeling a bit more at ease in my own skin. “ANNE.”

“What?” she snapped. She has some lipstick on, light pink, one of my shades, and I wave her over. “Come here.”

She looks at me suspiciously before walking over, and I can see she trialed with make up but didn’t put the care in, and I pulled a chair over and opened a box of make up and had her sit in front of me.

“What?” I ask, pulling out some make up remover first and wiping off uneven eye shadow.

“What ... what are you doing?” she grimaces, staring at my hands, and I can feel my chest go lighthearted, like it does when someone’s doing something nice for me and it catches me off guard, and I fluster without processing, and let it turn into fear, because it’s unfamiliar.

“You tried to do make up today, you don’t like yourself today, I don’t like myself a ton today, let’s fix up. You used these colors right?” I asked, showing her a couple blue shades on the pallet, and she nodded.

“Hold still a bit then,” I say, and the others are watching, every one, as I finish cleaning up her face and re-apply the eye shadow, blending it out and layering the shades, mixing pink and silver into the inner eye corners, softly penciling her eye brows and running concealer over some of her scarring when she told me to stop.

“Let ... that show.”

I nodded and wiped it down, seeing her cringe as I do.

“Does it hurt?”

“No just, uncomfortable,” she answers, and I finish wiping down before quickly coating a thin layer of foundation, and retouching her lips, layering with lip balm, and end with brushing her hair out, off to mostly one side, and plop up a mirror. “Better?”

She smiles, making new expressions, softly running a finger on the re-applied eyeliner, touching her eyebrows and skin, smiling broader before nodding. She fidgeted uncomfortably, before nodding to herself and giving a soft, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome! Anything else on your mind?”

She fidgeted, and nodded again. “The changes are making me uncomfortable, just ... go over new things you’re learning with us too.”

I nod. “Sure. Yeah no sure I can do that.”

She smiled and nodded, feeling more comfortable than I’ve felt her in a month, and goes to sit back down next to Josh.

“... Can I have my make up done?”

“Me too?”

“Me three?”

They all chorus up, everyone but Aimee and Gloria, and I laugh, expanding the make up kit out more. “I’ll show you how and you can do each other, alright?”

And they all nodded eagerly.

[thecouncilofali]

First Big Meeting Part 2

“Alright,” I say, sitting up a bit and stretching out my back. “Time for what happened yesterday. First marker was obsession. We took being called out as deep criticism and I got snagged on the obsession track.”

Jack shifted. “We fuck up things at night all the time, and we had already made mistakes that day. She made sure to bring up all of them that night instead of leaving it alone. We’re fucking up and going to hurt her again.”

“I just wanted to go home,” scoffed Anne, crossing her arms like I do when insecure.

Gloria stared at the ground, thumbing at the pink boa around her neck, pulling feathers out. “I didn’t want to feel anymore strain. I didn’t want to walk into a stressful house, I didn’t want to eat, I didn’t want her to see, I didn’t want her involved in coping. Just drop her off and others can help take care of her and then we’ll rest ourselves.”

“Exactly, so should have gone straight home, but Ali here was going oh lets try and handle our problems at eleven at night!”

I stand up from my chair, watching them and start by pointing at Jack. “She does that when I’ve been making mistakes and not handling them. It wasn’t meant to pick us apart. I know, I know the people I’ve grown up with mean it that way, but we have to keep working on that so we can learn with her, and from her, and not pick at myself in response.”

“... you sure?”

“I’m dead ass positive. And you can ask her at any point too if you’re not sure. Alright? She’s not the people we grew up with, she means things differently, she’s different as a whole in general. I get that’s still confusing. But that’s why we ask. I’m going to hurt her if I keep thinking like this and don’t accommodate, and learn to be considerate again.”

He nodded nervously. “I... can do that.”

I nod, and pat the table eagerly. “Yes you can. And Anne,” I say, pointing at her. “The night should have ended hours earlier. I pushed it. I’m still having to learn to cope with my problems and these talks are part of it. But the difference here is the correct response isn’t running off and turning my back on her and her concern and her needs. It’s keep learning, keep doing this, keep learning on how to listen. I know I’m scared of a lot? But that’s not the right course of action.”

She stiffly nodded, but I could feel her settle in a bit more.

“You’re right,” she said softly. “I get the urge to run a lot.”

“I know. It’s still there for me, I’m not sure that’s ever going away, but it’s something to work on, not act on, ever.”

She nodded again and her shoulders eased, and I looked at Gloria.

“Same goes for you. We work on everything, big picture, all of me and how to be mindful of others again, instead of so reactive. Not running away. That’s an insult to her, someone who’s been my friend and sticking her hand out for three years. I’m scared. The impulse is there. It’s not one to act on. We need to ground and learn from her, not run off.”

“We’ll suck her in,” she responds, staring at the table.

“Why?” I challenge.

“We always do? There’s no self control. There’s too many people in here. You won’t get the hang of it.”

I breathe, both hands on the table. “Look at me.”

She reluctantly looks up, pulling more feathers out of her boa.

“You are all a part of me. I’ve no doubt that I can learn to get a handle on myself. You’re not all other people out of control. This, is how I’m learning about myself. On top of, several outings we’ve been out on, and I didn’t suck her in. So, no, there is self control, and I’m learning how to grasp it further, and no this isn’t a damned friendship. So breathe, ease, and trust myself.”

Her chin tilted up proudly, and she swung the boa around her shoulder. “Of course. I’ve got a handle on this, it is of no concern.”

I laugh a little, feeling my own paranoia ease. I’m on the right track with this.

I look at Benjamin, and he runs his hand up and down his arm. “I got stressed about straining her, so I wanted to go back to the house, and lay down, give her a rest from me for awhile. Like sleep is to give other people a break too. I got your side so I backed off? But that pull is just, there... I’m sorry. Like I did my best to give you room to do what you feel like you needed but I’m not sure that actually relieved you?”

I shake my head. “I need you chiming up when that pull hits and working with me, not backing off me, I am part of you. We’re working together on this. So no shying away from me, got it?”

He nodded, and smiled a little. “Got it.”

Aimee whined at this point. “Alright but the boys started making their threats! ‘There will be consequences if you push her’. It’s not our fault she wouldn’t get out of the car.”

“She cares, and relies on me for certain things, neither of those are something to abuse, and it wasn’t making threats to fuck with me, it’s hey, there are consequences and he is going to protect his partner. I understand the filter? Michael and males in the family do that in general, so did one of my exes. But not every male works that way. She’s not to be used and they’re not to be run from or brushed off. There are consequences and her health is on the line. I need to do my part to pull my own weight. Everything else? Bratty excuses.”

She glared at me. “They’re going to hurt you.”

“I might get hurt? With them it’d likely be by my own doing. It’s worth the effort with them though. There’s a lot of risks but I’m willing with them.”

Her eyes narrowed. “... Why?”

I pause a moment, brushing my hand behind my ears. “It’s... It’s hard for me to relax fully and register closeness with someone right now? But even from that .. emotional distance, I know I’m lying if I try to say I don’t care, or if they’re not different than what I’ve known. I’m scared but I trust them. So I’m doing my best.”

She looked away for a moment before glaring at me again. “I know we like them, but it isn’t safe.”

“If it comes between being absolutely alone versus taking the risk, which would you choose?”

“... Take the risk,” she answered, looking away.

I nodded. “It’s not even as much as a risk like it feels like. I get that’s not clicking right now but I need all sides of me to be on this decision to help actually settle that too.”

She nodded. “Alright. I’ll support it. I don’t trust any of the boys, but I’ll trust her... and Neil, enough.”

That’s a start.

I look at the last three.

Wright chimes up first. “I just wanted to listen to music the rest of the night, decompress alone for awhile. I liked being out with them, and I get the writing was important? But I was ready to be alone. For you to pay attention to yourself first and foremost the rest of the night. And have done this the rest of the night.”

Jax nodded. “I wanted the same. I tried to help you with the writing but I feel like I needed time with you. I just wanted to enjoy time by ourselves for a little while. Maybe play with some of those dance moves. Maybe write something for yourself. You pour yourself into others so much and you’re not fully extroverted you know?”

I nod. “That’s fair, and I feel that need a lot? But I need to do both. I would have been able to had I not gotten snagged on obsession and dragged things up, but I’m not sure on how to balance things out yet, and I’m still afraid to say no a lot, because there’s sometimes I feel that but it’s not the right time? And I don’t want to upset anyone anymore than I have.”

I sigh, and several of them nervously nod, when Joseph pipes up. “You told me I could have fun with costumes as long as it wasn’t hiding you. Isn’t that part of it yeah? You’re hiding yourself in quiet. Its still a guise. You’re not that quiet.”

I nod, that impulse to nervously laugh rising and I breathe it out. “You’re right. I feel inept at communicating when things come up as well, and I get paranoid at it coming out wrong, but that’s not something I’ll get the hang of until I keep practicing. And that scares me a ton,” and several of them nod in agreement, “but I’ll be happier and able to take care of myself, and able to maintain these relationships better the more I can work past that. Not by force but like, hey, this is why.”

There’s a mix of nervous and eager nods, and I straighten up a pile of papers I have all their personalities and names listed out on.

“We’ll meet again tonight, after the job applications. If you have concerns while I’m out. Until then, any questions?”

Joseph raised his hand. “Not as late tonight right? We’ll actually get some sleep? Gloria eats less when we don’t.”

I nod. “Not as late. Much much earlier. Anything else?”

“Just give us a time when you can,” from Jax, running the wheels of the car over his hands.

“Will do. If that’s all?” and I pause a moment, looking them over. There seems to be a lot of mixed emotions, but a mutual relief at a feeling of lack of isolation, like I’m part of something.

“Then meeting dismissed. See everyone tonight.”

[thecouncilofali]

First Big Meeting Part 1

“You’re late,” one of them says in almost a snarl, as I plop down in the chair at the head of the table.

I nod. “I know. I pushed things too far last night and couldn’t get to you, I was fighting sleep just to finish the small bit I had. But we’re taking care of this now.”

“Is this the getting to know you part?” one with a younger voice asked.

I shook my head. “As much as yes I want to-,” and then stopped, and thought. There’s a lot from yesterday I need to go over, but it may be easier to identify triggers and where I tend to not manage certain things if I work out names and faces first.

I feel that overwhelmed feeling of a rush of impulses hitting to do too much at once. Going through everyone would take more time to initiate, but it’s important in the long run.

I nod at the one to the left closest to me. “Name, age, pronouns, introduce yourself.”

He sighed, and leaned back. He’s in a black jacket, pulling at the seems and worn at the pockets and elbows, black skinny jeans and sneakers with holes at the toes. His short, dark hair greasy and unkempt, with skin acting up in agitated red patchy flakes around his nose and eyes, a few freckles unevenly splayed across his face. “I’m Josh, 14, he and him and all that, and I struggle with a lot of social paranoia, and sexism.” His foot taps against the table in agitation. “And anger issues. This feels like therapy.”

“It kind of is. What do you think of Tavi?” I ask him.

He looks away. “She’s ... nice. But she makes me uncomfortable.”

“Neil?”

He shook his head. “I ... know he’s there in reach to help. Feel like I’m constantly about to fuck up around the guy. Same with her.”

He wraps his arms tighter around himself and tries to sink back into his chair, his foot tapping against the table even more nervously.

I nod, and move onto the one next to him, one I’m familiar with. “Anne, go for it.”

“You already know me.”

“Everyone hides from each other, and from me, and you’ve been avoiding me lately. Go on.”

She sighed, her breathing nervous and aggressive and glaring at everyone at the table. Her skin has patches of scars, where her skin looks heavily wrinkled and dried out and discolored, along her arms, her ribs, the side of her face and along part of her mouth. She does her best to cover them with a purple hoodie, and flipping short, greasy, unevenly chopped brown hair over the side to cover the worst of it. You can see red scratch marks along the ones on her cheek and neck.

“I’m Anne. I’m 18. She, they. I’m angry and I don’t like talking to anyone.”

Her arms are tightly crossed over her chest as well, and she’s avoiding eye contact with me. She radiates guilt and paranoia, and she starts scratching at her neck again.

“Don’t scratch, you’ll agitate it more.”

She scoffed and tucked her arm back down.

I look to the next one, and he sits up excitedly. “I’m Joseph! I like costumes and stuff. And masks. And bags. And making things and dressing up? I like pretending to be other people it’s fun that way.” And then fidgeted. “And makes me feel better sometimes. Anyway I’m almost nine, and I’m a boy!”

His hair is in a greasy dirty blonde mop that falls into his eyes, a birds nest in the back. He has freckles splayed across his cheeks and one blue, one brown eye. It looks like he’s missing a couple teeth, and the rest are yellowed and damaged, and I feel most likely cavity riddled. He’s massively underweight with over-sized, bright colored clothing on. Even his shoes are too big for him.

I can’t help but smile a little, but it’s bittersweet. I know he shares the part of me that indulges in separating me from myself, and copy catting those around me when I get nervous. He’s associated with the part of me that over indulges in pretend and fantasy.

“I’m Gloria,” says the one next to him. “She, her, sixteen, and I’m better than all of you.” She said it with a glare, but her voice is quivering with nerves. Her hands are shaking. She’s under weight as well. Dressed in nicer clothing than most of them, but it’s stained, worn, and mismatched. She keeps a pink, feathered boa around her neck, blue eyes that match mine, and straight, shoulder length, dirty blonde hair pulled back into a too tight ponytail. You can tell there are patches where the hair is thinner than the rest. She pulls at her hair in stress. Poorly applied concealer covers pimples and blemishes on her skin, and it looks as if the rest of her make up was done while trembling.

I feel like she’s part of the eating disorder as well.

“Would you like anything to eat?” I ask. “Maybe an orange?”

She leans back and swallows hard, shaking her head, and the urge to gag increases with me. “N-no, I’m fine, thanks.”

There’s this feeling that this is enough people, enough problems, that to take on or learn about any others would be too much, be overwhelming, and I look to the masculine one sitting next to her.

“Name?” I ask, leaning forward.

He shook his head, and I swing my leg at him. “Name,” I say more sternly.

Several names flip through my head, as if he’s trying to pick one.

“What do you want to be called?” I try.

“... S-stan,” he says nervously. “I think.” And then shook his head, paused, and then softly, “Benjamin.”

“Age, pronouns, what’s going on with you.”

“Uhm... 14, he, them, I guess, and I panic a lot? I feel depressed a lot. Things overwhelm me a lot of the time and I have trouble doing, uh, anything. Feel kind of constantly angry at things.”

So depression. And giant mountains of self doubt, from how he feels. His hair is brown and greased as well, bags under his eyes. His eyes are nervous, hands pulling at the over-sized, thick black jacket, he wears. He’s wearing blue jeans a size too big and shoes that have all the traction worn off at the bottom.

“Pelly was down here.”

“Get her away.”

“Why was she down here?”

“She was too close?”

They all chime up in a nervous, anxiety riddled chorus.

“We live with her still. Let’s focus on getting out, not that she’s here. That’s a consequence we have to live with for awhile.”

Everyone’s tense but there’s nervous nodding in acknowledgement, and some are able to ease, the others are still paranoid.

“If she does anything to cross another line I’ll speak out.”

And they ease ever so slightly more.

I look at the one next to Benjamin, another kid, with headphones on.

“Wright,” he said. “My names Wright, I’m ten, I like music.” He thumbs over an old walkman from the early two thousands. “I’m stressed without it. Oh, and he, him, they, she,” and shrugged. “I’m all of them.”

His hair is slightly greased but he smells of soaps, his hair dyed copper with brown roots showing, like it hasn’t been maintained in two or three months, his clothes worn and wrinkled like they’ve been slept in, but they’re clean. Some of the seams are tearing, and the shirt is too small and the pants too big. He’s wearing a binder, one too small for him as well, and his nails are a wreck from stress picking, small sores on his arms and legs as well he tries to hide.

“What do you listen to?” I ask him.

“Mostly classical. Helps me focus. Pop if I need to cheer up,” and then shook his head. “That’s it.”

I look to the one next to him. “SARAFIA!-”

“What do you actually go by,” I ask immediately, dead staring.

“... Aimee,” she says quiter, shifting and staring at your lap. “I’m 14 but I wish I was 12 again. I like dress up. And I know I’m smarter than anyone else here,” she says, staring at the others across the table. “And I hate boys.”

She has unevenly applied make up I remember from when I was 7 or 8, out of those kid kits. A pink scrunchie, a white dress that’s been strained at the seams, stained, and slept in. Her hair is brown with faint blonde streaks, greasy with split ends, and she has scars like claw marks over her lip, down her arms, one in her back like someone tried to rip her shoulder blade out.

“Hate boys?” I ask plainly.

“There stupid, violent, and impulsive. They’re predators, all of them,” she spat out, crossing her arms and slamming back like a toddler in a fit. “They’ll act nice but the moment you trust them they’ll take advantage of you.”

“What do you think of Neil?”

“I wish he wasn’t here. The moment you think you’re friends again he’s going to stab you in the back for her.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Why?”

“BECAUSE THAT’S WHAT HE DOES.”

I shake my head. “He’s a lot of things. That isn’t one of them. What do you think of Tavi?”

“I don’t trust her. She’d throw us to the wolves in a moments notice the moment we let our guard down.”

“I’ve let my guard around her. It usually ends with talking and apologizing and actually having a good day.”

“I don’t. Trust. Her,” she glares, insistent.

So paranoia, superiority complex, insecurities covered up by hubris.

I glance at the last one at the table currently. “Name?” I ask softly.

They shook their head.

“What do you want to be called?”

“... Jax,” they stated, sliding half under the table and fingering along the grooves in the wood of the table. “I’m seven but I feel older. I don’t like focusing on stressful things. I get distracted a lot. Prefer they, them.” There’s a pause, as they seem to get fixated on the grooves in the wood, before sitting up, blue eyes dead staring at me. “I like people, I like being by myself sometimes, I like enjoying things. But I feel tired a lot too.”

Their hair is at that bowl cut length that hits their eyes, but looks to be watched. Light brown with a hint of red, skin slightly darker than the others, as if they like going outside.

They nodded. “I like sitting outside and doing things, even when it’s hot out, just as long as I’m not burning, and with other people too.”

They pulled out a pink toy car I used to have and run it back and forth across the table, watching it. They feel overweight but malnourished, the clothes they’re wearing a size too small. They rub they’re eyes sleepily before fidgeting in the chair and continuing to run the car back and forth, in gentle, almost noiseless movements. They seem to keep their voice quiet. I’m aggressively remembering how I used to play alone as a kid.

“What do you think of Tavi?” I ask them.

“She’s really nice, and really pretty. But I feel like she gets angry sometimes when we don’t get things. Like we don’t care but we just don’t get things. I like her a lot though,” and then softly kicked their feet. “I’m excited for this week.”

“What about Neil?”

“He can be scary sometimes, but I like him. He’s super smart and he seems like a good person. I wanna be more like him sometimes. I like how he handles things.”

I nod. “Anything else?”

They stop moving, and think a moment. “I get stressed a lot. Like everything is stressful, and I don’t know why, but I just like enjoying things, even when I feel tired.”

[thecouncilofali]

I walk up to the head of the table, seating about twenty, and about eight filled, some faces familiar, and some unfamiliar, from those I’ve heard but haven’t show themselves yet. I have the feeling this isn’t everyone, but this is most of them.

The room is filled with cobwebs and stale cotton candy hanging on the walls, the walls themselves streaked with stains. I know this room will continue to improve the more we use it, but it does need to be cleaned.

“I’m starting out this meeting by saying sorry,” I start, and I’m met with some listening eyes, and several scoffs and eye rolls, and continue. “I didn’t realize up until recently how much depression was affecting me, every day, through almost everything that I do, for at least the past eleven years.”

“Try your whole life,” a masculine one speaks up. “You were born with this. Bitch.”

I nod. “My whole life, then. I didn’t understand how much it was affecting me. And how much it kept me from listening to you. I thought most of you were unreasonable and I was just faulted, and I started to panic that there was something wrong with me, I could never recover, never get better. I was going to continue to fail.”

Several nod in agreement as I continue.

“I didn’t realize all of you were still reacting as I do when depressed. The anger, the lashing out, the blaming. The acting spoiled to push people away, the not feeling listened to because I can’t put it into words, so I’m wanting desperately to be heard and lashing out instead. I didn’t realize until this feeling of exhausted without being exhausted, like I wasn’t exhausted, but I would be, if someone asked one more thing of me, if someone pointed out one more thing.” This line is met with several more nods. “I was struggling with dealing with myself because spoiled and greedy and selfish, especially in the ways I have been lately, for the past two years really, didn’t seem like me, didn’t feel like me, and I didn’t know who I was hearing it back, I thought it was just something wrong with me, and treating it how I was, I wasn’t getting better. And I took it out on myself, and self punished. And self punished. And punished you, for a mental illness I thought I understood, I thought only affected me in isolated areas, and I didn’t. And I’m sorry.”

I can feel the tension in the room ease more, and another, a feminine gender-neutral feeling one, pipped up. “We didn’t want to hurt anyone, you know.”

“Yes we did,” another masculine one spoke. “Sure some of us were fucked up about it but you can’t say I never wanted to hurt anyone.”

She glared back. “She can’t stand the idea of hurting anyone without wincing. Most of us dissociated and disconnected, thought it was a game or that we absolutely had to, but we never wanted to.”

He glared back. “It wasn’t a game, it was necessary.”

She’s about to speak up again when I do. This is my mind, I need to take control of being the lead of it all. “Both of you are right. For the most part I don’t want to hurt anyone, but there have been times that I have, when I feel people deserve it. It’s not all one way or another, and I need to stop demonizing both sides. There’s a compromise here. I feel both.”

After a pause, she softly speaks. “Agreeable.” And the masculine one from the start, and the one defending now, both nod in agreement.

“We are going to start having meetings here, daily, if not multiple times a day. And these are priority, just as much as the daily writing I do, just as much as my medication. This is self care. Are there any questions?”

“... When do we start?” asks a slightly feminine male.

“We start tonight. I’ll get done with the outing as soon as I’m able, and then we’re meeting here. I’m getting to know you all, and then we’re setting ground rules, and no,” I state, looking at some of the ones tensing, “this isn’t me becoming a dictator and forcing it on you. I am one whole person, a whole person with many faces. Trying to puppeteer myself through the alters while repressing you was the wrong way to handle it, and I won’t be making that mistake again. These are meetings to come to an agreement and work together moving forward. Understand?”

I’m answered by nods and softly spoken agreement, some tense and wary, most relieved.

“I won’t be tolerating sabotages in this outing. If there’s an issue, chime up, ask before you act. And we’ll be meeting back here tonight. Dismissed.”