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Rants of a disaffected newbie
May. 9th, 2002 07:17 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
great-stoneface.livejournal.comI know that I'm a newbie and it's probably extremely rude of me to just barge on in here and start bitching but I just need to get this off my chest and I swear that once I post this I'll be the most supportive person ever.
*pant* OK, now that that's out there. . . I might be multiple. I don't know. There are people who interact inside my thoughts, in their own house with their own families. I never ever think of them as objects, because they're real, real people. I know it, even if they're not corporeal. Everything about them I feel like I've discovered, not made up; I feel like they've told me.
I can't stop thinking about them. They're always there. Sometimes it's nice, but sometimes it's just. .. sometimes I just want them to be quiet, you know? And sometimets I act out what they're doing, but only when I'm alone.
Sometimes they act independently, sometimes not. When I do something, they do their own version, with their own responses. They come out to play when I'm alone. The problem I have is that I hate that it's halfway. When they talk, I feel like I make them, and they'll never come out in public! Never! I hate this f--ing limbo; either come out to play or just go away!
I don't know if this is some bipolar thing, some beginning stage of DID, just an overactive imagination. I feel like I'm overdramatizing it, but the thing is, I don't really feel any of it. I live through them, I think and act through them, and they through me, and in the process I lose something. I lose my emotions and gain solace, as pathetically poetic as that sounds. One of them cries, so do I, one of them rants, so do I, one of them dances. . . well, my body can't dance, but I do my damndest. But I don't feel anything.
This sucks.
*pant* OK, now that that's out there. . . I might be multiple. I don't know. There are people who interact inside my thoughts, in their own house with their own families. I never ever think of them as objects, because they're real, real people. I know it, even if they're not corporeal. Everything about them I feel like I've discovered, not made up; I feel like they've told me.
I can't stop thinking about them. They're always there. Sometimes it's nice, but sometimes it's just. .. sometimes I just want them to be quiet, you know? And sometimets I act out what they're doing, but only when I'm alone.
Sometimes they act independently, sometimes not. When I do something, they do their own version, with their own responses. They come out to play when I'm alone. The problem I have is that I hate that it's halfway. When they talk, I feel like I make them, and they'll never come out in public! Never! I hate this f--ing limbo; either come out to play or just go away!
I don't know if this is some bipolar thing, some beginning stage of DID, just an overactive imagination. I feel like I'm overdramatizing it, but the thing is, I don't really feel any of it. I live through them, I think and act through them, and they through me, and in the process I lose something. I lose my emotions and gain solace, as pathetically poetic as that sounds. One of them cries, so do I, one of them rants, so do I, one of them dances. . . well, my body can't dance, but I do my damndest. But I don't feel anything.
This sucks.
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