Writing our heart out

Trigger warning – abuse, DID

I’m the night alter – the first, the strongest  – I’m the other half of Bianca. She is always flitting around, like a fragile butterfly, and it’s my sorry job to watch over her amnesic ass. I’ve had to stay hidden for so long, but now I can finally communicate with her. 

I always did love her, all her loopiness aside. I just had to keep myself away so she wouldn’t hear or see my thoughts. I’d been guarding some really painful memories. I had to wait with contacting her until her circumstances were different and she could survive remembering. But I’ve also been jealous of her. She seemed to dance through life, unsullied, while I was wading through a swamp of difficulties.

So, now I have the chance to introduce myself. My occupation in life: to push pain down, so I cannot feel it. Also emotions – I stomp them out decisively, when I need to. I can take whole memories and lock them up in sturdy chests. Once I even battled a whole personality into a chest, because she was suicidal. Now how would this look on a curriculum vitae?

I became who I am because it was my job to endure all the abuse. I was there when no one else was to keep the body breathing, and then I locked up those memories even to myself. Or so I thought. Those chests must have leaked somehow, because Bianca carried secret feelings of dirt and disgust within her. I know this now when I am more close to her. Strangely enough, I’m beginning to feel like maybe maybe we’re the same person, the same soul. Could life really be that incredible? Could we heal?

I do have some good memories. So wonderful I wouldn’t trade them for anything in the world. 

I wouldn’t be Guinevere if it weren’t for Lancelot.