The greatest feeling is having that many likes in so short a time. Thanks guys. I’m glad you liked it. 😀
The greatest realization for someone with very low self-value is this: I do not have to change into someone else’s definition of perfect in order to be of value.
To many people, changing to fit someone else’s needs is a foreign concept. They are wonderful as they are and, though far from perfect, if they change, it will be because they choose to.
But someone who sees no value in themselves will try to change in any way if they think it might make someone value them. Because even if they don’t value themselves, if someone else does, then they’re worth something, because someone else says so.
Even if they hate themselves, somewhere in their mind they know that they must be worth something because this other person says so. But if only they were _____. Well they would be worth more if they were _____, so they should be that.
At least this is the way it has worked in my mind. If I can’t be of value to myself, then I have to be of value to someone else, even if it doesn’t change the fact that I still don’t value myself. It’s like being happy for someone else because you can’t be happy for yourself.
It’s taken me a long time to realize that I don’t need to change to be more awesome and beautiful and adorkable and fun to be around. And I know everyone says I’m all these things, but what’s more important is that I say I’m all these things. Even if I don’t always believe it.
I’d like to start this message off by saying we’ll be switching from PostADay to PostAWeek. Joining PostADay was kind of majorly ambitious. But someone will probably still post every few days, because we must abuse the middleground.
So, how are you? If I’m following you, the question is slightly rhetorical, since I read more than I write. If not, feel free to tell me about your day, really. I honestly like to know when people are feeling awesome, or when they’re feeling crappy so I can make them feel better.
Oh, right, you read my blog to read about me… Well, us, obviously. Okay, well. A lot has happened recently.
First we were kind of down in the dumps and sliding back into apathy. Then two new people came into my life, and, damn it, they are amazing. They are the first taste I’ve had of actually being okay with myself since… Well, since I can remember.
And then one of those two people (let’s call her T) kind of triggered Freddy during a play session. Nothing happened then and there, but after we got home and it was just the people in this body alone in the room, he took control of the body and fell into a full fledged panic attack. It took a while to calm him down, and even longer to figure out what caused the panic attack, but once we discovered it was T… We held a group meeting to decide on what to do. We used the living room area since Talyn isn’t done building the conference room (he’s been slowly constructing an internal “house” for us, he’s the only one who knows how to do it), and all shared our opinions on these new people in our lives.
We came to the conclusion that eventually we have to tell T and her partner. If we’re going to continue playing with them, they have to know, sooner rather than later. But it’s so easy to say “oh, they’re dealing with this stuff, I’ll tell them another time” or freak out and assume they’re going to reject us. We actually just recently told another of my partners and he’s okay with it, although his understanding is minimal and he’s kind of the stereotypical “I love your alters because I love you” single. Which is the most obnoxious kind of acceptance, but it’s still acceptance. And I have 3 other partners who know and are totally okay with it.
So it’s not the assumption that everyone is going to reject us… Just them. So that will happen eventually.
Then the other day, I came to the most startling and eye-opening epiphany ever. I’ve had so much trouble trying to figure out who I am and why I act so different from one moment to the next… I am actually the culmination of another system within the ITT system. I split from the original and everyone in this “new” system is a fracture of me, not all of them are complete personalities, but a lot of them are.
This explains pretty much everything. And I’m not exaggerating. Everything.
So I spent a few hours with a headache and a red face and totally spazzing out and feeling amazing about this discovery. It’s a fantastic feeling to suddenly understand so much about yourself.
When I finally calmed down (about 2 am), I went ahead and checked that pesky voicemail I’ve been meaning to check for the last month. And there were messages from boyfriends and colleges I’d inquired about and… my ex-fiance.
Let me stop there and explain that this is the person with whom I have had the most completely unhealthy relationship. Even more so than the relationship that created Vicki.
So the moment I heard his voice… My heart dropped, my breathing stopped… And instant chaos inside my head and the urge to whups like someone had just fed me ipecac.
My first reaction was just to hide. Find somewhere safe inside and let the real world deal with itself. But I know I can’t deal with things that way. I have to deal with my issues. Or, our issues. I was engaged to him when I was still in denial about living multiple, and he knew but I forced them down as much as possible. So it wasn’t great for anyone else either.
It didn’t help that he was diagnosed Bipolar, and he rarely took his meds. When he was on his meds he was great, but when he didn’t, he could go from “I’ll love you forever, no matter what” to “if you do that, I’ll kill myself”(literally, he went to the ER three times “because of me”).
An hour of trying to keep myself busy by clearing out old emails one by one later, I gave up. I went back to the voicemail I oh so cheesily asked him to leave me years ago that I haven’t been able to erase. I read the letters he sent me.
And I wrote back. I explained why it was so hard for me to talk to him. I explained that I understand why he did and said everything he did. It didn’t make it easier to deal with, but I did understand. I explained that I am so different from the shy, insecure little girl he was engaged to. I have opinions now, which I didn’t have then. I’m okay with saying no, sometimes (though not as often as I should), a word I was physically incapable of saying then.
I also sent an email to the woman he told me he had broken up with who I later found out he was engaged to, ring and all. I’m poly, he knew that, I wouldn’t have minded if he had seen other people, but just before he and I separated, I found out he had been cheating on both of us. She knew about me, but she found out he was hiding other women too, and I though I was his only. And that was the last straw. I broke and ran and hid from the world.
And I’ve been hiding from this relationship since.
But I’m stronger now. And I know that I have other people I can ask for help, internal and external. And I know that I am literally made up of the strength of nine other people. I can handle anything.
TL;DR M is part of a new triad that has been having DID-related issues, M has discovered that zhe is actually the Mselves system (meaning 8 new headmates have been discovered), and the whole system has been in an uproar over an unhealthy relationship resurfacing.
Oh, and we’ve decided we’re finally going to get started on that autobiography we’ve been talking about writing since the body was ten. Snippets and drafts will be shared here occasionally.
That’s all for now.
Most people are insecure in their own way. Most of those people are unable to overcome their insecurities, and all relationships in their life, romantic or platonic, suffer for it.
But some people are so perfectly happy with who they are, that they can take someone who has grown to despise their appearance and help them rise up and, without words, simply with their presence, help them be happy about who they are. Just by being around them, everything in the world just seems… Okay.
Recently, I’ve been lucky enough to meet not one, but two such people. I realize logically, that this may be the honeymoon phase of this relationship, but I have never had a honeymoon phase so strong that I have little to no hatred of my appearance. I want to take good care of myself, and I’m incredibly happy to please others, and find that somehow I do so simply by existing.
I’m not afraid of my imperfections.
I’m not afraid of my talents.
I’m not afraid of being happy.
Now I have to see if I can get the rest of the crew on board. So far, the reactions seem good, but I want to keep a careful eye on it. I want this to go well. I want everyone to be happy.
Talyn mentioned in an earlier post that he is a vegetarian. This body has been entirely vegetarian before, for 2 years, when Talyn operated as the front. He tried going vegan at the time, but, for health reasons, he couldn’t limit the body’s food choices that much.
Well, now we’ve overcome those reasons and being vegetarian is now a possibility again. I, myself, have personal qualms about consuming animals, and vegetarianism really is the most reasonable diet that I can see.
But not everyone in the system agrees. Obviously Freddy, as a little kid, doesn’t really understand that his chicken nuggets used to be a cute little bird. And like most little boys, he loves his chicken nuggets. I don’t really know how Vicki feels about it, but I want the kids to make their own decisions, just like any other child.
Apparently Ludovic is vegan, which doesn’t surprise me, though it is new information.
But everyone else is pro-meatavore. Viktor, C, Jenn, Eva, and the others who don’t blog here all have little to no interest in giving up meat entirely.
So what is the solution? Am I really a vegetarian if everyone else still eats meat? And Ludovic, is he really vegan if I still eat eggs?
This is where sharing a body and everyone being individual people really comes into conflict. We’re welcome to make our own decisions about who we are what we eat and what we believe, but how does society see us? Will sharing a body and not forcing choices upon each other lead to our choices being invalidated?
If we all come to a general consensus and decide to get tattooed, will society still be able to see Jenn as the sweet housewife she is? The body is already nineteen, and female, so society will never see Freddy or Vicki as the little kids they are, and no one will recognize Ludovic as the sexy 6’4″ gay minstrel he is.
But when they can be recognized, I’d like for them to be, every chance they get.
And what happens if Talyn goes out, say with M’s family, then Jenn switches in and takes control of the body. The clothing on the body may already be feminine, but if the body goes out to eat, Jenn will probably order something Talyn never would, like meatloaf, or roasted chicken. That effects how Talyn may be perceived.
I suppose for now, the only solution is that we choose what we do when we are in “the driver’s seat” and leave the rest for the world to decide. After all, why should any of us care what others think?
Something Mayn’s mom showed everyone the other day. Well she showed M but we were watching ’cause we like Cookie Monster more.
~Text transcribed by Jenn
You don’t really realize how far your journey has taken you until you have to do it all over again.
Mayn and I have agreed that it would be wise to warn that this story does involve some fairly intense themes that some people may be more sensitive to.
Today’s exercise comes from the blog Fresh Ink.
You’re at the county 4th of July fireworks display, when you get an overwhelming desire to leave before the show starts. Why? Do you leave? What happens next?
I walked quietly down the midway of the 4th of July festival, hand in hand with the man of my dreams. He was telling me a story of his first 4th of July festival, some of it he remembered, most of it he had heard from his family. “And when the fireworks started, I just lay there, watching these bright lights in the sky, such an unfamiliar concept, but there they were,” he finished, smiling. “What about you?” he asked, giving my hand a gentle tug, pulling me in closer.
My face flushed and I looked to where my feet slowly moved across the ground, almost rhythmically. “I was born in a dinky little town, we didn’t really do fireworks for the 4th of July. We did barbeques and everyone got together and played with sparklers, but that was it. You couldn’t even really see the fireworks from any of the cities nearby.”
He seemed shocked. He had never known a holiday without a traditional city celebration. “But you said you grew up in San Diego, the least dinky city for miles around.”
“Oh yeah,” I said, my memory drifting back to when I was much, much younger. “I moved out to San Diego when I was five,” I said quietly, looking anywhere but at him.
“Is that when you saw your first fireworks display?” he asked, smiling. I knew he was just trying to learn more about me, but it still felt like he was digging too deep.
“Yeah,” I answered quietly. “Hey, I’m getting kind of tired. Will you walk me home?” I looked up at him, trying to smile. All this remembering was making me anxious and I kind of wanted to get out of there.
“Are you sure? They haven’t even started the fireworks yet.”
“Yes, I’m sure,” I said, my voice accidentally rising an octave. I looked back down at my feet and leaned closer to him, my hand tightening around his.
“Alright, if you really want to go,” he said hesitantly. I sighed. He was just too perfect.
We started walking back toward the edges of the festival, the lights growing less and less bright around us. “So, what was it like?” he pushed again, “Did you get to see the fireworks over the Bay?”
“Yeah. They were big and bright and loud.” My words cut off abruptly. I didn’t want to talk about it anymore, but I couldn’t just change the subject. I didn’t know why, but I couldn’t.
“What’s the hurry?” he asked, and only then did I realize that I was walking as fast as possible away from the festival. I didn’t want to be there anymore, but I slowed down again, trying not to worry him.
“Oh. No hurry.” I was trying to be cheerful, smiling, even meeting his eyes, but he knew me too well.
“Something is wrong. Tell me,” he stopped and pulled me closer to him again, “please?”
“Can we just leave?” I asked. I glanced down at my watch. It was almost nine. The fireworks started at nine. I did not want to be here at nine.
“We’ll leave, just please tell me what’s wrong.”
I hid my face in his chest, taking in his scent, trying to calm myself. I looked up at him. “I just don’t like fireworks. That’s all.”
“Babe, you don’t like dark leafy vegetables. You don’t act this way when there’s broccoli in the room.” His analogy made me laugh, I couldn’t help it. “Now please tell me?” The look on his face told me he was connecting the dots. “Is it about your first festival?”
I hid my face again and mumbled, “Yes.” I didn’t want him to know. I didn’t want to tell him. It was horrible just thinking about it, but to actually say the words…
“Come on, follow me,” he said as he pulled away and led me back toward the lights of the festival. I followed after quickly, wrapping both of my arms around his, staying as close as possible. I didn’t want to be farther away from him than I had to be.
We walked into the lights, then right past them. He led me away to the edge of a steep bank. He took off his jacket and laid it down so we could both sit on it. I let go of his arm just long enough to sit down. The moment he was close to me again, I pulled myself against him, resting my head on his shoulder.
“Here,” he said, once I had relaxed, “Now we can talk.” I looked up at him, begging with my eyes to not have to talk about it. “I will still love you, no matter what you tell me.” He kissed me softly on the forehead and I couldn’t help but relax.
And so I told him. I told him about how I had moved to San Diego, but not my family. I had been removed from my childhood home because my father drank too much and my mother was always out, often with other men. So I moved to San Diego to live with my uncle and his daughter in the fall of my fifth year. When I was six, I went to my first festival. But my uncle wasn’t much better than my drunk father or neglectful mother, he was just better at pretending he was a good parent. He didn’t drink, but he yelled a lot. He yelled at everyone, especially the young women and men he always had around.
I started crying as I recounted that night, I couldn’t help it. I felt ashamed that I was so emotional about something that happened so long ago. And I remembered that I wasn’t there, it wasn’t happening again, I was on the bank with the most amazing person ever, and he was holding me and gently stroking my hair.
But I couldn’t talk anymore. It was the scariest thing I could remember, hearing his voice over the fireworks.
I looked up at the man who held me and all I could do was whisper, “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry,” he said, keeping the disbelief out of his voice, though it was evident in his eyes. He held me for a while longer before asking, “Do you want to go?”
I shook my head, waiting for this feeling that if I talked I would start crying again to stop. “I don’t want to hate them. You said yourself, they’re so beautiful.” I laid down with my head in his lap. I didn’t want to be afraid forever. I wanted this to be how I remembered the 4th of July, not that.
“I love you,” he said, smiling down at me, a stray lock of his hair falling down over his face. I caressed his cheek, my eyes meeting his.
“I love you more.”
And then the fireworks started.
I started crying again, but I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to be here. With him.
Yes, we all know about sexism, and how women’s rights have been neglected over the centuries. And yes, many anti-feminists have pointed out that suddenly men are being neglected as well.
Many people brush this sentiment off as an overreaction. It seems a logical conclusion that the egos of men everywhere have been bruised by this ever-rising tide of feminism, and thus they’re claiming that now all women want men to be slaves. Well, that last part is definitely overreaction, not all women want that. Just the extremists.
But what if they’re right? What if women are now getting more support than men?
I, personally, had never given this much thought, until this image came to my attention.
And it’s absolutely true. Women are beautiful no matter their shape or size. And women everywhere are now being encouraged to love themselves, regardless of anything else. There is a movement in America to make it a fat-positive culture. For women.
But what about men? According to most everyone, women are told by the media that they must be a size 2, they must look like Angelina Jolie or Kim Kardashian. All of this focus on female media icons seems to point to the idea that men don’t face this same kind of pressure.
Exhibit Number 2:
Oh yeah, this doesn’t send any messages to men about who they should be or what they should look like.
I know, I know, I’m a male, so naturally I would defend the men. But that’s because I get this same image, the same message saying “here is the perfect body. This is how every attractive person should look”. It effects almost all men. It punches them right in their soft, tender egos and encourages them to work out until they can barely move in the hopes that one day they’ll look like that, because then they can love themselves.
Heck, I’m stuck in this delightfully curvacious female body. I will never, ever look like that. It doesn’t matter if I work out or eat healthy or swear off Nutty Bars, it’s not going to happen.
I admit, it’s nice to have such readily available eye candy, but who is it sending a good message to?
It’s nice to see so many people jumping on board the pro BBW wagon, but can’t we just agree that every body is beautiful? Tall, short, skinny, curvacious, a little squishy, it may not be everyone’s type, but it’s all beautiful.