Sauvagerie.

That is the word for "savagery", a word used often by Dixhuit to politely describe a period of time in our life. Why this is affecting me so suddenly now, I am unsure.

I am fighting fiercely to contain myself, to keep the rage and grief at bay. I appear to be failing dismally. I have been doing so well: I was content, supportive, gentile...or so I thought myself to be.

Something struck us hard this morning, a blow equivilent to a Peterbilt striking us at full-speed. Being Guardian Protector, I am required to stand tall and take this; I do the best I am able with what resources I have. I am incredibly fatigued...too often this comes back to haunt us. Why is it that no one will help me? Why is it I am destined to go at this alone?

Throughout the years we were abused, no one incident lingered in the mind. It was a constant blur of abuse and neglect. I do not pretend that we were not affected by each and every incident.

However, it was the first miscarriage that we were forced to endure alone, at school, that is clawing at me now. The injustice of it all...knowing full-well that justice is a farce.

Being that we are Christian, we believe God creates all life. Supposing this, why is it He allowed a child to be created through the violence of incest, only to be taken three months later via miscarriage? And why inflict this on a child of thirteen years?

It boggles the mind.

I thought we had conquered this. I know not why I am succumbing to the old and ever-familiar desire to hurt.

My apologies, in that I am ceasing to make any sense whatsoever.

Safety in rage.

Rage is a safe emotion for me. Experiencing the depths of sorrow or fear, or loneliness -- unacceptable. Such things are to be detested. I write because I have no outlet otherwise; how it shames me to do so, as I feel it compromises my strength, or perception thereof.

I desire to strip clean and free, and run nude through the forest. Branches of trees whipping past me, the cold air piercing my lungs; a raw and elemental joy that comes from being clad only in the stark night, under the stars.

I am sure I have said this before...so verbose am I that I reiterate and do not even realize.

Bourbon is my drink of choice, when things get out of control. The Host prefers tequila, and I am fine with that, but bourbon...nothing is quite so smooth. Tequila can be consumed straight, but why? The lime and salt...the ritual involved is half the reason one drinks it. Bourbon, however...

I digress.

The flaming ice-sphere has disintegrated...I screamed to wash myself clean of the sludge enveloping me. I screamed until the throat was torn, until the lungs were spent, until the eyes felt bruised from the pressure of exertion. I can taste the blood, faintly: running down the back of the throat, coating it. I daresay we shall be unable to speak come morning.
An excuse for the bourbon, perhaps?

How I wish this body were male, at times...it cannot handle bare-knuckles fighting or the like. Some days I wonder if that really would quell this desire to hurt, however I believe deep inside that it would only exacerbate the situation.

For fuck's sake, why? Why?

I've lost every facet of myself with regards to proper decorum. My apologies.

Excellent news.

Today we were informed that we were accepted into the Apprenticeship Program, which not only is a substantial pay raise and will provide a higher standard of living, but the program will pay for our schooling, which is, in itself, a five-year program. Needless to say, we are overjoyed...and I do not often use the superlative.

On religion, or faith.

Many of us Inside are Chrsitian. We all attend church, and pray, and are basically active in that sense. However, we have been in "counselling", let us say, with a pastor. We know him online only, as it is difficult to speak to a "true-life" pastor without being shunned.

This pastor is someone I consider a friend; one of the first to speak to me like a human being without degrading me, or calling me an "idiosyncracy" or trying to cast me out as a demon. I appreciate such respect, especially after trying so hard to win my way into the Outside. However, there are events Inside, that do not occur Outside...how best to explain this? There is an entire world here, an internal landscape with its own goings-on. One of the things that happened many years ago, Inside only, was a war with two singular invasions. Without dragging the members of this forum into the depths of this difficult concept, allow me to assure you that while it may not have occured in the Outside, it is a very real event Inside, and it has affected me greatly. It is a very immense and deeply-woven part of who I am, of who we are as a Collective. Yet this pastor insists that the war was fabricated by demons, and I should abandon all thought of it.

Even if it were staged, it is still an event that occured. I cannot simply let the logic set it and discard these memories like frayed photographs.
Furthermore, there are some Inside who are "ungodly creatures", so he says; Elvenkind and Dhampir. The therapist and several others I have spoken to in the past say that not only "internal events" but "non-human" Aspects in a multiple system are not uncommon. I cannot turn my back on these members, as they have done nothing wrong aside from being who they are. There were some in the past, granted, that were dangerous to the point of being permenantly restrained Inside, but the Elvenkind and Dhampir are not.
I wish to salvage the relationship I have with this pastor, but I am finding I cannot talk to him for any length of time without him attempting to cast demons out or telling me I am not working hard enough to combat Satan's lies. Am I being unreasonable?

In need of sleep.

I have within me a leaden knot, dragging me down into some abysmal netherworld of fatigue. It gnaws at me warmly, nuzzling my inner being with its poison. I feel the eyes glaze over, the muscles become lax, the lips and tongue grow numb. It is altogether an annoying experience. I shan't allow myself to sleep, as I know I am feeling this sluggishness in response to negativity, rather than a true desire and physical necessity for sleep.
This negativity...It is the truth, a raw and open truth. I do not speak of it often, and I reiterate here not to share, but rather to cleanse. So many memories clawing at us, scathing-mad and eager to penetrate. My will is strong, and I was bred for combat. An interesting battle, should I allow such a thing. Or perhaps I shall give in to my weakness and sleep it all away.

A sense of cooperation.

Being as we are: multi, fragmented, non-divirgent...there are many labels. I don't suppose I consider us to fall into any one category. Our Collective is unique to some in that not only do we share what the therapist called "co-consciousness" and "co-presence", but we have a visual sytem as well. I heard that some systems have not attained any of these attributes, and it is difficult to comprehend.
Sometimes I am out on my own, as today; other times there are two of us sharing Outside time, as it were. If more than two are out at once, we become disoriented and numb, which is not at all a savory feeling. At times it is known that we are in the process of switching; it is a physical feeling akin to the moment right before one sneezes. Other times, the switch occurs, and it takes a moment for all of us to get accustomed to it.
I do not truly know what is "normal" or not, so I hesitate in saying more, as it may be "old hat" to many. I do know that we are almost always in communication with one another, and we share choices. Compromises must be made however; I like pickles, and the Host has deemed them an "abomination to God", so one can guess how often I am able to enjoy them. On the other hand, the Host has an abhorrent way of mixing strips of fresh coconut, lime juice and hot sauce and eating it as a snack. I find it repulsive, so she rarely prepares it. We work together.

Dread.

This morning, we must endure an annual gynocological exam. We haven't done this for quite awhile, but the sister was diagnosed with cervical cancer, and she is only twenty-one years old. It is now a matter of safety and health, rather than a desire to forego flashbacks.

The fact of the matter is, I am little more than irate. Perhaps I am selfish. I know that the moment the doctor steps into the room, no one will want to deal with any flashbacks of abuse that might occur, and it will be up to me to step in and take it. I spent years doing that. Aren't I allowed any reprieve?

At times I wish that someone else would offer to take my place, to relive these memories. Yet no one does. It is my duty, you see. And one cannot shirk in one's responsibilities. I do what I must in any way necessary to perform to the utmost of my ability, and I take great pride in that.

However, rape is never a jolly experience, and no matter how many times I recall, or how stoic I may seem in speaking of it, it still affects me. My experiences were just as brutal.

Valiant effort.

Jessica Lynch was rescued...her family must be overjoyed. And this, only the day after I posted all there was to post on the Rahkas Wars. What Malachi insists on calling the "war memoirs".

Of course we watched the footage of the rescue. A valiant show of teamwork. She looks so pained...God only knows what was done to her. I cannot help but to think of her aftermath, of having to reassimilate into "normal" society after what she has been through. Will she persevere? We hope so.

At least her rescue was calculated, precise. Malachi's was botched...another arrogant mistake of mine. I wonder if he forgives me.

God be with her.