Another casualty.

Rane died due to complications of last week's ordeal. One other of ours died once; Piers, in 1995. I told her I would take care of her. I told her I would protect her, heal her. I do not know what to feel. I am responsible for arrangements.

And still.

I know this subject is stale; nonetheless:
With Bastien gone, we are all being worn very thin. I do not think any of us understood exactly how much we relied on him. Rane is still far too young and unskilled to take over.

Dissociation, nausea...

Niven tried to disable the firewall a few nights ago, because it would not allow him to search a specific link. He instead disabled the Internet, and it was only this afternoon that we figured out what he did.

In the chaos here, Zephyr and Asche have been working together to keep us--all of us--Inside so we can tend to this.

The aftermath.

It was a pure and burning anguish…I wondered if I was finally going to see my mortality come to a sudden end.

Then we found Rane. She was an absolute mess. In a deep panic, hysterical.
She knew we needed her; she knew something had gone completely wrong. She did not know, however, that Bastien had integrated, and this was all thrown upon her.

She is still a child…it was terrible to behold.

She was holding so much herself. I sat close to her, and touched her softly. I tried to take some for her. I tried to ease her pain. I do not know how, but she transferred it to me. And my God…I never knew such molten agony. I knew Zephyr should have taken the helm. I almost wished she would have. Perhaps she did…I know I lost reason as Niven tried to even it out. And when I awoke…it was vicious. Abject terror, thrust deep to the core. I could barely speak, my thoughts failed me. I knew it was just a matter of relearning how to deal with it…yet it had been so long. I was delirious, confused, dizzy…and so very vulnerable. I wanted to weep and be held …the need was consuming. I felt weak, worthless, and all I could do is try to help Rane and Niven, who were in pain too. And my small ones…I panicked when I could not find them.

I let so few raw emotions show. it is catching up with me.

All the times I took abuse for others, I made certain they would not see my fear. I took it with anger instead. I gritted my teeth and screamed in fury. I told those Inside that I took it because I was strong. I hid that fear, and I was not strong. My God, it hurt so deeply. I did not cry. They wanted me to cry. They hurt me, to see me cry. I did not give them the satisfaction. Had I cried, perhaps they would have stopped.

And then Rane told us that the Spires are built off of it. The emotions, the sensations, all of it. The Spires are "built" off of the tangible aspects of the emotions and sensations.

Fucking Rowan. He could have told us, instead of shutting everyone else out.

I sent both Rane and Jude to see Rowan, to find out why he closed the Spires, knowing that they were the key to the transfer.

Rowan is a Guardian...not Guardian Protector. His only duty is for his small ones. If the Host were dying, it would be none of his concern, realistically. Nonetheless, we needed his help, too. Rowan knew that what Bastien held was supposed to be given to the Spires.

Rane, in her panic, did not know what to do, as she had only seen a transfer once.
Bastien's job was to collect all the discarded or redundant emotions and sensations. They needed to be re-categorized.

Once he carried enough comfortably, he would transfer them to the Spires, as Rane transferred them to me. However, she only saw one transfer, so she did not know what to do when it fell upon her at once.

The ordeal…we are all still recovering. Sometimes I truly wish that such vital information were privy to us all.

Losing Bastien.

Something is very very wrong, and I am lost.

Bastien was the one in charge of cataloging the emotions and sensations.

Somehow, he integrated rather suddenly. Rane was his apprentice, but she is still young, and unable to perform the job on her own. So there is this influx...this flooding of...everything.

I am so numb...we all are. Today at work we were unable to understand most English, most spoken commands.

I do not even know where Rane is. None of us know her very well. I cannot take all of it this time. It is impossible.

Bastien was a wanderer…I do not know where either of them stayed.

I need help: Niven is here…thank God. Rowan has closed the Spires. Navratil and Valkyrie will take some time. If they show.

Jude has run into the forest. Siroun is with him, trying to find Rane.

I am trying to hold it for them...I really am. I need a cigarette.

I cannot believe Bastien is really gone…

What that means is, all the extra emotion and sensation from before are stored so we do not have to feel it at all times. We have the Deadbox, but it is full. Damn Rowan...really now, I understand his duties but...He knows the emergency...that is why he closed the Spires.

No one else is used to carrying them as I do, and I simply cannot do it myself for much longer. Overwhelmed. It is beyond words. This is so incredibly acute, so raw.

I am wondering if this has to do with the Equinox...the timing is odd, to say the least.

Citizenship and ethnicity.

Forgive me if this comes off as odd, but I am having a difficult time understanding the concept. And, coincidentally, this entry finds its way to my journal on Mexico's Independence Day: 193 years.

The Host's fiance is, according to society, Korean. However, he is not. He is American. His family is Korean, and they came to America from Korea, but the vast majority of his life was lived in America. The fiance agrees with me.

However, time and time again I have heard people ask him, "What are you?" His response is, "I am American." They reply, "No but you're Asian." And he will tell them, "My mother is from Korea." With a sigh, they will say, "Oh, so you're Korean, okay..."

Well he is not Korean. He is American.

I do not understand the American obsession with ethnicity. If the fiance had been born and raised--even for a month or so--in Korea, then I could understand the assumption that he is Korean. But he was born in Hawai'i, and moved to Korea when he was three. He then stayed until he was seven, and moved back to America. But becuase his physical features differ, he is assumed to be something other than American.

The sister had a discussion with us in regards to that. She said one can claim the nationality of American, but could not claim to "be" American, as there is no true American. (Yes, the Native Americans, but really they came from over the Bering Strait. And research says they were not the first to find North or South America, anyway. The Welsh founded Patagonia and the Vikings left their mark as well. Yet that is another story...I digress.) The sister said that when someone is born as American, they can trace their history back to some other nation. And of course that is true, America is still a very young nation. Compared to the likes of Greece or Britain, America is practically infantile.

How many generations must a family live and die in America to be considered American? I know Koreans are not granted citizenship if born in Japan, even if their parents and grandparents were born in Japan, as well. It is the Korean blood that makes them unable to acheive citizenship. Now, in America, citizenship is relatively easy to obtain. Yet, even as a birth certificate or passport claims one is American, why do others ask, "Yes, but what are you, really?"

This brings up another question: Why the hyphenated labels? Why must one be "African-American", "Asian-American" or "Euro-American"? Why is that a necessary piece of knowledge? If one is born in America, is one not American? Are there "African-Canadians" or "Asian-Mexicans"? I know that upwards of 25% of Peru's population is of Japanese descent. Are they Peruvians, Japanese, or "Japanese-Peruvians"? Really, these are not rhetorical questions. I am aiming to understand.

Have I a soul?

What is a soul, exactly? Of what is it comprised?

The Host's fiancé noted that he would accept me (more or less) if only I had a soul. I was enraged of course...I thought he was playing at mindgames. But then as the conversation continued, I realized that he truly believed what he said.

How can we exist without souls? Does it matter if I have one of my own, or if we have a collective soul? Is a soul given by divine right, or is it simply a euphemism for "life"?

The fiancé, Tannah, told us that God creates human life in His image: specifically, a single body, a single soul. (Never mind the Trinity...) Tannah further explained that God did not create us, that he believes that God allowed us to split from the Host as a temporary answer to a temporary problem. (Temporary?) Therefore, I asked him, "If we are not born of God, then why is it desirable to be Christian? What would be the point of praying if God will not answer? What would be the point of practicing and holding true all the doctrine if we are not to enter Heaven?" His reply: "Once you integrate, then you'll just be in Heaven with the Host when she goes."

What a fucking cop-out. Really now.

Of course, I have yet to find multiplicity defined in the Bible, or explained satisfactorily, or even mentioned. That is most likely the reason we are so often accused of being demons.

I do not wish to give up my faith...it is something in which I have--until recently--found great comfort. However, I am exceedingly discouraged. The Bible makes it very sparkling clear that a man's soul must be saved. If I have no soul, then what is to become of me? Is integration really the only way to continue on? If so, that would be a most cruel joke.

Control.

I have been thinking about this lately...why is it I was able to take the abuse of the childhood (seemingly) in stride, and now I am finding it difficult to function in the same manner.

I hope someone can relate it this. I do not want to be the only one: When the body was raped, it of course was very painful, both in a physical sense and emotionally. After awhile, however, I began to try to rationalize it. I thought if I could get to a point in beleiving it was not as severe or horrendous as I felt it was, maybe then I could deal with it better.

I began thinking of it as merely a physical act. Sex was similar to breathing, or running: natural. I tried to tell myself that, tried to tell myself so many things: that having sex so young did not make us cheap or filthy, that having sex with a relative was no different than a stranger...that labels were just that, labels, and it really did not matter who was fucking us, because the act was the same anyway. Just bodies connecting, like Lego blocks. I refused to use the term rape...it felt safer. It felt as if I were left with some small shred of control. If I told myself that somehow I had caused it, or deserved it, or even wanted it, then it was all right because I still had the control.

Even some rituals I learned to perform more or less willingly. Do not misunderstand me...I never wanted to. (There was one Inside named Zillah who did, but she was...different, let us say.) It always came back to the control, the desperate need to feel in control. "Allowing" these incidents to occur was worth the self-loathing just so I could tell myself that I was in control. That is probably why I stepped up to take so much of the abuse...I suppose I instigated it, somehow.

And then I recall how I fought...sometimes I was so sick of the shit I fought until all involved were bleeding. I was in control then, too. Furthermore, I was not passive in that. And yet...not only did I still receive punishment in those times, but I received it far worse than if I had laid there, complacent. How much did the false sense of (apparently non-existent) control cost me? How much did it cause us?

I cannot write any more. The words fail me; I am certain the English language does not have enough adequate adjectives to describe what I feel at this moment.

On Mjollnir.

And then this...I suppose it would seem obvious to some, but it only serves to make me more frustrated, more confused. For this, some background:

Siroun was our "afterwards girl": the presenter to make everyone think all was well, when it most certainly was not. She endured very little abuse...to my knowledge, anyway, I am the last to know these days so she very well may have. I digress, my apologies. Siroun would often see quite alot, as she was the one waiting at the Gate for our return. i will not go into details, as there is no point. It would be redundant.

Recently, many of the others were speaking about "when Logan broke". I dismissed it as passing conversation, and did not give it another thought.

However, apparently there as a time near the end of the summer, several years ago, when I stepped up to take too much. I kept taking and taking, as I did not want the others to be burdened with abuse. It was my job to protect, and therefore my job to take what was dealt to us. There was an incident...a particularly terrifying and painful incident. Too difficult to relate at the moment. This incident left an indelible mark on me, they say: according to the others there at the time, I stepped safely Inside, and began to scream until I collapsed. This is when I "broke": and thus Mjollnir was born. Not born, as in his beginning; rather, born, as in his arrival to the forefront.

I always knew he was my dark-half. That was never a secret, and it was not something that had to be researched. Mjollnir appeared, and I hated him, but he was, and is, a necessary evil.

I did not know that Insiders, such as myself, could in turn be fused with other Insiders, as Malcolm and I did for Mjollnir. This is a very odd and disconcerting piece of knowledge. Although the evidence is obvious, I cannot help but to doubt it. I want to ignore him, and force him to leave me be...and at the same time, is that not how our Host acted for years? Is that not the reason I so despised her?

What to do?

Bullshit, indeed.

I wish I knew how to articulate this. I wish I had the proper words, I wish I knew how, or why.

If wishes were fishes, I would suffocate under the weight of them.

I was told that my refusal to discuss personal traumas with the others Inside has made it so there is a type of tension, and a rule that no one, in turn, can speak with me about their issues. This "rule" was understood, apparently, but never spoken aloud. These small ones I was supposed to protect, supposed to nurture, they felt unable to come to me. I caused more damage than I knew possible: I heard of late night disscussions they have had, worrying about me and hurting because I would not allow them to help.

Help with what? The specifics mention that when I "go to the Deadbox" I am "messed up for hours"--well, I should think so. The Deadbox is not fun; no one meets there for martinis and a game of poker. It is nauseating, dreadful. Another incident mentioned is my night-terrors. That is obvious. Does anyone wonder why it is I sleep so rarely? Of course to keep vigil, but come now: there is no point in sleeping if it only worsens the quality of life.

Why should I open up to them? It is not as if I were not speaking to them at all. I always spend time with my small ones, watching them play, reading to them, settling disputes. And now I am required to speak to them of the past? Not theirs, but mine? Absolutely daft. There is no rhyme or reason to any of this.
Of course, I do not show my discourse in this; I smile and treat them gently. Part of me knows that an end to such secrets is necessary. However, I do not want to relive them as I put them to the forefront.Why do they have to fuckign know? Why is it that I try to protect them, I fail? And when I do something--the rare time I do something that is against every fiber of my being--all turns out well? What kind of bullshit is that?