At closing of 2003.

I enjoy the fact that tourism keeps our city booming, to the point that we do not have to pay any state tax. I like tourism in general, because it allows people to make the best of their vacations.

However:

Sometimes I find that tourists think themselves invincible. In leaving work, we usually drive down the Strip, as the freeways take far too long. Today, I nearly hit a man who stopped his vehicle in the center lane, jumped out and began taking pictures of our Arc de Triomphe. He had passengers in his vehicle as well. This, in addition to the hundreds I avoid hitting daily, as they run in front of oncoming traffic for various reasons. Do not live under the assumption that locals will not accelerate when you try to cross the streets against the light, or something equally mindless.

I am positive these people are not so stupid to do this in their own hometown. So why do it in mine?

And yet, this is the last day of the new year. A day to celebrate. I am not certain if we will go to the Strip to see the show; the thought of a dozen gunships and untold numbers of plain-clothes counter-snipers has me uneasy.Of course, our mayor said that Vegas is the safest place to be during the new year, but then again, his motto: "What happens here, stays here."

Again, such negativity! Perhaps my resolution will be to find somethign positive in every situation. If I am nto careful, my own pessimism will eat me alive like a cancer.

Be well, all. Happy New Year, and let us pray that 2004 will bring more joy than sorrow.

A rare moment in the desert.

I am certain this will seem silly to many, but none of us have ever seen snow aside from movies, so it was something spectacular to behold.

It snows in the mountains, of course, and areas beyond the Valley, but today there was a good inch or two of snow upon the ground and vehicles, particularly on the West-side. At first we were perplexed; we saw something white spiraling from the sky, and we noticed that the sky was so dark, the tops of many casinos were not visible. We began to wonder what was ablaze, as it usually means smoke and ash. A few workmates wondered the same: then we realized it was cold, and someone called out, "Snowball fight!"

There we were, all of us adults, pelting each other with snowballs at a quarter to six in the morning. Slipping on the slush that covered the asphalt, dodging ice pellets. A lovely way to start the workday, something different to quell the monotony.

Addendum.

The two mentioned previously, Pavelin and Kassuil (the ones who denied any abuse or maltreatment occurred)...I do not trust them. They seem to know too much, and yet they ask prodding questions to my small ones. They came originally in the days prior to Bastien's loss, and I suspected then. More recently, I confronted them, and they acted typical of scouts. Pavelin stared me down and did not move, not even his eyes. Kassuil laughed and tried to joke with me about the silliness of my claims. It has been quite some time since the Rahkas last sent infiltrators. I worry it may begin again.

In speaking with a friend last evening, several obvious things were pointed out to me. Firstly, the Rahkas were never defeated, only held back, and then the unfinished battles seemed to smoulder for awhile, until it was deemed safe that they attack again. Secondly, assuming the theory that the Wars were fabricated via "programming" in order to keep us Inside occupied with other matters, it always seems that when things begin to go well, when things have calmed, the Wars begin brewing again. Granted, it would be more helpful, I would think, if the programming implemented were instead denial or amnesia, but then, I am not a programmer, either. (I so despise that word.)

Of course I do not want to be thrust into another war. I hated what I became then. I am not certain I can do this.

I sincerely pray that I am wrong, that I am merely overrun with paranoia. I hesitate to mention the exact details to many, as in doing so, it would become more likely to be. Nai sirnè ilanen.

New claims.

Truth be told, things are very frantic Inside, and even with Niven's help I am finding it difficult to remain focused. I hate days like this.

Part of the reason I decided to create a website was to keep everything in order. I am obsessive about having things just-so; anyone who knows me will attest to that. I find it nearly impossible to keep everyone documented, as things shift rapidly and facts change. For the most part, however, I am able to keep the basics down. I posted a day or so ago about the differences in realities between some of us and the Host. The more I looked into it, the more disturbed I felt about it all. Niven and I conducted casual interviews, asking questions about the past. Simple things, such as what I mentioned before: where we grew up, day-to-day living, and the like. Both of us found that certain members of our Collective not only had vastly different information about those subjects, but rather troubling information about most everything else, as well. These particular members are ones that are rarely out, and spend much time sleeping or wandering.

I will admit right now that I absolutely despise the idea that I was ever helpless or ignorant in abusive situations. I like to think that I was always available, always knowledgeable of what occurred and with whom. Granted, this is a lie; of course I was not privy to everything. However, Niven and I discovered that there may have been much more that I was unaware of.

Nicholas is one of our small ones who spends most of his time sleeping. He related incidents of group-led sadistic abuse, and symbols and words I had only acknowledged fleetingly prior. It would have occurred in or around the time that Molly came to us; Of course I want to deny this knowledge, but we have very little memories between the body's age of four and eight. It is not that nothing happened of significance, but that there is nothing there. It is interesting to note that the first rape endured occurred at age four, and what we consider the advent of the true ritual abuse began at age nine. And no memories--good or bad--in between.

The main problem with this is that once Nicholas tried to mention specifics in any capacity, he was rendered asleep or deeply confused immediately. it was almost as if it were a safety mechanism for him. I figured that it was because he was small, and yet a few others who told of similar experiences were rendered the same way. There were two who not only denied these stories, but all stories of abuse, or rituals, or Shadows. they were the only two able to speak calmly and coherently throughout the interviews. In fact, they tried to explain that the Shadows were benign helpers from the Spirit-World, which I know is absolute bullshit. I am not frightened; one cannot be frightened of something that has yet to be uncovered or understood. I am bewildered, however, and apprehensive. I worry that continuing to unravel this might hurt us somehow, might undo the hard we work have put into making ourself functional. I worry what I have yet to know. I worry that our third psychiatrist was right, and her assessment of "programming" or mind-control were correct. I know that is the theory behind the wars, but I have effectively denied that for quite some time.

I refuse to dwell on this, but I am not sure as to what I can do to help or further this need to discover if there is truth in these new claims. Claims that, oddly, I am not surprised about, and that, oddly, I feel an urge to quietly ignore them, and pretend I never heard anything about them.

A surprising discovery.

This one caught me off-guard, to say the least.

For months I have toyed with the idea of finding a "multiples" mailing list. I receive plenty of support on the BUS forum, of course, but I suppose I am looking for something where the rest may post, and where some differences or questions can be resolved. I have yet to find such a place, for a few reasons. Some of the lists I have come upon are inundated with messages from small ones, and it is not as if I do not like to see small ones post, as I believe that can be very beneficial. However, it does little to help me when no one can answer my queries in the manner that I desire. Also, some lists are so tightly knit into their cliques that no one desires to answer anything I have posted. Truly, I have not found anything quite so open and amenable as the afore-mentioned forum.

I digress.

I was directed to a site called Howling Thunder by a friend, and although it does not support a message board or mailing list itself, it does offer links to a few, and a vast amount of information: essays, interviews, guides for those who are One. One guide was for terminology, and I read it in curiosity.

It was odd, because apparently many of the terms I use are considered derogatory "to the multiple community". The one in specific is "Host". I never saw anything wrong with that term, and I use it to describe the one whose name appears on the birth certificate. I never think of her as the "owner" of the body, because I believe that assessment is incorrect. And, according to many multiples, calling someone the Host implies that one is the owner of the body, and has final say, and is therefore allowing the rest to stay by grace. It apparently also implies that those Inside are merely parasites.

Personally, I never once agreed with that. For years our Host (for want of a better word, now) begged me to leave, she despised me. She has no say over whether I stay or go; she does not have the power. She never has. I bend for her at times to keep the peace and in the name of compromise, but she does the same for me. If we did not, there would be only anarchy and chaos...we do not wish to live in that manner.

I suppose that, again, I digress.

I do not particularly yearn to be a part of the "multiple community". I have done much research, and like any group of people in similar situations, some can be cruel or even hate those who are One. I disagree with that vehemently. I also somewhat disagree with the level of political-correctness needed to correspond with many of them. I understand not being rude, or vicious. That is obvious. But to receive a lecture because I choose to use the wrong term, or because I choose to associate with those who are One is ridiculous. (By the way, that term is "incorrect", as well...I am supposed to use the term "singlet" or "singleton".)

Must I conform, must I change my way of thinking and manner of speech just to consider myself an equal? Does being a part of a Collective not constitute enough in their eyes? It boggles the mind.

There was an essay on the site called "Multiple Police", in which it muses over the single-mindedness of some multiples who will read all the latest literature on the subject and then claim "It is impossible that you have others who...", and one can fill in the rest as one likes. These books, written by self-proclaimed professionals, mandate that no system can have ones that speak other languages, or ones that are not human, or ones that number more that a hundred or so. Any number of things so that we must fit the mold, or be outcasts. It is like saying one cannot be diagnosed with cancer unless there is a visible tumor involved...many cancer patients will laugh at that.

Am I incorrect in thinking these things? Is it necessary that I conform somewhat? These are not rhetorical questions. We have gone so long tending to our own and ignoring everything else that at times I am certain our isolationism has caused us to have a falling-out with the world at large. If it would behoove me to change my terminology, then I shall. Though, I insist I be given a better reason than, "Everyone else does it that way."

A good evening to all.

Firstly, happy Christmas to all. We were very blessed this day, and I am most grateful. Nothing stands out immediately, but perhaps I shall write more on it later. Instead, I have something slightly off-topic:

In discussing things with the father today during Christmastime celebrations, I stumbled upon something odd and just a trifle unnerving.

Apparently, the Host and some of the Collective have differing views on certain "facts". None of these facts are, by any means, so vastly important that it needs to be resolved immediately, however I do not like the idea that some of us recall some things that others do not, and that truth to one is a lie to another.

For instance, Molly considers one of our friends a cousin. Of course, by birth this is not accurate, but Molly feels that her relationship with this person is such that she would "qualify" as a cousin. Being that Inside, we do not really use or fully understand familial ties, I do not see that as a problem. Furthermore, there are some who are family by birth, and we do not acknowledge them as such.

I see these examples as such non-issues that it perplexed me when the Host spoke with me, high-strung and worrisome. Why does it matter if we consider some family who are not, and vice versa? Her reasoning is this: She will sound like either a liar or an idiot if her stories change between when we speak and she speaks. Granted, i can understand that. So the obvious solution is to come to an agreement, and decide collectively who shall be considered as what. The Host does not like that idea.

Other "issues" she had were:

01. Some have different recollections of where we grew up in childhood; specifically the name of the town and type of lifestyle;

02. Some have different recollections of the name the Host was called as a child, prior to adoption;

03. Some have different recollections of the manner in which we were adopted, specifically.

These issues are very important to her, and to us we see them as rather trivial. However, I do not want to change my views and memories in favor of hers, simply because hers are often incorrect. However, this is beginning to become a burden, because she insists we must agree on what occurred--or did not occur--in our past, no matter how insignificant it may seem to us. Personally, it aggravates me, but what am I to do? It seems that no one, Inside or Outside, seems to have a viable answer or simple version to the story in which we can compare our distinct memories. I stop short of telling her that she is not the only damn person who has to live in her rather selective reality. We both feel as if we will be forced to live a lie if we concede to one another; I see no avenue for compromise.

Infuriating ignorance.

I sincerely hope this does not come off as rude. I am merely venting.

We went to see the latest "Lord of the Rings" movie, which was excellent. In exiting the cinema, there was a group passing out flyers that basically said the movies and books were demonic, as they dealt with "otherworldly beings, hatred, revenge, and magic". Usually, I do not let these things bother me, because I know others have different beliefs than I. I leave them to it, unless I see it as a threat to myself. (A real threat, something that poses a danger.)

But I read the pamphlet, in interest really. I was curious. It went on to suggest the other things that were "of Satan": Pokemon, Bibles in foreign languages, Disney films...it was a long list. One thing that caught my eye was the television program "Joan of Arcadia". I really do not know much about this show at all, except that God speaks to a teen-aged girl named Joan through unlikely messangers. It said that in the series, God sometimes speaks through a friend of hers, who is "into the Goth-scene". (Still not quite certain what the "Goth-scene" is, I read on, where it explained that it meant anyone who fit the stereotype of "dark clothes, demonic make-up, and self-injury for recreation".)
Firstly, it pisses me off, regally, to hear a stereotype put in such a negative light. It insinuates that dressing in that manner is demonic, which I think is silly, and that self-harm is demonic as well, which more or less negates me in relation to my faith.

Secondly, it went on to make the point that God would not choose to use such a person as a vessel, because people who look and act "like that" are certainly not Christian, and may be in Satan's service.

I was shocked. How dare anyone pass judgement on what a Christian should look or act like? It made me think of well-dressed men we once knew, pillars of the fucking community they were, always clean and tithed generously, and yet in the shadows they committed hideous acts unseen to the holy Church-going world. And yet, if someone dares to wear somethign not deemed proper according to the status quo, or Lord forbid is burdened by an addiction, then they cannot possibly be considered Christian...what shame for the Church if they were!

Please do not misunderstand my sarcasm. I consider myself Christian, and I am not trying to put it in an unfavorable light. My point is that according to what I believe, only God knows one's heart, and only God can pass judgement. Granted, I think it would be wrong if I were to slice at my wrists all day and give in to every narcotic craving I felt, just to say, "Oh well, I have the Gift of Salvation, so I guess it doesn't matter. Sorry God, and all that."

But I believe with every fiber of my being that if I do cut myself, or what not, I can be truly sorry and I wil be forgiven. And that is between God and myself, not some fucking asshole on the street, deciding he's holier than everybody else, cramming everyone into "Good-Christian-or-Satanist" categories.

A possibility in new leadership.

Firstly, we still have the influenza. Horrid illness, really. We were sent home from both work and school. And furthermore, the body is not reacting well to having ingested nothing but fruit juice and Nyquil for a week. I am hoping to catch up on things soon.

None of us like to venture Outside while the body is taken ill; perhaps it is selfish, but if I have a choice in not experiencing such things, then I will make good on that choice. Being Inside, much has happened, and these changes have brought on deep thoughts.

I pondered stepping down as a fronter, as so many had before me: Piers, Gabriel, Sulekhi. I felt it was my time. However, the only obvious choice would be Niven, and there are a few issues we disagree upon, which would make me apprehensive in his leadership. I spoke to Niven about these issues, and he saw my point, at least. We decided on a compromise, therefore, and I think it would benefit the both of us, as well as our Collective. We are to divide duties, which will relieve some pressure from me, and give him are larger role in decision-making. As it stands, we are both happy with the results.

What this means for me is this: I will be limiting myself moreso toward the duties associated with the small ones, as that was my duty originally. However, Niven and I will confer often, and work tandem with one another as well. I feel almost sad in casting off the title "Guardian Protector", as it has been mine for so very long. Perhaps that can wait.

I also decided something meaningful for myself. So often I am tied down with the past, and I grow weary of that. I believe sometimes I am unsure of how to deal with safety and happiness I find at times that I cause a crisis, just to feel in my element again. That is wrong of me. I am going to try to accept myself as I was, and as I am now. For better or for worse, all I have done and experienced has created what I am now, and really, what I am now is not so bad. I think I can live with that.

Bone-weary with it.

Influenza is a bitch.

A certain melancholia.

One would think there would be enough in our city to occupy one’s time. We have a pyramid, an Eiffel Tower, a castle, a volcano, a shark reef, and very close, the largest man-made lake on Earth. There are jousting tournaments nightly, pirate battles, gondola rides, an amusement park, a church on the Strip that accepts gambling chips as tithes, and a perpetual state of Mardi Gras. Pizza at four in the morning, clubs that never close, a mayor that was once a mobster defense attorney, drive-through wedding chapels.

And yet, I cannot find one damn thing I care to do right now. People spend thousands of dollars to stay here for a week, to immerse themselves in the bizarre culture unique to Las Vegas, and here I sit, oblivious to it all, taking it all for granted.

I suppose it is not so grand when I experience it daily.

On suicide.

In our experiences with suicidal thoughts and urges, I have noticed that there is little, if any fear involved with the concept of the resulting death. Usually, there is an apprehension, at most; perhaps a calmness. The Host has been suicidal several times, and I have been twice, maybe three times. Most recently of course, this past month.

Sometimes during lunch we discuss work-related fatalities…the odd ones, of course. For instance, there was a worker who was electrocuted by several thousand volts, and he would have survived, except that his bladder was full. Urine and sweat are excellent conductors. The shock burst his bladder.

Stories like that put into me a healthy fear of electricity, and of death. And it makes me wonder: Why? Would have I been so cavalier in wanting to implement a suicide had I heard this story—or a similar one—earlier? Likely, yes.

In thinking of an accidental death, or homicide or whatnot, the fear exists because there is no control. With suicide, it is often meticulously planned and carried out in such a way that everything goes as planned. The supposed "ultimate" in control. (The same with self-harm, really; to cut oneself rarely, if ever hurts, even if it is with a scalpel blade and deep enough to require sutures. Then one receives a paper-cut, and is in agony. It is the control-factor.)

I thought about this for quite some time. I realized that even with suicide, there is no real control. One cannot control death itself. There is only the perception of control. Drinking acid or putting a revolver to one’s head…that is only setting up. One does not control the acid as it eats at the esophagus, or the bullet as it tears through grey matter. The entire idea is an oxymoron, really…I find it fascinating. Suicide as a form of controlling one’s destiny, and yet it is the antithesis of control. How very deliciously intriguing.

Hidden pasts.

A bit of background information is in order:

I am not positive what I have told in this journal, and what remains to be said, so this may be old news to some. We were raised German until 1988, when things got out of control and we were placed elsewhere. This was at age nine. I am really condensing this, as the details are of little matter, but the point is that we were placed for adoption a few years later, and finally adopted in January of 1993. That was at age fourteen.

It is unspoken in the family, but understood that no mention is to be made of the biological family, partly due to the desire not to cause hurt feelings. (Mentioning the biological family is, in a way, insinuating that the adoptive family is not the "real" family.) In all honesty, I see facts as facts. There is no "real" family; there is the biological family and the adoptive family. I wonder if it would not be so awkward if the body were not so cognizant when the adoption took place. It is difficult to forget a life before the age of nine...or before the age of fourteen, for that matter.

The Host has a Baby-book, documenting milestones and whatnot from birth to age seven. I noticed she spent much time looking at the family tree, looking at pictures of family that are, in essence, no longer family. I sense she misses them, even though the situation was most dysfunctional. Her thoughts have been leaning toward her forgotten heritage: she has been trying to remember German, for instance. She has also been telling stories of the past, such as how the biological father felt when the Berlin wall fell, and he was able to see family he had not seen since he was a child. How he and his sister were affected in the weeks before the Berlin wall was finalized. How he and his sister went off one morning to school, at ages eight and fourteen, with a change of clothes in their knapsacks, and stowed away upon a ship to America. She is enthralled at these stories, and looks back at them, wanting to know more. And yet, I wonder how many are true…the biological father had years of "electro-shock therapy", and forgot large chunks of his life.

I know history cannot be erased; and I know this is a facet of her life she wishes to explore. I am torn between urging her to do so, and reminding her that this was the family that helped with so much of the abuse. She is so afraid to talk to the adoptive family about it, so as to not draw attention to the fact that she is not really "theirs".
It is really quite confusing...a change in name, a change in culture, a change in life itself, and done at such an age where it is easy to recall those things before the change. These are facts. And as it is impossible to erase history, it is also impossible to favor one life over the other, if you will. One day, she was German, with family in Germany, France and Spain. The next day, she was of Scottish-American heritage, with a new name and birth certificate to match. Even though it was a good thing, it is still a stressful event.

I am rambling really...my point is this: is it wrong to want to reconnect with the past, when such a past is dangerous? And, would it be improper to speak to the adoptive family about these feelings, when it would really not help anything at all?

A wiccaning.

Last evening we attended Nykki's wiccaning. The closest I could describe it would be a type of baptism, or blessing, for a Wiccan child. His parents were there, as well as friends and a few other children also to be blessed. I was apprehensive, at first, as our experiences with Pagan-type rituals were less than savory for quite awhile. However, the Host insisted we attend, and so we did.

If I may be so bold, it was a lovely ceremony, and quite benign in retrospect. I have heard some tell us that in being Christian, we are not allowed to appreciate or experience other religions; I think that would be almost the antithesis of Christianity. If one goes to a gathering held in the name of another, and is converted or begins having doubts, I would question that person's strength in faith. My faith--and the Host's--is rather stout, and I do not feel threatened. If anything, we are gaining knowledge. How can a Christian truly know what he has if he does not know what others have? If anything, I feel we are stronger Christians in having this knowledge; we are not the fearful, mindless followers that contend that depression is a sin and epilepsy is demonic.

Disgusted and appalled.

My, I have a few words to say on this subject.

We are working at a casino which, for privacy reasons, shall remain unnamed. This week they are hosting the Miss Rodeo America Pageant, and it has annoyed me so deeply.

First, the contestants must constantly walk about in their little outfits, smirking and making snide comments about "dirty construction workers". The fact that their supposed rodeo-acceptable outfit consists of sequined blouses and leather fringe-trimmed pants makes me wonder what kind of candy-ass rodeo they plan on being a part of. Really. No real cowgirl or rodeo participant wears that.

Secondly, our tools, material and gang-boxes were removed from the site, because seeing proof that construction was occurring was apparently offending some of the guests....we are asked to perform work, and then not given any of the means necessary to do so. Our supplies were taken across the casino, so every time a power tool was needed, or a ladder, it took fifteen minutes to retrieve it...then, we were chastised for wasting time. it would not be so bad if we had even five feet of space in which to store commonly-needed items, but all we could keep were what would fit in our hands and personal tool pouches.
Utterly ridiculous.

Lastly, the Miss Rodeo America was in turn hosting a preview of the Miss Little Britches Rodeo Pageant. This is basically the same thing, but for young girls. It angered me every time I saw a child, no older than six or so, eyelashes encased in mascara and little pouty lips bright with lipstick, posing provocatively for cameras, all the while reciting well-rehearsed lines for the media and remaining emotionless as over-zealous mothers screamed about a curl out of place, or a smile not "genuine enough".

"Got bit."

I was attempting to change out a power receptacle during a remodel, and my screw-gun touched upon a hot wire, and I was shocked...or, as they say in the field, I got bit. It hurt much less than I thought; it was only 120 volts, so really it was nothing. No pain, any way...more like a violent shuddering. There is barely a bruise, though there was definitely the curious sensation of the hand being forced into a fist involuntarily. See, it is not the electricity that is always dangerous; lower voltages can cause muscle spasms, and make it impossible to let go of the live feed, which is often the reason why in-home electrocutions are so common...if the voltage were higher, at 480 volts, then the arc would knock you back...you would be badly burned, but you would not still have the current coursing through the body. Not necessarily, anyway. At any rate, it was merely something interesting to share.

To divulge.

I told a friend. She said it made her sad, and I can understand that. I wish I was not who I was then. I wish I was not so void of mercy.