Mood: Exhausted
Listening to: Blake Shelton - Sure be cool if you did


It is one of those nights where I cannot get my mind to shut up. I am so sleepy but alas it manages to escape me. Racing thoughts and the like, This is my first time online today and it is 4:45 am so I guess that would technically mean that I was not online at all yesterday. I have not been able to focus enough on one thing to read a book. That is very stressful as reading is an outlet for me, I have my youtube playlist playing on shuffle so I don't even have to make a decision about a song cause right now my mind won't let me even think on it enough. I thought coming on here and writing for a bit would make me feel better or at least give me something to do but even now it is difficult to focus enough not to stray the subject. I love music there is rarely a time in my life that music is not playing. I listen to just about every genre I can think of with the exception of polka. Lately when I try to go to sleep paranoia takes over, it seems like the moment I become "still" the $#%^ hits the fan so to speak. Paranoia,agitation, conversations in my head with more than one voice. WTF? I moved across the country and have yet to see a therapist or mental health professional for that matter. I have been off meds since roughly June. I sometimes feel like I am watching my life play in front of me like a movie without the option to react. I mean my body is reacting but I am not, what the hell is that about? The other night I went to bed around 3 am to try to sleep but the moment I stopped listening to music and reading articles online and settled down in my bed with the lights off it got ugly. First the paranoia set in, it was extreme. I felt like I was screaming inside my mind but no sounds escaped me. It seemed endless then a soft little crying voice was in my head like a thought but not my thought. Then the weirdest thing happened.... I got this mental image of a little girl crying holding a teddy bear curled up in a corner. I don't know how I knew but the little girls name is Sophia and she is 6. I have never seen this little girl before so how would I know her in my mind? Let me say this, My name is not Sophia and I have never personally met anyone by that name. After the image of the little girl left the "screaming" in my head started back up. I don't know.... I am lost and not sure what is going on. After that night I called and made an appointment with a dr in the new town I am in. I am nervous about going to a new dr, I do not trust easily and I don't know if I can open up to them.

Quotes from an interview with psychoanalyst and writer, Adam Phillips:

"I'm not on the side of frustration exactly, so much as the idea that one has to be able to bear frustration in order for satisfaction to be realistic. I'm interested in how the culture of consumer capitalism depends on the idea that we can't bear frustration, so that every time we feel a bit restless or bored or irritable, we eat, say, or we shop.

"It's only in an initial state of privation that you can begin to have thoughts about what it is you might want, to really imagine or picture it. It's very difficult to know what we're frustrated by. In making the case for frustration I want to make it more interesting, such that people can talk or think about it in different ways."

For him, psychoanalysis is a set of stories that we tell ourselves and each other, a way of redescribing our experiences. "To begin with, one needs to understand," he says, "but I think the final project is to relieve oneself of the need for self-knowledge. It's not that it's useless – in some areas of life it's very useful – but there are lots of areas in which it isn't, and in some areas it's actually pre-emptive and defensive, and this is where psychoanalysis potentially fails people, by assuming there is an infinite project and that the best thing you can do in life is to know yourself. Well, I don't think that's true."

http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2012/jun/01/adam-phillips-life-in-writing


"I believe in what you see being most of what there is… and that life's passed on to us empty. So, while significance weighs heavy, that's the most it does. Hidden meaning is all but absent."
:: Richard Ford (from the novel 'Canada'.)

I am Rose, an alter of Anna. She is 15, I am 16. I am always with her, watching, observing what happens. I control her memories and what she remembers. I know all of her memories from the very beginning, and I can, at times, come out to act as a co-Host. I know everything she's gone through , and I act as a leader between all of the alters. I can, at times, control who it is that comes forward. I am their manager and leader. Rage is the hardest to control, because she can draw a line of destruction whenever and wherever she is. She is filled with bottled up anger and rage that was never dealt with all our life. Should I be scared? No, she's only trying to protect our system. I feel more afraid of Echo, because he's always crying and I'm scared that he'll one day give into the darkness.

Everyone thinks that they suffer alone from our schizophrenia, but we all suffer from it equally. Even Anna suffers from it, seeing and hearing people as if she were on acid. Rae is only angered and annoyed, but Brian, whom is the most affected by it, is made to feel even more afraid than he already is all the time. Brian is a moderately autistic 18 year old with the mind of a 5 year old. He enjoys wearing shorts and faded salmon shirts. He fears everyone and everything. He is the most affected because he is so young mentally and is suffering from autism.

Brian was made in the hospital, after being restrained for days. Rae was made after being in the inpatient psychiatric unit for a month. Rage was made from years of bottled up rage. Echo was made from an event Anna went through while she was only nine; thus, the reason that Echo is permanently nine. I was made, as a mute, mature girl, from years of being told not to speak about the horrors I've faced.

I am so thankful I found this site, I've been needing to get this out. This is a secret that both me and my father will take to our graves.
I never knew my real father until I was about 12 years old. I met him for the first time and he was a fairly attractive man. We grew a decent friendship and learned that I was just like him in many ways. As I got older I noticed he would get flirty with me, and instead of a normal father-like hug.. I would get a hug and a long kiss on the neck. I never minded though.

He was a truck driver, he went on 2 week trips at a time, then a week off. I was 18 years old when he invited me to go with him for a trip, and I agreed.. I was excited because I never got to travel much. His semi had bunk beds, but I would always lay in the bottom bed with him for a while after he parked for the night. On the 4th day I asked him to rub my back, so he did.. he then told me its been so long sinse he's felt a womans body like this that it was effecting him in a certain way, hearing him say that, did the same thing to me. All I could do was smile at him, and he kissed me passionately then kissed my neck and chest. I knew it was so, so wrong.. but it didn't feel that way, it felt so good and I didn't want him to stop. And he didn't.

What happened on that trip was my body's desires taking over, maybe if I had self control I could have stopped it from happening.. I fell into a deep depression after I returned home because of the shame and disgust I felt towards myself. I blamed my father, I went months without speaking to him. I wish I never even met him. But a few more months past and suddenly I felt lonely, I got ahold of my father again.. we started to talk, we apologized to eachother and everything was fine again.

It didn't take long till the memories of our trip started to creep back into my thoughts, but this time it didn't upset me, it made me want him again. I lusted for him, I needed to feel that love again.. So I went to stay him on his week off, we shared his bed. It was amazing just like the first time.. but afterwards I went back home and became angry and depressed again. When my period was 2 weeks late I took a pregnancy test, I was so scared to look.. but it was true, it was positive. When I told my father he asked me to abort, but I told him no.


My baby girl is now 2 1/2 months old. She is perfect, healthy and so beautiful. She has dad's bright blue eyes. Mama's nose, lips and chin, and our dark hair. I got so lucky that she looks mostly like me.. I sometimes wish the 3 of us could be one strange little happy family, but remembering the past, I know I will regret it because it seems to be an endless cycle of lust then hate. I tell people I was too drunk at a party to remember who I slept with. I'd rather be known as a drunk whore then an incesting freak. I know i'm not alone but I know the real world would never understand. My father has always told me he doesn't see me as his daughter, but as a beautiful young woman. And he's never been my dad.. he was a stranger I met when I was 12, and we became very close. I do know there is something called genetic sexual attraction syndrome... but I will just leave it at self diagnosed. He has only met my daughter once sinse she's been born, and I honestly hope he'll be more involved in her life, even if she'll only know him as grandpa.

Thanks for reading <3

My mom wants me to get rid of my scars...But i find i really don't want too. I don't not want to wake up and not see them there on my left shoulder, on my left wrist and my right hip bone. Sick? Very, i know. My own mom looked at me like i was crazy when i told her, which i probably am. No healthy person cuts themselves, that's obvious. Or at least in my case, used too.

I stopped cutting maybe a couple of months before high school graduation but it wasn't due to my mother finding me out. Instead my boyfriend did and made me promise to never do it again, cutting my mother to the punch line. My mom found out a month after him, i believe. She didn't believe me when i told her i stopped, so i gave her the scissors i used to hurt myself. That was my second step to stopping i guess. My third had to be when she got me medicine to take away the scars...but now on the fourth step, actually putting the stuff on, i'm stuck.

I've put it on once or twice but not religiously. I hate the idea of them not being there. They give me comfort and make me feel better. Am i wrong in wanting them there?