Introduce Yourself

***Disclaimer from the author: This post is not of the snarky variety and it was only after much thought that I decided to write all this down. Although I occasionally dedicate a post with the utmost sincerity towards another, I still write for no one but myself.***

In a previous post, Treehouse Built For One , I made a somewhat cryptic reference to a traumatic event that would forever change the person I am today. Even as I mentally composed this post over and over again in my head, I couldn't help but arrive at notions of a sort of functioning split personality. The very idea of which frightens me beyond belief. Nonetheless, it is one of an assortment of oddities that makes me ME. Long ago, I posed the question at the end of yet another post - I received a surprising level of feedback quietly by email signaling a resounding "real" as the response. This is about as real as it gets.

It was quite late on a Saturday when I was returning to my wee apartment after a night of dancing at a regular haunt of the time. I had just hazily changed into pajamas when there was a loud banging at the door. Lacking much in the way of street smarts, I opened the door and immediately the man on the other side pushed the door open and walked drunkenly past me towards the bedroom. This was someone I considered a friend and even through the tinge of fear, my initial thoughts were that he perhaps needed to talk. Needed a friend. Still, something was somehow horribly wrong. I closed the door and followed him to inquire as to the reason for this strange visit at an ungodly hour. In the very same moment, I was searching for an answer as to how he knew where I lived... Only a small handful of my closest family/friends knew this place even existed, let alone my occupancy of the same.

He suddenly smiled a smile I'm not likely to ever forget. His almost 300lb frame towered over me as he suddenly leaned in for a kiss. His breath warm and heavy with an overpowering stench of alcohol. His eyes were glazed over, though there was still a distinct look of utter madness in them. It was all I could do to feebly try to escape his harsh grasp and he immediately responded by tearing apart the fabric of the drawstring to my pants.

I closed my tear-filled eyes in horror.

From that moment, there are only flashes of memory. A surreal series of imprinted images as viewed through clicks of a strobe light. Like falling asleep back into a nightmare, then repeatedly shutting down again upon awakening. I imagine the reasoning for this must be my own mental preservation taking over where all logic failed. The most vivid image occasionally catches me off guard to this day while I'm concentrating on something else: I'm desperately trying to crawl away on my stomach - the only sensation left is the burning of bare flesh grated against carpet. Everything else has long since gone numb. I bang my head against the frame of the bedroom doorway over and over again in a pathetic attempt to knock myself unconscious. No such luck. Or not that I recall.

I'm unsure how many hours had passed, or how it "ended" so to speak. My next memory is furiously scrubbing the carpet to remove the bloodstains. I am on all fours and a few of the nerves in my body have returned just enough to sense unbelievable rectal pressure. I can piece together small moments of the cause, though the only real thought running through my mind is one of total and complete shame. No time for that now, this is a rental and there is a pool of slowly spreading scarlet fluid laid out before me.

Only fairly recently was I able to face that night with something other than shameful denial. For it was at that precise moment in time that I now realize my psyche split in two. One personality walked a path of heightened empathy. Always exuding intelligence and feelings of kindness, love, understanding and good humor despite deafening overtones of insecurity. This is the one prominent side that draws people close. The side many have come to like and even "adore". The other is far darker.

I am slowly coming to terms with something I can only compare to Stockholm Syndrome. There are still plenty of differences I don't care to elaborate on. The darker persona is distinctly sensual, feisty, reckless and cruel....occasionally defiantly confident. It craves chaos and raw, hateful pain. On many occasions, these paths have crossed with ill result. Those moments of intertwining emotion have left a trail of destruction in their wake. Additionally spurring a seemingly endless search for that aforementioned "blank slate".

To this day I struggle with the understanding that any one person could possibly know and embrace both "sides". I struggle with the fallacy that love has absolutely nothing to do with sex and vice-versa. This is a monumental daily struggle as the man I fell for, married, and have reached a calm enough balance to bring two beautiful children into this world with, is precisely that one person. There have only been 3 others aware of all this who I am lucky enough to still call "friend". In the moments following the intertwining of the paths, I predictably fall into increasingly deep depression. I doubt pretty well every bit of logic or sincere emotion and can only hysterically cover up all the pain with casual joking and fanciful naivete. This has worked like a "charm" for a number of years. I've observed that the exterior has now begun cracking and eroding away. Simultaneously, what is left of the embattled innards have become twisted, rotted and warped leaving little more than a foreign shell of what once was.

In revealing such a hurricane of ugliness, one might be tempted to reach out in pity or sorrow. None of that is necessary or even requested on any level. I seek nothing more than balance and inner strength to overcome a personal hurdle. I am well aware my experience is, sadly, not unique and my hope would be that others take  comfort, no matter how minimal, in not being quite so alone. The reality is sometimes each and every one of us face something clearly beyond our capabilities and, in those moments, there is no shame in seeking help. Seems to me far more beneficial to admit to our shortcomings....even glitches in sanity... than turning to more dangerous alternatives, no?

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Kitty

Thursday, June 2, 2011

Introduce Yourself

***Disclaimer from the author: This post is not of the snarky variety and it was only after much thought that I decided to write all this down. Although I occasionally dedicate a post with the utmost sincerity towards another, I still write for no one but myself.***

In a previous post, Treehouse Built For One , I made a somewhat cryptic reference to a traumatic event that would forever change the person I am today. Even as I mentally composed this post over and over again in my head, I couldn't help but arrive at notions of a sort of functioning split personality. The very idea of which frightens me beyond belief. Nonetheless, it is one of an assortment of oddities that makes me ME. Long ago, I posed the question at the end of yet another post - I received a surprising level of feedback quietly by email signaling a resounding "real" as the response. This is about as real as it gets.

It was quite late on a Saturday when I was returning to my wee apartment after a night of dancing at a regular haunt of the time. I had just hazily changed into pajamas when there was a loud banging at the door. Lacking much in the way of street smarts, I opened the door and immediately the man on the other side pushed the door open and walked drunkenly past me towards the bedroom. This was someone I considered a friend and even through the tinge of fear, my initial thoughts were that he perhaps needed to talk. Needed a friend. Still, something was somehow horribly wrong. I closed the door and followed him to inquire as to the reason for this strange visit at an ungodly hour. In the very same moment, I was searching for an answer as to how he knew where I lived... Only a small handful of my closest family/friends knew this place even existed, let alone my occupancy of the same.

He suddenly smiled a smile I'm not likely to ever forget. His almost 300lb frame towered over me as he suddenly leaned in for a kiss. His breath warm and heavy with an overpowering stench of alcohol. His eyes were glazed over, though there was still a distinct look of utter madness in them. It was all I could do to feebly try to escape his harsh grasp and he immediately responded by tearing apart the fabric of the drawstring to my pants.

I closed my tear-filled eyes in horror.

From that moment, there are only flashes of memory. A surreal series of imprinted images as viewed through clicks of a strobe light. Like falling asleep back into a nightmare, then repeatedly shutting down again upon awakening. I imagine the reasoning for this must be my own mental preservation taking over where all logic failed. The most vivid image occasionally catches me off guard to this day while I'm concentrating on something else: I'm desperately trying to crawl away on my stomach - the only sensation left is the burning of bare flesh grated against carpet. Everything else has long since gone numb. I bang my head against the frame of the bedroom doorway over and over again in a pathetic attempt to knock myself unconscious. No such luck. Or not that I recall.

I'm unsure how many hours had passed, or how it "ended" so to speak. My next memory is furiously scrubbing the carpet to remove the bloodstains. I am on all fours and a few of the nerves in my body have returned just enough to sense unbelievable rectal pressure. I can piece together small moments of the cause, though the only real thought running through my mind is one of total and complete shame. No time for that now, this is a rental and there is a pool of slowly spreading scarlet fluid laid out before me.

Only fairly recently was I able to face that night with something other than shameful denial. For it was at that precise moment in time that I now realize my psyche split in two. One personality walked a path of heightened empathy. Always exuding intelligence and feelings of kindness, love, understanding and good humor despite deafening overtones of insecurity. This is the one prominent side that draws people close. The side many have come to like and even "adore". The other is far darker.

I am slowly coming to terms with something I can only compare to Stockholm Syndrome. There are still plenty of differences I don't care to elaborate on. The darker persona is distinctly sensual, feisty, reckless and cruel....occasionally defiantly confident. It craves chaos and raw, hateful pain. On many occasions, these paths have crossed with ill result. Those moments of intertwining emotion have left a trail of destruction in their wake. Additionally spurring a seemingly endless search for that aforementioned "blank slate".

To this day I struggle with the understanding that any one person could possibly know and embrace both "sides". I struggle with the fallacy that love has absolutely nothing to do with sex and vice-versa. This is a monumental daily struggle as the man I fell for, married, and have reached a calm enough balance to bring two beautiful children into this world with, is precisely that one person. There have only been 3 others aware of all this who I am lucky enough to still call "friend". In the moments following the intertwining of the paths, I predictably fall into increasingly deep depression. I doubt pretty well every bit of logic or sincere emotion and can only hysterically cover up all the pain with casual joking and fanciful naivete. This has worked like a "charm" for a number of years. I've observed that the exterior has now begun cracking and eroding away. Simultaneously, what is left of the embattled innards have become twisted, rotted and warped leaving little more than a foreign shell of what once was.

In revealing such a hurricane of ugliness, one might be tempted to reach out in pity or sorrow. None of that is necessary or even requested on any level. I seek nothing more than balance and inner strength to overcome a personal hurdle. I am well aware my experience is, sadly, not unique and my hope would be that others take  comfort, no matter how minimal, in not being quite so alone. The reality is sometimes each and every one of us face something clearly beyond our capabilities and, in those moments, there is no shame in seeking help. Seems to me far more beneficial to admit to our shortcomings....even glitches in sanity... than turning to more dangerous alternatives, no?

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