Pieces of Me by Kate McLaughlin

Author:Kate McLaughlin
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Publishing Group

THIRTEEN

Lannie’s journal entry makes me tear up when I read it the next morning. It’s hard to think of the people in my head as separate from me, but it’s obvious they think of themselves that way. Lannie is much more than a figment of some mental breakdown I had as a kid. Maybe that’s not the right way for me to think of it, but it’s how I see it right now. She sees herself as her own person. I suppose I need to see my alters that way as well if I’m ever going to have anything remotely like a normal life. I have to stop thinking of them as different versions of me.

Where do I go when one of the others comes out? Why don’t I hang out in the house with the rest of them? Maybe I do and I don’t remember it? Or maybe I get shut in a box like a doll because I’m not the real me.

Fuck, that’s a scary thought. If I’m not me then who is? This is not something I can think about without a truckload of Xanax.

I’ve been “switching” a lot these last couple of days. Maybe it’s not really a lot. Maybe I’m just hyperaware of missed time now. Or maybe it’s the stress of finding out I have DID and wondering what caused it. Stress is a trigger for switching, so it makes sense.

I have to be honest with myself. The whole point of this disorder is to protect me and hide what happened, but I was sexually molested as a child. I just haven’t remembered the details. I don’t need to remember them. Who the fuck would want to remember that? I am very appreciative of the alters who keep those memories so I don’t have to dwell on them. I’m able to know it happened, but it feels like it happened to someone else.

Except when I have a flashback. Then it feels like it’s happening to me all over again. I’ve only had a couple, but that was enough. I can feel him. Smell him. And my body floods with nausea and panic.

What kind of asshole hurts a kid like that?

Before the divorce, Mom and Dad had parties at our house all the time. We were always traveling and seeing people. There was always a crowd around. Hollywood and New York entertainment people. Musicians.

There were ones who hung around a lot. Randy and George and Leo. They were good to me. We spent time with Uncle Travis and his friends, too. But none of them stand out.

Who was it?

God, it wasn’t Dad, was it?

My stomach lurches at the idea. No. I’d know if it had been Dad, wouldn’t I? I love my dad. I talk to him a lot. We get together as much as we can. He’s going to be here soon for our birthday. It wasn’t him. I refuse to even imagine it. He would never, never hurt me.

Thinking about it starts a sharp throb in the front of my head.

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