2004-04-08 - 17:13
Yesterday we tried to contact other people...people like me, who are multiple, y'know. I printed out a buncha shit outta some web-pages on the subject so I can know more. At first, we were uneasy, 'cause Piojo kept telling us it was all gonna fail, that they wouldn't write back, that we were all stupid suckers and were just beggin' to get hurt 'n' whatnot. Yeah... Piojo didn't want anyone knowing, truly knowing, what goes on with my head. But we went against his wishes, with his warnings and hate and spite, and we e-mailed some multiples anyway. Because we had to know, y'know? Maybe they could tell us what was wrong with us. Then after we read a bunch of the stuff some of these people within people had to say about multiplicity (over their web-pages, duh, we hadn't recieved answer to our e-mail yet), we began to feel much better. Like we found our nitch in life. This is where we belonged. We began to relax; BB smiled, Gis giggled and Jack laughed and danced and twirled merrily. We sang, dawg, we were so happy. Jack 'n' I made up this really stupid song that now come to think 'bout it, sounds a lot like the song Doin' Fine. It went:
'There's nothin' wrong with me/ I'm not wee-eird/There's nothin' wrong with me/I'm not wee-eird... YOU'RE THE FREAK!!!'
*sigh...* We sure had fun. Then we get to the library to check our e-mail. Dread lingered in the pit of our stomach, courtesy of Piojo. 'Don't get your hopes up,' he warned. 'You know they're not writing back.' That made us worry. If no one ever writes back what then? ('What happens when Sauron takes back what is his?' jokes Yang Black.) But seriously. What do we do then? Where do we go if other multiples reject us? 'We move on, like we always do,' states Piojo flatly. He never minded being alone. Because of him we don't have any friends. He's damn proud of it, too. But they did write back, much to the hermit's chargain. They wrote back, and told us that, yes, we were real, from what they could tell, but we had problems. We were disfuncitonal. We are disfunctional. We had problems sharing memories. And we also had problems cooperating. *Piojo laughs wickedly cold in the darkness of the Closet* But dawg, that ain't fair! We don't got problems! We do share! And I remember everything just fine, so FUCK YOU!!! *Piojo's laughing hard now. He can't stop laughing, the prick* 'Of course we're disfuncitonal,' he claims with a grin that never reaches his black-brown eyes. 'Look at you, loosing your grip over something so insignificant, feeling pressured and mournful for the sake of being flesh. You never control yourself, Ninja, which is why I have to do things for you. The same goes for the others. You all are too weak to get by on your own. You all can never manage to get along without me, what with your pitiful squabbling and bickering over the body. You keep saying I am the strongest, that Prophet and I run the show. Well look at yourselves. You made me this way. You made me what I am, gave me everything I have... down to the last scar.' His voice is calm. He's not laughing anymore, dawg, and we're no longer hyperventalating. We're no longer feeling anything, 'cause he's taken over again. I loose all sense of emotion, of being. The truth sinks in. We do have problems, and we really do need help. We depend too much on Piojo, or is he the one who's typing this? Maybe he has been all along. Oh my God. We really don't share memories.