hsphaven

My mind is broken into pieces, like a shattered disco ball. Inside lives people with their own memories, people with their own roles, people with their own feelings, people with their own answers, people with their own voices (and lack of), people I am yet to meet, but want to meet. I hear them sometimes when I can get past the gate of the conscious mind. I hear a young girl calling my name. Who do these voices belong to?

Some say such a thing cannot exist. Sometimes I question whether I am making something out of nothing, grasping at shadows. But the body doesn’t fake trauma. The body remembers everything. Bracing as though preparing for the next assault, the body holds the clues to a past many of us would rather forget, like tattoos of past lovers or words etched into a tree. And it is this trauma that stops us from coming together as one.

I will not forget the day I went missing. I still don’t know what or who took over me. I want to know the other(s) who, right now, remind me of strangers sharing an apartment, living in the same complex but leading their own lives and never speaking to one another. I don’t believe many even leave their rooms. Maybe we will be better together. Maybe together we will make a magical ball of light, rather than a life that feels like a war-zone.

“Internal communication thus begins with teaching the Normal Life part to become a better listener and to ask “inside” for input from the other parts. The client’s Adult self must be taught that younger parts often communicate through feelings and body sensations, not just through thoughts or in words.”