Something was wrong.

I always knew that something was wrong with me. Always. I didn't know what it was, but I realized that something-was-not-quite-right. Even as a little girl, I was extremely intelligent, extremely creative. I was often accused of "thinking too much." I was too sensitive. I always had a sense that I was too much for the world, and the world was too much for me.
Little things shook my psyche enormously. Things that probably would haven't affected other kids so much--- made my mind split. Into piece after piece. Parts of me went away, into hiding. Someone else would come out, and then split again. I led a double life, even as a little girl: there was a daytime me and a nighttime me, and its almost as though one didn't know about the other. One part of me got perfect grades, was very popular, was smart, outgoing, brilliant, loved, loveable. One part of me was sullen, withdrawn, isolated, with no contact with others, hidden away.
Every time something traumatic would happen... more and more parts would be created to handle it. And more parts would disappear inside for protection.
Something always was not quite right. I knew that much. But I didn't know what to do with it, didn't understand it, and lived with the best I could, coping by developing an eating disorder, cutting myself, and throwing myself into schoolwork.
Then , things got much worse.

Posted by pilgrim | Filed under: The Bad Days