Our "Girl Autobiographies"

[Leeza]

Erin, I am really enjoying your posts as a girl. To sit and read them makes my day a little better
Leeza

[Absaroka]

Another very nice chapter Erin.

Your comments about you as a boy in the other post were very helpful. I went back and read the whole first chapter again and it was a lot more interesting with that little bit of extra knowledge.

I take it you lived in The City. A dad working on the pier bringing you to work. I'd be in heaven. I was fascinated by ships. Whenever we went to The City I'd beg my folks to take me over to the west side and look at all the ships in the docks. I could tell you the names of the big liners at a glance.

I remember those summer nights also although I lived in a more suburban area. Playing kickball or baseball in the street until it was too dark to see the ball. I often think that kids today with tvs and computers and air conditioning that makes you want to stay indoors when it's hot have no idea how deprived they are. And then at age 14 I was a teenager and suddenly I was supposed to come in at dark. My folks were suddenly afraid I would turn into a juvenile delinquent I guess. They were much harsher with my sister however. My solution was to get a job in a nearby restaurant which started at 5. They had no idea when I got out of work.

Only one criticism. Your 10 year old girl is far more articulate than a lot of adults in terms of explaining herself to her mom. Where are the tears, insults, and silent treatments? My eldest is in college and it's just in the last year or so that she has been able to start to explain herself as clearly as your 10 year old.

But anyway I don't mean to put any kind of a wet blanket here. I love your writing and I'm looking forward to the next chapter.

Absaroka

[Amelie-Laveau]

That was good reading Erin, I liked it.

I also remember walking down the block to the piers and watching the tugs take the liners out. Sometimes a navy ship from another country would dock there. Many sailors roaming around,, quite fun.

[Elizabeth]

Hi girls,

My childhood was not something I would care to relive as a boy or a girl. While I have always wished I had been born a girl, I can't escape the fact that my father sexually abused all four of my sisters. Had I been born a girl, I certainly would have been sexually abused also.

So in this regard, I don't see how being a girl would have made my childhood any better, or less bad, than it already was. Now had I been born a girl in a real family and not subjected to the abuses I was? That would have been a nice life.

Love always,
Elizabeth

[Erin L]

Thanks for all the nice comments, girls. I really appreciate them.

Absaroka - Actually, I lived in Queens, where "the city" means Manhattan. So, it really was a cross between city and suburban life. As for Erin not throwing tantrums, insults, etc, all I can say is that it wasn't my nature to do that growing up, so I assume that it wouldn't have been Erin's nature, either. My tendency was to withdraw into myself, and I have assumed that, as a girl, Erin would have been much more likely to reach out to her friends (in fact, I worried at first that I may have made Erin too much smarter than I was; but then I have to assume that, as a girl, she would have probably been more like my mother and less like my father, which would have curbed my sometimes big mouth - smarter!). As a child, I had a couple of close friends whose families knew of my situation and looked out for me, even though I didn't understand that until many years later, and I have incorporated some aspects of that in my assumptions about Erin.

Elizabeth - while I was never abused, I did have some difficult situations as a child that certainly would have been there even if I were a girl. In my own case, I find reliving them through Erin's eyes to be somewhat theraputic, but then my circumstances were different. I am so sorry that your childhood was so painful, and I hope that you have been able to find some peace as an adult.

[Amelie-Laveau]

Liz, I’m sorry to hear about your sisters, life was rough for your sisters and you probably didn’t have a great time growing up either, I’m sorry.

I’m on another forum, not a cd forum but an alternative lifestyle forum and this question was asked, “How many here were abused when young”? Only one person answered and she answered with one line for all of us, she said,, Weren’t all of here at the forum abused as children.


I wanted to write my next chapter to my bio, but like you Liz, the story takes a nasty turn. The next chapter in my bio would be told as a real girl, cause this is when I became a girl, no more “what would it be like to be a girl”, The boy was gone and I was now living as a girl. And I am unable to write the next chapter, oh, I have tried, I have tried on different forums but I am unable to,,,, too nasty,, too horrific.. I want to hide when I think about it.

I will say this, in the next chapter of my life I am no longer number 4, I am now Yvonne. But Yvonne doesn’t last very long,, too much pain has driven her deep in the lower levels of my mind. Rarely does Yvonne appear, she is much to frightened,, but we protect her from harm, the others don’t let anymore bad things happen to Yvonne. She can stay safe and play forever in the depths of my mind.

I am Yvonne, but no one can see her.

[Erin L]

Early 1964...




The Christmas holidays came and went, and during the time off I read “Tom Sawyer” and loved it. The first day back at school, I was kind of antsy all day, because I was so anxious to talk to Miss Hudson. When I finally got the opportunity after school, she was pleased to hear all I had to tell her about “Tom Sawyer.” We talked until a little after 4:00, but I was very pleased to see Terri waiting for me when I came out, and amused to see that she had already, gone home and changed.

When I got home, Mom was practicing her shorthand. She had decided that she was going back to work, and she had brushed up on her shorthand and typing so as to find a secretarial job. She and Dad had fought sporadically through the holidays, and a deep freeze was on in the house now that the holidays were done and Mom was resolute.

A few days later, she showed just how determined she was when, as an exercise, she took down President Johnson’s 1964 State of the Union Address in shorthand. She compared her transcription to the speech as it appeared in the newspaper the next morning.

“It was fine,” she said to me, “up to the point where I fell asleep.”

I laughed. Dad didn’t. But less than a month later, she’d landed a job with a small firm about a mile from our house.

Mom laid down the law – no one was allowed in the house unless either she or Dad were home. I took the opportunity to explore more deeply Dad’s collection of classical music. I was stunned to find that in addition the Strauss, Elgar and Chopin that he loved, there was Bach, Brahms, Rachmaninoff, Tchaikovsky, and, best of all, Beethoven.

The first Beethoven piece I unearthed was the Fifth Piano Concerto – the Emperor. I actually played it because when I saw “Fifth”, I assumed it was Beethoven’s Fifth, which is to say his fifth symphony. I was stunned to hear the most mesmerizing piano concerto.

If I had still been harboring the fantasy that I would somehow learn the piano, it was a recording that would have broken my heart. But I had by now made peace with the fact that there was no piano in my future. And all I knew was that my heart was soaring with the majestic phrases.

I had switched from listening to classical music on the radio to Top 40 when my grandmother had given me a transistor radio for my tenth birthday. Now, I started splitting my time between the two. I also pushed myself on the guitar a little more, and since Mom was now working, I started preparing to ask if I could take lessons again.

And then Dad lost his job. Just a few months after we’d been treated like royalty on board ship because he worked for the company, he had been let go. With Mom the sole wage-earner, I knew I couldn’t ask for anything. It would be early spring before Dad got a job, working as chief engineer for a hotel that had gone bankrupt. It didn’t sound too promising, but Dad insisted that once the hotel was bought by new owners, he’d probably be hired by them on a permanent basis.

Still, in both salary and status, it was a definite step down, and so I decided to keep quiet about renewing my guitar lessons. In school, Miss Hudson continued to give me extra things to read, and occasionally asked me to write essays on different topics. Once, after we’d read a story from our regular reader in class, she asked me to write an essay describing a character I would have placed in the story.

It was on a Friday afternoon, and so I worked on it over the weekend. Dad saw me scribbling away late on Saturday, and he asked me about it. It was the first time I had told my parents about the extra work Miss Hudson was giving me.

“But why?” Mom wanted to know.

“I’m not sure,” I said, honestly. “She says I’ll tell her why by the end of the school year.”

Dad chuckled, and I asked him what was funny.

“She wants you to figure it out for yourself,” he said. And when I asked him what, he replied, “I think she sees you as a writer some day. And the question is, do you?”

“I don’t think that’s it, Dad. She’s giving me a lot more stuff to read than she is to write.”

On the spur of the moment, he decided to take me out for ice cream. We walked down to Springfield Blvd. and wound up in a local bar that he frequented a lot. We sat at a side table, him drinking beer, me drinking ginger ale.

“Ginger ale’s okay, isn’t it, honey?” he asked. I shrugged and said it was. “Good,” he replied. “I wanted to talk to you about school. You’re a pretty smart cookie, and I think you can do really well in school. You work hard enough, and I think you can even go to college.”

“Okay,” I said.

“The thing is, a lot of kids go to college and never do much with it. Me, I dropped out of high school and had to get my Equivalency Diploma, and I’ve been fighting and scrapping for everything I’ve gotten since then.

“Now, you, being a girl, have a choice that I never had – you can work hard in school and develop a talent, or you can do well enough to get through and make sure you marry someone who can provide for you. In other words, you can go for something you really like, and not worry about having to support yourself,” he finished triumphantly.

“But Dad, maybe I won’t meet anyone. Maybe I’ll never get married.”

He laughed.

“No, I don’t think so, honey. You’re far too pretty for that. Hey, you even turned Rosie’s grandson’s head pretty well the week we were in Dublin.”

I must have flushed crimson, because he laughed again.

“What? You think no one else noticed?”

I decided to change the subject.

“Dad, why did you bring me here to talk?” I asked. He looked surprised.

“I don’t know, honey. Sometimes, men just find it’s easier to talk in a place like this. There are dozens of conversations going on at the same time, and no one listens to anyone else’s. So, even though there are lots of people around, you have complete privacy.”

It didn’t make a lot of sense to me, but I accepted it.

“I just don’t like bars, much,” I said. He laughed again.

“Of course not. Nice girls never do.”

Two weeks later, Mom and I were out shopping for Easter dresses with Terri and her mom. We were at Macy’s in Jamaica, and Terri and I were in adjoining fitting rooms. It was pretty crowded, as lots of girls and women were doing the same thing.

One dress I tried on was quite pretty, a pale yellow with a satin bodice and chiffon sleeves. But the top was a little tight on me, and made me very uncomfortable – so much so that I didn’t even want to come out. Terri insisted.

“Oh, dear,” Mom said when she saw me. “You’re right. Much too tight on top.”

“Erin!” Terri gasped. “You’re growing br…”

“Theresa!” her mom snapped as I blushed.

The taut satin brought into focus something I had been uncomfortably suspecting for a few days – my nipples seemed very pronounced and puffy, and my breasts felt extremely sensitive. As I stood there, my problem stood out like a sore thumb, even with a cotton undershirt.

Mom followed me back into the dressing room, and when I took the dress off, she had me life up my undershirt. She asked me how they felt.

“Kinda weird,” I said. “They don’t exactly hurt, but…”

“I know,” she sighed. “Well, get your clothes back on.”

When I came back outside, she turned to Terri and her mom and said, “I hope you’ll excuse us for a short while. I’m afraid Erin is going to need something else before she can try on dresses.”

“Training bra?” Terri’s mo m asked, and Mom just nodded.

Considering how long I’d been anticipating this day, I found it disconcerting. Mom picked out several training bras for me, and had me put one on to stay. At least I felt more comfortable, and I was eager to get back to looking for dresses.

But I felt like every move I made was being watched, which was silly. Terri watched me, though, almost incessantly, until I finally told her to stop.

“But I feel cheated,” she said as we had lunch in a nearby coffee shop, having finally picked out our dresses. “My birthday is in three weeks, and yours isn’t until June, and you’re getting yours first.”

“It’s not a contest,” her mom said. “Every girl gets hers in her own time.”

“Is it uncomfortable?” Terri asked. She meant the bra.

“No,” I said. “Actually, it’s a lot more comfortable than just the undershirt.”

That night, Mom came in to say goodnight, and she sat down on the edge of my bed.

“Sweetie, you need to know that this is the first of many changes that are going to overtake your body in the coming months. It’s the most obvious to others, or at least it will be when they grow bigger.”

“Are mine going to be the same size as yours?” I asked. She laughed loudly.

“It’s hard to tell, honey. They won’t be any smaller, that’s for sure. But you’re starting a lot earlier than I did, which is like the women on Dad’s side, so I’m guessing that in size they will be more like the women on Dad’s side, and that means they should be somewhat larger than mine. Maybe a lot larger.”

I nodded. Then she explained about menstrual cycles, including periods. She told me that she was telling me now because the changes in my body were already under way, but that I would probably not have my first period for a couple of years.

“And when you do,” she said, “it will mean that you are capable of having a baby.”

I was stunned, and no, they didn’t teach sex education in parochial schools in those days – at least not in fifth grade.

“You mean I might…” I gasped, and she laughed again.

“No, honey. You can’t just have a baby. Certain…things have to happen, first.”

“Like what?” I asked, and she groaned.

“I’m really not ready to go into all that tonight,” she said. But Dad was late again, and we both knew why, and maybe that’s why she decided to tell me, anyway.



The following Saturday morning, Mom sent me to the deli for some cold cuts, and on the way back, I saw Lorraine as I was passing her house. She was practicing twirling a baton on her front lawn, and she stopped and called me over.

“I know you like music,” she said. “So, I was thinking that you might want to join the new drum and bugle corps. It used to be just for the boy scout troop at school, but they didn’t have enough kids in it. So they opened it up to anyone in the parish, and now lots of kids from school are joining.”

She explained that there were both boys and girls in it, and that there were adults who would teach you whatever you wanted to learn. The corps marched in several parades every year, and had just marched in the St. Patrick’s Day Parade in New York, and they also competed with groups from other parishes.

“Jay, who lives two blocks down and is in your class at school, is in the bugle section. Pat and Helen, a block that way, both belong, as well as their brother, John, who is in my class at school. And if you don’t want to play any of the instruments, you can become a twirler, like me.”

“When do they meet?” I asked. She had mentioned the boy scouts, and thoughts of the Brownies were in the back of my mind. Just then, Lorraine’s mom came out and joined us.

“We meet Saturday afternoons at 1:00 at school,” she said. “You’re welcome to come with us today if you like.”

Lorraine nodded hopefully, and I suddenly had the sense that I might be hurting her feelings if I said no. So I agreed to go.

When we got there, Lorraine’s mom took me over to a small group of adults and introduced me. One of the men was Jay’s father, and it was obvious that he kind of helped run everything. I told him that I had taken some guitar lessons, and then stopped, but that I still played the guitar.

“That won’t help much here, I’m afraid,” he said with a laugh. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t do something else.”

There were, in total, five sections. The drums were all boys, except for one girl whose brother was also a drummer. The bells – glockenspiel, as Dad would later explain – were entirely composed of girls. The bugles were all boys. The twirlers were all girls, and the color guard was all girls.

As all the kids went to their particular sections, Mr. Martinelli, Lorraine’s mom and I were left alone.

“I really want to play an instrument,” I said. “Which one is the cheapest?”

They were taken aback by this, but Jay’s dad quickly recovered and said, “The bugle costs twelve dollars. But you would be the only girl.”

“Is there a rule against that?” I asked.

“No,” he laughed. Then he smiled warmly and added, “And I think you’ll do just fine.”

That night, Mom was surprised and Dad was appalled.

“Whaddaya tryin’ to do?” he asked, under the influence of an entire afternoon’s supply of beer. “Be one of the boys?”

“No,” I replied softly. “It’s just something I want to do. I don’t want to be a twirler or in the color guard, because I want to play an instrument. And I thought this would be better than being a drummer.”

He spluttered at that.

“Besides,” I added. “The drummers already have a girl.”

Mom laughed. Dad shot her a glare, but she didn’t back down.

“Actually,” Mom said, “I was thinking that you might be able to give Erin some helpful hints. After all, didn’t you play the bugle years ago?”

He had. He had told me a story about how someone had once sucked on a lemon when he was trying to play. Seeing that, his mouth had involuntarily puckered and he had been unable to play a note.

“I’ll get lessons, and they’re free. I just have to buy the bugle. I thought it sounded like a good deal,” I said. Dad shrugged his surrender.

I got my bugle the following week, and was introduced to Mr. Harkins, who ran the corps. He was very military in his bearing, and seemed to want to run the drum corps as a paramilitary organization, which I found somewhat off-putting. But all the parents were really nice, and Mr. Canfield, who worked with the bugle section, welcomed me warmly, so I decided to stick it out.

Jay looked a little stunned when I walked into the room where the bugles worked, and when Mr. Canfield introduced me to the boys, Jay didn’t indicate that he knew me. John smiled and said hello, and most of the other boys were okay.

Richie was the section leader. He was a seventh grader, and he gave me a warm welcome. Peter was another seventh grader, and he was sort of Richie’s deputy. Danny was a sixth grader, and he looked at me curiously.

Mr. Canfield worked with me for about ten minutes, teaching me the basics. It wasn’t hard; all I had to do was make my lips vibrate. The G-bugle could only play four notes on the scale, so the numbers we played were quite limited.

“You’ll be playing in no time,” Mr. Canfield said.

We worked for an hour, then went down to the auditorium to join the others. There, Mr. Harkins took over, and the whole tenor changed. At one point, one of the other buglers, Billy, who was in my grade at school but not my class, turned to say something to the boy next to him, and Mr. Harkins stopped what he was doing and screamed, “You!! No talking in ranks!”

We all froze.

“Section Leader Hunter! Give that man a gig!!”

Then we turned back to marching in step to the drummers’ “street beat”.

“What’s a gig?” I asked Richie after we’d been dismissed. He chuckled.

“It’s like a black mark, a demerit, for doing something wrong,” he said.

“What happens when you get one?”

“They accumulate. If you get three, then you’re subject to some other kind of discipline.”

“Like what?”

“Nobody knows,” he said with a laugh. “Jimmy, the section leader for the drums, and I are the only ones Harkins ever tells to give anyone gigs. We decided a while ago we wouldn’t keep count. So no one has ever gotten three gigs.”

“That’s crazy!”

“Now, you’ve got it,” he said with a laugh, then walked away. I watched him go.

“Are you ready?” Lorraine asked gently from behind me, causing me to jump. She giggled, and we both knew why.


Monday morning, when I got to the schoolyard, Jay came over to me.

“Just want to say welcome,” he said. I thanked him, then looked around to see if I could spot Richie on the seventh grade line. He was there, but he didn’t see me.

“I also want you to know,” Jay went on, “that even though it’s kinda weird, you bein’ a girl and in the bugle section, I’m okay with it.”

“Thanks, Jay,” I said. He went back to his friends.

“What was that all about?” Terri wanted to know, and I told her. “And what – or who – is so interesting over by the seventh and eighth graders?”

I blushed and she laughed.

“I don’t believe it,” she said softly. “You’ve only been in that drum corps for a week and already you’re in love.”

“I am not!”

“You’re not what?” Diane asked as she appeared next to me.

“In love,” Terri said quietly. Diane’s face brightened.

“Who with?!” she gasped.

“Stop it!” I hissed. “I am not in love!”

“I knew it wouldn’t last with the Irish guy,” Diane said with a teasing smile. “Did you see who it is?” she asked Terri.

“No. I only know it’s one of the seventh or eighth graders.”

“Well,” Diane said with a chuckle, “You do like the older guys.”

“This one is in the drum corps she just joined.”

“I told you there would be benefits to that,” Diane replied. “Imagine – the only bugle girl among all those bugle boys!”

“That is enough!” I said, summoning up as much indignation as I could. They just giggled.

“She’ll tell you eventually,” Diane said to Terri.

The bell rang and we formed up into lines. As we walked into the school, I thought to myself how wrong they were, and how ridiculous this whole thing was. And every time during the day that I made eye contact with Terri, she gave me this teasing little grin.

It was getting irritating. Usually, Terri knew me pretty well, but this time she was completely off-base. The very idea that I might have a crush on Richie was downright silly.

I met up with Terri outside the school building as we left that afternoon. I told her in no uncertain terms that I didn’t want to hear any more about it, because it was stupid. I didn’t have a crush on anyone.

As we got to the gate of the schoolyard, Richie was standing there, waiting for his friends.

“Hi, Erin,” he said, cheerfully. “Good work on Saturday.”

“Thanks,” I said, flashing what I thought was an appropriately appreciative smile. Terri and I crossed the street and cut through the parking lot on the way to her house. We had just left the lot when she burst out laughing.

[Absaroka]

There are things in our lives that really can only be explored in very safe settings and that is a privacy that we all have. Many of us have had a tremendous pain, some of us almost unbearable pain. I was one of the lucky ones, which is something that these forums have helped me learn yet again.

Liz your post put me in mind of Jenny Boylans biography. Basically the fact that she managed as well as she did as a male had a lot to do with how happy she was when she became a woman. i am also put in mind of a woman who used to do faith healing that I knew. She was on crutches, permanently. She would talk about how people would say why doesn't she heal herself. She said that she was healed and now merely had a situation where she needed crutches to walk and was able to be grateful for her crutches. Always reminded me of the scene in Amahl but that's another story.

Amelie maybe Yvonne ought not have her bio written at this point, maybe never. Are there any other of you alters who would care to contribute their bio?

Absaroka

[Leeza]

I have never thought of what how it would be growing up as a girl as my sister and I were raised very much a like other than being different genders. She and I had pretty much the same responsibilities, freedoms and restrictions. I think that the major differences would have come after we left home and she was able to start wearing makeup and earrings.

But again you have made my day reading about how things would have been had you been a girl.

Leeza

[Erin L]

Leeza and Ab - thanks so much. I'm really having a lot of fun with this.

[Absaroka]

Here's something I only told a couple of people about here. A couple of years ago I did write a sort of fantasy bio of my girl. Actually 2 of them since I am filled with contradictions, and I included a third person as my male self. I put it all into a novel and self published it. It can be found at Lulu.com under the name Criss Andrews and is titled If I Could Only Be More Like You. You may have to log in and arrange your settings there to allow adult material, I don't remember. There is no graphic porn in it but there is some deep emotional stuff.

What I wrote was very personal. As I had a pronounced tendency to turn both my girls into superheroes of a sort I tend to think of it as a childrens story for grown ups. It definitely lacks realism in terms of the characters limitations or lack thereof. But it was a lot of fun to write. I later showed it to my family. My older daughter said it was riviting, my younger daughter said it was too boring to finish, and my wife said there was nothing in it that she didn't already know about me. (Obviously there was not a lot of CDing stuff in it) She also liked her character in the book. Various friends said that the book told the truth and thus would be upsetting to some people, and that they were very interested to find who they became in the book. one of my favorite comments was when my eldest daughter remembered a concert we had gone to and pointed to a paragraph and said "that's about the note he played at the end of such and such a song, isn't it?" And she was exactly right.

I learned a lot about myself writing it, and not the sort of things I thought I would learn. Exploring one girls relationship with her father I learned something about the unrealistic expectations I had of my own daughters for example. I also found that I was filled with fear at the thought of people reading the more personal parts, which mostly had to do with anger, fear, and music, not sex or gender. In the end I told myself that since I was revealing myself through fantasy to those I loved that this was just going to have to be okay. To my delight the parts that were most frightening to contemplate being read by others were the parts people liked the most.

Anyway, if anyone wants they can look through it. If not, that's fine also. And if anyone has something they want to self publish, I strongly recommmend Lulu, one copy cost about $8 plus S&H.

Absaroka

[Amelie-Laveau]

I’m sorry Absaroka, but I am unable to make my alters appear at will, like some people can do, like those that are on TV, people like Sybil. Mostly my alters appear when my brain malfunctions and even then, I rarely see them or know about them, it’s other people who are around me that can see them. For me, I just have blackouts. I will be sitting down, look at the clock which says 3 o’clock and then in a blink of the eye I look at the clock and it now says 3:30. Or sometimes I will again be sitting down in the living room and again in what seems like a blink of the eye I am now lying on the floor in the bathroom. And after I have one of these episodes, it seems that my body is totally drained, mentally, physically and emotionally. It’s almost like when someone goes into an epileptic fit, after the seizure the body is out of whack for awhile, although I don’t have epilepsy myself.

I can only talk about my alters from others that viewed them, others who have talked to them. I try to talk with them, but it just seems like I’m talking to myself, I don’t know if it’s really an alter talking to me or just me,, I don’t know if the voices are them or just me going mad. I know that sounds strange, I can’t explain it any better. I don’t understand what it’s all about, I am not smart enough to figure out the psyche reasoning.

As far as Yvonne goes, she is not an alter. She is a real person who has run away, hiding deep in my mind. Just like bad people are sent to prison, away from others, Yvonne has also been sent to prison, bad people sent her there, she is locked away in the depths of my mind. Maybe another way to view Yvonne is that while at one time she was real she is also just a memory, a memory of bad times. When people have bad memories, they want to keep thee memories from surfacing, remembering them usually brings harm to the person, so like bad memories, Yvonne is to stay put, she will not surface, oh, she has tried, she tried to talk to people who I thought could understand but she never felt comfortable talking, she feels that there is no one in the world that can understand. She is looking for that sister who has also been there.

I did find an old friend from my past on myspace. She went through a similar life as me and she could understand what I talk about, But I was too afraid to contact her, I don’t know why, I was just too scared. I would just read her page on a daily basis for about two months now. I went to her page today and it was gone, deleted.. I messed up, this hurts real bad, I lost her again.



I’m sorry for going off topic.

[Absaroka]

Not off topic at all. And if the alters want to remain unknown that's up to them.

You got me to thinking. I had another friend who would sometimes discover she had lost a lot of time and didn't know how she got where she was. Maybe she had the same thing going on. Eventually it stopped happeneing. I always thought it was some sort of organic brain syndrome since she also had a lot of visual hallucinations (no auditory ones). She had to figure out stuff like if you shut your eyes and can still see it then it's probably a hallucination. And then after several years it all just stopped happeneing, all without any benefit from the psychiatric establishment. What I really liked about her was her self acceptance-she didn't talk about this all the time but when she did she was quite matter of fact about it.

The ex girlfriend with DID finally did get to have all her alters get to know each other. That did not happen unaided. I don't want to put her name out here but I'll call her Susie. I asked her who "Susie" was and she said "Susie is the apartment building where all these other people live. They're friends now" She was a nice person-I haven't seen her in several years now and kind of miss her.

I'm sorry that you didn't get to be in touch with your friend. Although who knows maybe you had some reason you were unaware of that you didn't and it was the right decision.

Absaroka

[Amelie-Laveau]

I have heard of people describe themselves as an apartment for the others. Someone I know described mine as a train station and instead of a gatekeeper as some have I have a station master who keeps everyone on their separate platform in the station. But I don’t really know if this how it works, cause I don’t know who the station master is and I can’t control her and she can’t control the others, but I liked my friends description, it sort of made me look at it in a funny, simple way.

Most times when these events happen and someone appears, the people that I am with at the time get freaked out. They think that I have gone mad, talking like I’m someone else. Then there are people like my BF who are used to it and have a laugh when it happens. The only thing that scares me is when these events happen when I am all alone. A couple of times I have fallen down stairs while in “other mode” lol. I’m afraid that I can cause a fire or something and be in this foolish state. As you said about your friend, there are things done to deal with dangers, I sometimes when I am alone, I tie a string to my arm and to a table leg or radiator, so to stop me from going to far away while an alter appears.My BF sometimes hand cuffs me to the radiator, but that was for another problem I have,lol,, he also hides the razor blades,,lol. I just hope the alter doesn’t untie the string. The alters don’t seem to be able to do much, they are just there, they talk and walk but they don’t cook, use a computer or stuff Tec wise, so that is the main reason why the alters won‘t be here, they don‘t know how. well from what I know they can‘t do stuff. . My brain usually goes into this state after a period of being alone, I think too much and then I think of danger, and things or even thinking of my future, I think there is a panic that comes over me and then an alter appears to calm things down. Alters can appear when really bad things happen but that hasn’t happened lately, it’s been awhile since anything really bad happened.



As far as hallucinations go. I have a similar problem that I might have discussed here before. I am able to make my dreams appear to me after I wake up. I can dream in my sleep about, let’s say a group of people standing in the park talking to each other, I can then wake up from my dream and the people are still there, but they are no longer in the park, they are now in my room. I can dream even after I wake up, does that make sense?

When I walk about at night I see images that seem to disappear, but I just put that down to fear, it’s sometimes quiet and scary at night here and the mind plays tricks on one. Just like I don’t understand the full definition of “delusional” I also don’t exactly know what can be described as a Hallucination or a dream or just some substance abuse that creates these images. I guess hallucinations from drugs can be considered real hallucinations, they alter the brain, I guess some people can have them with out the drugs.

I am able to live with things but I don't understand things, , I want to understand but it's like one trying to think about the infinity of the universe, my brain doesn't have the ability to think such difficult things. Sometimes things can get overwhelming, as you might have noticed, this is the times that I go absent from the forums. It takes time to get back on track,, I just sit there, in my room waiting for when it’s best to come out again. Also, this is why I argue a lot on forums, I just get so angry with things, with my life, so I take it out on others, I can’t understand why some people seem to make life so simple for themselves and why mine is so complicated. I know others have problems, but damn,, why so many.... This is what I was trying to explain up above, I think about things too much, to the point where I can’t cope and an alter appears, I just have to try and stop thinking so much, but it ain’t easy.

I would like to thank people here at the forum, all of you have given me something that I really needed. A break from life. A shoulder.

[Katie]

When I was 4 or 5 years of age, Mom gave me a some used Pantyhose to play with.. A year or 2 afterwards and quite a few mor panty hose given to me by MOM.. She gave me a "Princess Dianna Dress", to play with..
Dad kinda stepped In and started showing me boy things.. But Mom was ALWAYS THERE giving me girly things. Actually It was around Holloween when I was abou 8.. My buddies ALL DARED all of us to go to school in DRAG on Halloween. I went home ant talked to MOM, Who provided me with EVERYTHING.. Except for the underwear.. Dad came home and was not too Pleased at ALL! Verbally gave me quite a chasitising from hell too.
I WISH that Mom would have actually KEPT it up, but She didnt! It was up to me and all of the other problems that happen with a child into these things.. YOU KNOW what I mean..
I might have started out in public Looong ago And actually had the courage to tell my wife earlier..
Just a 2 cents worth!!
Katie