Read This First
In October of 2010 Erin was diagnosed with Dissociative Identity Disorder, formerly known as Multiple Personality Disorder. This blog is to record what is going inside Erin's mind. We don't know what all that will entail... But we are hoping that keeping a record of it will help in some manner. We also hope that maybe, just maybe, that we'll heal from whatever issues that we have and come out victorious.
All personalities or identities within Erin are invited to write here; each entry will be marked with who is writing.
If you are a survivor yourself, there are no trigger warnings on the entries... Please be careful as you navigate this blog. If you are a significant other of someone with DID/MPD, our hope is that this blog may be of some use to you, but please remember that every person with DID is very unique and must be considered as their own case.
Thank you for visiting!
Saturday, April 16, 2011
A Rose by Any Other Name -- Morrigan
Grief does funny things to you. It pierces. It cripples. It tears. It lames. I suppose it doesn't really matter what action it takes... It only brings with it the fresh pain.
Seven months ago I was told my reality did not exist outside Erin's mind. A few months ago, I finally accepted that fact. The world of Alter itself I could live without. Granted, I loved Chicago... but I could do without the uncertainty of walking down the street. Some of the other "characters," like Honda or Eisel, I could do without. I miss Honda sometimes, she was the closest thing to an aunt I had, but really it doesn't bother me that she's gone. I can handle my whole world crashing down, literally... but then I remember him...
I think of his name and my throat closes up. I remember some of his mannerisms or accent and tears prick my eyes.
"Hey Morri, do you smell that?"
"Morri, was that a pothole? I swear there was cement there yesterday!"
"Can you describe that to me? I want to see with your eyes."
"Morri! Take off your shoes right here. This spot of grass is amazing."
He was so child-like, so full of wonder. He had never seen the United States with his own eyes, but he loved to describe what he thought it looked like. He would try to explain skyscrapers in the words of someone who had only seen a jungle. He was so amazing... and I treated him with such disdain for so long.
I traded his love for my indifference and hard-heartedness. No, I didn't act that was all the time; he wore down my hard heart after a while. But I never got the chance to tell him that I loved him in return. Sometimes I like to pretend like he knew but he just didn't tell me. But that thought would be smashed when I happened to catch a glimpse of an expression when he thought no one could see him... It was so melancholic... So pained... I knew that look. I knew what it meant... And I wish I had had the time to take it all away.
Yet at the same time, I am so glad I never got to tell him. How much worse would it have been if I had opened my heart to a mere figment of someone else's imagination? I had opened my heart up in secret, how much more damage would have been done if the love was not locked away? He was so open about how he felt. He would tell me he loved me. He told me he was waiting for me, but I made him wait too long.
He is gone now. I am left only with the pain in my heart and the scar that proves he once existed.