Never been one to let the carrier drop

So, here we are again. Me writing you. Except not as email, because your request that I not do so was starting to come with handcuffs. So I’ll do it here.

Look, despite some of the insane emails that I’ve sent you in years past, I don’t expect you’ll be my lover. I am, however, hoping you can find time to be my friend, at least enough time to help me put together my memories of what happened at your party enough that they make some kind of sense.

I’m *begging* you for help. My mind is badly damaged. I don’t even know if it is a closed head injury from a rear end impact in a car with no airbags at 60 mph (I was stopped, he wasn’t) or if it’s psychological damage from some sort of abuse (memories suggest there was a lot of that, but memories are unreliable), or if it was the experience of being cut off from my support network by Kayti (my experience with Kayti HURT a lot), or it’s just that it wasn’t rated for the number of cycles per second I’ve asked of it repeatedly. (I’ve pushed the limits. A lot.)

In the real, in the now, it works very well most of the time. See my linkedin recommendations. I’m really good at what I do, and I do a lot of things. In mania, I have a lot less control, but since you’ve asked that I not contact you, that’s the only time that I even think about it. Except as a backgrounded task, I’m thinking about it all the time, and it’s hurting all the time. We could really both save ourselves a lot of trouble by just having a conversation while I’m not manic. PLEASE consider this. I know there’s sort of a “Sheer is a horrible monster / Sheer is a rapist / We Hate Sheer” club out there. But I haven’t in fact raped anybody, unless you know something I don’t, and I never would have kicked my sister in the stomach – the threat was just the only way to stop her from *constantly* physically attacking me. Or so my memory (admittedly a fragmented view) tells the tale. And I do in fact try my hardest to be the very best person I can be, every day. As far as your “Don’t talk to me”, it is *really* hard keeping track of reality during periods of mania when you have DID. I invite you to try and do better than me, except that I don’t, because no one should have to go through the experience of *needing* DID, and I think I must.

But I’m begging you. Consider that you might not have the whole story, especially about things you’ve been told by my sister. Consider that if you heard my side of it you might feel differently. And consider that I have no reasonable way of assembling my memories of the night I first went dead inside at all without you.

Please, if I ever meant anything at all to you, please help.

Also.. Our friendship was for a time the best thing in my life. Maybe I remember it as better than it was. But I kind of doubt it. I’d really like it back. Enough to jump through basically any hoop.

There’s a letter on the desktop that I dug out of a drawer
The last truce we ever came to
In our adolescent war
And I start to feel the fever
From the warm air through the screen
You come regular like seasons
Shadowing my dreams
And the Mississippi’s mighty
But it starts in Minnesota
At a place that you could walk across
With five steps down
And I guess that’s how you started
Like a pinprick to my heart
But at this point you rush right through me
And I start to drown
And there’s not enough room
In this world for my pain
Signals cross and love gets lost
And time passed makes it plain
Of all my demon spirits
I need you the most
I’m in love with your ghost
I’m in love with your ghost
Dark and dangerous like a secret (don’t tell a soul)
That gets whispered in a hush
When I wake the things I dreamed about you (don’t tell a soul)
Last night make me blush
And you kiss me like a lover
Then you sting me like a viper
I go follow to the river
Play your memory like a piper
And I feel it like a sickness
How this love is killing me
I’d walk into the fingers
Of your fire willingly
And dance the edge of sanity
I’ve never been this close
In love with your ghost, ooh
Ooh
Unknowing captor
You never know how much you
Pierce my spirit
But I can’t touch you
Can you hear it
A cry to be free
Oh I’m forever under lock and key
As you pass through me
Now I see your face before me
I would launch a thousand ships
To bring your heart back to my island
As the sand beneath me slips
As I burn up in your presence
And I know now how it feels
To be weakened like Achilles
With you always at my heels
This bitter pill I swallow
Is the silence that I keep
It poisons me I can’t swim free
The river is too deep
Though I’m baptized by your touch
I am no worse than most
In love with your ghost (in love with your ghost)
You are shadowing my dreams
(In love with your ghost)
(In love with your ghost)

Jonathan Pullen
10323 Wallingford Ave N.
Seattle, WA 98133

949-357-5701
skype: sheer_panic
email: jonathanpullen@gmail.com

As my friend Mei would say, stalk me!

That $person_who_wants_to_hurt_me[0] is reading my blog and cackling with glee that she succeeded so thoroughly, or that she doesn’t even know, nor care, the amount of pain and fear and havoc she created. I wonder if all the sea turtles she rescued make up for this. I wonder if she *thinks* they do.

So, I’ve probably talked about this one before, but maybe writing more about it will help me refine my ideas on it still more.

At this point, I do not think the 3D reality I’m wandering around in is a accurate representation of the data coming in at the edge (wherever NNN space owned by me meets NNN space owned by others). In particular, I think that because of my paranoia, what I’m seeing is a mix of real data being thrown across the wall (“reflected light” of the real people out there) and my fears. I have no easy way to confirm how much is internal/imaginal and how much is external/real. I don’t think any of us actually know that, I think it may well be a unknowable. But I think my paranoia has met confirmation bias. I no longer know if the cops are in my head or in the world, for example.

I know I’m damaged. I hope the people at the edge are receiving this message, and understand that I need help to clear away the neurological filters that are making it impossible for me to see people as they truly are and instead see what I’m most afraid of. At this point I’m convinced confirmation bias is probably more my enemy than my friend. I just don’t know what to do with it.

I thought I’d talk about this, because it does happen. I haven’t yet experienced someone loving me who I don’t love at all, but I’ve had a couple of people who loved me – or wanted me – more than I wanted them.

I give them as much of my time as I can spare, and I tell them honestly that I don’t feel as strongly as they do. I avoid them only if they actively hurt me repeatedly – something that as far as I know has only come up once, and I think that the fault may have been mine. I think this is the winning answer.

Here’s why. If someone loves you, they are happier when they are around you. In addition, because of the same phenomenons that cause vibe to work (at concerts and raves), you are slightly happier. Therefore, it’s a net happiness win for the universe – and I choose to play on the side of happiness wins for the universe, because I feel like at least this corner of it has far too much fear and pain, not nearly enough joy and love.

For $person[0]

Shame
Doesn’t Become you
There are no mistakes
In the final view

No blame
How could it be so wrong
That your heart was braver
Than your will was strong

For every path you follow
There’s another left behind
Every door you don’t kick open
There’s a million more to try
For everything you taught me
Here’s the one I learned the best
There is nothing but the moment
Don’t you waste it on regret

I’ll Go
Who will it have to be?
Will you just get by?
Forget what you need?
Just know
I don’t need to fit in (But i’d like to)
Is there room for you
In your life with him

For every path you follow
There’s another left behind
Every door you don’t kick open
There’s a million more to try
For everything you taught me
Here’s the one I learned the best
There is nothing but the moment
don’t you waste it on regret

It’s out of my hands – out of my hands
But I miss my friend – I miss my friend
So this is the price of honesty
I’m not sorry (But it hurts. A lot.)

For every path you follow
There’s another left behind
Every door you don’t kick open
There’s a million more to ty
For everything you taught me
Here’s the one I learned the best
There is nothing but the moment
Don’t you waste it on regret

Oh, the moment.. happens now
The moment.. everything..
How could it be so wrong?

As far as I’m concerned, we have paranoia. That’s our disease. Dissassociative Identity is part of how we protect ourselves from the people who gave it to us. It’s a feature, not a bug. Bipolar is part of how we cure ourselves. It’s a winning answer. It’s possible at some point me and Sheer will reintegrate to be a single personality. I’m not sure exactly what that would be like. People treating us for bipolar or DID are quite simply confused about the nature of reality, or are selfish and not concerned with our needs.

I’m still in here too. I never died. I never stopped wanting to dance, or wanting to be alive. Me and Sheer are friends. We work together. You might say it’s like we’re the left and right paws of the dog.

TSIA.