I get some interesting comments about my mental situation since our friends have been told about my multiplicity. There’s one friend in particular who seems to think that hubbie is exceedingly lucky being married to ten people. We’ve explained to him that there are a couple of us who don’t consider ourselves married to him. Jared, for example, does not look on hubbie as “Honey” or anything of the sort, and generally hides in the back with the Littles if anything remotely romantic is going on.

Hubbie also points out that there’s one Little he’s sure is going to try and kill him, and thus he takes his life into his hands every morning. It’s not quite that bad from my point of view, Little is a bit unstable, but she doesn’t come out much.

Sure things are never boring, and hubbie says he wouldn’t change it for the world, because he loves me with all my quirks, even if he doesn’t think of Jared that way (and he’s not expected to) but there are many times that I find myself wondering if he wouldn’t be better off with a saner person, just because that’s the way my thoughts run from time to time, especially on days like yesterday where I’m feeling decidedly non-functional.

I remember the other day I was talking about a trip I took to France when I was about ten. We went up the Eiffel Tower, and for some reason on the walk down I was seized by a huge panic attack and couldn’t move for a bit. An American tourist actually volunteered to carry me down stairs, but my friend and I refused. I said, “I’m not sure who had the fear…by that point there were five of us, and my childhood is still kinda hazy and jumbled because of that.”

The friend who had been commenting on hubbie’s good fortune being married to me said, “Wait, hold on. You were…ten?” I said, “Yes.” “And there were FIVE of you already by then?”

My room mate said, “Well, her grandmother is such a GREAT person.”

I said, “Well, two of them came about from some thing which happened with my ‘best friend’ so I *think* only three can be put down to my grandmother…”

I get mad periodically and want to go hunt down my step-father and punish him for things, or plot my grandmother falling down a hole and never coming out, and that causes arguments, because the parts that have those feelings most strongly are tempered by others who will defend the abusers in my life and put all the blame on ourself rather than the perpetrators. It’s a complex situation, to be sure, but on days where I’m feeling less fragmented I try to find the humor in the situation. It’s like I was telling another friend even if I’m driving by myself and get lost I’m not really stuck alone I have people to keep me company ALL the time, just so long as we don’t start talking to each other out loud so I don’t get Baker Acted.

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