Puzzle Piece: a Poem on DID

Welcome to DID.

D is for dissociative.

For most, It's when you finish the chapter to the new book and have to go back and look, to reread it because you weren't paying any attention in the first place.

For most, It's the moment you catch yourself behind the wheel of your car and you have no clue how you got so far

For some, It's the moment you fall and skin your knee and tears start pushing out from your eyes until you realize. you feel alright, even though youve stopped feeling altogether

For me, It's the moment when I had to find a hiding place in the bathroom, angry voices tangoing back and forth in hot and unforgiving Spanish, it's me at 5 looking down at my wet dress from the plummeting sadness begging for my dad to come home to save me from the sounds of an alcoholic monster. Only to look up and find her- my first friend. The southern belle with the little pink bows. My best friend who no one else can see - this is DID.

It's the moment my new best friend told me "honey everything is okay." And then I stopped feeling that day because she started to feel for me.

It's the moment when he walks into

The room and i know he's coming for me

Yet all I can do

Is pretend to be asleep as he peels

Off the sheets and splits my little

Legs open like his Christmas doll.

It's the lull of the eyes

When a hand flies to meet my

6 year old cheeks because my bedtime was at 8.

It's the rate of my heart beat

When i hear my father has died

On the streets of LA

Probably with a heroin needle in his arm, anyways ...

This is DID.

I is for identity.

That's easy enough... But...Who is me?

Identity is the funny little cloud that has been following me around, shifting, twisting, sometimes white, on Sunday's black, lightning licking out of me with anger and confusion.

It's the constant trust issue because i never know if it's going to rain, or snow, or be bright.

It's the moments I wake up in someone else's clothing in the middle of the night.

It's the reason why I've been a Catholic, a Buddhist, a Hindu, a Muslim, and a slew of other worshipping devotees.

It's the reason why I come to and find coloring books scattered around me like a beloved book fair.

It's my hair how's it been red and black and purple and shaved.

It's how I have ten different names

This is DID.

D is for disorder.

It is the carousal of diagnoses, medication, clip boards and hospital gowns.

It's being on lock down after I tried to end my fragmented life.

It's groggy mornings when my eyes won't open from my slurry Seroquel state.

It's seeing shadows and voices and feeling men's hands running down my thighs in the middle of a flashback.

It's checking into rehab, withdrawing from pills.

It's the thrill of going to group therapy and trying to explain that THIS shit is DID.

My DID.

My DID is a novel of childhood, trauma, rape, incest, brainwashing, addiction, suicide attempts, lost relationships, lost money, lost time, lost me, my selves and I.

If you must know, no it's not all bad.

My DID is an intelligent narrative of poetry, calculus classes, a published book, a theatre admission to Juilliard, it's the reason why part of me can drum and the other part can't use chopsticks.

It's tucking myself in at night with stuffed animals and sippy cups. It's wearing cowgirl boots on Monday and a combat boots on Tuesday.

It's always having someone to talk to.

It's being the most colorful crayon in the box and knowing even if I'm broken, I can still color the entire rainbow.

You look at me and see

One whole piece

what you might understand now

Is you're not only looking at me: we are system of multiplicity.

This is DID.