Who is Jacklyn Hyde? (mania/DID)

7-13-17 Jacklyn Hyde...
Jacklyn Hyde...

Angry at you for being alive...?

Life of the party. Natural born Leader. Pretty. Mysterious. Sexy in a slightly unstable way. (Manic pixie dream girl, anyone?) Free spirited. Carefree. Unattainable. Scheming. Manipulator. Five steps ahead. Dance in the rain. Take all the drugs. Drink all the booze. More dancing! More seduction. Always the tease. Always the coolest and smartest. Not human. Super human. A new breed. Better than the rest. Quicker. Faster thinking. Smarter. More agile. More intuitive. Risks calculated and dismissed. More hair. More skinny. More sexy. Run the group. Run the world. Forever sixteen.
                                                                                                 

Identity crisis. Is Jacklyn Hyde a farce? A shield? Something else? Or have we always been two parts to a whole. She the extroverted yin to my introverted yang. The brave, mighty, fierce, sexual goddess, to my frightened, beaten down, scared, victim.

Will we forever be battling for control or can we find a way to coexist?

                                                                                                 

Jacklyn Hyde.

Well fuck me if I haven't been found out. Not sure if it was legitimately wanting *person* to come to her own conclusions. Or if it was a manipulation to 'hyde'.
Hyde me. Hyde this. A secret. Not well kept. Hold it in. Don't let it out.

EXCUSE ME SIR with the bald head and the six blond dirty dreadlocks hanging on the back of your head like you're Billy Ray Hippy...
Appropriation is band mmmkay and you look like you smell like Ben Gay and Patchouli! Shave that shit off!
                                                                                                 

Don't! Hold it in! DO. NOT. SAY. THAT. IN. THE. CROWDED. GROCERY. STORE. LINE! Please Hyde!

So much effort to fight the 'Hyde and seek of my revolving door of emotions.

"Was that out loud?"

I repeat that phrase like a mantra. In my anxiety I see her in my head. A white cell with padded walls. White clothes. White door with a window. She screams and thrashes, daring me. Testing my will to let the guard down, just a little. A tiny crack is all she needs.

NOT IN THE FUCKING AIRPORT, HYDE!!!
                                                                                                  

Hyde doesn't want measly pages in a stupid journal. Hyde wants adventure. Danger. Destiny. Super powers!

Hyde wants and entire manifesto. A book deal. Full length movies. A goddamn senior thesis to be studied by the greatest minds on earth. While they uncover her depths and greatness in AWESTRUCK HORROR!
                                                                                                   

I, however, would like to find a hobby. Preferably something I can follow through to completion.

9/11/17

If my life was a book, this chapter would be titled:

The triumphant return of the orgasm!

During my hiatus. Why I hate med changes.

8-5-17

Why I hate med changes.

Fear of change

New pills taste bad

Can't sleep

Sleep too much

Head fog all day

I get easily winded now, even if I'm sitting still

I can't focus long enough to write

Lost focus again.

My clothes feel like sandpaper,

or they're on fire. 

They feel like fiery sandpaper.

I can't get comfortable

I get too comfortable and I can't sleep. WTF?!

Every voice, bark, sound, feels like rubbing sandpaper clothes on my teeth.

Lights are too bright.

Screens are too dark

Pokestops are too far away.

I cry for no reason.

Or every reason.

Pens feel weird in my hand and I can't read my own writghighng?

My brain is hyperactive but my body, especially my fine motor skills are sluggish and awkward.

My teeth have a headache.

Too sad.

Too feely.

Not enough patience.

Tried to catch a mama cat and three, six week old kittens, instead caught a different mama and five, four week old kittens. All while acting like a crazy person to my neighbor, while trying to assure her I wasn't her crazy neighbor.

I'm overwhelmed with life.

I keep disassociating.

Nobody told me when we merged our families there'd be this much laundry. Or pets. 

I'm not hungry or thirsty.

I'm lonely. 

Even in this crowded house.

Even in my crowded head.

And cotton mouth.

Amazing (Another old blog that's been given new life)

Another old blog, 2006ish? Not my greatest work, but it holds a special place in my heart.

*sigh*The experiences of being young and naive, when everyday was an adventure, every new experience exciting and fresh. There was no mediocrity in our lives then. School meant working hard, and playing harder. Forming bonds with our peers with which to shape all future relationships. We found every story amazing. Grownups seemed to know everything, and we aspired to be "great" like them. We learned the value of a few good friends, rather than many acquaintances, though some of us may have forgotten that lesson along the way. We knew there was "bad" in the world.. somewhere.. But for now "bad" was not being allowed a second popsicle on a hot summer's day. Not that it mattered as long as there was a good friend there to spend the day with. We lived for today, because we had no concept of the "future".

We were cops and robbers, we were rock stars, we were doctors and vets, we were astronauts, circus performers doing amazing acrobatics. We were invincible to all monsters, bad guys, boogymen, ghosts, and evil-do-ers. Yet, unbeknownst to us we were the most vulnerable to real evil-do-ers and bad guys.

Things were simpler. It didn't matter where you came from. How you dressed. Race was not an issue unless it was one you were running in. And the friendships that were real and true, well, those lasted a lifetime (if only in memory.)

I learned so much from my childhood friends. I learned that the word "family" did not just mean people you were related to by blood or marriage. That to love someone didn't have to mean romantically or strictly for our said "families". I learned the importance of backing up my friends. And standing up for the "little guy" who didn't seem to have many friends. I learned that even though other people think they are "different" they should get to be included. I learned compassion, strength for myself, and for those who couldn't be strong for themselves. I learned to be giving and selfless for those who didn't have what I had. I learned a good friend can cure any bad mood.

I've lost touch with my "inner-child" so to speak, and many of her friends, over the years. It's hardened me. Which, unfortunately, tends to go hand in hand with growing up. I long for the days where I could run through the grass with arms open wide, pretending to be flying. No. I WAS flying. When summer vacation felt like it would never end, then always came to an abrupt halt, just when you felt like it was getting good. Where nap was a "four letter word". ;)

Talking to an old friend of mine made me see how much we've become the "grownups" we once thought were so cool. What were we thinking? How many of us are actually doing what we thought we were going to when we "grew-up"? She (my friend) is truly a wonderful person. She's talented, creative, smart, and strong. All things that drew me to her when we were kids. Talking with her helps me to see things, once again, through "children's eyes". I'm so grateful for the friendship we've shared. She, as with so many others, have made such an impact on my life. And I have not forgotten any of them. This is for all of you. I can only hope I've touched your lives in some small way. And I am eternally grateful to all of you who have graced me with your childlike wisdom, and eventual adult wisdom.

Are you listening?

I wrote this piece somewhere in between 2006 and 2007.

You're much bigger than I am. I'm even smaller than the other kids in my kindergarten class. The bigger kids beat on me. But I pay them no mind. They're not as tough as they think they are. You're fists are much stronger. They have no idea what it's like to live with you. They pull my hair and push me around. But I never cry. You always tell me people will think I'm weak if I cry. The teachers ask me questions. I'll lie for you. Only because I believe you when you tell me it will be worse if I don't. I keep waiting for someone to rescue me. The neighbors all do nice things for me, I think they pity me. They all know, you don't think they do, but they know. They won't say anything to anyone though. It makes me resent them like I resent you. They could save me, but they don't. Are they afraid of you too?

As I'm getting older my indifference is fading. I never cry anymore. I hate weekends. I'll be in the basement by myself with nothing to eat or drink. And that's if I'm lucky and you decide not to take out your frustration on me. I'd rather be alone. I found a box of matches and I've considered setting this whole place on fire. But I won't. My brother and sister are up there with you. I'll put up with you ONLY for their sake. But know this, if you EVER touch them I'll take them and run. I'll burn you down with this house. I will finally fight back. I swear it. My teachers send me to the school councilor 3 days a week now. They won't tell you the truth. They think I'm in here because my parents got divorced 2 years ago. But they know there's something else wrong. They see when I flinch if someone near me makes to sudden a move. My clothes are too small. I'm always bruised. And did you know that every day this week I've come to school with a busted lip? How long do you think they will let this go? I'm still waiting to be saved. But I'm starting to think nobody's coming for me. As more time goes on what little hope I've mustered has diminished entirely. I don't care anymore. People are stupid. Why should I care about them? My friends are discovering boys. The thought sickens me. It's your fault. He's now joined in. I'm his punching bag now too. I'm more than that. I laugh to myself when I hear him beating you. You deserve it. Now you know how it feels. But it doesn't last long. One or the other of you will leave and the one that stays home will take out tonight's fight on me. I've learned how to step out of my body now. I think about other things. Books mostly. I don't even notice when you've worn yourself out and walk away. I don't look like you. I never have. Maybe that's why you hate me? I'm still small. I have to be careful at school. There's a couple of girls there that like to hit me. But I won't fight back. Then the school would call you.

I've found new ways to feel. My wrists and arms are scarred up and down. I've started a new group of wounds. There's 360 on my left arm today. All fresh. Covered with gauze and long sleeves against prying eyes. I try to feel. Any emotion at all would be refreshing. But this is the only way. I'll substitute emotion for pain. Pain is easier than emotion anyway. It's instant. It hurts immediately, but it fades much quicker than sadness. I'll bottle up whatever I'm feeling from now on, until I can release it through pain. You complimented me on my dance recital. You cannot believe how talented I've become. Inside I laugh. I drank a bottle of Pine-Sol last night. It didn't work how I had planned so I drank 2 pots of coffee before my recital. My punishment for being caught would have been far worse than if it had worked. It was a dumb idea anyways, now every-time I clean I want to vomit. And it just re-affirms my previous thoughts that I'm just meant to suffer at your hands, until You decide when my life is over.

Don't underestimate me. You think I'm weak. I am not. Just because I was silent for years does not mean I was afraid. I am not afraid of your hands. It doesn't hurt me as much as you think it does. I will calculate and lean into the blows. It hurts your fists more than it hurts the back of my head. Go ahead, get in my face. Scream at me. I know that with enough crocodile tears you will lose interest. Although, honestly, I'd rather you just swing at me. Your words cut my heart, they make it cold, dead, and hard. I don't feel anymore. Once I had pity for you. Now there is nothing. It's empty. You are dead to me. You'll push me to the ground, beating me until I can hardly see anymore. I wont give in to the darkness, then you will think you have won. You'll kick me when I'm down. But I keep getting back up. If I wear you out first than I am the one that's triumphant here. The sweetened-stench of alcohol fills me with rage. But I can't hate you. Indifference is all I know. It's how I've survived this long. All that keeps me going is knowing that you'll not win. I have no hope. No dreams. No aspirations. You've taken it all away. But I'm still here. Still enduring the pain you inflict. Why? Is this my purpose? Why do you hate me so much? You're my mother. You're supposed to protect me. Mother? Are you listening?...