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My 'Split Personality'


Overalls Bear

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Overalls Bear

Perhaps someone else can relate to at least some parts of this story. Of course the term "split personality" refers to dissociative identity disorder. And, although I don't believe I could have been diagnosed as having DID, I do feel as though I did grow up with something similar. I was an only child. I didn't even have any close cousins male or female. I was AMAB, I was treated as a boy, & I spent my childhood years outwardly living a pretty typical boy's life . I don't recall ever questioning that. I was a boy. So I did, or at least tried to do, what boys typically do. I don't think it ever occurred to me that I'd rather have been playing with dolls. (If it did, I've forgotten.)

 

But then there was this other part of me as well. Whenever I could be alone (either because my parents were both at work or because I had shut myself in my bedroom) I was compelled to do whatever I could think of that would make me feel female. (I'll spare any potential  readers the details... yikes!) And, of course, I never mentioned a single thing to anyone about what I was doing in private. (I did sort-of get caught a couple of times. But some fast talking on my part, coupled with my parents' lack to knowledge as well as interest, got me out of those predicaments.) So there were two "me's". There was the me that led a pretty typical boy's life. And then there was the me that took advantage of every opportunity to act on the compulsions that seemed to make me feel female. This childhood dichotomy continued on pretty-much throughout most of my adult life as well.

 

During my hospitalization, following my second major suicide attempt several years ago, one the the psych ward staff asked if I'd ever wanted to write a novel. I think I probably said something like: "Sure hasn't everyone?" Anyway she then proceeded to tell me about Nanorimo (the National Novel Writing Month). For those who aren't familiar it's kind-of an on-line marathon for writers where participants try to write a 50,000 word novel over the course of a month. There weren't any real prizes. It was mostly just bragging rights. Well... I'm not really a creative writer. But, having nothing to do once I got out of the hospital, I decided to give it a try since I got out of the hospital just as the appointed month was approaching. 

 

In writing my "novel" I decided to simply write about myself as being what I had come to understand was a transgender person. My novel was terrible! But in the course of writing it, I came up with the concept of my psychotic fraternal twin sister. She never developed physically. But but her psyche exists within me along with my male psyche. The thing is, though, that since it was the male part of my psyche that got the body, & she was merely trapped inside, she has always despised me & over the years has caused me to do whatever she could think of to humiliate me. And being that she was denied her own body, & has had to co-exist with me within our shared male body, over the years she has become psychotic to the point where she has had to be locked away for her own safety as well as for my own. Were she ever to escape there's no telling the damage she might do. She would likely destroy us both. Of course this is all just fantasy. But as time went by, my "sister" became increasingly vivid in my mind. (She still is.) I saw her locked in her padded cell. I've tried talking to her from time-to-time in the past. However, whenever I tried to do so, she never answered me back. So, although I still feel her presence to this day, I don't try to talk to her anymore. 🙁

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Jackie C.
2 hours ago, Overalls Bear said:

(I'll spare any potential  readers the details... yikes!)

 

Oh yeah. I did a dumb thing or two behind closed doors to feel more like a woman. I feel that.

 

2 hours ago, Overalls Bear said:

My novel was terrible!

 

That's the point! You pushed out 50K words in 30 days. Of COURSE it's terrible. Part of the event is giving yourself permission to be terrible.

 

2 hours ago, Overalls Bear said:

I saw her locked in her padded cell. I've tried talking to her from time-to-time in the past.

 

My therapist is big into Internal Family. When we started, Jackie was in red-hot iron stocks. She's better now. Still kind of fierce though. Never give up on your sister. She's part of you and deserves your love.

 

Hugs!

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2 hours ago, Overalls Bear said:

So I did, or at least tried to do, what boys typically do. I don't think it ever occurred to me that I'd rather have been playing with dolls. (If it did, I've forgotten.)

 

Me too.  But I remember I was always fascinated with the girl's toys.  This was in the 50's and I guess a lot of that stuff would be considered "sexist" now. LOL.

 

2 hours ago, Overalls Bear said:

In writing my "novel" I decided to simply write about myself as being what I had come to understand was a transgender person.

I kinda outed myself in a writing situation.  I was part of a writer's group.  Oddly (or not) I was the only "guy" in the group.  We would write short stories and read them at meetings.   When I write, the stories tend to write themselves.  I think I had recently shaved off my beard at this point.  But in this story, the protagonist, (male) goes through a portal of sorts, and is female on the other side.  I really struggled with sharing this in the group because I realized it was really about myself.  I was surprised when they loved it.  Over the next few months, I came out more and more publicly.  

 

I my experience, I have found women to be more open to me than men.  Of course I realize that that has only been my own limited experience.

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2 hours ago, Overalls Bear said:

But in the course of writing it, I came up with the concept of my psychotic fraternal twin sister.

As a gemini, I can relate to this.

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@Overalls Bear 

As soon as you posted this it reminded me of this absoultely beautiful poem/story @Willow shared before, so I hope she does not mind me linking to it, it may resonate!

 

 

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@DeeDee you or anyone here has my permission to share this to anyone else here that it might benefit.  All I want is to lend some help, and get some back when I’m in need.

 

Hugs

 

Willow

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Thanks for posting this link.  I hadn't seen it before.

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Overalls Bear
21 hours ago, Jandi said:

As a gemini, I can relate to this.

Yes, I'm also a Gemini... (LOL!)

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Overalls Bear
21 hours ago, DeeDee said:

@Overalls Bear 

As soon as you posted this it reminded me of this absoultely beautiful poem/story @Willow shared before, so I hope she does not mind me linking to it, it may resonate!

 

 

Thanks for this. When I click on the black box it just takes me to the Coffees on thread. And I don't know how to find the story. Help? 🥺

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It was an old post on that thread. I have cut and pasted it so you can read it. It really made me very emotional though!

Willows post:

  

 

 A Story of a life not lived

 

When I was a little boy I stumbled upon this strange playground. It
was desolate but for one small girl, who was sitting in a swing with
her head held down. She had such a sad disposition. I had never met
her before but somehow I knew her. I walked over to her and sat in
the swing next to hers. I asked, "What is your name?" "Natilie,"
she replied in a quiet and solemn voice, not even lifting her head to
look at me. I inquired, "What are you doing here all alone?" With
the same monotone whisper, she answered, "Waiting . . . ." "Waiting
for what?" I said. "To come out and play," she murmured. Just then,
I heard my mother calling me. "I have to go, my mother is calling me
home," I explained. With those words I left her sitting there.

I did not think about Natilie for some time and had almost forgot
about her as the years rolled by and I got busy with my friends and
with grade school. Then, one day I remembered the playground and I
went back there, in some ways hoping she was not there and in other
ways that she was. As I approached the location of our first
encounter, I saw the same figure parked in the same swing with the
same saddened countenance, but she was not a little girl anymore.
She had grown up somewhat. I was almost afraid to approach her but
something drew me to sit next to her. "It's me again," I blurted. I
was not sure what she would say. "Would she be angry," I wondered,
seeing that I had stayed away so long. "Would she be happy to see
me," I asked myself. She lifted her head up and looked into my eyes
and with a clearer voice she asked, "Is it time? Is it time to come
out and play?" Before I even had a chance to contemplate her words,
I found my mouth surprisingly uttering the words, "No." "I have
friends and school and my parents expect things of me," I explained--
"You just can't." I left in a hurry, hoping by some means that I
would not see her again.

Time passed. I was full of youthful energy and vision, given over to
the prescribed role ordained for me, coerced into believing that this
path would bring me happiness in life. Junior high, high school,
college, a great job, a wife, a house, and then a son. Natilie
seemed but a distant memory, though  I did on rare occasion walk by
that desolate playground, but never went in. Then it happened on
one quiet evening while I was rocking my newborn son to sleep. I
heard this quiet sob. It was Natilie but how and why now?

Another year passed. I only heard that soft cry a few other times,
and I continued to ignore it. But, during one of my evening strolls
I happened upon that desolate
 playground without intent. "Huh?" I
muttered to myself. "How did I get here?" That soft sob had now
became a much louder cry. Out of human compassion, I sought out
Natilie in the dim light and found her in that same swing. Her head
was still facing the ground with tears rolling off of her cheeks.
She was no longer a girl but had become a full grown woman. "Why are
you crying?" I asked her with concern. She had not responded
promptly nor did it seem that she even acknowledged my presence.
Before I had a chance to repeat my question, she looked up at me and
her expression turned into anger. "How long?!" she barked. I was
taken back by her sudden shift in disposition and nearly fell off my
swing. "Why are you so angry with me?" I snapped back, not minding
her words. She continued. "How long will keep stealing my
life? " "Your life?" I remarked with protest, "This is my life." I
was not too happy about the tone of this encounter and got up from my
swing to leave in a huff. But, before I had a chance to stand on my
feet, she said in a very solemn tone of voice, "Before you leave me
here again, let me ask you one last question . . Are you happy?"
With that she turned her face toward the ground, blocking me out of
sight.

"Happy?" I could not stop thinking about this simple question. "No,
I have not been happy." I thought that I was happy. I should be
happy. After all, I have everything that anyone would want in life --
an education, a great job, family and friends, a wife, a house, and
now a newborn son. I should be on the top of the world, but alas I
still felt empty inside.

I could not stop thinking about Natilie, seeing her in the corner of
my eye, in the dim reflection of a store window, and hearing her
quiet sob in the distance. I became obsessed with Natilie. All the
years of avoiding her, trying to forgot about her, rationalizing her
existence, pushing her away, and for what? I could no longer fight
her. She had a right to live the life that was taken from her. I
knew what I had to do if I ever wanted to be happy.

I had a calm in my heart that night on the evening that I eagerly
sought out the desolate playground, where Natilie sat for so many
years on that same swing. But, as I approached the dimly lit area
where her swing usually hung, she was not there. "Am I too late?" I
thought in a panic. Just then, I felt a tap on my shoulder. Turning
around with a sudden jolt, I was greeted by a standing figure. It
was Natilie and she had a smile on her face. "Is it time?" she
asked. "Is it time for me to `come out and play'?" Looking into her
eyes, I responded with a smile on my face and in a gentle
voice, "Yes, it's time."

 

 

This is the story of my life.  This may not be the best Forum but its where my friends are.  I wrote this for all of us.

 

Willow

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That was tricky for me too.

I finally clicked on the title 

"Good morning All. Coffees on."

it took me there.

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Overalls Bear

@DeeDee Thanks so much for copying this here. It brought tears to my eyes. 😢

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@Jandi @Overalls Bear this is the story we all share in some way. That is those of us that didn’t understand until later in life.  
 

I give you my permission to share this to others who need this or to anyone on this site.  All I ask is that if you share it you give me the credit as the author.  
 

Willow

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