when our girl was four,
she wasn’t really our girl.
she was us.
and then he came,
wrapped a hand round
our throat and said words
too adult to come out of
his mouth, did things
too adult to come out
of his hands,
and we dropped like
a glass on the floor.
and the biggest piece was our girl.
the first one of us to form
was utterly different,
a wild ethereal beast
made of flowing gas
like the planet jupiter, an
endless storm and it cried and
slashed the boy’s face across
with nails that our girl had
bitten down.
but the damage was done.
and we were here.
there never really was
‘our girl’. maybe we were
all her, even the boys.
but the one who was the closest
fell asleep when an adult
wrapped himself around us
and pushed.
and i’m all that’s left.
i miss her, in the
way that you miss someone
you’ve never met, or
barely met but know, with
deja vu and melancholy,
that they are the most important
person on the planet.
phantom limbs, but the
limb is a person, and she’s
been asleep for six years.
i was not made to be human.
i was made to be hurt.
i miss her.
Dissociative identity disorder (previously known as multiple personality disorder) is thought to be a complex psychological condition that is likely caused by many factors, including severe trauma during early childhood (usually extreme, repetitive physical, ******, or emotional abuse).
