October 2, 2001
1:30pm
Time to write. Got out of going anywhere today too. I didn’t think I wanted to work, but Mom mentioned a possible position that would be perfect. Our church might need a new part-time secretary to work two days a week. I would love that job! I not only could spend most of my time on school and my business, but I would already know that I get along with the people I would be working with. I’m always afraid to hope out loud.
I’ve just made an important crafting decision. I’m going to devote my time to my Shrink Art. (of course I’ll still paint and draw, but I’ll always do that) What I mean is I’m going to plan my crafting business around my Shrink
Art and working on my book. If I’m going to write that book I need to devote myself to it.
9:10PM
I’m getting so good at lying. “Yeah, Mom, I’m doing fine.” I am so very not fine.
Someone inside is screaming for help. Please! I don’t know what’s wrong! Please help me! Make it stop! Make it all stop! Screaming. Helpless. I can’t think — I can’t see! So confused. I don’t know where I am. I don’t know the way home. So dark. I’m lost. I just want to go home.
Inside I’m shaking so hard I can hardly stand up. On the outside I appear calm. Fine. Okay. Nothing’s wrong.
I wake up in the middle of the night. Walk through my apartment. My apartment? No, that’s not possible.No one else is here. It must be mine. I have a purple couch. I wonder when I got a purple couch.Not long ago they tell me. Oh. Them. Hello. I was just locked in a room screaming for someone to come. Then I was here in this apartment. How long have I been here? A few years they say. I could give a whole new meaning to “the years rolled by”.Flashes. Lights. They say these are my memories. How? I just found myself here. I don’t remember — things are so unclear. They tell me I should go see (therapist). But I can’t. She will come. Now I know. These are her
memories.
I tried — I really did. But I can’t –
I feel her confusion. This is all so strange to her. New. Disconcerting.
I can’t continue. I am not the one she spoke of. Her. I know her too. Somehow she never fails to come. Just as I’m about to open my mouth and cry out there she is. She won’t let anyone cry for help. She knows what will happen.
It’s all logical to her. “Yes, the medicine works. . . Yes, the therapy is helping.” Appease them. Keep them happy. Placate them. “You know the consequences if you don’t.” Yes. Angry words, upset tones. “Why do you do this to us?” they accuse.
Do this to you? I’ve done nothing to you! I’m the one who’s breaking apart!
It does no good to cry out. It only makes things worse for us. (hey, I’m thinking about starting the fan club back up!) I’m keeping us busy. I shower every day and put my contacts in so we can see better than with the glasses. Did you know I enrolled us back into school. You did well in school. Remember?
Is she talking to me? Do I remember? How long has it been? Two weeks? Two months maybe? Eleven years.
Things are bad for us now. I have to hide. There are new ones — you don’t know. They keep the woman calm somehow.
She doesn’t accept me — would never accept you! She says we take “her” Kathy away. When I talk to her as myself she calls for this “Kathy”. When that other one cries, she tells her to go away, bring “her Kathy” back. But these little ones . . .she’s different with them. When they’re around she doesn’t show her anger. She tells them things she won’t say to the rest of us. She doesn’t know we’re always listening.
The woman? Mama? But she helps me — oh, no, wait. That was only when the boyfriend was around. He’s gone now. She must have gone back to her old ways. The way she treated Kitty . . .
She’s worse. And to go for help now would alert her that we’re here. We live in secret again.
I play the part like I’m supposed to. I do what I’m told and hide when I can. I can’t go back to the way things were, but I can make it appear that way. Who knows — if I keep up appearances long enough maybe I’ll forget again. I forgot before. I can do it again.
But I don’t want to be forgotten! Is there no way I could make someone hear me?
(you’re doing it
right
now
alone in your room
someone’s listening
talk to her)
Someone has rearranged my books.
too late . . . they’re all gone . . . just me now.
(okay, just for the sake of the web site, here’s a little help interpreting:
You just listened in on a private conversation.
current “Kathy” — the one Mama cries out for
Ghost
not sure — college age, I think — early college, before Tony
Whisper (new name, old voice))