Member-only story
This Is My Brain on Crazy
A day in the mind of a woman with Dissociative Identity Disorder
Content Warning: This piece indirectly refers to long-term, intense childhood trauma, including sexual abuse.
“Noooo…”
“Ugh, is it morning already?”
“Oh my god, there’s so much to do!”
“Where are the pyjamas?”
“Hurry, I gotta go pee. Oh, and the dog’ll have to go, too.”
“What’s for breakfast — I’m starving!”
“Stupid, you have to feed the men first, you know that.”
“Right. And besides, you shouldn’t be eating much anyway. Wait until you’re not so hungry; you’ll eat less.”
I swing my legs out of bed, sitting briefly while I check my pain level. Still groggy from a particularly intense dream that is probably the result of the medications I’m currently taking, I’m grateful that the muscle aches haven’t quite hit me yet. I stand up to pull on my light pink, lily-covered, cotton clamdiggers and an old green tube top that I use for PJs around the house. I don’t sleep nude — I can’t.
“Only whores sleep naked.”
“I like nighties. Mom said no panties because everything down there needs to breathe.”
“He’ll think you want sex if you’re naked. Gross.”…
