Memoirs

System Discovery and Trauma Stuff

This section of the website is for anyone with an OEA background who's looking for validation and/or needs community. If you're looking for validation, check out Trauma Stuff, although please be aware that it will probably trigger you. If you're looking for community, System Discovery might work better. It still has some fairly graphic things in it but is much less likely to trigger you.

Grammar Notes and a Disclaimer

In these two books, we have made a few unconventional grammar and formatting choices. Namely:

System Discovery


System Discovery

Chapter 1

March 2020, 29 years old

The day our life changed was ordinary in every way.

Trust me. We know how cliche that sounds, but that's truly how it happened.

Nia, the most common front person at the time, had spent the day editing one of our books, futilely hoping that doing so would spark some creativity in their deadbeat brain, but that wasn't to be. Of course it wasn't! We were still stuck in place, keeping silent until it might be safe to change.

Ultimately, something would distract Nia from their latest attempt at 'useful productivity', a never-ending repeat of the last few years. In that time, they'd been unemployed, which had created many difficulties in their marriage. They'd gone through so many different plans for contributing financially to the relationship, mostly out of a sense of debt to their wife, and every time one of those ideas failed, it hurt.

They couldn't know this, but there was a reason they hadn't been able to find or keep a job for the last year and a half. Many reasons, actually, but they wouldn't find out about them for a while.

Nia couldn't spend much time thinking about their failures. If they did, an insistent need to throw up and a desperate desire to disappear would claw into their brain. Sometimes, those feelings led to behaviors or decisions that they'd look back on later, baffled about what had occurred. It scared them when this happened.

So, as always, they shoved thoughts about 'jobs' and 'financial security' away, even if an ever-present sense of worthlessness refused to budge. Focusing on their first draft, they again read about a reunion between two of their characters, biting their lip as they did.

Something about this interaction—the characters' sense of feeling whole, they suddenly realized—was making their head hurt, but they couldn't focus on that. They continued reading, both knowing and not knowing that they were using the activity to distract themself from something worse.

Hours passed, slipping between the cracks of their awareness, and beneath their notice, night came, turning the world outside pitch-black. Nia didn't realize how late it was until their wife came into the room, dressed for bed. They vaguely realized how badly their head and heart had been hurting, which was confusing. Why on earth would they be feeling so awful?

As they lay in bed beside their wife a half-hour later, they tried to put their feelings into words. They explained what they'd been doing that day, carefully listening to the breathing beside them all the while.

Nia could never be sure if or when their wife was in a bad mood. They knew that sometimes, she just needed space. Sometimes, she needed Nia to keep their problems and thoughts to themself, but figuring out when those times had come was difficult for them.

So, they listened to their wife breathe as they talked, soon reaching a conclusion to their winding speech.

"I don't know," they said. "It's like I never feel whole. I'm jealous of my characters and how when they're together, everything feels right, and I guess... that's making me a little depressed."

Even as they said that last word, they cringed. Years ago, they'd been admitted to a mental hospital for depression and suicidal thoughts, and during their stay, they'd been diagnosed with bipolar disorder. Weirdly, they weren't ashamed of the condition, and most of the time, they felt comfortable talking about it.

Sometimes, though, mentioning that problems that came with it felt like making an excuse. Like they were trying to weasel their way out of an unknown mistake, and that never felt good.

With how dark the room was, their wife didn't notice their discomfort, so instead of hugging them, as they'd have liked, she said something about understanding how they felt. Unfortunately, Nia was having a hard time with hearing her words.

In the split second before their wife had started speaking, they'd hungrily listened for her response, but as soon as words of comfort had started coming, a feeling of misunderstanding crashed through their body, even though that clearly wasn't happening now. They heard what their wife was saying, but none of it reached their mind. By the time their wife had finished speaking, Nia wanted to vomit, wondering why they'd tried to explain what was going on with them.

They should have known better by now. Every night, Nia and their wife checked in about their days, and every time, Nia felt compelled to honestly answer their wife's questions. Most of the time, it wasn't a problem because they'd felt fine. We'd successfully concealed everything hidden beneath the surface from them. When we failed, however, they struggled to convey these 'real' feelings to their wife, and every time, this was how those attempts ended: with them left dangling over a vast cliff.

As always when tasting that feeling, Nia started mentally retreating, ready to change the subject.

Before they could, their wife said something that would change our life forever. We're still not sure what made her say this, whether she was simply frustrated with our constant whinging or if she didn't know what her words would cause but honestly? We've decided we don't care what her reasons were. Her mistake would set us free.

"Have you heard of plurality?" she said. "This thing between your characters sounds a lot like that, and it's a common theme in your other stories. Maybe you're plural. What do you think?"

For a moment, all Nia could do was blink. They knew about the concept of plurality. After moving to California last year, they'd heard their wife talking about her plural co-workers, so they knew that some people experienced life as if they were many people, living in the same body.

At the same time, though, they'd never connected that idea with their writing, even if it seemed obvious after a moment of reflection.

Most of their characters had another entity living in their head. This could range from something a simple as a personified sense of guild to a mother who after death, had been magically transplanted into her child's head. One character even had two versions of himself living in the same body, each of them from another 'plane of reality'. All of which looked similar to the concept of plurality, now that Nia was paying attention to it.

But they'd never thought about it that way. As they'd written those stories, those various examples of plurality had simply seemed right, as if that state of existence was only natural.

Shaking their head, Nia tried to subsequently shake off the unease that had settled over them. What had their wife said? Something about plurality, obviously, but what else?

Right. That... they might be plural.

Huh. That was an interesting concept, setting their thoughts whirling. Possibilities and doubts flitted through their mind at lightspeed, which made everything outside their head fade. Just a little bit.

With their attention focused on that, Nia automatically replied to their wife, trying to change the subject, and the two of them might have talked about other things before falling asleep.

If they did, Nia was only peripherally aware of it. They had something new to distract them.

And we'd received the first sign that it might be ok to come out of hiding. If the wife had mentioned 'plurality', especially in such an open way, maybe we could take that as permission.

But only if Nia decided to look into it. Only if they and all the others up front seemed ready for what we'd bring to the table.

Trauma Stuff

Don't look here unless you're ready to see some truly out there stuff. Seriously. Just don't.

Please, be aware that since this is my website, I have full control over which comments stay on these pages. So, if you post something meant to trigger me and/or express disbelief in anything I've experienced, those comments will be taken down. I don't mean to be harsh by saying that, just to be up front. 

Trauma Stuff

Content Warnings

So many content warnings. Oh so many.

This is trauma central folks. I'm posting it here for anyone who's experienced similar things, but only if you're seeking validation. Please, don't look if you aren't ready for potentially having a lot of memories come up. 

Since there are so many of these, I'll be placing the TW in big, bold letters at the beginning of each chapter.

Trauma Stuff

Abuser Groups

The Coven: the maternal side of our U.S. family, connected to the 'military branch' of an institutional church in Rome. Anything labeled with this involves abuse that happened while in the United States instead of Italy.

The Family: the paternal side of our U.S. family, connected to a group we call 'the Higher-Ups', the US military, and an organized crime group based in Atlanta, Georgia.

The family came from Scotland and Wales, and they passed down some of the more archaic traditions found in those regions, especially when it came to their version of 'magick' (druidism, dissociation, etc.) and folklore (fairies, living trees, etc.)

They worshipped someone we call 'the lord of light below', which when translated to a Christian setting would represent Lucifer or someone similar. To be clear, though, this 'deity' was not the Christian Lucifer, nor did they call him that. It's just the closest, most recognizable figure we can compare him to. This deity wasn't the only one worshipped, as other 'immortals' came into the mix, but he was the one the family focused on.

Also, most men in the family has been in the U.S. Army at one point and had advanced in rank/specialty until they were recruited by the Army Rangers, although one went to the Green Berets instead. This is where our grandfather met and became friends with the Colonel. Their friendship led to my grandfather joining the Temple of Set when he was young, which is why when he was leading family ceremonies, the 'lord of light below' sometimes resembled Lucifer more than that deity's traditional appearance.

Immediate Family: mom, dad, and a sister. Our 'home life', so to speak.

The Higher-Ups: the scariest of scary people. They were very wealthy, very powerful, and had little to no empathy. Our Family reported their activities to these people and at times, paid tithes or fees to keep them pacified. While we were younger, they played a distant role in our abuse, but after our eighth birthday, they played a much larger part in our life.

Freemasons: a smaller group within a group. All the older men in our Family were members of Freemason fraternities. To be clear, this group's abusers weren't the entire fraternity. Only a few of them were... interested, we'll say, in kids. The rest may have had toxic beliefs, but they weren't abusive to us nor were they evil people.

My dad participated in this fraternity for as long as I lived with him. After moving to Tennessee, he joined a more exclusive part of the Freemasons: the Scottish Rite. While attending meetings in their temple, he'd receive advice, payment, and/or instructions from the Higher-ups. 

Also, we met our in-laws through one of the Scottish Rite Temples in Tennessee. Our father-in-law was one of the more influential members of the fraternity there, along with many of his 'friends' that I met as an amnesiac host.

The Colonel: a friend of our Family. At his request (and for a fee), this man used torture (physical, sexual, emotional, spiritual) to induce dissociation in us, and while we were in that suggestible state, he established many of the toxic, trauma-based core beliefs that we carry. These, in addition to many other 'subroutines', created both our host fragment and the area of our internal world where said fragments would be controlled.

Host training took place over the course of three years at a (now decommissioned) army base in Alabama. While the Colonel was rarely present for it, he did oversee much of what happened to us there and cultivated a few 'traits' for himself.

The Academy: our U.S. paternal grandfather enrolled us in 'summer camps' at an Airforce Base in Florida. This was an extension of our host training in Alabama, but we're not sure of the specifics, like why it was in a different location or who was involved. It was connected to the GATE programs we attended in primary (elementary) school.

FBC: the mega church we attended in Tennessee. There was a small group of pedophiles who'd infiltrated the church's leadership, including their head pastor. Some Others have dropped hints that these people might also have been members of the same Scotties Rite that our father was a part of.

Enforcers: not an abuser group. It's a descriptor for a job that the Higher-Ups forced us into after our falling out with our Family.

That debacle put us in a unique position. We'd received the training that someone in an upper-echelon position of the Higher-Ups secondary branches would receive, but we were also in disgrace, which put us at the lowest levels of our Family. The Higher-Ups needed people like us to track down traitors and do other, similar things for them. Which had been our original family's (in Rome) plan for us from the beginning, as an infiltration tactic.

 

Groups we have snapshot memories of: a famous scientific institution in Switzerland, Israel's spies, a famous intelligence branch in the United Kingdom, unknown groups in both Russia and Japan

Trauma Stuff

Boy vs. Girl

TW: brief mention of trafficking, results from earlier programming

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Home Life

2-2.5 years old, while our U.S. mother was pregnant with our sister

The girl was worried about her mother. After daddy brought her home last night, mama hadn't looked so good. She'd been sweaty and shaky, and the girl didn't know what to do about it.

She and her mama were sitting in front of the TV, watching The Little Mermaid again, but she was only halfway watching it. Or she was fully watching it, but something else was keeping an eye on mama. It was an ability she'd been praised for, something magical she could instinctively do.

The boy in the girl was the one keeping an eye on the mother. The older woman would let the boy know when he should take over, for training or if a client dropped by the house. It was something he'd practiced a lot since he and the girl had been born, even if she was still too good about remembering him. He was working on that.

It was almost time for midday snack, but mother wasn't getting up to make it. The boy knew he couldn't ask her for it. He'd learned about being 'self-sufficient' a long time ago. Those words meant taking care of himself and never asking for help. If he asked for help, someone would have to punish him for breaking the rules, and he didn't want to make anyone do that.

He waited until the movie was done. It was hard to feed himself and the girl, and sitting with the mother felt nice. She kept falling asleep and half waking-up, so that meant no monster mom. He liked being around the mother when she was nice.

But the movie ended, and she didn't move. So, the boy pulled the girl inside. He pressed the back of her neck once she'd fallen inside, and she went to sleep. Then, it was time to get up.

Jumping off of the couch, he wandered into the kitchen. He found a step stool by the fridge and put it next to where the food was. There were some snacks on the counter, and the boy grabbed a couple.

He was about to get back to the floor when he remembered the mother. She and the-sibling-growing-inside were probably hungry too, but mother ate grown-up food. The boy wasn't sure if he could make grown-up food, but he wanted to try. For the sibling-growing-inside.

He found some peanut butter and some bread. Opening the peanut butter was hard because his hands were still small, but he did it soon enough. He used his fingers to spread some on the bread. It broke a little while he was doing that, but he did the best he could anyway. Once he'd gotten enough on there, he slapped the bread together. He put everything away because 'leave no trace' was something he was still learning, but he already knew that no one else could know he was there.

Then, he brought the food to the couch. He didn't give the mother anything yet. If she was awake, she might say, "No food today", so he made sure to eat all of the snacks he'd gotten, licking the packages once he was done. But then, he crawled up on the couch and shook the mother. When she woke up, he put the sandwich on her round belly.

"For the baby," he said.

The mother blinked at him before picking up the sandwich. She looked at it for a moment and then, looked at him.

"Did you do this, (legal U.S. name here)?" she said.

The girl smiled.

"No," she said. "The boy did it."

She got back down to rewind the movie, and as she sat down to restart it, she didn't pay attention to her mama watching her. That was all up to the something in her head.

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If these earlier memories sound more coherent than others (found later), that's because they've been filtered through an older one of us or were written by one of us who was allowed to grow up. In this case, it was one of our protectors.

Trauma Stuff

Trailer Park Boys

TW: drug use, physical assault, watching physical assault, COCSA, parental abandonment

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The Family

0-2.5 years old

Sammy was with me almost from the time of my birth. My parents told me about this, about how they laid me in his small arms and he stared at me like I was precious. I like to believe this story, whether it is true or not.

Sammy and I lived in the trailer park. Well, he lived there, and I would visit, but when I was there, it was like I'd never left.

I didn't like his father. He was a fat man who'd sit around in his white briefs all day, unshaven and with bloodshot eyes half the time. Sammy's momma worked somewhere, a wasted-away girl with yellow fingernails and teeth.

Their trailer was always filthy. Lots of used needles and those rubber tourniquet-not-torniquet things. Smelled like tobacco and meth, that distinct smell that's completely unmistakable from anything else. I can never describe it right. (Sweet and chemical and toxic and acid)

Sammy and I had a little corner to play in. It had some poorly cobbled together bunk beds shoved behind a curtain. Sammy and I would play with blocks and markers and scraps of paper and interesting sticks on the bottom bunk. We slept huddled up next to each other during the night, listening for interrupted snoring.

His father liked to rage at us anytime we got in the way. He'd beat on Sammy and make me watch. I could never help, too petrified that the big man would turn his wrath on me. I didn't know that touching me wasn't allowed. If he wanted to get money for his drugs, he couldn't lay a finger on me.

Sammy helped his momma get high, sometimes. He'd give her the shots and take the needles and rubber tourniquets away. He'd make sure she was comfortable.

He showed me how to do it once. I don't think there was drugs in what we played, but he showed me what to do so I wouldn't be scared when the needles came out for me in training.

I sometimes showed him what I was learning at home. I didn't know no better. I thought we was loving each other. He never seemed scared or to mind. He told me no sometimes but wouldn't when I really needed it.

When I was older, we took him home with us. I remember my daddy counting out big bills to his father while his momma gave him a backpack full of his things. She hugged him tight until it was time to go. I didn't think she'd let go of him, but his father made her. Sammy got in the car beside me in my safety seat, and we made the long drive home. We never went back to the trailer park.

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Sammy taught me how to skip rocks on the water and how to play hide-and-seek, the fun way and not how we did it when we were older in the Family. He taught me how to pretend, which was an essential skill for me when it came to some of the more esoteric/occult things we had to do later. I'm pretty sure he wasn't intentionally teaching us these things for the night time side of our life. It was simply the natural play of children.

He showed me how to scavenge, both in the little forest near the trailer park and out of the trash cans beside other people's houses. We had to watch each other's back for that second one because people would come out and yell at us if they caught us, but it wasn't scary like with his daddy. We used to run away with our treasure, giggling up a storm. I miss those days.

Trauma Stuff

Settling Into the Basement

TW: references to CSA/incest, confinement, description of the purpose of 'twins' within a cult

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The Family

2.5 years old

The drive home from the trailer park is quiet and scary. My daddy and uncle talk but not a lot. Sammy doesn't look happy. I think he's sad. He's holding his backpack real tight in his lap and sometimes hides his face in it. I want to make him feel better, but I'm scared of making a sound.

We drop off the uncle and drive back home. It was already late when we left, so I fall asleep, even though I want to keep watch over Sammy.

Daddy wakes me up by getting me out of the car. Once I'm on the ground, I toddle over to Sammy, who's put on his backpack, and hold his hand. I been wanting to do it the whole time in the car, but he was too upset til now.

Daddy takes us through the garage and the door in the back. The storage basement is back there. It's full of boxes and junk. Daddy has Sammy go in there. He doesn't say that's where Sammy will stay. He doesn't say anything at all. He pulls out a key and shows it to Sammy. Then, he closes the door and locks it. He shows the key to me before putting it in his back pocket. He picks me up to take me upstairs and put me to bed. He looks tired and must be cause he doesn't love or hurt me that night. I wait until I don't hear him moving around, and then, I wait a little longer. I get up and tiptoe to get my step stool. I open the garage door and put my step stool away. I leave the garage door cracked. I crawl down the stairs.

It's very scary  down there cause it's dark and there ain't no windows. But I go to the basement door very slowly. I knock soft and put my lips to the door. I call for Sammy. When he answers me, I lie down and squeeze my fingers under the door. When he gets it, he touches them. I stay there for a long, long time. I tell Sammy I'm sorry he got taken but I'm glad he's here. I tell him I'll get him some blankets and a pillow and maybe a stuffed friend if I can. I don't know how I'll sneak it past daddy, but I'm going to try.

When we get older, we start getting to sleep together. If we're bad, we go downstairs. If I've been really, really good and make daddy and mommy really, really happy, Sammy gets to sleep in the house with me. Except for that and stuff with the Family and some training/punishment, daddy never lets Sammy out of that room. His food is brought to him. He has a bucket for waste and one full of water down in there. I bring him treats and presents when I can. 

My favorite part of it is when I get to fall asleep with him hugging me. I like to listen to his heart beating and try to breathe in and out with him. It makes me calm and relaxed.

I know it don't seem like Sammy gets out of there much, but we do a lot of training and Family and Coven stuff at home. So, he's actually out a lot, and we spend time together. He becomes me, and I become him, and we are two but one in two separate bodies. I miss him lots.

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Children who are slated for leadership positions within our Family and the Higher-Ups usually had a shadow procured for them. The shadow tended to be a 'disposable' child. These were kids nobody cared about, so from families where the parents were drug addicts (as Sammy's were) or similar situations. Sometimes, if a pre-teen or teenager within our Family or the Higher-Ups became pregnant through abuse, the pregnancy would be hidden, and the resulting child was considered disposable. It's really easy for kids to slip through the cracks in the United State's legal system.

A shadow's job was to keep the cult child safe from other cult children and to serve as a sort of 'whipping boy' for the cult child, when punishment might cause permanent injury (or if the abuser wanted to create a guilt reaction within the cult child). The shadow and cult child were allowed to tightly bond, but again, this was done with a purpose. Considering most shadows were undocumented, it became virtually impossible for them to have a life outside of the group, and the bond between the shadow and cult child was used to keep the cult child within the group as well.

Shadows had more purposes beside this, but in general, these were their primary purposes within our Family and the Higher-Ups. 

Trauma Stuff

Run, Boy, Run aka Fuck the Fourth

Content Warning: hunting party gone wrong, Most Dangerous Game style

TW: guns, brief reference to RA stuff, denial of body needs, CSA, forced perpetration

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The Family

3-8 years old

Sammy helps me get undressed. The buttons on the back are the hardest to get.

"Stay with me, all right?" he says. "We stay together, Ok?"

"Together," I tell him.

When we're both naked, we go outside the tent where all the other children are. My cousins are all here. I try not to look at them. I don't want them to get caught, but the game doesn't stop until enough kids have been got by the adults. I want to be one of the last ones standing. Me and Sammy both.

He has hold of my hand. It's a tight grip, but it doesn't hurt. He takes us to the cousins, keeping an eye on the adults. Grandad-Grand Master's talking with Uncle A while they finish with their guns. Uncle M's off to the side, chewing tobacco. He's got his savage look on, the one where he's in the mood to hurt someone so bad they almost die. I especially don't want to be found by him. My daddy's not around. Maybe he goes to keep people out of our woods. Uncle P's here with his oldest cousin, already teasing at playing with him. I feel bad for that cousin. When he's with us, he don't know the rules very good, and Uncle P can get real mean, when he ain't being funny.

There's a couple of older women with us today. I don't know where they came from. Sometimes, we got guests. They brought their kids with them. That makes me nervous cause I don't know if any of them will play dirty.

Sammy's keeping an eye on them. That helps the worry. He can't do a lot against the adults 'cept step in for me sometimes (which I told him not to do but he do it anyway sometimes), but with the kids, he can beat them up or do other things to keep them away from us. That's his job. To keep me safe from them. (In this context. He was definitely in protector mode when we went hunting, but he wasn't always like this.)

When everybody's ready, the Grand Master steps up and makes the introduction of our game. He dedicates it to -------- (a bad entity we can't name). Then, he shoots at us kids, but it misses. It's supposed to.

We go running, all different ways. I stay with Sammy. I'm slower than him, but he stays slow for me. I don't like it very much cause he used to be able to pick me up and go for this part, but I'm too big now. I hate being the reason I get us caught.

Sammy makes us run for a while, but when we're far enough away, he lets go of my hand. That's when we're supposed to look for places to hide. I'm real good at that.

I fund us a little crack in some rocks. There's a tree fallen down against it, so we go in there. We just sit there for a while, listening. Sammy and I hold hands. We gotta know we're together.

I gotta go to the bathroom soon, but I hold it. I don't know when the game will be over, and pee smells. I don't want to be found cause of it.

Some games, we get lucky. The day ends, we sleep it out together, and when we go back to camp, everyone pretends we've been there all along.

Some games, we're not. When that happens , the adults hurt us real bad. Sometimes, they use their guns to scare us and chase us and shout 'run, boy, run!' Sometimes, they rape us good 'til we bloody and can't stand. Sometimes, they do it to Sammy, and I watch. Sometimes, they give me a gun and make me chase Sammy down for them. Sometimes, they use those guns to make us hurt each other.

I don't remember how this one goes. I think Uncle M and A find us. I think they hurt Sammy while I watch, and Uncle A does the same to me when they're done because he 'wants the girl.'

I don't give him the girl. The girl is safe asleep. She don't gotta do none of this nasty stuff, but she ain't going near Sammy neither. Sammy's ours. He keeps us safe. We love him. He loves us.

Trauma Stuff

Imagination Station

CW: Initial programming

TW: drugs

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The Colonel

2 years old

I'm going with daddy to work today. It's very exciting. I love my daddy. he doesn't spend much time with me, so I'm glad he's taking me to work.

It's a long car ride. Daddy keeps me entertained by playing music and singing along, but it's still early. I fall asleep in my car seat pretty soon.

It's bright outside when we get there. A chain-link fence blocks us, and daddy rolls down the window to say hi to a man in a uniform. The man opens the gate for us. Daddy drives up to a red brick building. There are a few other buildings here, but it's mostly grass between us and the fence.

We go inside where daddy greets a receptionist. I hold his hand and look over everything: pictures and a smooth floor and not many people. The girl behind the desk gives daddy a pass, and he leads me through the double door behind her. He picks me up so I don't slow him down and pins a visitor's pass to his chest. He passes people in uniforms and suits.

Soon, we go into a medium-sized room. There's a play area in one corner with a train set and town on a table, very out of place in the industrial-looking room. When daddy puts me down, I go over there because I love trains. Mommy and daddy got me a train ornament last Christmas cause of it.

A man in a suit is talking with daddy in a corner. He has graying black hair and a smile I don't like. Daddy gives him a folder that he looks over. Once he's done, they come over to me. My daddy is quiet while the man crouches beside the train set.

"Hello there, (legal name here). It's nice to meet you," he says. "My name is (the Colonel's legal name). You can call me Mr. A. We're going to play together while your dad works."

When I look at him, daddy looks a little upset, but he smiles and nods.

"I see you like our train set," the man says. "Have you ever watched Mr. Roger's Neighborhood before? Well today, we're going to play in Imagination Station, just like he does. Doesn't that sound fun?"

It does! I'm excited while dad kisses me goodbye and leaves.

Mr. A and I play for a while. He tells me about a lot of things, but I don't remember much of it now.

The room was very tall with exposed rafters and girders. Two walls with a flat ceiling blocked off one corner.

"Would you like to visit Imagination Station?" Mr. A asks.

When I say yes, he takes me through a door into the closed-off corner. It's darker in here with equipment I don't recognize all over the place. There's a chair in the middle, facing a blank wall.

Mr. A has me sit in the chair. He pastes things to my head, below the hairline. We watch a projected movie of going into Mr. Roger's Neighborhood on repeat. He has us drink some syrupy gross thing that makes us a little sleepy. Every time we stop watching, Mr. A pinches us and reminds us that we're going to Imagination Station.

After a while, we get a little shot of something that makes everything go floaty. We're not afraid of it because we've had a lot of shots by now. 

Mr. A talks to us.

Imagination Station is going to be a place just for me and him. No one else can know about it, not even my Family, or the magic will be ruined. I can go there when he's nearby, and he'll show me the way. We have to take a train through the tunnel in the mountains until we get there. In our game, Imagination Station will be underground. While we're there, I'll learn all sorts of fun things, but I have to keep it a secret, or it will disappear.

He asks me what Imagination Station will look like when it's underground, and I tell him about a train station and the magnificent train that will take us there. He tells me about how imaginative I am, the perfect fit for Imagination Station. He says we'll need secret names while we're there. He'll be Mr. Rogers, and I'll be Lilith. (Later, when I get confused because of the Family and Coven's boy-and-girl divide, he'll rename her, and I'll be me, the boy side of this subsystem.)

We go back to the train set, and Mr. Rogers has me practice going to Imagination Station with the train. The game gets more detailed with every repeat.

When daddy comes back, Mr. Rogers tells us we're back home, and we have to use our real names because of our secret. He goes to daddy and talks to him while I play. He gives daddy the folder back. (After I grow up and am allowed to look at my file, I'll learn he also gave our U.S. father instructions for what to do with me until I could come back.)

Daddy comes to get me. Mr. A tells me goodbye and that he had fun playing today. I hide in daddy's neck because I'm tired and a little shy.

Daddy thanks Mr. A, and we go to the car. We go home.

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While I'm not certain about the details of these memories, I do know that I knew 'Mr. A' and that he did train me in some way. In 2023, I had a full-on, lost in the past, couldn't see or understand the present flashback that involved him. At times, I can discount other types of flashbacks, but these fully immersed in the memory ones are impossible to ignore ore dismiss.

Trauma Stuff

"You Are Magic"

CW: initial programming

TW: drugs, gaslighting, harm to animals

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The Colonel

2-4 years old

We spend another day at daddy's work, playing with Mr. Rogers. I don't know how long it's been since the last time we were here or if it was after we first met him or not (aka our timeline is scrambled here). I know my momma has suddenly liked showing us the Mr. Rogers show when it's playing on TV, getting excited about Imagination Station every time it's on screen. The girl doesn't understand why this show gets added to the Disney movies and Looney Toons, but she likes it. I think it's weird that the two Mr. Rogers don't match.

Momma and daddy take us to the railroad tracks when we're hurting and sore. We get to watch trains going by and pretend we're on there, going somewhere else, somewhere safe. (To this day, the sound of trains on tracks calms me down way faster than many other things can.)

Today, we're playing a different game with Mr. Rogers. It's like playing pretend, which we're good at, but we have to stay in character for each playset. The big room from before has been divided into smaller ones by the fake walls you see in stores and churches. Each smaller room looks a little different.

There are more children here today, and we each wait our turn in the corner with the train playset. There are more toys here too, so some of us play with trains and some with a plastic kitchen and some with cars. Some play together, but I'm quiet and try to play alone. The other ones leave me alone anyway. I think they've been here before while I'm new. They're older than me too, maybe six or seven.

When it's my turn, Mr. A comes to get me. He tells me he brought me some friends to play with us today and that I'm not to be afraid of them. He fills the air with more words until we get to the first small room. Then, he crouches in front of me and holds my shoulders.

He tells me that today, I'm going to be tested to see how magic I am. When I seem unsure, he laughs and tells me a secret. Magic is real, but it's hard to do sometimes. He says I already do magic when I pretend, and he wants to see how magic I am.

He tells me that for these tests, sometimes his friends will have to be mean and scary, but I should remember that I'm not to be afraid. They're only doing mean and scary things for my own good: to see how magic I am.

Then, he tells me that I need to do whatever his friends say. That doing what they say is very, very important. I will fail and won't be magic if I don't do what they say, and he'll be so disappointed and said. When I'm done with the tests, he'll be in the last room (Imagination Station for us), and he (Mr. Rogers, again for us) will ask me some last questions to see how good I did.

I'm very excited about this. I've always wanted to be magic. The books I'm already starting to read when the girl's asleep make magic people seem so special, and I really want to be special. So, I tell Mr. A I'll do my best, and he sends me into the first room.

(I wrote about these rooms as they come up, but I know now (four years later) that these 'tests' were spread out over the course of a few weeks. We were in host training for three years, the first of which was spent simply setting up several areas in our Inner World.)

There's a man in a silly top hat in the room. He has a blanket on the floor with a tea set on it. There's plates there for a stuffed mouse and a stuffed cat and a baby doll with a red heart painted on its chest and one that has nobody behind it.

"Hello, Alice! I'm the Mad Hatter!" the man says. "Come sit with me."

I know this! It's Alice in Wonderland. Mamma's read me the book, and I've seen the cartoon movie a few times.

I sit down at the blanket, and the Mad Hatter serves me some pretend tea. He tells me about Wonderlands, about the four queens and kings and their many courts. That as Alice, I have to know all about this Wonderlands, this secret Wonderlands that only I will hold. It's easy to pretend I'm Alice. I fall so far into it that I am Alice with blonde hair and a blue dress and all.

The Mad Hatter tells me about the Cheshire Cat and his eyes that see all, and the Doormouse that knows the secret tunnels into the four Wonderlands castles. The Doormouse is very quiet and a good spy for the Mad Hatter. He tells the Mad Hatter what the four courts are up to.

The Mad Hatter asks me questions about what I think Wonderlands is like, little things like colour. We spend a little while creating the world, making it real with words and pretend. I think it's all sorts of fun.

Sometimes, the Mad Hatter asks me about my momma and daddy, and when I answer him, he gets a bad look on his face. He pinches me and reminds me that I'm in Wonderlands. I'm Alice. Alice doesn't have parents. It doesn't take me long to get confused when he asks those questions.

I learn about the magic of Wonderlands. That the people of Wonderlands are always happy and feel no pain. I think it's really good.

The Mad Hatter shows me that he's part of magic Wonderlands. He takes up the teapot and shows me there's real tea in it now. Then, he puts his fingers in the tea, and he's so calm. I'm afraid for him because tea is hot, but he says it doesn't hurt, and I believe him.

He pours us the rest of the tea to drink and gets up to get a refill. We talk about Wonderlands some more until someone brings the teapot back. While we wait, the Mad Hatter tells me that Wonderlands has to stay a secret, that no one (not even Mr. Rogers!) can know about it. If I tell about it, Wonderlands will disappear, and all the kings and queens and counts and dukes and Cheshire Cat and the Doormouse and even him will die. I don't want all those people to die, so I promise to keep it secret.

Once we have the teapot back, the Mad Hatter asks me if I want to show him my magic. I'm Alice and part of Wonderlands, so if I do what he did, it won't hurt. He takes my wrist and dips my hand in the teapot's tea, and I want to pull it out. Mad Hatter keeps hold of me and reminds me that I'm Alice and I can't feel pain, and he's right. I want to be Alice, so I pretend that I don't feel pain.

I don't do but a little crying and stay mostly quiet, so when the Mad Hatter takes my hand out, he looks happy.

"What a magical little girl you are, Alice!" he says.

He gets up to hug me and put some ice on my hand and tell me it's ok. When I'm done crying, he reminds me that I can't tell anyone about Wonderlands or being Alice. He wants to see if I can smile while not feeling pain the next time we play and that everyone in Wonderlands is so proud of me for passing my test.

I get up to go and play in the corner for a little while until someone gets me for another room. I'm not very good at the playing this time. My hand hurts, and I'm not sure why, and I feel a little dizzy. I think we may have vaguely remembered what had just happened, but pain and dissociation were making it hard to think, and we got whisked to the next room (or home, not sure which) before we were hundred percent back to normal.

The tiny room I go to next has a couple of archery targets set up against one wall and a tiny bow-and-arrow-set with suction cups on the arrows. There's stuffed animals and other animal/fantasy creature toys along the other walls. The man in the room is wearing all green (but 90s clothing) with a green cap that has a red feather in it. He bows.

"Welcome, Robyn, to Sherwood Forest."

I'm a little nervous, but he seems so open and nice that I giggle a little. He tells me that he's one of my Merry Men and that we're going to practice our archery today, which is exciting. I'm not very good at it, but the Merry Man doesn't seem upset. He shows me how to do it, but he's not happy if I mess up something that he's already shown me. Those mistakes get me pinches and smacks on the bottom with his real-arrows. I do my best so he doesn't have to hurt me. He tells me he doesn't want to, but it's the only way to make sure I do my best. He wants me to do my best so I'll pass the test.

It's fun even with the pinches and smacks. I like it when my arrows stick to the target. Once I've done that a few times, the Merry Man stops me. He tells me that in Sherwood Forest, it's Robyn and her Merry Men's job to hunt down dragons and traitors and other scary beasts for our King. These beasts are very, very good at sneaking and hiding, so it'll be my job to learn how to find them. He says he'll be teaching me how to do this, but right now, he has to find out if I have the magic I'll need to be Robyn.

The Merry Man tells me that Robyn is a strong girl. She doesn't ever feel sorry for other people or even feel like she did the wrong thing. She is the King's special hunter, and she doesn't feel sad or bad (guilt), not ever. No matter what. She only does what the King says because he trusts her to do it.

The Merry Man takes me out of the large room and to the door next to it. We go into a small, little hallway and another door, and it smells and sounds terrible in here. There's a screeching (I don't know what it is, but it's alive), and it smells like someone pissed themselves. There are cages in here with animals and a tray on a table.

Don't like it. Don't want to be in here. Robyn is strong. She walks with the man to the table. A little rat is pinned to the tray with its chest and innards all opened up. It's still alive and looks so bad. (How the fuck is it still alive?) I don't like it! The man gives me a tiny knife (scalpel). He tells me I've got to kill the rat because the King said so. I don't want to kill nothing, but I don't want the rat to be hurtin'. The man shows me where to stab, and I do. The little rat stops moving. I can't move when I'm told, so the man picks me up and takes me out of the room and back to the archery targets.

He tells me I didn't pass (because I froze up, I think), but that was ok. I'd get one more chance later. He tells me I have to keep the King's secrets. If I don't, everyone will know what I did. He gives me a stuffed rabbit and shows me how it has a Velcro opening in its stomach, and I can pull out its babies and its heart. I can practice with it and play so I do better next time. He says he'll send it home with me. (I, part of the surface layer/host, remember this stuffed animal. I didn't remember it until reading about this memory, but once I had, it seemed obvious that it wasn't a normal toy. My parents were obsessed with getting me the newest, coolest toys, so long as they weren't electronics, and this stuffed rabbit was hand-stitched together. It had a patchy lining, so yeah, you could pull its baby rabbits out, but sometimes, stuffing came with it too. Weird.)

He pats my head and says, "It's ok, Robyn. You'll do better next time."

(When looking at our file later in life, we saw that they'd noted we were very good at dissociating from the body (Alice) but we had far too much empathy (Robyn), which we'd need to be trained out of.)

I go back to the corner to play but can only sit there. I start moving son, and that's when I get called on.

There's something about a desert and real life, current-day mummification, and a sphynx here. Something about learning the 'magical' rites and secrets, but ti's very fuzzy right now. I won't push because I've already pushed enough.

I know we end up in that sectioned-off corner of the room at the end of the day. Mr. A is there. He smiles and tells us he heard we did good today. We sit down when told and watch the train going into the tunnel video a few times. Mr. Rogers comes into view and gives us a shot to make us feel better. We're happy for it cause we don't feel so good. The shot makes us relax, and Mr. Rogers sits down to ask us some questions about the day. He has a pen light that he shines in our eyes when asking the questions, but he stops while we answer.

He asks us about what we learned with his friends today, and we want to tell him because we want to make him proud, but we're also afraid of making Wonderlands disappear or people knowing what we did. So, we tell him we just played. He tells us he doesn't believe us, and he's very disappointed. He has to make sure we're telling the truth.

He becomes someone else. Not Mr. Rogers but truthseeker (that FUCKING BASTARD). He hurts us, but not sexually. Room must be sound-proofed. He asks us about Alice and Robyn and who we are. But we're just Lilith. I'm just Lilith and Adam and Eve. I don't know no Alice or Robyn. This is Imagination Station. I'm a good girl. I'm a good boy. I don't know what he's saying.

He says he believes us and cleans us up and holds us tight when we're picked up. He tells us we did so good. That we passed. That we are indeed magical. I don't know what magical is, but I don't care. I just hug Mr. Rogers and beg him not to go away. I don't like the truthseeker. He tells me I won't see him again today.

When I calm down, Mr. Rogers says we have to finish the day. We (him and us) have to make sure we keep the secret. No Imagination Station or anything else from today can be told. We agree with him. We don't want it to be known. He says to be sure he has to do one more thing and that it might hurt, and we're scared, but we don't move after he has us stand up and he goes behind us. He presses some metal bumps to the lower tip of our left wing (shoulder blade; these parts feel like they have actual wings), and we don't know what it is. It hurts so bad, like tingling over the body, and we smell something (hair burning, older parts say). We fall down. It still hurts, even without the metal bumps. Mr. Rogers takes us to a separate room with beds and free-standing curtains. We go in and out of sleep there until daddy gets us. We go home.

We get very confused after this cause we know we're magic, but momma starts telling us that magic's not real, even when we don't tell her bout our magic. She starts sending us to time-out when we argue with her.

So, we're magic, but magic's not real. And everything like what happened with Mr. Rogers is also magic, but magic's not real.