The voices call out, the faces etched into my mind’s eye, the haunting sickness that prevents me from reaching the ease, the comfort that I at one point had in the palm of my hand. I no longer see days with a childish wonder and amazement, but rather a calculated haze of what I had been for so many years before, neglecting the smallest child within my consciousness, hearing his cries and wails as nothing can quite heal the wounds. On the outside I am just one person, but inside my being splits into segments, taking various different traits, and various appearances according to which traits they represent.

(I use 3rd person to describe each because it’s easier that way)

The youngest is Asher, and his true form is actually pretty close to how I looked as a child. With a head of short, dark brown hair, a cute, yet slightly chubby face, with most of his baby teeth and a glimmer in his eyes that, well, at least used to be filled with imagination and adventure. As of this writing he is currently in the most pain, the most torment, as the shadows that tainted me in my physical childhood is seeping into his existance. He curls into a ball of pure misery in the corner, wearing night sky-pattern pajamas and a green hooded sweater that is a bit too big for him, and clinging to a ragged teddy bear that used to be all together.

Then there’s Kit, not really a person, but a fennec fox. His fur is mostly black, but white at parts, and he has the same eyes as Asher, with the right eye being brown and the left being bright green. He has tried to comfort Asher, but nothing has helped, so he just curls up beside the small boy, quietly whimpering as he cannot bring back the child’s innocent, adorable smile.

Brianna is, in essence, the tie I have to the sister I never had. She’s more fond of the band shirts, jean skirts, and large hoodies, than dresses and more “girly” attire. At first I thought that she represented me as a female, but now I realize she’s something more than that. As though my upbringing took it’s form better revealing the progress my mother has made with me.

I can’t forget the actual representation of femininity within me, Penellope, or Lupe for short. Long black hair, lavender eyes, and the tendency to wear frilly dresses and cute things , as more of a “girly girl”. She didn’t actually become truly recognizable as a part of me until my last real trusting relationship, something that currently causes grief as well as frustration to speak of.

There is one part of myself that, although a darker side to me, is a reason I haven’t been engulfed by doubt, grief and guilt: Radcliff. As opposed to what he usually is, he’s been a bit of a light in the dark, so to speak. Dressed up in a leather jacket, ripped up jeans, a wife-beater and fingerless gloves, he often walks bare-foot, with clawed fingers and toes, horns curling from his forehead, accenting his burning cyan eyes, pupils slit and fangs sharp. The inner snake, representing my anger, frustration, and any violent tendencies which harbour in my brain like a cancer. I understand he is one extreme I have, but there is another…

Simply known as Sorrow, he can be represented by a blackbird or raven, yet his appearance is as such. Blue jeans, a dark hoodie, barefoot, with bandages wrapped around his neck, feet, ankles, forearms, wrists and hands, among other covered areas, and a mask covering the lower portion of his face, designed to look like he’s always crying, and he is. The embodiment of my depression, my anxiety, and all the darkness that is my self-hatred, and thus my self-neglect. All the bandages and clothing, even the mask, cover various scars that, while I have them inside, he bares them outside. Deep wounds mix blood with the constant heavy rainfall that accompanies him wherever he goes. There is a halo over his head made of a mist or fog, as though he were a angel once, and blood stains on his back show where his wings would have been.

Then there is no Brandon without “B”. He looks exactly like me, but with some subtle differences. He lacks the scars from the weight fluctuation and the times I’ve picked at scabs, not even the one I got as a kid. His height is the same, and his weight the same too, but the weight is built in muscle for B, as he has worked hard to strengthen his upper body to match his leg strength. He normally wears red hoodies, bright shirts with funny captions, jeans, sneakers, and those beanie caps that can be a bit droopy because that’s the way they’re worn. His head is buzzed like mine, but he never sees anyone but himself in the mirror when he looks, he’s his own person and strives to be one of those rare individuals who will never not help someone in need, for he has seen what the others have gone through, and how warped the world around him is, and he wants to make the outside world a better place for those who deserve it. Unlike me, he doesn’t take medication for anything, healthy as a horse inside and out, and loves unconditionally. A hard worker, a good listener, and a overall terrific person, he has learned to balance his needs with those of others, and always gives his all in any task that he overtakes.

I am a mix of all those described into a frighteningly complex and exhausting cocktail of instability and intensity. Yet there are those who still look at me and judge that I am just fine, that I have the easy life, and that I have no right to complain about anything in regards to me, regardless of the comments others have made to me about my outward appearance and lack of social norms. I fear the storm inside me, but I also fear when the storm finally ends, when I finally end. Nobody could live in my shoes and come to this point unscathed, and I don’t hate anyone because of their ignorance regarding my story. I don’t hate anyone in this life or the next, because life is too short, and I spent too much time hating on everyone for their own actions.

I’m not perfect, in fact i’m far from it. I have various problems and difficulties, I’m very picky and particular in more ways than one, and there are times where I am too much for even myself to handle, let alone anyone else, but unlike the outside world, I’m stuck with myself. I have been searching for the one who can truly handle me, and along the way a few have tried, yet so far nobody has really been able to fit, and that’s fine. I’ve grown accustomed to my own loneliness and in that regard it’s the best fit for my current standing.

It’s about time I got better, not for those who have told me I should, not for those who have kicked me down in the past, but for my own benefit and wellbeing. I’ve spent too much time neglecting myself and kicking myself down and thinking I don’t deserve to be loved.

Pain demands to be felt

Pain demands to be felt
And when you feel it, darling, it doesn’t let you go
It eats you up, settles down in your heart
And when it’s done consuming you, when you gave everything you have
It burns you up to a pile of ashes
And you fly away, made into pieces
Without consciousness, without feelings
Until someone finds you and fixes you up
And you are happy and hopeful, until it starts again
Because if you once felt it, saw it
It doesn’t let you go
And the circle of the pain starts again


If you feel the people, or if you feel yourself
It’s all lying on the same, dark, painful shelf
Darling, don’t hurt yourself when you get hurt
Take your fingers out the flame, honey, so you won’t get burned
Yes, pain is demanding, how to learn not to hear?
When it whispers in your ear, year after year
When it’s vicious, because it wants you to stop fighting
And one day you will because it finished consuming

Verse 1

‘Cause if one is hurting it causes so much pain
When you see her scars it all starts again
You see the fight, the tears, the blade
See how she cuts, how the blood starts dripping
How one day she cut too deep, yes, love it will stop hurting soon
And her pain somehow makes you whole again

Verse 2

Yes, if one is hurting it causes much pain
When you see him standing on the bridge, at night, in the rain
You know that he wants to fly, and who are you to stop him?
You know that the pain got him in its grip, that it’s nearly finished consuming
Remember that his father hit him, nobody ever loved him
And it makes you so sick, that it makes you feel whole
Because his pain is yours now, fixed the hole in your soul


Verse 3
Yes, if one is hurting it causes much pain
Particularly if it’s the one that fixed you again
And then broke you, of course, because that is how it goes
But her pain doesn’t make you whole; it makes your heart bleed
It’s the pain you brought, the pain you need
It whispered in the ear of your savior, too
And you know that it’s your fault that the pain grew.

C. Isabel Ehlers