for us.

You view yourself as a failure.
You look into the mirror, and are disgusted with what stares back at you.

What you've done.
What you didn't do.
Who you've hurt.
Who hurt you.

You turn away and hear the voices screaming your name.

Screaming at you.

Telling you that your worthless.
That you're minuscule.
Unimportant.

Better off dead.

You've tried to ease your mind several times.
But those times have failed.

Sweet death had slipped through your fingertips.

This makes you angry.



You view yourself as a failure.
You look into the eyes of another, and cannot see the way they look at you.

You cannot see the sparkle you put in their eyes.
You cannot see the grin on their face.

You cannot hear the laughter in their voice;
The immense joy in their very being.

All caused by you.

Yet every laugh. Every thought. Every giggle isn't viewed the same way by you.

You question their motives.
Are they laughing at you?
Did you say something wrong?
Did you mess up again?

You're sad.
You're angry.
You're depressed.
You're furious.

But you can be happy again, if you wanted to.

Just remember:

Be soft. Do not let the world make you hard. Do not let the pain make you hate. Do not let the bitterness steal your sweetness. Take pride that even though the rest of the world may disagree, you still believe to be a beautiful place.

something new.

Every time I go onto this website, I never know what I want to post.
Or if I truly want to post anything at all.

The posts I post are quite dramatic, I think.
All very different.
Very 'deep'.
All encompassing a certain psychological 'flaw' I have.
Whether it be:
anxiety.
depression.
insomnia.
ptsd.
or anger.

All posts are different, yet almost identical.

Where are my comedic posts? My witty phrases and funny comments?

When I began to write, all I could put into words created something funny.
I wanted everyone to see.
I wanted everyone to laugh.

But that can lead to more rejection or criticism than my dramatic and heart-felt posts can.

Someone can easily tell me how I am not funny,
But its harder to admit that the heartbreak and failure that I've shamelessly plastered onto the internet is poorly written.

Hm. I've just now decided that I want to post something more -- me.
Less depressing and more uplifting.
Less serious and more
stupid.

I am tired of complaining to a faceless audience.
You. I am tired of complaining to you.

I am done forcing you to struggle through my apathetic rants about how I don't feel good enough.
Or how I'm upset.

Im tired of wordbarfing and ruining the fantastic mood you were in before you decided to read my newest post.

I'm going to try something new.

a psychological phenomenon.

Tragedy strikes.

As it always does.

No need to be alarmed, Sammie is used to this.

No need to cry. No need to call anyone.

This happens daily.

Tragedy stikes so often in fact, that Sammie has decided to let Sam take over.

Over the years, Sam had asked to fill in for her.

Sammie had told Sam "no"; she was capable of figuring things out on her own back then. 

After the trauma, Sammie was still the Sammie everyone had gotten to know and love. Sammie was still creative. Sammie was still a writer. Sammie was still too loud in public places, and Sammie had still had boyfriends.

Despite the bruises and the cuts, everything was all right - physically speaking. 

Despite and increase of anxiety and the development of PTSD and insomnia, everything seemed somewhat normal to the doctors. 

"She was supposed to heal this way." Psychologically speaking.

You plan to ask Sammie how she's 'holding up' as soon as you get a chance to see her.

3 days since the incident.

You ask her how she's feeling.

Sammie tells you that she's fine. 

You ask her if she wants to go see a movie with you later. (your attempt to help her keep her mind off of things).

Sammie seems excited to go.

'Is she nervous at all?' you ask yourself. 

The grin and dorky laughs ensure you that Sammie is fine.

You two are on your way to the theater.

You decide to take a risk and ask her what had happened.

You question the bruises.

The chunks of missing hair.

The cuts.

You ask what he had done to her.

You even feel as if you could use his name.

You two are close; you view yourself as her confidant. 

Sam answers and tells you that everything is fine.

Her voice is an octave deeper and she avoids eye contact.

Her whole demeanor changes.

She isn't as 'bubbly' as she was a minute ago.

She hardly even catches your jokes.

That's because you're talking to Sam now.

Unknowingly, you are speaking to an entirely different person.

You cant treat her the same way as you do Sammie.

Sam holds her pen a different way.

Sam's handwriting is clearly distinguishable from that of Sammie's.

Sam likes different foods.

Sam watches different movies.

Sam is a different personality.

Your movie plans change because 'Sammie' had changed her mind and didn't want to see the movie the two of you planned on watching.

Although Sammie was excited to see that movie; she had been waiting for ages to go with you - you had taken Sam.

Sam didn't want to see that movie.

And when Sam is in control, it is what Sam wants.

They could trade back: let Sammie go see the movie with you and have Sam take the backseat.

But Sam doesn't like that either. Sam doesn't like to be used.

So when Sam is in control, Sam tries to get the best out of things.

So the two of you go to dinner instead.

Sammie is usually in control. And no, Sam isn't a parasite.

Sam does Sammie favors.

When tragedy strikes, 

As it always does.

Sam takes control and lets Sammie hide.

They're a team.

With Sam, Sammie no longer has to deal with the tragedies and traumas that life plans on throwing her way. She has a safteynet: Sam.

So in therapy, Sammie is congratulated on a speedy recovery.

The therapist was able to get the facts she requested.

Heard the rapists name from the victim's mouth (a part of healing, they were told).

Sammie's therapy sessions are reduced to twice a month rather than twice a week.

All thanks to Sam.

Sammie is in denial that anything had ever happened.

When presented with questions such as "Where did he touch you." or confirmations such as "He took you to his room, correct?" 

Sammie had no idea how to answer.

Not because she was afraid.

But because she had no recollection of what had happened.

Sammie was never raped.

When in therapy, Sam takes over.

Sam remembers the facts.

And since Sam is tough, she tells the therapist what had happened.

Although she struggles, she clearly explains the series of events with as much detail as the therapist requests. 

Although its tough and tears begin to swell, the therapist is proud.

The victim is healing.

You are almost to the restaurant. 

You are asked to turn back around.

"Lets go bowling!" Sammie suggests.

Sam is gone.

Sammie is rarely hungry.

She doesn't want dinner.

Do you get it?

Of course not. Sammie isn't even aware. 

Sam has become so automatic, Sammie doesn't think anything of it.

Her decisions change almost instantly - she calls herself indecisive. 

Her views on current events or drama at school change - she calls herself wishywashy.

She falls out of love at a blink of an eye - she decides that she isn't 'relationship material'.

She isn't aware that she isn't always Sammie.

When she reads this later on, its fiction.

If she gets praised for her creativity and imagination, she takes it; the plot of this entry is pretty far fetched indeed.

Then how is this being written?

Am I Sam?

No. I am the third in this group.

Just the 'Narrator' - thats whats Sam calls me.

I am neither Sammie or Sam.

I allow things to be written for her.

I research Split Personality Disorder for my dear Sammie when I have the control.

I look for help for her.

I am called the Narrator, for I document this phenomena. 

But I look out for Sammie and take over when neither Sam nor Sammie can handle the drama in the environment.

Perhaps I am a hero? Pashaaww.

Caregiver? Sure.

You're there reading this. And you think I'm crazy.

Im not.

Sam's not.

But perhaps Sammie is.

But name one "sane" writer. One "sane" artist.

There aren't many names to choose from, are there?

This is my first entry.

Sammie has written the others.

Sam may have typed a few.

Sammie is the lead. Sammie is the imagination, creativity and the poor girl that had lost her innocence.

Sam and I just try to give that back by providing a hiding place from her often cruel reality.