Tell me more about _______?

[Violet]

I don't fucking know.

I don't know the difference between what I remember, and that which my memory is mimicked by. If it seems mundane, I think it's probably real... if it's terrifying... well, I hope it's a nightmare. But some of them cannot be false, unless those very few things I utterly certain of... are, well... not. And I need those, so even if they ARE wrong? They're not. They can't be, for my sake.

I don't know what people know about me, I'm so caught up in what part of me I've shown to various persons, trying to remember which... person... showed those persons what, and WHEN: it's an absolute fucking nightmare of self-reflection and can't even remember whether I'm remembering it or if I'm inventing it because I'm looking for something that is not there. But... something had to be there... right?

I don't know who I am. Sometimes, there are thoughts so unbelievably alien to me, that I just don't know what to do with them. Those rare times when I'm aroused by the thought of 'sticking it in em'... those incredibly rare times when I absolutely revel in the thought of killing... someone... the random violent reactions, the unpredictable pains in places I have absolutely no reconciliation for: these wreck me, a person who would normally claim to know and understand every portion of herself, to accept it. I am not even sure that I'm... just the one. It's not actually a seamless transition for me, and though it hurt like hell and I am, for the most part, more operable than ever: sometimes I wonder if my own advice actually worked for myself. I wonder if it can.

I don't know why I'm here. Sure, I can explain to myself that I'm here because I don't want to hurt anyone in my parting... but come on, do I really believe that? I have more reason than most to get out of here, I don't particularly enjoy my daily life, I'm not the kind of person who typically throws in with long-term investments, hell: there was a time I didn't even HAVE a future... and yet I'm still here. I wanted to try that freedom, I tried it, and although I initially liked it... the thrill has long worn off. I don't actually particularly care about any of these people... so just what is stopping me? Could it be... my very not knowing is the only reason I'm still here? Could the truth really be so bad that I can't see it?

I don't know why I have ptsd. I don't know that it IS ptsd, regardless of symptom similarity. I don't know that I've pulled out of my DID, though I'm sure it's not as bad as once. I don't know why my ribs are fractured. I don't know that my ribs ARE fractured. I don't know why hearing hearts makes me fret for mine. I don't know why talking about hearts makes me so uncomfortable in the heart area. I don't know why I fear aggression so much, though I have a pretty good guess. I don't know why the fuck I don't know... and what's more? I don't know why I care so much. I have the opportunity to build a new life at any point, because I don't remember jack shit... Ashton, who I've been with for 2 years? My mother and father? Myself? All of that could be gone inside a month. And I don't know why.

I don't think that most of yall know that Violet Lilly Blossom really doesn't.