Sometimes when I'm dealing with a nonmultiple who doesn't know we're a multiple I imagine myself standing on a brick wall. There's a white line I can follow. I just have to keep my eyes downcast, keep my head down and follow the line. That's relatively easy in fact. Even a toddler could do it provided that the wall isn't too slippery.
But when dealing with nonmultiples who do know it gets a little harder, for me at least. That brick wall turns into a wire that I'm walking on. It's a very thin wire and it's teetering drunkenly above a chasm. How much can I risk telling about myself without scaring them off? If I tell too much they'll run away. If I don't tell enough they'll think I'm not real or that I'm just a made up character. Should I tell them how much I really like cocoa? Should I tell them that I really love writing essays like this? Should I tell them anything at all? What if I tell them too much?
At one time, we as a system were very naive. We believed falsely that we could tell the nonmultiples who knew the truth everything. We thought we could rejoice and be happy that they knew. We thought we could be ourselves and not have to worry. But all too soon we found that that wasn't the case. A lot of the nonmultiples we knew simply were accepting us to be nice or because they believed that one of us was more real or more entitled to this life than the rest of us. They accepted but there were strings attached, strings and condition attached to us like the strings of a marionette. And when we didn't perform properly or acted too different from each other or too similar to each other or if we talked too much they threw us away.
So we became wary. We looked tentatively over our shoulders, searching the way we'd come for metaphorical escape routes. We started carrying the pepper spray of snark in our pockets just in case we should have to whip it out and use it. We guarded ourselves, our world and each other with undying loyalty and love. But we still felt a little sad inside. Because we still loved people, both multiple and nonmultiple and we still wanted them to see us for who we were. And we almost gave up trying.
Not all nonmultiples are like this though. There are some, like the very lovely lady with whom I discussed college courses and cocoa with tonight, who are amazing and awesome. With them I don't have to worry about what I say. The wire over the gorge widens and lengthens until it becomes a wide bridge that I can start at one end of and the nonmultiple can start at the other. And eventually we'll meet in the middle. We'll sit and drink cocoa and eat cookies and look over the edge of the bridge. Then we'll laugh at the heights and get giddy from the drop till we have to close our eyes and look away. But we'll know, both the nonmultiple and I, that we can both speak our minds. And they will know that I am just a person, nothing scary or frightening. And I will know that I can speak my mind.