Dissociative Identity Disorder, formerly known as Multiple Personality Disorder.
I perceive humans to be demigods, constantly changing their vessels, what’s inside and what surrounds. With DID I wanted to befriend everyone, simply. I could always relate to all those children in class, but would shortly fall victim to rumors, division, and conflict. The ability to relate is, in fact, the positive side to the disorder. Being a DID patient is being an all patient, I was misdiagnosed as bipolar and schizophrenic. Many people don’t believe in DID, including my own parents and teachers, at some point. My parents started believing when they realized I still scream in corners the way five-year-olds do at the age of 21. My teachers paid me attention when they pushed my first breakdown in a classroom. My parents called me weak until I altered the word to sensitivity. DID Is not the existence of those multiple dimensions to my personality, it’s me not having any control over them — hysterical when harassed, crying when complimented. The misleading intelligence to evil and the misleading kindness to stupidity. The fragmentation of this very text as the “wasted potential” I am always described as. The first time I attempted suicide was at the age of 12.
Sometimes people only see dimensions of me
They see me on days I stutter
Sometimes I am rubber, others I am a stone
Sometimes I am a tree
Others I am a branch, on which I stand
An artist, then a self-imposed critic
I could be one, I could be five
I am all and I am none
I am both the prisoner and its keeper
A child in a well, I am both the child and the well
Sometimes shallow and on others I am deeper than the seven layers of Beirut
The number of eyes, could be summed up in the whys
But I am sure it doesn’t matter, for I stutter on Sundays, and on Thursdays I am well-spoken
Broken glass, maybe glitched, if you meet the idiot wait for the wise
I am sometimes your height, sometimes I am smaller in size.