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my eggs were scrambled before i was old enough to speak. if there was an omlette it was made by evil cooks. i do not see my system in terms of something made and consumed. we are a living, symbiotic being. many who make up one.
when i picture us i think of broken hand mirrors where the frame is unbroken and the pieces inside reveal a shattered image, twisted and distorted by actions done to the mirror, rather than by the mirror.
sometimes i think of us as a mosiac picture. colorful fragments taken and used to form an image. different in colors, shapes and positions.
the real question for me as a middle-aged dissociative person is what are we making of me? i had no choice in the beginning and lots got decided without my input. but we are here and we matter. i survived the original "cooks" and their devilish slop, but what are we going to do now with what and who we are? i wish i knew more, but i don't.
leslie and her pixies
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  HEALING HAPPENS
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