Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 140940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 705(@200wpm)___ 564(@250wpm)___ 470(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 140940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 705(@200wpm)___ 564(@250wpm)___ 470(@300wpm)
I looked at him. “Who are you looking for?”
M’s eyes met mine. “We are looking for the part of us that got lost along the way, the part that holds the key to our wholeness. Finding her is the first step to healing.”
“How do you know that?”
M rubbed his beard. “You know, during my time in India, I learned a great deal about the journey of self-discovery.”
Confused, I glanced at Lunita. “We went to India?”
She shook her head. “M isn’t okay either.”
M waved her away and walked over to the chalkboard that was in the back of the room. “It’s a fascinating process, delving into the depths of one’s own psyche, exploring the various facets that make up our being.”
I listened, yet with all this craziness the concept of self-discovery seemed like a distant idea, more abstract than real.
“I even wrote a book about my experiences and the philosophies I encountered,” M continued with a hint of pride in his tone. “It was well-received, even became a New York Times bestseller.”
I eyed Lunita.
Lunita made a twirling motion next to her temple with her finger and then whispered, “Crazy.”
I looked back at M. “So. . .who do you think is the original? Or the host?”
Lunita let out a long breath. “Here we go again. She just won’t let it go.”
M chuckled softly. “Have patience. She is the last to know. It took you some time too.”
“You talked about some girl being lost, but what if she isn’t lost? What if she is right here?” I took a step forward. “And if I’m wrong, then are you. . .the original? The host?”
M’s expression turned thoughtful. “The concept of original or host is more complex than you might think.”
“How?”
“We are all facets of the same being, Emily. Each of us represents a different aspect, a different path taken.” M paused for a moment and swept his gaze over the diagram on the board.
I tried to read it, but none of the letters or words made any sense.
Still, M pointed as if it wasn’t all garbled. “From my understanding, we have split into five distinct personalities—”
“Wait.” I held up my hands. “Hold on. That can’t be right.”
I counted the little girl, Lunita, him, and me. “No. We are only four in here.”
The little girl chuckled. “There’s the Whore.”
I blinked. “The what?”
M wagged his finger at me. “Do not jump ahead. If you do, your head will begin to spin.”
“Too late. It’s already spinning.” I backed up.
“Calm down.” M held his hands up in front of him. “Just breathe.”
“I-I don’t want five people. It was bad enough to have Lunita in my head—”
“No one is in your head.” M lowered his voice. “You are in her head.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“I-I am the original.”
Lunita sighed behind me.
“Listen. I will explain, but you must let me.” M pointed at the garbled words on the board. “What occurred to Emily, to us. . .it shattered our mind. And perhaps, if the physical and sexual abuse had not continued for so long, there would not be all of us.”
I hugged myself.
He continued, “We each represent one of the five F’s of trauma response.”
“What the fuck does that mean?”
M gestured towards a section of the chalkboard. “Fight, flight, freeze, flop, and fawn.”
I shook my head. “I. . .I don’t think those are right. It’s just fight or flight or something.”
“Trust me. It’s these five.” M went over to the chalkboard and traced one of the odd words. “These five are hardwired responses to trauma. Fight, flight, freeze, flop, and fawn.”
I turned around to see what Lunita and the little girl thought of this, but they had left.
M kept on talking. “You see. When a normal human faces danger, these responses happen instinctively to keep us safe.”
I looked back at him. “How does this relate to us?”
“In our case, each of these responses has manifested into a separate personality within Emily.” He made a big show of drawing a circle in the air. “We were each formed to protect us, to cope with experiences and traumas we’ve encountered.”
“Hold on.” I tried to keep myself calm. “Okay, so. . .for example the response, fight. Instead of it being just a response for me. . .umm. . .for Emily. It became a personality instead?”
M nodded. “Precisely. Fight manifested into a personality that confronts challenges head-on, often aggressively.”
He picked up a piece of chalk and scribbled nonsense on top of already written words. “Flight became the personality that avoids confrontation and seeks escape.”
“O-kay.”
“Then, we have freeze. That personality tends to fall into a state of paralysis or inaction in the face of difficulties.” He stopped writing on the board and gazed over his shoulder. “Do you understand so far?”
“Uh. . .kind of.”
“Just keep walking down this road with me. I promise we will get to our destination.” He returned to writing on the chalkboard, his hand moving rapidly, leaving behind lines and symbols that were incomprehensible. It wasn’t any language I recognized—just a series of chaotic, meaningless scribbles.