Kate McLaughlin

Pieces of Me

I know how much badness there is in the world— what girl doesn't? We're told about it and all the things we're supposed to do to avoid it from before puberty.

She's already missed out on too many opportunities because of me and my broken brain. I can't handle any more guilt. J feel like I'm ready to explode and I already take meds for this shit.

"Mom," I croak through the tears. "What's wrong with me?"

"I don't know, sweetheart." she tells me, rubbing my back. She sounds tired. So tired. "But I promise we'll find out."

But who doesn't feel hopeless sometimes? Who doesn't have anxiety or trohble sleeping in our current social and political climate? What young person doesn't feel like their body is being controlled by other forces at times?

Absolutely no one is surprised when it's revealed who the trauma is all from.

"Tell your brother to make himself pretty for me."

Anyone who's heard to DID in this generation knows of them.

I've missed them. They've been inactive for so long it's starting to get scary.

A lot of videos come up. I click the first one that catches my eye— a British girl with brightly coured hair. 

I've always thought of it as the panel from Inside Out rather than a car...

"Someone else is in the driver's seat. All you have to do is survive the ride."

"Don't you disrespect your sister like that," Mom whispers. "Dont you talk about women like that. I don't care how angry you are, you do 

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