Make a little bag for littles to have in case they front while at school/work. This can include comfort items, polly pockets, fidgets, a note, etc.

Not my original idea and I can't find who created it, but make a note for new alters/ alters coming out of dormancy or fronting for the first time.

Pack bland snacks or fruit for alters not comfortable eating meat or doesn't eat a lot while fronting.

Make a playlist for asl words on youtube for alters who can't/don't speak.

Make a list of people who alters can go to of they feel lost, unsafe, anxious, etc.

Get an app where you can track who is fronting when or you can make notes for each other like discord or SimplyPlural or just a google doc. (Not sponsored, just what our system likes.)

Make a multiple accounts for things. If your parents/caregivers/gaurdians aren't aware your a system, just make a second one as a spare/backup account.

Y'all got this and you are doing beautifully

It’s weird

When you think of amnesia

You think of losing a lifetime

But for me

For us

It’s minutes

It’s days we have no memory of until someone let’s us in

It’s the little things

It’s the big things

That take so little time

That impact us for the rest of time

It’s not knowing how you got somewhere

It’s being startled when the TV plays a comercial

When a character was in the middle of a sentance

It’s the little things

Sometimes it’s memories you wish would have stayed gone

Or pain you never wanted to know

Of course it’s not always minutes

Or even days

Some times it’s weeks

Months

Even Years.

And with the pain

Lie happy memories

Memories that I want to know

But I also don’t

Because it then feels like the abuse is excused

That the pain was Justified

The trauma was Justified

That I am Not justified

And suddenly I’m a little kid

I have no rights again

I deserve the pain again

I do not deserve to live again

But then I remember the minutes I’ve lost

I remember the people who lived those memories

I remember that they have my back

That I am not alone

However frustrating that may be

However many times I want them to stop singing

To stop critisising

They are there

They are Real

Even if we don’t have a diagnosis yet

Even if we don’t always believe it

We are..

We are us.

And That’s enough for us.

I wanna go Home

But Home doesn’t exist

And it’s not a place

Or a state of being

It’s a burned off village that no longer exists

It’s a place that has yet to be

It’s a place in a past life

It’s my future

But I just want to go Home

I want to stop worrying about how much longer I have to live

I want to have a place to lay my head

Even if that place isn’t a bed

I want to know that I belong

And for once it not to be a song

That reassures me that everything is as bad as I think

But also say that I’ll be okay

Cause The place I live

The life I’m in

It doesn’t feel right

Maybe somethings just not in my sight

Because it feels like

Every thought I’ve thought it twice

Every movement isn’t right

Every breath is just another mistake

And I Want To Go Home

But I can’t

So it's fine

Don't worry

But when I tell you

I’m fine

It means I’m lonely

Don’t worry means

I don’t know what to do

And when I tell you

You make me feel safe

I’m not lying

Because it feels like maybe

Just maybe

I might have found Home

Do you ever have quiet days?

Where you don’t wanna speak

Cause if you do

It feels like something bad’ll happen

It feels heavy

It hurts but it’s numb at the same time

Do you ever have quiet days

Where everyone is screaming at you to talk

‘It’s not that hard’

‘Not until you use your words’

But the words just won’t come

Maybe you wanna talk but can’t

Maybe you just don’t feel like talking

Maybe not talking feels safest

Maybe it’s just a quiet day

And sometimes,

It’s just so hard

To not talk and be yelled at all day

And you just want someone to whisk you away

To tell you:

’I know, it’s just a quiet day.

And that’s ok.′

But until that day

Where hopes become reality

I’ll just have another quiet day

And pretend the yelling never botherd me anyway

TW: Talk of guns, mentions of dead children, mentions of abuse

I don’t know if you know but,

Our generation, has experienced things no one else has

Been traumatised so much

That therapists refuse to diagnose because

‘Parenting can’t be that bad!’

But when I was 7, maybe 8

and a gun was placed in my hand

And I was belittled because no one told me what it was

And I was violent

But all I wanted to do was play

That was traumatic.

But that was a science experiment

So it’s fine!

It was for The Greater Good!

And I don’t know if you know but,

Autistic children are being tortured right now

In the name of ‘behavior modification’

Read: The Greater Good

And these children are being held at schock levels

right underneath lethal

But it’s for The Greater Good

And I don’t know if you know but,

One thousand,

Two thousand,

Five thousand plus

indigionus children have been found

Not alive, not cases within the last few years

But Dead Children,

Dead Babies,

In Residental schools

And I don’t know if you know,

But kindergardners are being prepared for war

For when an active shooter finaly decides their life is done

For when they have to pretend to be dead

For when they have to watch their friends die

Because someone wasn’t diagnosed

Because someone didn’t get what they needed

And I don’t know if you know but

The Greater Good isn’t for us,

It’s not for the common people

It’s not for you or me

It’s for the

Old

Rich

White

Men

Who don’t gain money from compassion

Who only do enough to be half way in the publics favor

To ensure they get richer and richer

The Greater Good was made by Old Rich White Men

So they could exuse acts of pain and suffering

So that monsterous acts were hidden in a White Silk Cloak and Angel Wings

But I Bet You Didn’t Know

And Neither Did They, Right?

I smiled from the control room of the mind space. I watched my kid, a little five year old child, parent her sibling. Do I hate that this is what she has to do? Yes, so much. But she's doing splendid, even without me here with her. I glanced away from the 'screen' showing my little one as I heard a noise from the back of the mind space. I quickly refocused on the child in contol of the body as I heard a sort of yelp as they pulled a metal can of green beans out of the microwave.

'What happened?' I asked tentiatively. I had to be passive about asking and comunicating with my kid. She doesn't even know I exist, lest that cause her more trauma than her parents had caused her.

'Izie put it in the microwave and it looked like there were sparks! Your not supposed to put metal in the microwave! I should calm Izie down, then put her in the living room, make food, then make sure she has a time out.' I nodded in the mindspace as Sammie thought out her movements. I sighed and hesitantly stepped away from the control pannel and chair. I had others I had to make sure were alright. I had to make sure I ate so I didn't let my kids have a bad role model. I walked out of the control room, leaving the door open so I would be able to hear if something went wrong.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This is a memory from Sam, our gate keeper, physical protector, and the best Father. He has always been with us. Even when the host didn't know we were a system. This was wrote in his perspective of the event.

But I’m questioning things

That seem to slip through rings

Not like monkeys jumping through hoops at the circus

But memories slipping from alter to alter.

But they aren’t slipping at all

It’s not the flow of blood pouring down a glass of rocks

It’s being co conscious

It’s not knowing who you are and accidentally sharing a memory

One that the host could have lived without

One that impedes on your life

One that makes you certain that what happened was wrong

And then another slips through

And your no longer so certain cause it wasn’t always bad

And you aren’t traumtised enough

Your situation wasn’t bad enough

Your trauma isn’t valid enough

Will it ever be enough?

Will you ever be enough?

And logically you know that’s not a fair question

The others scream at you to not listen

Even when their own mind has that voice playing

But we are not useless pieces

We are not a sum of our parts

We our individuals formed out of need

Individuals that deserve to live

Individuals who will let no man, woman, or being on earth put us through that again

We are strong

We are one

We are many.

However lately, I don’t know if I’m only one and I’m making it up

That the people in my head, that have memories I don’t

Are just imaginary

I don’t know

But I do know,

We are one

And We are many

However that came to be,

We are many