Secret Letter

Humans are monsters.

I remember my first scary movie being a Stephen King-esc one where a little girl is shot and carried into a plane while the monsters below eat the planet up whole. It had been several years since my brain surgery and in a much personal way, several months since my last Seer-ing experience I had with Lucifer.

I was nine then. It was an important year for me, my father, wherever he is now, sat in front of the television after a bunch of screaming and sending me to my room after coming home from school that day. The day I watched this film adaptation of Stephen King's fear had bled onto the pages of some book, the same fear I had of the dark, back then.

In the back of my head we had started noting body that way, in a strange hybrid thought that pathed better than what Lucifer had offered when we first met. Everytime he'd scream I would note what wasn't happening and a smile would form behind my eyes as tears of fear came to light that got me thinking about what I had just been through mentally. But at nine, Lucifer and I were further from our welcome than we had been just a few days prior when my Dad put me over his knee and got me thinking about my spirituality. Nine was also the year I first met Abel, Lucifer and Abel in the same headroom made for some interesting nightmares and kinder amnesia walls that kept me protected as I ventured through a bit of age correcting.

I had unrecognizable Dissociative Identy Disoreder and I was gently healing from it in pain as I recovered from my brain surgery. At nine, I was in third grade and testing my freedom from being let go of in my first round of what people today and yesterday called Witchcraft. Defenitely something that Lucifer himself believed to be catagorized as such when Lucifer was mine.

Time certainly does run its course through this period of my life. The screaming weren't triggering seizures anymore, but an anger had sprouted in the quiet as I studied and examined my body's new reflexes to it. And according to Abel, I was safe from any psychotic inprints that being abused that young after such a massive headwound might have caused and created.

At nine, I concured everything else though.

I had created a plot to save money on lunches so I can have popsicles after school by telling the school that I didn't have money at all, and getting my lunches for free! (They were never free and I got into so much trouble for that by the end of the year that it's a permanent placement for my name in great amounts of guilt. Guilt I had to make my own anyway, because that was the deal with God after my Dad began acting funny after I started going back to school.)

I don't remember much with working with Abel from the time there in Elementary School, but being surrounded by people who laughed at me, made fun of me, lied to my face, talked behind my back, and stabbed me with sticks while playing doctor certainly was a problem we both had thought as the metaphysical baton was passed between Lucifer and Loki about Abel's coexistance next to me in Hagen's class.

Looking back at nine-year-old me, navigating brain surgery recovery, DID, abuse, and the social minefield of elementary school; I see now what I couldn't then: survival takes many forms. The parts of me that emerged—Lucifer, Abel, Loki, and others—weren't monsters but protectors, each taking their turn holding pieces I couldn't carry alone. The real monsters were never in my head. They were the ones who hurt children, who looked away, who laughed, mocked, and insulted. At nine, I was learning to map my own body's responses, to build walls that would someday become doors. The humans around me may have been monstrous, but the ones inside of my head were learning to be kinder for it.