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  1. I never thought I would be here...at this impass of live. That moment when the fairy tales seem to take life and not in their usual good manner. The moment when a step-parent becomes the wicked witch or that menacing warlock. I never thought I'd be a part of it... Joey is his name. On first impression, I knew I didnt like him. His eyes told of selfishness and laziness. His posture spoke of sexism and over-tried alpha tendancies. His breath rank of an unrecognizable stench that turned my stomach, and his lack of manners towards the opposite sex was appaulling. He's a pig...but even pigs are better suited. The first moment I laid eyes on him, I had driven into the driveway to visit my family. I'd missed the wedding, so this was the first in which we'd laid eyes on eachother. I was not greeted, and I was not acknowledged. He simply looked up at my vehicle, seemed to sigh with annoyance, and wandered off to whatever he was doing. A simple 'hows it goin?' and 'not too bad' was exchanged as I approached the house, and that was it. He followed me in like an executioner to his post. It were not until my mother introduced us that he actually seemed to look at me. None too pleasantly, might I add. I was introduced as her daughter, her Kristy....I corrected that I were her son, Warren, and attempted to shake his hand. I got a hug instead, and it were not willing. I were not permitted a handshake it seemed. When I voiced that hugging strangers made me uncomfortable, he said 'you'll have to get used to it. I married your mother'. His eyes is what told his story. The eyes are often called the windows to the soul and he does not have a glamorous or spectacular soul by any means. In fact, I would hardly even shutter if the dear Hannibal Lector happened upon him and asked to dine on his overbloated, beer infested cadaver. I would, I do believe, incline to his request and simply wave in acceptance while I watch him carry him away. He's not a bad man, perhaps. Just a bad egg... He brings out a side of me that I have kept submerged for years. The Dominance side of me that sometimes concerns me and terrifies my soul, but I were often informed that it were another personality of myself. A more formal, gruesome side of my personality. I often thought of him as perhaps an imaginary friend, taunting me when I were too weak to stand up for myself. His name changed now and again...First it was Ben. Then Alex. Then one instance, he even called himself Dorian. I'm not sure what he calls himself now, but I can feel him reaching the surface once more. This....Joey....brings him back from the darkness in which he once slumbered. Even now, as I'm typing, I can feel his influence. Even in the way I write things, I feel that there is a shift in personality. A sinister switch...It began long ago, as most stories do, with my childhood. The childhood in which blood and gore were of no stranger to me. Slaughtering animals and lifestock for food, a odd fascination with their pieces being seperated so that we may dine on their once-lively muscle tissue. My...'brother', I guess you could call him, evolved through the years. Becoming more aware, more violent, but more able to mask himself in my own personality. "Influence, my dear.....the whole world runs upon influence. It is the only way that the good may triumph whilest the bad secretly are the marionettes to the puppets. You, dear boy, will thrive off my influence. I'll guide and protect you. And when the time comes, you will take the bench, and I shall orchestrate." I remember the words perfectly. At the time I thought it were simply my imagination running wild. But in the years to follow, I've learned that it were actually he himself. My brother..my other soul..the drum in my ears when things got too chaotic. The force behind my fists and the growl within my screams. Joey....that aweful lump of a man...he has brought my brother the life that he had once had in my teenage years, while catering to my vampiric Dom side by night. In secret, fleeing to the only family who accepted me. A clan of outcasts, vampire enthusiastics. I had quickly become one of them. I became a Dom as easily as one would crack an egg. Maybe a few pieces fell when the shell broke free, but the yolk took over these pieces as if they were nothing. Moving them out of the way as it pleased. I felt free...HE felt free. But I left the coven and decided to 'grow up' when mother moved us away. He has been silent since, perhaps worn out over his profound freedom. But this horrible....stepfather of mine...has brought him back. I almost worry about his intentions. He dislikes me. That much is clear. Joey, that is. Alex, as I will call him until he reveals his true name, adores me. We're one, afterall. But Joey....dear pathetic Joey...he makes my stomach cramp with disgust. He annoys me with his very presence. He treats my siblings like butlers or cattle, pushing them around and bending them to do his will but with no more of a reward than the common dog. Perhaps a scrap of affection, maybe he will throw old bones to them, but in the end--to him, theyre still just dogs. His real prize is my mother, who I fear is growing more and more sour with every passing day of their newfound marriage. It sickens me...I never had a good childhood, that much is clear as day. But watching my siblings relive some of the horrors that I learned to push through makes me furious. He treats them like dust, glaring at them until the day he can wipe them away. Joey did not marry my family, he married my mother. And only my mother. He's just waiting for the day when he can push his influence into my poor, naive little autistic brother's head to gain him over to his side. To mold him into himself, as no man has ever held the bond of fatherhood over him as he now can. The rest will move out, he is sure. Or, by all means, he will push them out. And so far is succeeding. What drives me mad the most is my mother's blindness. Her own bitterness and sour disposition seems to surface with his presence as well, though she hardly notices. She's more cruel and unforgiving to my siblings as she had been before. She will boast on her facebook about her perfect family, and how wonderful everything is and how much her sweet children adore her new loving husband. But as I once heard someone say---The beautiful portrait that you display on your wall....it hides the most hideous stain in the wallpaper. I wish to be rid of him....My little brother, as he now wishes me to call him, is coming into his own. Not the autistic one, Jordan. But my---dare I say it----favorite sibling. Kai, my dear Kai...What I would give just to see his happiness...He's been so tormented in this world, and by family the most. He is like me, and perhaps that is why I adore him so much and wish for his happiness. It's a happiness I was rarely granted. At first I were jealous of the attention he recieved for being transgender. The affections he were granted that I were denied. The opportunities my mother has given him that I still am shunned for. But now I see it....my inner brother has reminded me of it several times when I become jealous. "Kai is living the life that you had always dreamt of. Though it may be cruel.....help them achieve it. Help them become the young man that you missed out on being. You get to flourish as a man, but they get to blossom as a boy. Help him, and perhaps you'll even discover yourself." There's a bittersweet truth in it. And as much as I fear any advice from Alex, I think he may be onto something. Parents mold their children to live the lives they always wanted. Perhaps, in a way, if the child is willing and as wanting as yourself---is it really so bad? Perhaps not, if the situation calls for it. But one thing is certain. Joey needs to go. -Warren.......and Alex. Note: Perhaps my therapist was right. Perhaps DID isnt so impossible of a diagnosis....but he's not a disease. I'm starting to enjoy his company.
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