There is a certain sound on my phone that my brain is trained to become fungus to. But nowadays I remember the emails I get there, well enough anyway.
I purposely played music today to drift of to another world. Maybe I shouldn’t be? But it is nice. Reduces my anxiety. Maladaptive in that I then lose time, don’t do tasks. Might migrate to a computer and type it. It will become my story excerpt for the grad school application.
I avoided one song. It is Fungus’s song. I knew that would be too much. I don’t have DID, but he takes himself a bit... seriously. But it’s not truly a different personality. It’s still me. Just a confused me.
Why did typing that make me so uncomfortable?
I looked up the lyrics to that one song, trying to stop the “craving.” But I didn’t listen to it. Why do I want to? It makes me think of those little dark chocolates wrapping around little candies, flavored like pomegranate and açaí. I learned to eat the chocolate off them to enjoy the candy. Clever candy had the texture of dried fruit, but only when in chocolate. They accomplished that by putting two little half circles in the middle.
I can taste them. There is a laptop in front of me but I am A lil (will not type correct spelling for fear of being Googled). The song plays because it describes who and what I am. I don’t quite like the singing style, but I am open minded of what much of a species likes — ((but I’m human too. I have likes and dislikes too))
I describe the universe in detail to the little friend, B. She nicknames me “little buddy.”
Why? I asked.
She tells me I look like a heartless from her video game, Kingdom Hearts. That’s how she sees me, now that she has seen my shadow. She suspects I am stalking her, but she feels protected by me. She thinks I am small. Cute.
Guilt surges through me — because I have deceived her because she would not understand ((maybe this was my REAL guilt getting translated to something workable in this situation?)). None of my loved ones ever have. Humans are intelligent but few have understood. The sz (making hard to Google) have a better chance, but I don’t tell them either.
B is a human, and therefore intelligent. I have this categorizatized. However, I have evidence that she is emotionally unwell, that her intelligence is both stunted and not THE most intelligent. It is unlikely she would understand. So let her view me as something like a spirit. I have let others view me that way, Fungus thinks. It is necessary. I do not have to explain myself.
I do not want to hurt you, I tell B.
I tell her whenever we talk. At this time, every few months or so. I do not have the resources to talk more often. She would not understand. She is a mammal. Mammals have high metabolisms. They do many things in one day, but without multitasking.
She is very instinctive, but loves when I point it out. She loves my perspective. She wants to know my past. I cannot share, so I tell stories.
She loves me, she says. She is curious about her little buddy.
She does not know that to me, “little” means “young” or “not well nourished” or “newly ‘hatched’.” I like that. I like her curious innocence.
I do not pick favorites, but I love. It is not the same kind of love, but it is something that keeps one alive after years and years and years.
She learned the secret while trying to learn about an enemy, from someone else. Very long story. She discovered I was not what she expected. Not a spirit. A fungus. Or, that’s the best explanation there is.
In reality, in the real world, we call that a plot twist. :P
B was the type of creature who instinctually takes in her world and applies it, when necessary, to others, to make a full picture. It is how brains work. It was charming. For example, I told her that grass does not grow on other planets. Her brain made that connection because on Earth, plants are dominant creatures. In particular, orchids. They are the best survivors. But she sees grass and trees and cacti and her brain assumes without her noticing, All ecosystems require plants. But plants are unique. They are strange and could not have evolved elsewhere.
We talked again, after she found I was a fungus. She let me talk. Then she began to say, shyly, that she was curious about me. Even more so, now.
But she then said she respected my privacy. When I did not explain myself, she said this:
I don’t mean to pry. But you must know, I love you. No matter who or what you are.
She meant it.
Towards the end, she stopped saying she loved me. This is where my brain starts to merge most, where it glitches. She stopped telling me,
@littleoc , she loved me, as a punishment. For lying.
Then she stopped saying it to Fungus, too. I began to make more mistakes that could identify me more easily. My level of carefulness became less careful.
But I remember that she said she loved me, no matter who or what I was.
And I remember that she meant it.
But she did not love me when Fungus was
@littleoc .
I am confused about what she wanted. I am confused about my role in her life. She loved Fungus much more than she ever loved
@littleoc .
On a cold, gray morning, I ((no, Fungus, but I am he?) messaged her and began to tell her a story. She liked it. Then she unloaded every bit of her troubles. She apologized and said she wasn’t sure if I had an important message.
I did not. She thanked me. Fungus only wanted her company, nothing else. He loves those he loves and is there for them.
Fungus knew odd things about her. Things I don’t know how he knew, which made me think that maybe he was real. ((How... shameful..))
He knew she hadn’t eaten any salt. He knew she hadn’t been eating enough calories, yet her food was also completely indigestible. He knew her allergies were asthma. He knew she hadn’t slept. He knew she was recovering from a fight with J.
I don’t know how he knew those little things. Was it just coincidence? Was I so in tune as Fungus that I could see it in the way she typed?
In the last year, she was almost constantly depressed. She opened up to me. She told me her most secret fears.
I feel such guilt that I cry.
But I don’t know... Who’s crying? Did I do this? Am I evil? Did I do this?
If I did? Then would I feel this guilty?
If I did, I wouldn’t be “trained” to let Fungus begin talking when I heard that sound.
I can’t get myself to delete the app. Not right now.
I remember the few times she was truly happy with such clarity that the memory isn’t a human memory... but obviously, it IS. Only a human can be like this.
I remember her finding out she could send pictures. She sent me hilarious pictures of cats. She did not ask me for pictures. That would ruin the identity of Fungus... because he. wasn’t. real.
She... respected that?
????????????
She KNEW.
I remember gifting her money (as Fungus), how happy she was. How happy she was when I gifted her a tiny clothes washing machine.
As
@littleoc , I literally went to my bank confused about my missing money. I needed that. I was in college. I needed groceries.
So... f*cking weird.
I wrote my first book when I was three or four years old. It was either about clowns or cats — I’m not certain which of the two I made first, but I saved both.
I used notebook paper cut into squares, stencils to illustrate (clowns doing tricks, or cats being cats). I wrote in the pages.
I think, maybe, my mind has cared much more about stories than anything else. They are comfortable, in my control. Entertaining.
