I divulged a very private thing of the little boy 'Still.' Today, I told the T that the boy wrote and then hid letters "to whom it may concern." The letters told the world who he was, what he loved, what scared him and who would likely take his life - Fears of certain death from the bleeding, beating and pain. He told how much he did not want to be dead, but "in case I am, please read this and know me."

They were not suicide notes by any means. They were a shout out that he was here - "I was here...this is who I was. These were my favorite stuffed animals. These were my sisters. Let me tell you about my adventures in my woods, my fears and tears. Let me tell you of a life you would never otherwise know."

Little Boy Still periodically wrote new ones and added them to the hidden collection. He remembers apologizing for being dead, being bad, disappointing his parents and hoped they would never hear what he would do with those older boys.

He thanked his dog Lucy, and told others how to care for her now that he's gone.

He told of regret for disappointing those who needed him to be a real boy - into sports - to be physically strong, good in school, and not a criminal.

He was here - he proclaimed. He was a soul and had real feelings. Mostly, he told of wanting to just be normal, but explained to those important to him why he was not.

Did anyone else do this?

Hay Still, thanks for sharing this part of your story.
Very powerfull letters from the little boy Still.
This type of thing is an incredible gift to be able to get in touch with our younger selves. I think this can help us get in touch with what we lost and what we had to do to survive.

I am not sure what you ment by "Did anyone else do this?"

Have a younger part split off?
Have a younger part communicate feeling and thoughts?
Have the iner child write letters to express who what and why?

Take care,

Meant it literally. Little Still really did write those letters and really did hide them in case he died. He fully expected to die in violence within the home.

He wanted to be known for more than "that crazy-loopy, little fag-boy who died." He genuinely wanted his true nature and substance to be known, as no one ever really knew him at all.

I wish I could find those letters. They were hidden in the box of loose Lionel train tracks and loose cars. It was a smart place as the trains would have been given to someone when the bedroom go cleaned-out.

Still,

I did do this as well, a journal is what was kept. I am using it to get better aquainted with myself (sounds absurd) the part of me that I had left behind. Thank you so much for sharing. This aspect (DID) is what I am working through. Your not alone and sorry to say it but I find comfort knowing im not the only one either.


-Jay-

Christopher wrote a lot. Robbie would not write or speak. The Dark One would write some, but there was one who was always sad....really really sad. He was a little sweet guy...like a fawn...he saw it all as too sad to allow death to end it.

Thus, Death not ends it. Not for any of us now.

WOW Still,

Crazy loopy little fag boy! So often, not in those exact words thats how I viewed my younger self.. And yes I killed him as well!!!! Why did we do this to ourselves? I cant wrap my mind around it.

Still,

That is very touching...and I mean that sincerely and not in a Hallmark sort of way. We all carried kid fears with us and may or may not have verbalized them. I commend the young Still for being so open and honest whether through fear or foresight. I can't imagine how I would have felt if I received the train set.

I'm nothing if not impressed and humbled by your post.

Will

"Kid Fears" ---Indigo Girls

That was my first LOL in like 48 hours or more.

______________________

There was a member here at MS long ago I felt quite close to. He and his wife would sing this Indigo song together.

I was the one on the bathroom floor.

I thought you might know it....didn't want to trigger...

They are a local band from way back ...

"A cry for help" has been so overused into cliche that it almost loses its power when it's the best possible phrase. I'm so sorry there was no one to hear Young Still.

I wrote stuff to nobody... though not fearing death, and not entirely consciously. I was journaling while doing wildlife fieldwork in college and suddenly my field notes turned into my first-ever expressed acknowledgment of THAT.