Phisoxa:

The tagline to this project isn’t entirely factual. We’d actually been manipulated thrice. Xanthe wasn’t created yet when Shadow implanted his warped spirituality into our mentality, but throughout the years of being branded an abomination, being told they shouldn’t exist, they were quite familiar with what Shadow left behind.

When Xanthe is told they ‘shouldn’t exist’, there is some truth in that. The fact of Xanthe’s existence meant that something had gone terribly, terribly wrong. That shouldn’t have happened to a child, we shouldn’t had needed Xanthe, the prior host shouldn’t have disappeared for nearly a decade. But that’s not what happened.

And in these dubious circumstances, among these liars, these mythical frauds, with such an active imagination, anything could happen.

Even Xanthe could happen. And of course, like the self-loathing bastard they are, they identified, to a point, the circumstances that created them and rebelled against them.

Shadow’s influence is both incomprensible and far-reaching, the original virus in the system, twenty years old. Selflessness, loyalty, reverence, devoting ourselves to whom we deemed higher. And look where that’s gotten us. Xanthe wasn’t the first to pull against it, but they were the most successful. Xanthe was created to exist beyond the protection of the gods and therefore outside of their power and influence. Xanthe is vice, vanity, vendetta, embodying all that is human, in stark dissent of those who claim to be superior.

In December of 2018, a long-planned coup was orchestrated by Xanthe, wherein they risked their life to dethrone a god’s figurehead. Since then, the inworld gods have had less power. It was no coincidence that this happened as Xanthe was contemplating a life with Rowan and Arkady.

Xanthe had done as I had written them to do and was facing, at one time, execution for it. It was put to a vote.

It was close, but that represented a crossroads– whether Xanthe’s world, and Xanthe themself would be beholden to the far-reaching spiritual influence of Shadow. And in the face of the False Fae, the system understood that it needed an irreverent heretic, something to question Kings, Gods, and otherworldly beings. The system chose and that same month, Sparrow, who had accepted dying because of belief in the Thysia curse, woke up.

There are no coincidences.

Xanthe:

I’ve always been a big fan of Breaking Bad’s story-telling. Mainly because the row of dominoes that both built and destroyed an empire is fascinating to me. If only Andrea’s brother hadn’t been the one to kill Combo, if only Hank wasn’t the sort to read on the commode, if only Marie hadn’t gotten arrested for her kleptomania and started Hank on the Heisenberg case again. If only Walter White hadn’t gone for a ride-along that day. If only Hector had never killed Gus’ partner.

And this story, in a way, is no different. I began this blog in 2020 because I was traumatised by Rowan through Arkady. Arkady, I met in 2018, because Rayzel had met him on break back in her hometown of Rochester and introduced us both. I knew Rayzel through Asher, who I had met on random day at a cafe in 2016. The cafe, Foxy Loxy, was in the city of Savannah, where I only lived because the system had moved to be with Kirra in 2012. Kirra, I’d inherited from Sparrow. Sparrow met Kirra through Leia at a sleepover in 2007 when he was fourteen. Leia, he had met at one fateful birthday party circa 2005 when they were both twelve. It was a birthday party we were only invited to because we happened to become friends, years before, with someone who a teacher had assigned us seats next to in 2nd grade in 2000.

I don’t know what exactly cost us our singlethood– I wasn’t there for that. But I have a gut feeling that, even with being split into a system, we might have just been okay if we’d never met Kirra. But if we hadn’t?

I wouldn’t exist.

Part of this blog’s purpose was to understand the origin of myself. I was the answer and the question was surviving Kirra. I remember theorizing that Kirra had Histrionic Personality Disorder, as if casting her away to a territory of the Cluster B that I didn’t inhabit would save me some pride. But, no. I was created to counter her and I’m a Narcissist. And she was likely a Narcissist as well and it took me a good while to admit that.

So, what did that make me? As in, originally?

I am a fictive, yes. Then I was made a host by some supreme accident of timing and higher powers. I think I was, originally, supposed to be a protector. But by the time I was fully conscious, Sparrow was gone. I think, judging by my inworld as well as my own personal lore, I was never supposed to be permanent, never supposed to be a host. But I had just the lack of loyalty, the irreverence, the ego, the sharp-tongue, the pettiness to survive her.

It was a law of physics. Every action causes an equal and opposite reaction. And I am that reaction. I suppose that makes me, too, some breed of monster. But I’m at least fucked up and warped enough to live with that fact.

Another goal of this project was to take down Rowan. And I did– gleefully. You actually can’t Google their name without my page on them popping up before their business page does.

Rowan E. Janiszewski, the Rochester ‘Fae’ Predator.

I released it on May 16th, 2022, three years after our fateful beach photo. Two days after their birthday, too. I’d been slowly turning the aliases to the actual names, all in secrecy, just to make sure this would blindside them. And oh, it did.

It was beautiful. I bought a bottle of champagne for the occasion, opened it, and sat back and watched the sparks fly. No one had been able to stand up for Rowan before– either too manipulated or too afraid of being stalked.

Watching everyone scramble for damage control tasted even better than the bubbly.

Within days, Rowan and Vali had been booted from pagan spaces and metaphysical shops as far as Buffalo knew to be on the lookout for their bullshit.

The threat of litigation was supposed to unnerve me into silence, but to the contrary, I was looking forward to it. One, it was going to be fun to watch them drop a huge chunk of change just for the terrible optics of demanding I stop speaking out. Two, combing through the evidence would only prove my side; you’ll notice none of these people have asked me to scroll on messenger or something to verify the screenshots. They know they’re real. Three, I hoped this would go to court. Please, make this public. Let a goddamn judge read through all of the texts about Rowan giving birth to our winged Faerie kids– watch me see if I can counter-sue for child support.

I knew they couldn’t do anything, legally. Considering my mountain of proof, good luck. Funny enough, even if I was, in fact, making it up, it’s hard as hell to sue for slander. I knew because I had to look it up when Vali tried to get me fired from [HOTEL REDACTED.]

I did have a vain hope that, with so much proof gathered in one place, some of these people would go, ‘Oh shit, I didn’t know the full story, I’m retracting my support.’ Like Sage actually has their own Massage Therapy business going. You would think that Rowan admitting to masturbating while working on a client would give Sage the heebie-jeebies, but nope, Sage waved their flag proudly for a fellow Massage Therapist’s right to do this, to go against my right to speak out about it.

I make sure that people know that, too.

Arkady, of all people, actually stood up for my side of the story.

Arkady and I had stopped talking as much, at this point, so I was actually somewhat pleasantly surprised he (kinda) stood up for me. Rowan had said, “I think the people who genuinely know me, know what kind of person I am.” This is someone who had spent a seven-year relationship with Rowan, living with them most of that time. If there was anyone who was unfortunate enough to know Rowan that well, it was Arkady. And he was corroborating my information.

The GoFundMe to sue me got to about three grand, the last I saw? Supposedly, at least. They’ve since removed it after lowering the goal themselves, but several have pointed out that it’s likely because GoFundMe lets you keep more of the funds if your goal is reached. There’s also the possibility that I’m worth three thousand dollars worth of scorn, which I have to say, I’m flattered, but it’s kinda low-balling it.

Since I was never summoned to court, nor heard any new developments, I wonder if they had to give that money back to those who have donated or if they just took it and ran.

A lot of big talk and no bite. Rowan’s not used to people they have no control over and it shows.

Speaking of Sage, their avoidance of any magic aspect of this has just been hilarious. They never asked about what’s come out regarding it, it, won’t engage with it; they basically plug their ears and will yell ‘lalalala’ whenever evidence comes out about their friend being the Unseelie Fae King. They liked to play it off like Rowan’s Faerie life was something completely separate and irrelevant, like they hadn’t lured people into friendships, relationships, or even moving halfway across the country for this fiction. As if Rowan didn’t use their ‘Faerie culture’ to sexually prey on people.

That’s a bit like saying, “Oh, yeah? Tell me anything Jeffrey Dahmer did, but I don’t want to hear about any of the gay shit!” It’s inextricable and to pretend otherwise is willful ignorance, at this point.

I would not have agreed to move to live with Rowan so quickly if it were not for their insistence that we’d known each other in past-lives. Because, damn, doesn’t my caution seem silly when we’ve already done this before, eh?

It also makes me laugh how much this group wants to push the idea that I’m just a jilted ex, still bitter about a break-up. My life was ruined. I lost thousands of dollars in this venture that I did not have, I took damage to my psyche that isn’t reparable, I was homeless for two weeks, and I lost the ability to even have a love life outside of my system. My Hell lasted for over a year– add that to Spectre’s years of being manipulated. Then think of Apollo’s victims– JaK, Koji, Romeo, Sound, Calisto, Aberle. Of Phoebe, who wasted her first crush on a catfish. Then think of Arkady’s seven years in an abusive relationship, conditioned to a pathological level to throw anyone under the bus, including himself, to avoid backlash. Add it to Nebula/Sparrow, who lost eight and a half years of life because Apollo liked to use catfish to control and abuse people.

I could be writing this for the next twenty years and it would only be a counter to the time Apollo’s and Rowan’s victims had suffered because of them. Because of people taking advantage of disorders and vulnerability and addiction, a status quo guarded by stigma. And it’s not only those two. Just look at Jen Cornet and the Final Fantasy House.

I want you, on Sparrow’s behalf, to think about the past eight and a half years of your life. Think about what relatives had died, the weddings you attended, the pets you adopted. Think about the friends you’d helped just by being there. Think about the fun experiences that many of you lived in your early 20’s; the self-discovery and healing. Some of you have even gotten married, had children during that time. Some of you had started careers, made friends for life, travelled.

Apollo and his unique brand of manipulation caused Sparrow to lose it all. Apollo, if you ever do read this, I suspect you actually did miss Neb. Maybe even mourned her in your own entitled way. That being said, Sparrow has told me to let you know, “I wish I never met you. I never would’ve fallen for you if you hadn’t pretended to share my inworld with me. The only good thing about dying was that it meant I was finally away from you.”

If this blog saves one person from having to go through all of this, it will have been worth it.

I’m certain you all want updates, and I’d be remiss to tell you.

Vali hasn’t stopped his ill-fated attempts to fuck with me, which usually involve him unleashing an incomprehensible stream of consciousness on my unsuspecting Facebook friends, as seen below.

Though it has been a few months since he’s last tried– Should I call for a wellness check?

Rowan and Vali are now married to each other, which many would argue is punishment enough. Rowan, knowing that the only one who could stand to be with them was essentially a dumber reflection of them with odor issues and Vali, who was now chained to someone who poisons people and makes whoever they’re dating an excuse for bad behaviour.

They were wed on a Saturday, in a week I was running behind on publishing an entry, and I unknowingly published it on their wedding day. Whoops. I’m told it caused some unspecific kerfuffle. I’m really sorry about it, if that were the ca– Wow, I can’t even type that with a straight face.

AJ held themself hostage on GoFundMe to fund their surgery. They detail at least three suicide attempts in this GoFundMe, going through them by numeric order, I’m not kidding. (I almost wanted to post it but I’m not subjecting you lot to this.) I can’t verify it, but I’m told they did have the surgery, but that it didn’t solve much because AJ is still in denial about them having dysmorphia. I haven’t seen any proof of that myself, but I’d believe it. They’re still in Rochester, as far as I know. I haven’t run into them since, but most of my enemies are recluses, which makes life easier.

One who isn’t a recluse, however, is Robyn/Jane Summers, who has stalked my system, particularly Sparrow, for the past year since we’ve blocked her. Everything from showing up at our job to approaching us in public to making new accounts just to try to silence us. Luckily, my circle of friends do a rather good job at keeping her away, but as you may surmise, it isn’t ideal.

Apollo, as far as I’ve seen, has only made one statement against me. It was after he’d realised I’d blocked him in May of 2020. Then he made this grandstanding post in June about how he was finally going to be brave enough to block his ex, (yeah, okay) and how this ex ‘refused to let him talk about what happened between them’, etc, etc. A few people from Savannah unfriended me over it. The fact that I can hardly recall their names is a sign of how devastating this was to me. I’d already taken the liberty of blocking most of Apollo’s known associates, of course.

Once the blog was started in earnest, he’s been uncharacteristically silent. I haven’t even seen him indicate whether he’s read the blog or even heard of it. I don’t know if he realised that once I had my memories back, he was sort of fucked– or if he has too little of a following for his word to travel far. I did catch one conversation between Apollo and Rowan on Facebook, of Apollo lamenting that he wasted money when he bought me a typewriter, and Rowan confirming that it’s ‘collecting dust.’

Again, if I were really a horrific abuser, why are you discussing how often I use your birthday presents like a bitter grandmother? Jesus.

Last I saw, he was hosting Live Streams that would go on for eight hours and get 0 views.

In other news, I’m not lying when I say my dating life is essentially over. I’d tried dating. It’s not as if I have a tiny pool to choose from. But within weeks of simply courting, I become convinced that the mere act of loving me will drive people to insanity or suicide. Rationally, I know that’s not the case. I’d simply had too many people pull the suicide card when I didn’t do what they’d asked. But rationality doesn’t stop panic attacks, the resulting avoidance.

There’s also the futility of it. Everything that would allow me to trust someone, to fall in love, has already been said by Arkady.

I loved how much of a silver-tongue he was, but now it seems like a curse. How could I start something new when all of those beautiful words were spoken and forsaken by the same person? No one could tell me anything to woo me or to soothe me that he hasn’t already– and he proved how fragile those words were.

The grief has been insurmountable.

Now, I did, in fact, reconnect with Arkady. It was February of 2022. It was three or four in the morning, I was drunk. As is my custom, I scrolled through Facebook memories before bed, many of which have Arkady tagged. Of course, the hyperlink was dead with the blocking– only text left behind.

Until it wasn’t. Believe me, that felt like a lightning bolt through my brain.

The conclusions came in waves. He unblocked me? His profile says he’s single? He’s free??? He accepted my friend request???

Keep in mind, I hadn’t heard hardly anything about him or from him since probably November of 2020. I’d never known what happened or if, indeed, he was still alive. But no, the next day, he had accepted my friend request and we’d talked. He admitted to being manipulated by Rowan, that he was sorry for what he’d done to me. (Though I personally doubt he knows the extent but we’ll take what we can get.) We even had some of our original banter going.

I uh… notably could not sleep for three days after this. There was euphoria involved, sure, but imagine a missing loved one, feared dead, from years past walking into your kitchen and grabbing a snack as you’re having your morning coffee. You’re glad to see them alive and well, yes, but your psyche would reasonably say, “What the fuck.”

But yeah, no, it was a full-on manic episode. No amount of alcohol or hydroxyzine could make me calm me down. I honestly was about ready to check myself in until someone in my system finally gained control and let the body rest.

Arkady and I hung out a few times, though nearly every friend of mine recommended against it. But I knew what Xhaxhollari already knew; that one couldn’t physically stop me from seeing him at least one more time.

Getting to see him in person after all this time was– wow. I mean, keep in mind, the last time I had seen Arkady was standing in that Crosman Terrace living room, saying how my fighting back tears was his favourite soap opera. But no, I finally have a better memory to replace that with.

Apparently, Arkady had been free of Rowan since about April of 2021. And he had been reading my blogs and they had precisely the effect I’d hoped for. Come to know, he was actually a fan. At least, he was a fan of how much it was pissing Vali and Rowan off.

Myself pointing out the pattern of Rowan using Arkady as a scapegoat apparently left its mark. It was as if I had lit a match in a forest during draught season. “Vali never did prove his twin’s existence, by the way. Or the psychology degree. He just kind of never spoke about either of it again after you started the blog. Rowan sort of dropped the Faerie thing and moved onto Norse mythology. They and Vali now think they’re Narvi and Vali– Loki’s twin sons. They even burned an effigy of Odin as revenge? Which, good luck with those consequences! And of course, we all kept having problems and they just kept getting worse…”

I was in the passenger seat of his car when I innocently glanced over at him, feigning surprise. “You kept having problems? Even after you got rid of me?” I could already see the exasperation on him. The inhale of breath, the subtle bracing for what he knew I was about to be obnoxious about. Even if he didn’t have to keep his eyes on the road, he would have refused to look at me. “Because I thought I was the problem!”

“Yeah, okay, I get it.”

But oh no, I’d earned this moment, goddamn it. “Well, I hate to say–… I hate to say–” I savoured Arkady’s long blink that hid an eye-roll. “I hate to say I told you so–“

“Okay, you’re done.” He was trying not to laugh at my gloating. “Rowan even put their hands on me again. When I told Sage, they literally said, ‘Well, that’s between you and Rowan.’ That’s it.”

I wish I could say I was surprised. Sage, the negotiator, the champion of the downtrodden, the voice of reason– completely down with domestic abuse wherein their ‘best friend’ is the victim. Cool.

For legal reasons, the two screenshots above are unrelated.

“I broke up with them, told them our relationship isn’t working and that it hasn’t for a while…” Arkady continued. “Then they started hiding my ID and my keys so I couldn’t leave the house. I finally left in April. I left my couch behind, partially because Rowan’s ass left a permanent indent in it.”

Throughout the closure and the banter, I did tell one pun or another– I forget what exactly, I tell dozens a day, much to the chagrin of onlookers. Arkady rolled his eyes and in a facetious tone, said, “Okay, that’s it. Get out, you’re banished.”

I feigned an offended look. “Again?!”

That made us both laugh.

I also have to give him kudos for the increase in self-awareness. He was more than game to make fun of his past self. I’d told him about how AJ and I ended, how AJ had name-dropped him just to get at me. “Yo, imagine telling your partner telling you about something that hurt them and you using that as a weapon.” At which point, he paused. “Which I know sounds rich, coming from me, but still, what the fuck, dude?”

Even this very candid admission: “I pointed both fingers at you and had to put your journal down to do it.”

And of course, there was at least one thing I needed him to understand. “I hope you know, before I knew I had DID, I thought these people existed outside of me. I told you what I thought to be true. I need you to know, I never lied to you.”

I never lied to you. It did strike me how that was a sad echo of what I’d said the day I showed up in Rochester to be his surprise, all those years ago. ‘I never lied to you. I said I would come if I could.’

“I know you didn’t,” Arkady had said quietly. “And I wish I could say the same.”

Alas, it wasn’t the most stable thing in the world. Neither of us have healed enough. We had both been spiritually abused by Rowan. You know how in sexual abuse cases, many victims either fall into being sex-repulsed or hypersexual afterwards? That can, uh… happen with the occult, spirituality, and religion as well. I definitely fell on the ‘repulsed’ side. Arkady did not.

The best way I can explain it is that my systemhood fucks with his otherworldly beliefs and his otherworldly beliefs fuck with my system. I’m simplifying it because this is, by no means, meant to be a takedown, but trust there is more nuance than that. So, anything more than distant well-wishes is somewhat difficult for us at the moment.

It’s a closed door, but not a locked one. I don’t regret it, for the record.

Not that I think we could be what we were. Too much damage had been wrought. Even if things did go well, mere months of dating would go by before I’d find myself terrified that he’d repeat the past. Because, if nothing stopped him before, what would stop him in the future?

And what Arkady did destroyed me. He had the rare power to thoroughly break me and he used it. So, I don’t think he even has anything to come back to anymore, romantically speaking. I’m a shipwreck, sunken, unreachable– more of a myth than vessel. But if we end up being friends someday, I think I’d still like that, if it’s possible.

The fact still is, nothing on the planet would make me do to him what he did to me. Not after what we had. I do have to reconcile the implications of that at some point.

I suppose I shouldn’t feel too cheated. His was the sort of love that few are lucky to even have once in a lifetime. I had two years of it.

There’s also the grief involving Visarden. I saw none of him during Arkady’s and my reconciliation, not even in the old ways where part of him would sort of bleed into Arkady. I don’t know if he’s gone dormant, or split, or something else. I do know that I’ve never grieved like this before. It’s almost three years since I’ve lost him, and you’d think this would have ebbed. But no, I regularly wake up and don’t want to get out of bed just because Visarden’s absence feels like a garish void has been ripped through the universe. And through me.

I definitely have a new appreciation of what Casey went through when Nebula/Sparrow disappeared. There’s no body to bury, no funeral, no closure– I can’t even be too public about it because I know the optics make my mourning look unhinged when the body he shared with Akrady is walking around living his best life. It’s probably one of the more maddening and sadistic ways to lose someone.

It’s not I loved one more than the other, certainly. But loving Visarden isn’t tainted by the bitter sting of betrayal, so there’s that. Missing him feels safer. It feels less fraught. But gods, is it painful.

And– finding and falling for someone who is, like myself, not real, who fell out of a fantasy, who loved me too just– that may have been the greatest high I’ll ever experience. We loved like fictional characters do, the scorching feelings in fiction bursting into life from the pages. More than words, more than myth, meeting in the middle somewhere between myth and reality. Visarden always seemed to bring his magical own world with him with a marvelous grace.

Lucifer, I saw more frequently as everything was falling apart. I miss him as well, but he actually appeared somewhat compliant to what Rowan was putting me through– actually addressing “an angel” Vali “channeled” (named Kane? Kai? Kol? Something.) as if they’d always known each other. I left this aspect out of the story, mostly because the details are lost to me. I somewhat suspect that something happened that Xhaxhollari had to Men-in-Black away, but that is mere speculation. There’s a good deal of my Lucifer-centered memories that remain lost.

There’s also William, of course. I miss him as well– I never knew what he thought of that decaying situation. Maybe he never even learned of it. Would he have reached out to comfort me the way Visarden had? I suppose I’ll never know now, would I?

I’m going to wrap up talking about this because writing this made a glass of wine appear in my hand. Probably more of that Faerie magic.

Which brings me to my next point–

My alcoholism! It’s a surprisingly contentious factor in all of this. It’s kind of funny how many times I’ve pointed out that this community has an attempted-murderer Faerie in a predatory cult and that’s been used as like, the main ‘Gotcha!’

“Rowan poisoned people, hit their partner, tried to kill their partner, masturbated while working on a massage client, used dissociative disorders to take sexual advantage of multiple people, stalked people, went after inhuman and minor alters, made me homeless, called my therapist, ‘channeled’ my dead girlfriend and my alter’s dead sister, and made up adoptive parents and children of mine.”

“Yeah, but you’re a drunk!”

My emotional dependence on alcohol is mentioned in basically every chapter of this. If you were flipping to the end for me to say, ‘Folks, I’m happy to announce that I’m in a twelve-step and I’m on my way to sobriety!’ I’m sorry, it’s not that kind of story.

As one of my favourite therapists have said, “Yes, you do have a problem with alcohol. But as far as problems go, that’s probably not even in your top five.”

It was fascinating to see my history with it mapped out through the blog– from 2013, getting giggly off of free wine with Elisabeth at Galley Espresso, to 2014 of having one night a week where I stay home and have champagne to play hooky from Kirra. Then, I dunno, there was something about seeing an engine put through my friend’s husband in 2015 and having to beg for his survival that made me turn to the bottle pretty fervently. Then there’s my family history, of my father’s bout with ‘partying’ to deal with his grief over his father. And apparently Sparrow had been drinking as early as thirteen!

The fact is, folks– alcohol is more of a convenient scapegoat against me than anything. There’s only one time where my drinking has negatively affected my work life, and it hasn’t since. (And I was being criminally overworked at the time, so I’m going to call it even.) I don’t drive at all. Two out of my three jobs don’t even mind if I drink while on the clock. I don’t need to drink every day and, frankly, I don’t prefer to. I don’t think I’ve made any of these choices drunk that I wouldn’t have likely made sober. It’s not a problem in relationships and friendships that have any staying power.

I wasn’t drinking even once a month when I made the disastrous decision to date Kirra. Alcohol didn’t end my relationship with Arkady; Rowan did. It didn’t cause the disintegration of AJ’s and my relationship– their toxic dysphoria and constant suicide threats did that. Alcohol has ruined lives, but it hasn’t ruined mine, nor has my use ruined the life of anyone close to me. What did ruin my life was the persistent pseudo-occultist manipulation of my system.

And– let’s be frank. What motivation do I really have to quit drinking? A longer lifespan? Why? What part of this story makes you think I’m going to go out of my way to get more of this? Are you fucking kidding me?

And and and– must I point out–

People who drink, with me or otherwise: Cotton, Oscar Wilde, Visarden, Kaspar, Jake, Sparrow, Casey, Aberle, Hemingway, Tommy Shelby.

People who don’t drink and criticise those who do: Rowan, Apollo, Hitler.

I rest my case.

As I’ve stated in blogs before, Sparrow and I are now splitting our life somewhat down the middle. I have to take on a majority of the days, four out of seven, because he took one look at my hotel customer service job and said, “I’d rather die again, thanks” but it’s actually helped quite a bit. Because there are some days where your dandy has to put out fires in the inworld, too. He works at the bar, is called by name by his coworkers and regulars, has his own interests, hobbies, friend circles, and vices, and actually seems to be making up for lost time.

Sparrow was reunited with Casey and they do have that second chance. He’s found a reason to stick around for future plans. As someone who is, we all have to admit, really rather ambivalent about dying to a pathological level, I kind of needed a cohost in that position. You know how an extrovert drags an introvert into activities and parties? Well, Sparrow’s newfound lease on life is dragging my halfway lifeless self into something I may just have fun with.

And that’s all I want to really do. Stick around to write, travel, and see what’s left to fall in love with outside of people.

If he ends up being host again, I wouldn’t be mad. It wouldn’t be a failing on my part. I’ve gotten us this far, which is as dubious as it is impressive. By all means, Sparrow, please, fall in love, get married, have that happily ever after.

One of us should get to.

That certainly doesn’t mean you’ll have seen the last of me. Heavens, no. I’ll be everywhere that has champagne, I’ll be the first to announce Oscar Wilde’s birthday, and I’ll be there to break any chain of manipulation I find. To get rid of me, the system needs an entirely safe, drama-free, healing environment for at least a decade, I wager. Both internally and externally.

So, that is to say, you’re all bloody stuck with me. The brain had the chance (a few of them) to let me die and didn’t take it, so now we all have to live with that! I may one day be around just for cafe days, just for nights at the bar, just for extravagant vacations, just to write. If Sparrow wants a domestic life so much, I say, let him have it. I’m more for the public eye, anyhow.

Now, time to answer some questions still left unanswered. “Why differentiate between Kirra and Apollo?”

Apollo was who differentiated it initially. He would talk about Kirra, in third person, as if she were an old host that had gone dormant, or sometimes like a sister. He would use she/her pronouns to refer to Kirra. I understand fully that Apollo is a man and uses he/him. Some people think I’m deadnaming or misgendering Apollo, but no, I’m referring to a different person– even if the fact of them being different people is fiction. It’s his fiction, if it is fiction at all.

Do I think he’s a system as well? Honestly, I don’t know. He put a strange amount of time and investment into the ‘roleplay chats’ and ‘characters’ if they weren’t, in some mild sense, real to him. But then Apollo came out to claim Kirra’s history, identity, and motivations simply to sink me with him. And of course, Kirra denounced my friends being real at all. Which– was that only manipulation? Were they struggling with systemhood as well? Or maybe even another disorder?

Many of Kirra’s characters existed before Living Fiction was in Kirra’s life, which is something to consider.

Then again, KirPollo is a manipulative bitch of the first degree and has spent equal baffling energies lying about other bullshit, so I may never really know.

So. Yeah, I still generally differentiate the two. Kirra, who killed Neb, who I knew and dated from 2013-2016 and Apollo, a frienemy and frequent companion I knew from 2016-2020. It’s the only thing that makes sense from a narrative perspective, even if it was all a lie. And to be honest, they did feel like different people. Different aesthetics, different ways of dating, different temperament– I actually wanted to invite Apollo to things, whereas Kirra was an obligatory field of eggshells that couldn’t be trusted in group settings.

I don’t know if they were truly separate people and I don’t know if I will ever find out.

In other news, this all has been a boon to my writing career. The traffic this blog has gotten has actually completely exceeded anything my books have gotten. As a result of this blog, of my bitter bitching has actually landed me a lucrative job as a ghost writer. This paid for my Savannah vacation and it’s going to be paying for more vacations down the road. I’m usually broke for a couple of months afterwards, but priorities!

If Rowan or Apollo ever sees selfies of any lavish vacation I happen to take, I want them to know that my bitching about them helped get me there. Also, my raw literary genius, let’s not forget that.

Also, can we give a big shoutout to my phone? A large part of the reason I was able to keep so much of my citations, screenshots, and sources was because this damn thing has been with me since November of 2018. Samsung Galaxy Note9, great for all of your manifesto needs! (Can I get a sponsor deal? Anyone? No?)

A few have actually asked me about Kaspar. They’re undoubtedly the most loyal partner I’ve ever had, and I would write so many more flowery entries about them– I don’t actually forget them in my infatuations, and grief. The fact is that Kaspar Dusek is such a private person that every part of our relationship that I’ve disclosed through these blogs, I’ve had to negotiate to use. We’re very much together and very much in love.

They’re just not as given to sentimentality as its raw form. Generally, it’s distilled to the form of teasing, lavish outings, and protectiveness. I blame the numerous Aquarius placements in its chart. We both agreed in the beginning that we would never try for marriage, cohabitation, a gooey romance for the ages. What we have is comfortable, enjoyable, and safe.

Part of the reason Arkady was so much of a release for me is because he encouraged all of that intense, fatalistic adoration I used to be capable of. Kaspar, for the record, will occasionally tolerate it. I know they have my back in any given situation and Kaspar knows it’s mutual. But yes, I admit it does seem like I forget them, I’m just limited in Kaspar’s particularities in what it likes revealed in the public sphere.

But have no illusions; Kaspar is one of the most brilliant minds I’ve ever met. Its strength, its grace, and the insults that almost sound like compliments are admirable and I’m honoured to call them my partner– my Narcissus, my Dorian Gray, my frivolous fellow conspirator.

Someone’s also asked if everyone in Living Fiction was okay with the blog. Yes and no. Keep in mind, only a handful of those who can front realise they’re alters, even these days. Sound, Aberle, Phisoxa, Jasper, Sparrow, Aelaris, Xhaxhollari, Oscar– They’re mostly aware of what’s happening and support what I’m doing. Cecil, who doesn’t know he’s my alter, knows about the blog and feels that I’m suffering from extreme derealisation wherein I think he doesn’t actually exist and mostly rolls his eyes and tells me to find a psychologist.

And also– many of my alters are just not all that interested in my life or what I’m writing about. I’ve had a few recently ask if I still lived in Savannah. People like to frame my inworld as this magical place centered around me, but I’m very much a thorn in everyone’s side there, too.

JaK was not initially flattered by my portrayal of him. He said that I was flippant, mocking, and harsh in my depictions. This was all entirely true. My rebuttal? “You tried to set me on fire.”

Nevertheless, he didn’t like that I wasn’t particularly sorry about that. We argued about it a few times and eventually agreed that how he reacted was integral to the story and that I did make it clear that he was a victim in this. He pushed for more positive depictions, which I did grant. I don’t begrudge him on the fact he was originally Kirra’s OC– he’s clearly his own person who has his own role within the system now. I did probably have some bias based off of his origins and I do apologise for that.

Like it or not, we’re all on the same team. Living with DID can be hard– triggers can feel like surviving a maelstrom. But I wouldn’t trade it for singlethood. There’ll never be a system-wide integration, I feel. The system was created to keep us from being alone and we’ll always need our other world, our other parents, our other friends. And after all that’s happened, I can never say no to drinking buddies.

I, for one, am excited to turn my attention to fiction once again.

This blog saved my life, gave victims closure, finally boosted me into the writing industry, and outted predators. It definitely is not meant to be an educational tool for Dissociative Identity Disorder, but if you feel you’ve learned something, cool. For those who have supported me, thank you. For those who have shared my blogs out of disgust to talk shit, thank you for the help. Especially Rowan, I sincerely would not have done it without you.

It’s ironic. This blog began as a way for me to have the last word, maybe a suicide note, maybe a vengeance, some selfish reason, assuredly. And it ended up having the most altruistic effect.

Amazing, isn’t it, what an egotistical, Narcissistic, irreverent brat with a grudge can do, eh?

“So we beat on, boats against the current. Borne back, ceaselessly, into the past.” -The Great Gatsby.