Guardian’s War 9: The Journal

Few house-cleaning maintenance facts to throw out about the creation of this series.

My wife has started to see things. Usually in dreams. She sees my alters. They are constructed of shadows and wisps of things, but they are there. Last night she dreamt of a figure following me around trying to “get” me. When I mentioned that this thing might be an alter, she was receptive to it.

She woke up and saw a figure standing over me in the light of the door on my side of the bed. She stared at it in shock for a moment before speaking. “Who are you?” The figure stepped back into the darkness and I woke up from a snoring sleep and looked over my shoulder.

“This is Jesse,” I said, before dropping my head on the pillow again and going to sleep.

Today, while I was cuddling with her in bed, she fell asleep. She dreamt of a man going through our car in our driveway in the darkness. She saw him and he looked at her and he said, “I’m gonna take this.” She screamed out in her sleep and I closed my arms around her instantly. She woke and told me about it.

What is happening is more dissociation. I want you to think about Teardrop Road and the Smilin’ Jack chapters. The way he could not get into the body and he was trying to get close. What is happening in my house is that the writing is so intense that the alters are pulling out of the body. They are moving around us. The dogs can see them but don’t bark at them. They just stare and moan as the figures from my mind move around our house.

I saw Shadow sitting in the back seat of the car tonight when me and Bekah went for a drive. They are here, but not wanting to get into the body. They are moving around us. Walking among us looking through things and following me.

I want to talk for a minute about my mother, and some of the visits I had with her during the Grasp trouble. Things are happening there that you will have to know about later.

When Grasp moved out of my mother’s house and found a girlfriend, I started coming to visit Rose and tried to work things out. The visit always started off great. We would hug, talk, eat, she would tell me about her week. I would tell her about mine. We watched movies and she cooked for me. Everything was great.

I would visit the girls; I would see my cousins. I would spend time with Mumble’s family and it would all be fine. There was a palpable feeling of tension in the air. It was very clear to me that I was unwanted. That no one wanted me around, except the kids. But the kids did want me around so everyone had to put up with me.

Eventually, everything at my mother’s house would go wrong.

Rose would say the wrong thing. She would tell the wrong story and she would make the comment that I dreaded but knew was coming every time I came by. “All you have to do is say sorry and—” she would say.

Instantly, Guardian! Instantly, he would rip his way forward and start his attack. He did not allow that kind of talk. He would start asking what he had to be sorry for, and they would be off.

She would rage about me betraying Grasp.

I would scream about him betraying our family, our way of life, and even our souls. Guardian would scream at her, then he would get deathly calm.

She would continue to talk and he would listen. He would hear what she was saying and he would start to calmly pick it apart. He was learning a new form of combat. He was learning how to win. He would start listening to the things she said and begin to build a case. He would argue like he was trying to support an idea in a college class. He would talk and he would debate and she would start to get frustrated.

All she had was emotion. All she had was the idea that God talked to her, and she knew God’s mind and will. She would rage on about God’s will and she would use scriptures. Every argument she came up with, Guardian would bat down. Every time she would hit us with some sort of Bible verse that would support her case, Guardian would bring out the suffer the children to come to me. He would say it as if he was Christ himself. Just to watch the rage at his blasphemy.

“God doesn’t need your help to save children, Jesse! He is all powerful and he can do it himself,” she would say.

“No, Rose,” Guardian would say. “He has warriors all over the world doing his bidding. He has warriors that will burn down institutions in his name. Rotten and vile institutions that deserve to be broken and trod underfoot. God has warriors all over the world doing his good work, Rose. It is that call that I answer.”

“My chest is starting to hurt!” she would snap.

That was the end. That was the time for us to stop talking. She would get in a few more good jabs, but she would not accept any comebacks. It became very clear to me that whoever got the last word was the victor in my mother’s eyes.

Let’s put a pin in that. You’re going to love that one, but that comes later. We have to earn that story by going through all the terrible things that are happening in this storyline. We have to fight our way to the final battle between Rose and I. Just stay with me. I’ll get you there.

Johnson came into my room one day with his fiancé and he sat down on my floor. He looked miserable and though I had sitting room on my bed, I got down in the floor with him.

“Are you drunk?” he asked. His girl sat down beside him and took his hand.

“Not bad,” I said.

“Are you going to remember this?” he said.

This was bad. This was going to be very bad. Johnson had seen enough. He wanted a change made, and I knew that it was not going to be an easy one.

“I will remember. If I think I won’t, I’ll write it down,” I said.

“Good, I wanted to—”

“Before you get started, I want to tell you I’m sorry.” Guardian broke into sobs and hid his face. “I am sorry for making you live this way. I can’t stop. I can’t stand it. I—”

Johnson hugged me and his girl did, too. They held me for a while before I pulled away and Johnson looked me in the eye.

“I’m moving out,” he said.

This was better news than I had expected. I thought he was about to ask me to leave.

He took his girlfriend’s hand and squeezed it. “We are moving in together. The wedding is coming up and we are close enough now that we want to live together.”

I nodded. I smiled. “That will be good. When is the wedding? I can’t wait to see you in a tux,” I said.

“We got you something,” he said, changing the subject. He did not want me at his wedding. I understand why. I do. If he had told me then, I would have understood then, too, but I would have taken it like a hit to the throat. I sit here now and I think about them and I wish I had a way of getting a hold of them. I wish I could tell him how much I had needed him and how great he had been. I wish I could tell him that I will always love him for the time he put in and the ways he saved my life.

Johnson, if you read this, I want you to know that I miss you. And I will always love you. I understand why you had to bail and I don’t hold it against you. All of the happiness you wanted for me came true. All of the work you did to keep me alive and help me fight back my demons paid off. I made it, and to some extent it is because of you.

He left me with a journal. He told me to write it all down. Put it all in print and look at it. Try to make sense of it and find some peace. His last gift to me was a plea for me to do the very thing I am doing now. Here I am twenty years later, finally putting it all down and taking his advice. Trying to make some sense of it all. I can say that Johnson gives me hope for the future. People like him make a difference. He made a difference to me.  He is going to leave us now and he will not be back. I am, from this point on, less without him. But he kept me alive for a long time. I thank him for that.

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