Alter

By Jade Wade

About the Author
From somewhere deep inside the kaleidoscope... I am called J.W (Jade Wade). Or perhaps we are. A constellation of "Me's" orbits within one skin, one restless mind (a quiet inheritance called Dissociative Identity Disorder, or DID). Some whisper to the moon when no one listens. Some sit next to the warmth of a fire under starless skies. Some weave castles from forgotten words. And one still lingers at the edge of the page, uncertain whether to step forward or vanish again.Others among us create in different shadows: some compose music that drifts like smoke through empty rooms, some paint visions onto canvas before the light can steal them away, some collect small, strange treasures-delicate vintage tea sets with chipped porcelain that hold the echo of long-ago conversations, stacks of old books whose pages smell of dust and secrets waiting to be reread. And some simply listen. Some who seek the deep, thrumming pulse of 808 bass lines, that low, relentless heartbeat that anchors us when dissociation pulls the world into haze. It steadies the drift, quiets the static, brings the scattered pieces back toward center-especially in those moments when the edges begin to fray and the ground feels far away.The stories arrive in fragments, the way fog claims a valley before dawn. I wake to new sentences already breathing on the screen, as though the "Me's" gathered in secret conclave while my body slept-plotting, bargaining, erasing each other's footprints. I never quite know what the next chapter will unveil. No one announces their turn. No signature marks the beginning; no final voice claims the end. Each "Me" claims certain chapters as their own territory, yet the total number remains a riddle even now. The book decides its own length. It decides when it is finished. I am merely the vessel that opens in the morning to find another piece has appeared.There is only one unbreakable pact among us: I do not look. I do not edit. I do not read a single line until the book exists in the world-ink on paper, bound, real. To interfere would summon endless shadowed councils: revisions whispered in corners, lines crossed out in moonlight, entire sections hidden beneath blankets until they dissolve into silence. So I turn away. I trust the unseen hands. I let them complete their strange, private ceremony.This is fiction. Yet every shadowed corridor and glint of light was carved by "Me's" who once walked through very real darkness-childhood tempests, silent escapes, years spent learning that light can return, though it arrives changed. Today I am a mother, a grandmother, a guide to small wondering humans and larger restless ideas, an activist whose heart still shouts when it must. And I still believe stories can mend what was torn, even if the stitches remain faintly visible.Step inside if you dare. You may glimpse which "Me" walked which page: the one trailing mischief like smoke, the one armored in quiet bravery, the one scattering stardust from trembling fingers, the one painting in the dark, the one chasing bass lines through the fog, the one arranging fragile teacups in candlelight or turning yellowed pages by moonlight. Or perhaps you will sense something older-something that watches from between the lines, waiting to see if you notice.Thank you for crossing the threshold.The door was never fully closed.With veiled smiles, silent nods, and the faintest shimmer of what might have been, J.W (and the others who have not yet been named)

• Format: Paperback
• Language: English
• ISBN: B0GHNFQQTV
• ISBN13: 9798244512106
• Release Date: January 2026
• Publisher: Independently Published
• Length: 546 Pages
• Weight: 1.59 lbs.
• Dimensions: 1.1" x 6.0" x 9.0"