dissociativecollective

[dissociativecollective]

I'm done with looking back,

Through the mist of memories,

Where shadows of regrets,

Once danced with whispered dreams.

I'm done with holding on,

To echoes of what could have been,

Letting go of frail illusions,

That weighed my spirit down.

Yet those echoes still linger,

Softly in the corners of my mind,

A melancholy melody,

Of moments left behind.

I'm done with waiting for time,

To turn its course,

Now embracing every moment,

With renewed strength and force.

But the echoes of the past,

They whisper in the breeze,

Reminding me of paths untrod,

And broken promises.

I'm done with tears that fell,

Like rain upon my soul,

Now I stand beneath clear skies,

Where hope and courage roll.

Yet tears still stain my cheeks,

For what I left behind,

A sorrowful symphony,

Of what I couldn't find.

I'm done with looking back,

For the future calls my name,

A path unfolds before me,

With promise I reclaim.

But shadows in the dusk,

They remind me of the cost,

Of letting go and moving on,

Of everything I've lost.

I'm done with the old me,

In the mirror, a new face gleams,

For I've found my way forward,

In the light of endless dreams.

[dissociativecollective]

[dissociativecollective]

Split apart. Fragmented. Dissociated. My entire life, I’ve never known who I truly am.

Until now.

Integrated, I finally know myself in the entirety of my being and existence. Whole. In tact.

Painful, but worth it. I am me. One being.

A beginning.

[dissociativecollective]

Viatorem by Slutfocate (Morbid Studio)

[dissociativecollective]

Time often sorts out many problems, but for the ones that stick around, it's up to you to roll up your sleeves and find the answers.

[dissociativecollective]

Amy Heiden

[dissociativecollective]

I woke up, still lost in the haze of sleep. Then, I slipped back into slumber, drifting away forever. My things were all in their usual spots, not where I'd left them. Who are you, always trailing me like a shadow from my past? Who are you, watching my every move, watching my back? Who are you, slowly taking my life bit by bit? Your hands feel like mine, your eyes see what I see, your heart beats like mine, your soul feels like mine. You have nothing of your own - and neither do I. Maybe that's why I've always felt incomplete.

...Who are you, showing up just when I need you, exactly where I need you? Who are you, the only one who truly gets me? My hands are cold, but yours are warm, yet they're the same hands. Drop me a note, let me know how your day went. I'll muster a smile in the mirror - just for you. I search for you in every reflection. You're like a guiding light, always there. Who are you? Your hands are my hands, your eyes are my eyes, your heart is my heart, your soul is my soul. You make me whole. I get it now. You're a part of me, my closest friend, my protector.

[dissociativecollective]

by Lucas Pezeta

[dissociativecollective]

The Journey.

[dissociativecollective]

Freedom isn't enough. What I crave remains nameless, waiting to be excavated in the uncharted realms of the soul.

[dissociativecollective]

The Journey

In the dimly lit room, shadows danced along the walls like specters whispering secrets of forgotten torment. I sat huddled in the corner, my knees drawn up to my chest, as if trying to contain the chaos that raged within. Inside me, something seethed. Inside me, some feral animal clawed at my ribcage, trapped.

Memories haunted the corridors of my mind. They were chains, heavy and suffocating, binding me to a past I longed to escape. Abuse, both physical and emotional, had been the architect of my despair. The scars ran deeper than the skin, etched into the very fabric of my being, a roadmap of pain and suffering.

But it wasn't just the bruises that marred my flesh or the echoes of harsh words that reverberated in my ears. It was the relentless assault on my spirit in childhood, the erosion of my sense of self-worth, that left me hollow and broken.

In the silence of that room, I could hear the echoes of my own cries, the pleading for mercy that fell on deaf ears. Each blow, each insult, chipped away at my resolve until there was nothing left but a shell of who I once was.

Yet, amid the darkness, a flicker of defiance ignited within me. It was small at first, a mere spark in the vast expanse of despair, but it grew steadily, fueled by the realization that I was not defined by the scars of my past.

Inside me, something stirred. It was a whisper of hope, a glimmer of light cutting through the shadows. With trembling hands, I reached out, grasping onto that fragile thread of resilience.

For years, I had been told that I was worthless, that I wasn't good enough. But now, as I faced the demons that had haunted me for so long, I saw them for the lies they actually were.

Inside me, something seethed. But it was no longer a creature of despair. It was a survivor, clawing its way out of the darkness, reclaiming the power that had been stolen from it.

And as I stood, trembling but unbowed, I knew that the journey ahead would be fraught with challenges. But I also knew that I was not alone. With each step forward, I carried with me the strength of those who had walked this path before me, and the knowledge that, no matter how fierce the storm, I would weather it, battered but unbroken.

[dissociativecollective]

[dissociativecollective]

Fractured.

[dissociativecollective]

In the shattered mirror of my mind, I found fragments of self scattered like pieces of a puzzle, each reflecting a different facet of my existence. With every step, I wove through the labyrinth of my identity, trying to piece together a cohesive whole from the fractured reflections of my past, present, and aspirations, each shard a testament to the complexity of my being.

[dissociativecollective]

Wholeness over perfection.

[dissociativecollective]

AMELIE PETIT MOREAU - STRUCTURE PRINTED AND CUT IN WARSAW IN 2011 ( I. 50 X 50CM ; II. 50 X 100CM)

[dissociativecollective]

On Earth, a mere teaspoon of a neutron star would weigh six billion tons, equivalent to the collective weight of every living creature, from the largest mammals to the tiniest insects, multiplied by three. This staggering weight feels implausible until one considers the experience of swallowing grief—a teaspoon of sorrow that might as well be a neutron star. Its density is overwhelming, carrying within it the memory of collapse, making movement seem nearly impossible and any relief unimaginable.

Yet, amidst such weight, there are countless reasons to treat each other with tenderness. One reason lies in the miraculous fact that we exist together on a planet amidst dying stars, a reminder of our shared fragility and interconnectedness. Another reason is the recognition that we cannot perceive the burdens others carry within them. In this shared journey through life, compassion becomes a profound necessity, for it is in understanding each other's unseen struggles that we find the essence of human connection.