khecidsdragons-blog

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Me to my system after apologizing to Sire for snubbing his advice to go to bed at a reasonable time:

I can’t function as just a part of a person. I need you.

[khecidsdragons-blog]

Me to my headmates: Maybe we could get a little more cooperation in here? Help with homework? Someone clean the bathroom?

System: ...

[khecidsdragons-blog]

how do i communicate more with my alters? they've gone quiet and im worried because i dont really know how to talk to them more/encourage them to talk to me

Here are some tips from The Dissociative Identity Disorder Sourcebook:

And some personal tips of mine: 

-make a doc listing your alters so you can have a sort of rolecall. Write descriptions or have alters describe themselves

 -start a journal or a doc where you can talk to your alters. In the early stages this is a really helpful way to communicate

 -try to be sympathetic and caring towards even really cruel alters. If you can say “i appreciate you. I understand you’re really hurting, and you’re trying to keep me safe because you’re scared” etc you can slowly chip away at the malice and get to the core which is usually just hurt. That helps improve relationships w persecutory alters a lot

 -having someone outside yourself that your alters can talk to, whether it be a friend or partner or therapist, really does help. Try not to force your alters to be isolated, if they have some social outlet they’ll be less likely to come out at unideal times

- I think it also helps to let your alters have blogs, or some platform like that. My alters have vent blogs (a very retro 2014 tumblr thing to have tbh) where they can put their thoughts. This isn’t ideal for actively encouraging talking between alters, though. It just helps them get thoughts down and may help you understand them better

There’s also the fact that sometimes alters just have a quiet period, and that’s nothing to panic about. But having a journal or doc, and actively trying to communicate with them in your head, helps a lot. I really need to start a journal back up… lol 

[khecidsdragons-blog]

In that post you made where it goes ‘I’m triggered by this’ ‘you’re overreacting’ ‘that’s literally what being triggered is’ followed by a screenshot explaining how to recognize triggers with highlighted sections, is the screenshot from the Coping book, or another source? I’d really like to be able to see the whole list. I hope my description of the post makes enough sense ! Thank you so much.

It’s from Coping with Trauma-Related Dissociation, Chapter 14, Understanding Traumatic Memories and Triggers. 

Here’s the full list of Recognizing Triggers: 

Your reaction to a situation seems more intense than iswarranted, or it is significantly different than your usualreactions. 

You are not able to step back and reflect in the situation, butfeel stuck in your reaction. 

Inner parts of you become activated to the degree that you areaware of them.

You have a defense reaction, that is, flight, fight, freeze, orcollapse. 

You seem to watch your reaction unfold, not feeling incontrol of it, as though another part of you is having thereaction. 

You switch to another part of yourself and lose time. 

You have a sudden flashback; these are almost alwaystriggered by something in the present.

I can’t recommend this book enough. This chapter was especially helpful. I wish I’d read it sooner. 

[khecidsdragons-blog]

I imagined an internal argument over what drink to ask for.

i forget words a lot but luckily people are used to it

[khecidsdragons-blog]

The Steamer Trunk

“When she finally entered the study she yelped and dropped her purse on the floor. The trunk was open. She had latched it before she left.”

A short and strangely creepy story.

...

BTW, this is a hurdy-gurdy:

https://youtu.be/ts_zwTFXZgE

A beautiful woman with strikingly luscious brown hair sold the steamer trunk to her. Red lips and a generous smile commented on its inlay of flowers, telling her what an unusual detail this was for such a piece as her hands traced along its handsome leather buckles, in perfect condition after almost a hundred and fifty years. The warm, smooth interior smelled of old books and cedar. It was that heady perfume that captured her, something of old book shops, her father's cigar boxes, and evenings curled up with nothing to do but get lost in a story. She spent too much on it. It was not the sort of thing she ever bought for herself. Nina was ever the sensible, frugal one, with most of her wardrobe picked from discount stores and thrift shops. The few pieces of hand-me-down furniture that she'd brought with her into her late father's downtown flat were an insult to the flat's hardwood floors and magnificent tin ceilings, no matter how carefully she filled in the scratches with felt tip marker.

Nina fumbled with her purse as she followed the woman to the sales counter, which was no more than a writing desk in this cramped little antique shop, then stood there absentmindedly biting her lip and tucking the loose strands of her mousy brown hair back behind her ears. This was the fourth time she'd been to see the trunk, and she brought cash; the entire contents of her modest savings. As the woman engaged in small talk, her bright eyes and her perfect skin glowing in the warm light of Tiffany lamps and hanging silks, Nina seemed not to hear her at all; her head swam with the wild hum and murmur of the music outside the door. The music man was playing a hurdy-gurdy, the strangest instrument she'd ever seen; its drone maintained by the turning of a crank turned in his right hand, and the notes pressed out of the buzzing strings by keys by his left. She nearly stumbled over him on her way out, consumed with the details of the trunk’s promised delivery. He begged her for a dollar with a grin, and she stopped. This was her habit, everyday on her lunch break she stopped to listen to him and gave him a dollar. That’s how she found the antique shop. One day she saw him through the window at work, playing across the street, and had to see. He sat outside the narrow antique shop on a blanket, stinking of cheap gin, cigarettes and asphalt, smiling through his grizzled beard and rocking back and fourth as he played like a lunatic. She apologized because her wallet was empty, and he thanked her anyway. All the way home the mad crooning of that thing filled her ears, and she didn't remember her evening, or the next morning, besides some details about having too many glasses of wine and wishing the trunk to arrive sooner.

There was already an empty space for it at the end of her reading room. Two armchairs and a heavily mantled fireplace filled the greater part of the room, and built-in shelves filled with books; these were the only things left of her father besides the four poster bed that he had never slept in. He died on the couch that had occupied the now empty space. It sat across from the armchairs and she'd had it hauled away, along with his collection of instruments, unable to look at them. A ghost of unworn wooden flooring were all that was left of it. The study was the only room she ever spent any time in, rather, all her time in, besides her hours pushing overpriced bouquets in a miserable flower shop across from the antique shop. The flowers were the most pleasant part of the job, but it was a wonder how little they came to matter in the deluge of orders and irate customers and a boss who seemed to think of her as a fixture of the place, like a broom or a register. She'd never imagined that such a social job could make her feel so alone. And so every evening she brought home a styrofoam box of take-out and took up her perch in one of the overstuffed armchairs with a book and another glass of wine. Besides the study and master bedroom, there was a dining room with a small television set left unplugged on the floor, an empty guest room, and a kitchen full of expired boxes and too many bottles of soy sauce. Sometimes she would sleep in the bedroom adjacent to the study, but more often than not she would wake in the morning still in her armchair, or wrapped in a blanket on the floor by the fireplace.

The wild strains of the mad musician played on inside her head through the days she waited for it to arrive. She heard him play through the wood of the building, in tune with the creaking of its beams. The hum of those strings pushed themselves down through the chimney along with the murmur of the streets on the late summer wind, and their cadence beat through the floor with the pulse of life in the deli below. She could feel the mad player swaying in her restless dreams, and her nights and days bled together.

Two dark haired men brought it up the stairs, whose faces she could not recall. She neglected to thank them outside of a hurried nod right before she locked her door.

And there it was.

It fit perfectly in its place on the other side of the little table and armchairs, looking quite as though the room had been waiting for its finishing piece. Nina forgot her wine and sat before it on the end of the large rug that defined the seating area. It was handsome, far more so than she recalled, and it was finally hers. Smiling, she drew her fingers over the inlay of flowers in blonde, cherry, and ebony wood, feeling the minute seams in the design. The wood was warm next to the black metal ribs, latches, and the robust lock whose patina was like cold satin under her fingertip. She pressed her little finger into the hole of the lock, leaving the scent of iron on her skin. The trunk was closed, though the lock was open. Two heavy latches and two leather buckles sealed it shut. Nina touched the ring of one latch, running her finger back and forth across it, and then pried her finger under it to disengage it, and it snapped open forcefully. For some reason she thought of her father on his couch, white faced and lifeless.

Her heart pounded in her ears as though it knew something she didn't, and a sinking feeling settled into her stomach. She told herself she was just being silly, but the dread only grew.

"Well, It can wait until tomorrow. It’s exciting enough just to look at you tonight." Nina laughed at herself and swallowed.

She forced the latch back down and pulled herself up from the floor to retrieve the box of peppered chicken and rice she'd left on the edge of the table. Eating slowly from her usual place in the armchair, Nina's heart settled back into its proper rhythm. She took in the view of the room, now complete, and thought about what she might put inside her lovely new fixture, making little sounds of satisfaction at her meal. It seemed ever more delicious than anything she’d ever eaten. She would order this dish again. When her limbs and eyelids finally grew heavy Nina climbed into the softness of the big, down-clad bed and dropped into a deep chasm of sleep.

She returned from work the next day in a delighted fluster, casting her purse and keys on the entryway table without a thought as she unbuttoned her blouse on the way to the bedroom. Perhaps it was because she'd slept so well; she'd been in this state all day. Even her boss had remarked on it after watching her chatter on with the customers and steal moments in the backroom to press her face into the roses; some snicker about falling in love. The hurdy-gurdy man could be seen on the other side of the street, playing all day. At lunchtime she'd brought him a little box of peppered chicken and left it on the edge of his blanket, to which he nodded and grinned. Now, Nina bustled about the flat in shorts and an old t shirt, blasting her music whilst dusting and tidying every nook. She'd found a lovely cello album set to a heady beat in the bookcase. Each time she passed the trunk it tugged at the corner of her eye and she’d turn again to polishing until the tendrils of her hair stuck to the sides of her face. When she found herself staring at it yet again, she turned up her music until it rattled the mantle and pounded her brain. Eventually her aching calves made her give up and crumple down onto the edge of the coffee table in silence.

Nina smeared the sweat out of her eyes while a breeze drifted in from the window, cooling the damp cotton under her arms. Her eyes found the lovely trunk laid before her.

It was still there, waiting for her, pulling at her.

Nina's head spun and she stared at it, catching her breath, refusing to move. She'd overexerted herself. She counted the seconds and filled her lungs, then emptied them with a forceful sigh the way she remembered from those old relaxation tapes, then again. What was it that she decided to store in that thing? It occurred to her that she still had to gather up the rags into the laundry basket and put the cleaners back under the sink, but even as her fingers groped for the empty bottle of wood polish next to her on the table, all thought was abandoned. The bottle rolled quietly onto the floor, and Nina gave in and lurched forward.

Kneeling before it, one trembling finger hovered above the lock, then fell upon the mechanism. Her two hands spread out over the length of it, pushing themselves over the slats and braces. She brought an arm over the top of it and rested her face on its lid, letting this feeling intoxicate her as she listened to the echo of the nothingness inside it. Right now she was glad she was alone.

"I don't know what this is," she whispered as she roused, still overcome with this strangeness. She was about to speak again, but there were no more words within her. There was only one thing to do. Nina bit her lip and pulled the first latch open with a clack.

The trunk sighed as the seal released. Nina sighed too, “That wasn’t so bad.”

She tucked her legs under her and released the next latch, then worked the stiff leather straps out of their buckles. With both hands on the sturdy lid, Nina put her weight against it but tottered, suddenly dizzy. She let go and rubbed her palm against her brow. Nina hadn't had a dizzy spell in ages.

"Dammit," she muttered, hefting the lid defiantly. She braced herself on its lip as its hinges took over, opening with a billow of that cedar perfume. She leaned in. The paneling inside was perfectly smooth and hardened with age, and she touched it lovingly.

"Guilty pleasures," she whispered, and touched it again. Her dizziness was mellowing out into something more innocuous, but her skin tingled and flushed.

In the corner she found the key to the lock, which was a simple oval on a pitted shaft with blocky teeth, kind of flat and smaller than she had imagined it by the size of the lock; it hid easily in her palm. Immediately she unclasped the chain she always wore and strung on her little iron jewel. It warmed up quickly between her collarbones. She wasn't sure what to do with the heart-shaped locket she removed, and stared at it in her hand. It had been a Christmas present from a relative, which she supposed was why she wore it for as long as she could remember. She’d never put anyone’s picture inside it. It was empty. Nina decided right there that she didn't care for it. She thought to toss it in the wastebasket in the corner, but set it on the floor as she turned her attention back to her beloved chest.

Dangling her arm inside, she said, "It's as big as my bathtub," and her voice rang against the empty interior. Her smile fell. She wanted to get in it, desperately.

Nina fought back sudden fearful tears. The lure of the open box was tangible, as though her bones were made of iron, and it was her magnet, pulling at her from within, against herself. She braced against its edge, gasped, and coughed out a little sob. She could see herself in her mind's eye, curled up inside, swallowed up by its darkness, pale skin against the paneling. And then she imagined her boss, standing next to her, scandalized by the impropriety of a grown woman sleeping in a box, and telling the customers about it for a laugh at Nina's expense.

But it didn't matter. This, she knew, was where she was supposed to be.

"No!" She shouted and shut the lid, then scrambled back until she was stopped by the coffee table.

The trunk stood, silent and relentless at the end of the rug.

She covered her eyes, looked at it again and threw the polish bottle at it, which bounced back at her.

The trunk stared back until she wilted to the floor, where she woke in the morning.

The next day at work was quite different than the last. She’d left the window open and all the cleaning supplies out in her desperate attempt to be on time. She was late anyway, hair hastily thrown in a bun, with the acrid smell of polish and sweat still on her skin. Twice she mixed up customers’ orders, and every time someone talked to her she seemed to be somewhere else. She couldn’t think, and her head swam with the scent and the touch of the smooth wood all day. Her boss finally sent her home early, figuring her a liability in this state. Nina trudged home with her eyes on the cracks in the cement and arms crossed against the first fall chill, having left without her sweater. She didn’t know what was wrong with her. Never in her life had she been sent home from work in disgrace.

On her way out she noticed the hurdy-gurdy man wasn’t on his blanket, but she heard his tune in her ears.

When she finally entered the study she yelped and dropped her purse on the floor.

The trunk was open. She had latched it before she left.

Nina swallowed against a sudden knot in her throat. A few cold tears slid their way down her neck and onto the key that hung there. She clutched it tightly, and it was as cold as ice in her hands.

But she already knew what she needed to do. And she supposed it didn’t matter anyway. There was some kind of relief in knowing. She wasn’t sure what she had been fighting it for.

Obediently, Nina crossed to the trunk and knelt.

“I know,” she whispered as she stroked its smoothness.

She didn’t fight as its pull rose in her bones and held onto her arm, then her hips and legs, which folded against the bottom of the trunk, falling into it like water into a basin. She fit inside like it was made for her. Waves of relief began to spill out of her in tears and gasps. Nina let them fall, and then each sob came with a tide of loneliness. As she cried she emptied herself of the years of pain, and when they were done she felt somehow clean inside, and rested, and curled her hands delicately beneath her cheek with a smile. No tears were left under her hands, the wood had absorbed them. In the room the light of the sun was becoming dim through the windows, darkening the top of the bookshelves which she could just see over the edge of the trunk. Warm light reflected off the mantle and made a tiny beam through the keyhole, like a little candle. If she closed the lid she would have that little light and some air. She was so very tired. Nina reached up and pulled the lid closed. Darkness enveloped her, but for that tiny beam of gold which made her hands glow when held up to the keyhole.

Nina drifted away.

When Nina woke, she couldn’t tell if her eyes were open or closed, or if she were still dreaming. Her head felt too light and her body seemed far away. No thoughts came to tell her what day it was, or why she couldn’t wake herself, but somehow she wasn’t bothered by the loss. She waited for some piece of reality to break in, and eventually she found her limbs and the paneling around her, and remembered that she was in her box.

Cold, damp air and silver light greeted her as she opened the lid and sat up. She expected to be stiff, but she had no pain at all. In fact, she felt almost as though she could float up to the top of the bookshelf and perch there.

It was morning. Carelessly, she had left the window open another night. She went to close it. The curtains and window seat left dampness on her arms and knees. Strange. It must have rained. There were brown leaves on the sill, which she brushed back out the window.

In the blue glow of the sky above, she could tell that the sun had just risen. Given the early hour she still had time to clean up yesterday’s mess at the shop. Maybe even get there early and win back the good graces of her boss. Well, at least make today tolerable. She picked up the forgotten bottle of polish on the rug and the rags, and noticed her fingers left shining trails in a layer of dust on its surface. More brown leaves lay on the rug. Dust covered the table, and her armchairs, and the mantle, and the books.

Nina cursed under her breath. All her hard work had been wasted on an open window. She dropped her pile of rags back on the table in defeat and made her way to the bedroom instead. Maybe she’d be able to bring herself to dust it all again after work.

When she left she walked halfway down the street then all the way back again to get her long coat. It was an unusually cold morning for this time of year, and the chill made frosty puffs of her breath and bit through the soles of her slides. The cold bit at her thoughts as well, tugging at some unspoken dread slowly rising; something she knew, but wouldn’t acknowledge.

At the shop the morning haze was still thick in the air. The windows were dark. She was here before her boss, with lots of time to get started filling orders and picking up the stockroom, which had almost certainly been left in shambles for her. She had to kick a pile of rotted leaves away from the door to get her footing, which stuck to her ankles relentlessly. The dread grew.

When she put her key in the lock, it stuck. She wiggled it back out, taking care not to snap it, and tried again. It wasn’t fitting. She turned it over. No, that was backwards. It couldn’t be the wrong key. She checked the ring. There weren’t many to choose from. That was the right key, she knew it. Nina looked again at the leaves on the wet sidewalk, then peered through the window.

She had no way to explain what she saw. There were no flowers, no decorations, nothing but the barren sales counter and a few dismantled wire racks in the middle of the display floor. Nina felt dizzy, closed her eyes and swallowed. She made herself count and breathe, slowly.

Looking down the street, this way and that, the neighborhood was alive as ever. The coffee shop on the corner was bustling, and the little market was already open. A group of men in suits made their way toward the court building on the next block.

Not knowing what to do, Nina reached for her keys again, sure that this was just another one of her silly mistakes. She must be putting the key in wrong. She stopped when she noticed a piece of paper taped to the inside of the window where the open sign was supposed to be.

Moved to 551 Morrow street.

Nina knew where that was. Her boss had always wanted a space there. It was only a few blocks away. She hurried down to the crosswalk towards the department stores of Morrow street, all the while feeling as though she might lift away like a child’s lost balloon. Her cold feet were the only parts of her that seemed real, and while she knew she should be trying to figure this all out, or remember whatever it was that she’d forgotten, the only thing she could think of was the drone of the music man and the comfort of her beloved trunk.

Crossing the street she saw that the music man wasn’t in his place, and the narrow entryway that had led to the antique shop was boarded up. When she asked the man who ran the butcher store what happened to the hurdy-gurdy man and the antique shop, he just looked at her like she was crazy.

Nina continued on down the street. She hesitated before she rounded the corner of Morrow, unsure she wanted to know if the shop had moved, if all this was really happening. Clutching her purse in front of her, Nina made herself come to the edge of the corner and look. There it was across the street. A massive banner hung from the awning, advertising Valentine’s Day, Grand Opening. Five tall windows and double glass doors were framed with a red brick façade, fronted with mounds of long stem roses and carnations of every color in buckets. There was a man she didn’t recognize greeting customers at the door, and a couple entered, arms entwined and laughing.

Nina stood there until her feet went numb, then not knowing what else to do, turned around to walk home.

The rest of the way home, the sound of the music man rose up and grew louder in her ears. As she came up the stairs she found herself swaying to his beat.

Nina kicked off her sodden shoes like refuse and left them in the hall. Still bundled in her coat, she quietly entered the study and sat down on her coffee table, then drew her knees up to her chest and peered over them at trunk.

A tide of longing swept through her, and she held herself more tightly.

When she closed her eyes she saw herself asleep inside it, and the music man played on. Minutes passed while her frozen mind refused to do anything else.

It was speaking to her, and now she finally understood what it was asking. She shook her head and whispered hoarsely into her knees, “I’m not ready yet.”

Nina forced thoughts into her mind, searching for something to hold onto in her world. She should call somebody. She had an aunt who sent her a birthday card every few years. Or maybe that girl who used to work at the shop. She had her number saved on a folded piece of paper somewhere. But Nina’s heart quickly failed her. There was no one. Not even a dog to worry about her. She had nowhere to go. Nowhere to be. No one to even notice she was gone.

Her grip on her knees gave way, and she put her hands on her lap and looked at her feet. She’d read every book on the shelves. She was tired of wine and take-out, and staring at the empty armchair across from her. She was tired of waking up, going to work, and coming home to empty rooms, day after day.

Nina didn’t want to stay.

“I’m sorry.” Nina whispered. “I just wanted to make sure.”

Nina slid her coat off of her shoulders and lay it neatly on the table, then thought better of it.

“Wait. Just a few things…”

Nina hung her coat in the closet, tossed the rags and cleaners under the kitchen sink, and made her bed. Then she put on her favorite silk shirt, a brilliant teal blouse she wore on holidays, and the black skirt she was always afraid would attract the wrong kind of attention. She let her brown hair out of its bindings and brushed it until it was lovely. Looking in the mirror, she decided that sometimes she was pretty.

Barefoot, Nina knelt in front of the trunk again, and lay her head on its bulk as the waves of its pull intensified, sending ripples of electric joy through her limbs.

“Thank you.”

Nina opened the lid and sat inside it, with deep sighing. Then, just as she was about to close the lid, she sat up again.

“I almost forgot.”

Nina pinched the clasp of her necklace open and let the key drop into her palm, then placed it carefully on the floor outside the trunk. There, she found the gold locket where she had left it. She looped it back on the necklace and returned it to its place on the floor, next to the key. Maybe someone else would put pictures in it.

Safely tucked away in her trunk, Nina closed the heavy lid over her and settled down.

Nina drifted away.

At some point, the timeless darkness of the trunk was interrupted when Nina was awakened by the click of the key turning in its lock.

With a sleepy smile Nina said, “Good night.”

A woman’s voice replied, “Sleep well, Nina. Good night.”

As she drifted back into the darkness she could hear the sounds of the latches clacking shut, and the leather straps sliding through their buckles.

Sometimes Nina would wake and peer out of the keyhole. The room changed. The armchairs were recovered in beautiful red velvet. The old paperbacks were replaced. Once, she saw a bouquet of roses on the table, and sometimes a man and woman talked together in front of a roaring fire. She thought the woman looked like her, but she wore red lipstick and had a generous smile. The man looked like someone she used to see in the shop sometimes. He would spend a long time looking at the flowers and asking Nina questions about them, then run his hand through his hair a lot and leave without buying anything. They looked happy, and Nina was glad for them. Later toys would appear on the floor, and Nina would hear the woman give a warning not to play with the trunk. Eventually, Nina stopped looking.

Once again, the sound of the key woke her.

“Nina, it’s been a long time. Would you like to come out?”

Nina rolled over in her place. She could feel the cedar paneling on her skin.

“No. I would like to stay in here, please.”

“Are you sure? There won’t be another time.”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Goodbye, Nina.”

“Goodbye. Thank you.”

And with the last click of the key, Nina dissolved into the darkness of her steamer trunk.

[khecidsdragons-blog]

The neighbor next door

Always greet him when you pass him and his dog in the street

The dog wears shoes, a dog sweater, and even sunglasses. Do not pay too much attention to it.

They both wear a tinfoil hat. Do not bring this up in conversation.

Your neighbor actively tries to avoid eye contact. Make him feel at ease by avoiding eye contact as well.

Even though he is weird and appears to have been living under a rock for his entire life, be kind to him.

When you walk past his house and peek through the window, you will find all the walls covered in mathematical equations written in what appears to be glow in the dark fingerpaint. Do not try to make sense of it.

Everybody makes fun of him. Some are even scared of his weirdness.

Next time you see him and his dog, invite him over for a cup of tea. He will refuse but give you the warmest and saddest smile you have ever seen. He will tell you he is busy.

Insist. Ask as many times as you need to. He will eventually say yes and suggest you come over to his place the next day. Accept.

The next day you will hear him moving around furniture and scrub the walls and floor. Do not go there until he is finished cleaning.

Ring the doorbell. He will open the door. The house is as clean as can be. Do not mention this or he will think you are suspicious of him.

There is a strange energy in the house. Tell him your head tingles a little. He will make an awkward joke and suggest you wear one of his tinfoil hats. Put it on.

The couch is very comfortable and easy to sink into. However, he is a lot less heavy than you are and yet he sinks a lot more deeply into the couch than you do.

His eyes keep darting around the room. If you look into them you will learn things about yourself that he does not want you to know for your own good.

The air conditioner is blowing at full power. You will find the dog fully clothed underneath it. His tongue lolling. Do not stare at him for too long.

Talk about the universe. He has many stories to tell.

When he gets excited it is almost as if he hovers a little. 

If he gets up to get the tea, go to the basement. You need to be quick.

Do not take off your tinfoil hat.

A green light, a loud hum, and an occasional bark come from out of the basement. Open the door.

There is a portal. Through it you will see a man playing fetch with a dog that has purple fur and green eyes. He throws the ball through the portal and the dog comes running after it.

The man on the other side of the portal looks eerily similar to your neighbor upstairs.

You will hear a cough behind you. It is your neighbor and his fully clothed dog. The purple dog licks the other dog’s nose before picking up the ball and going back through the portal. Tell him you know. You do not know the full details of it but you know.

Tell him you are very familiar with the supernatural.

He will tell you he has not enough knowledge on earth’s materials to repair the portal and that he and his dog both have been split in two and will continue to be so until the portal is fixed. 

Tell him he can look you in the eyes. He will refuse. Insist. A tear will roll over his cheek. He does not want you to go insane. He does not want to use you for his own good. Tell him it is going to be fine and that you know people at HGK477 that can help you if anything goes wrong.

He will look you in the eyes and shortly after you will be unconscious. He will ask you questions on where to find certain materials and even tips on how to repair the portal; things you normally do not have the answer to, yet you answer them all.

When you open your eyes, the portal will have disappeared. Your neighbor and his dog will be gone. A ball will roll toward your feet. There will be a cup of hot tea waiting for you upstairs.

More guides

The dancer

An in-depth guide on human shadows

[khecidsdragons-blog]

Gaslighting by Silence

Rather than gaslighting by insistence that crazy and abusive things never happened, I’ve seen more gaslighting by silence—as though by some unspoken rule everyone who’s seen the craziness moves on without a word, a nod, or even a look, forcing what has happened into an alternate and untouchable reality, much like a dream of which only a fragment of lingering emotion is left, and which no one could have experienced with you. It is this gaslighting by silence that seems preferable to “apparently normal dissociative families” and society at large, and which has inflicted so much lifelong pain on so many by rendering victims invisible.

[khecidsdragons-blog]

How every alter looks when they’re pretending to be the host:

[khecidsdragons-blog]

[khecidsdragons-blog]

Are you faking DID?

Last year, I was officially diagnosed with dissociative identity disorder, and let me tell you that I was shocked.

After getting misdiagnosed with almost everything out there, I was diagnosed with something that I never thought I could have, ever.

A couple of months later, I started going into the self doubt spiral.

This is my advice for systems doubting themselves:

Doubting yourself is completely normal. DID is meant to be covert and hidden, it’s a defense mechanism after all, almost every system out there doubted their experience at some point, it’s okay.

NOT EVERY SYSTEM IS LIKE SYSTEMS ON TUMBLR. Oh my god, I WISH someone would have told me this last year. You don’t have to have a bed in your room for each alter. You don’t have to have perfect communication with your alters. You don’t have to talk with them on a daily basis and switch 1000 times a day, just no. My communication with my alters is terrible. I sometimes go months without fully switching, days and even weeks without alters talking in my head. My alters mostly work through passive influence and that’s okay. You really don’t have to have a system like the ones you see on here to be valid, please remember that.

Not everything’s “you’re valid uwu”, no. Sometimes you make mistakes, sometimes doctors make mistakes and it’s okay. There are a lot of disorders that might have a similar presentation to DID like BPD, schizophrenia or bipolar disorder. You need to be completely honest with yourself about your experiences. You really don’t want to get misdiagnosed and get treated for something that you don’t have “terrible idea, believe me”. If you’re honest with yourself about your experience, then there’s nothing to worry about.

Please don’t obsess over labels. There was this time when I was almost always co conscious with my protector and I kept wondering if I actually have OSDD, and it made me really depressed. It does not matter whether you have DID or OSDD, they’re almost the same thing and the point is, you have gone through trauma that fractured your identity so it really doesn’t matter what you have. Doctors treat symptoms, not labels. It’s okay to be confused for a while ❤️.

Yes, alters can go dormant for a lot of time and that’s completely normal. No, that doesn’t mean that you’re faking.

Sometimes you can switch without knowing or noticing the switch, so don’t obsess over why you aren’t switching too often.

It takes A LOT of time to have a good communication with your alters. It really isn’t as easy as tumblr makes it seems to be.

You don’t have to have obvious and overt symptoms of DID to be valid. I haven’t had so many proofs of my amnesia, only 4 times or something. I have also never experienced dissociative fugue, and that’s okay.

Amnesia for your own amnesia. Sometimes you don’t even notice that you lost time or that you said something that you have no memory of until someone points it out. So again don’t obsess over not switching too often.

DO NOT, I repeat, DO NOT focus too much on your alters or your disorder. Do not go googling symptoms of DID and reading tons of articles for hours. This is just gonna make your self doubt much worse. It’s okay to learn about your disorder, just don’t do it too much because everyone experiences DID differently and that might increase your doubt.

Always keep in mind that DID is different for everyone. My best friend has DID and our systems are completely different. He switches much more often and he has no idea how many alters does he have, doesn’t know their names or anything about them, however my amnesia is much worse than his. Seeing systems acting differently doesn’t mean that you’re fake.

Since I brought this up, it’s okay not to know anything about your alters. I have around 16 alters and maybe more, I only know and have communicated with 6 of them. Again, it’s not as easy as tumblr makes it seems.

It’s okay not to feel like you’re a multiple. It’s okay not to refer to yourself as “we”. I personally never refer to myself as we unless I’m talking specifically about me and my alters.

It’s okay to have more overt symptoms after getting your diagnosis, and it’s also okay for your symptoms to be less after diagnosis. It’s really common that alters start being much more visible after diagnosis, that doesn’t mean you’re faking. Despite being less common but it’s okay to have less symptoms after getting diagnosed. Your alters might be just scared, I have experienced this and it made me feel like I was faking it all, but it doesn’t. Sometimes, your alters are as scared as you, maybe even more.

I wish someone would have told me this last year, so here I am, telling you why you shouldn’t worry, this too shall pass, trust me.

Also, feel free to add your own advice.

If you need anything, don’t hesitate to message us, we’d be more than glad to help!

Stay safe ❤️

[khecidsdragons-blog]

Let’s Talk About Dissociation

Dissociation is a defense mechanism used by the mind to protect oneself from a perceived threat. Witnessing or experiencing a traumatic incident or enduring chronic abuse may result in the development of this mental process. Dissociation is most often developed during one’s childhood, as children are more susceptible to imaginative thinking and escapism during times of stress. Once this method of detachment has been learned it can be difficult to rid oneself of it, thus leading to interference in one’s daily life even after they have escaped the abuse. 

Dissociation can be difficult to handle when you’re in a public setting such as work or school, or when you’re around friends and family who are unable to recognize the signs. It’s common to be stuck in an uncomfortable situation dissociating and not knowing what to do. It’s common to dissociate without knowing you’re dissociating. It’s common to feel overwhelmed or controlled by your dissociation.

This post is going to focus on the impact of dissociation in each area of one’s life and how to deal with it. Recognizing when you are dissociating and how you dissociate is a great first step to becoming more self-aware and gaining more control over your trauma.

Signs at school:

Repetitive memory lapses, including forgetting assignments or forgetting taught material. Based on the severity, you may only remember the basics of a subject, or you may have forgotten the basics (such as simple division or multiplication in math)

Feeling like other students are robots, or are not real, or are duplicates. This feeling may be more intense when walking in hallways between classes, or during recess or lunch

Feeling as though your desk or reading materials are twenty feet away despite them being inches from you

Staring at the clock yet being unable to read it

Poor grades caused by memory lapses, or poor grades caused by apathy resulting from a sense of derealization

Static in your vision when reading or feeling like your peripheral vision is closing in on you or darkening 

Teachers or classmates repeating questions to you multiple times because you did not hear them, not being receptive to interaction

Writing letters backwards without knowing, presenting disarrayed and odd essays

Staring at your assignment unblinkingly for minutes, acting as if you are frozen or in a catatonic haze

What can you do?

Use your five senses to connect with reality. Without being distracting to other students, fiddle with your eraser or pencil, or flip repetitively through the pages in your book. Do anything you can to feel physically present. If your teacher would allow you to, using a stress ball to squeeze may help tremendously 

Keep your eyes moving. By remaining active, you’ll reduce the amount of “spacing out” you experience. Repetitively blink your eyes and look around the room. Avoid staring at one spot for a prolonged period of time.

Use humor. Look at your teacher and imagine them wearing something funny or saying something ridiculous. Think of a joke you know that always makes you smile

Look for opportunities to become more engaged with your surroundings. If you’re having trouble reading, volunteer to read out loud if possible, as this may help you process the information better. If the teacher asks if anyone has a question, ask one to engage in conversation and distract yourself. This is a good way of interacting with someone without getting in trouble 

If you have to, dismiss yourself to the bathroom and splash some cold water in your face. This may help you come to your senses

If you know of any specific triggers at school, whether it be a person or a certain room, try to avoid being around them, or in that room. If there is no way of avoiding your triggers, mentally prepare yourself before facing the triggers and have a plan set up ahead of time for if you do begin dissociating

Signs at work:

A sudden decrease in performance for seemingly no reason

Repetitively messing up orders or misconstruing information given to you by a customer or client

Feeling as though you are staring right through a customer or client

Severe memory lapses, such as forgetting tasks you’ve practiced for months, forgetting the name of the business you work for, or forgetting your name when introducing yourself to a customer or client

Coworkers commenting on your behavior, possibly saying you’re acting cold, quiet, rude, or distant

Reacting intensely to any mistakes you make; alternatively, acting completely indifferent towards any mistakes you make

Getting lost in thought when coworkers are talking to you

Feeling compelled to act in a certain way, monitoring your every action, feeling as though you are pretending to be you

What can you do?

If possible, walk as much as you can to remain active. This will be much easier to achieve for people who do not have desk jobs. If you have a desk job, interact with items on your desk. If you’re allowed to, bring an item to work that’s interactive that you can adorn your desk with

If you have a desk job, tape a piece of paper to your desk or cabinets to remind you of what to do when you feel this way, or tape a joke or something lighthearted such as a kitten image

If you’re given breaks, take advantage of them. Eat something, splash cold water on your face, listen to music, or if you’re allowed to, drive to a nearby gas station or store to get out of the building and become more attuned to your surroundings. Being in an open area with fresh air may help

Create games to keep yourself focused on something other than your dissociation or trauma. Examples would be seeing how many customers you can make smile, or seeing how many customers you can get to order a specific item, or seeing if you can convince a coworker to buy you a coffee

Talk to your boss if needed. The way you approach the conversation should be based on their personality and level of knowledge regarding trauma or mental disorders. You may need to compile resources for them to read or retrieve some type of note from your therapist for them to read. Effective communication is a vital key to maintaining any relationship, whether it’s romantic, platonic, or purely business. 

Signs at home:

Identity confusion, such as acting in a fashion you or your family and friends would consider offensive

Out of body experiences, feeling as though you are watching yourself from above

Feeling as though you are in a movie

Friends or family members saying you have a “glazed” look, or that your eyes appear empty

Experiencing an inability to feel pain, developing a numbness to it

Objects around you appearing diminished in size or looking artificial

 Severe memory lapses, such as forgetting the name of your street, forgetting who your close friends are, or forgetting specific periods of your life

Not recognizing yourself in the mirror

Tunnel vision or blurry vision

A lack of belonging when out with family or friends

Being unable to account for things you’ve done, such as not remembering completing a purchase, not remembering writing a letter you’ve found, or finding unexplained clothes in your closet

Time loss, or feeling as though you’ve forgotten everything during a period of time, or feeling like you’ve blacked out

What can you do?

Count different colored things in the room. Three red things, five greens things, and so forth. Doing this is a good way to distract yourself and stay aware of your surroundings

Take a cool bath or shower

Hold ice cubes in your hand or put your hand in a bowl of ice cubes. This will wake you up and is a good way to avoid self-harming if you want to feel something

Engage in a productive hobby you enjoy, such as drawing, writing, or reading

Start cleaning

Instead of texting, try calling a friend. Hearing someone’s voice may help ground you

If you have a pet, interact with them. Let them crawl on you or sit on you. Play with them. Talk to them

Take a long whiff of a strong yet pleasant scent, such as a candle, flowers, or air freshener

[khecidsdragons-blog]

split: my alters possess me and make me kidnap, murder, and literally eat people

me: cool story bro my alters kick me out of the body to make me do basic shit like shower, go to sleep, and do the laundry bc i literally wouldn’t do it on my own