#Dissociation ment

[ndcultureis]

dissociative culture is never having to take reference/pose photos because you always see yourself in 3rd person

.

[heymob]

"I don't really hate the way I look, it's just that this body is technically mine but it doesn't look or sound like me. Even if I give it my name, it will never really be me. I'm not insane but I think I've been pretending to be somebody else for so long that I don't know how to be me anymore. I feel like I'm intruding in someone else's life."

Probably should've been a pretty big hint actually.

[bitchesandbrosandnonbinaryhoes]

fun new game: am i dissociating or do i just need new glasses

[mimikyu-chr]

I’m a disabled person and I wish people would stop seeing some of the things my partner does for me as abusive or bad, because if he doesn’t do them I would probably harm myself or put myself in bad situations. He has to do these things for me because of my disabilities, so it’s not as black and white as ‘abuse’ and ‘not abuse’.

He has to check my outfits for me. It’s not because he doesn’t want me dressing a certain way or wearing certain things, it’s so I don’t wear clothes that’ll end up putting me in danger because of the weather. I have no ability to judge temperature until I’m out and doing what I’m doing, so I rely on him, especially to make sure I don’t overheat in the summer because that’d mean I’d faint. In cold weather he finds me tights, hoodies or jackets that match the style of outfit I’ve decided to wear but will keep me at a good temperature, and in the heat he helps me with knowing what layers to not wear, or suggests things like same-colour shorts instead of jeans or trousers, for example.

He has to help me with money a lot, and I don’t get access to money I need to save. This is because I have very poor impulse control and is actually something I suggested, which is mostly to make sure that when things have to be saved for over a few months that I don’t accidentally spend it. I can’t keep in my head that ‘X amount of money needs to be saved for Y date’, I see ‘I have X amount of money, and the thing I want costs Y amount, so I can buy the thing’. He also keeps food and travel money on him when we go out, as he can categorise what his money is for in his brain, and I can’t.

He usually has a lot of control over what and when I eat, because I can’t read my body cues very well. He knows when I’d typically eat at university because then I eat when other people do, and he makes sure I have food on that schedule. He gives me choices, but my food is what he makes for me as I can’t usually use knives and cook because of my disabilities. I tic, and have poor impulse control, so cooking can be dangerous for me.

He also has to keep my medications for me, and give me what I need when I need it. I often forget to take my medication on my own, and I also have accidentally taken double doses a few times. I also am at risk of harming myself because of my mental illness, so someone else minding my meds gets rid of that.

Anyway, these are just the things my partner does for me. A lot of disabled people need a carer, partner or family member to do things for them that if done out of malice would be seen as abuse, but they’re done to look after us. You shouldn’t make assumptions about these things, if you’re unsure then ask if the person is in a safe situation, but don’t push the idea that they’re being abused onto them.

[luxieloo16]

for day 4, here's a tribute to isabella (she/they)! she's a protector and takes care of ... situations :sparkles:. i love them a lot they are very sweet and WILL hang out with you!

[screaming-heart]

OOH OOH OOH ALSO

(tw for mentions of fakeclaiming)

its interesting how fakeclaimers will be like "ohohoh edgy evil / demon / whatever alter hahaha so fake lmao" as if having alters who portray themselves as scary or evil wouldn't be a good thing for some people?

a lot of my trauma stems from me being too scared to stand up for myself + having very weird emotions, so of COURSE a lot of alters made to protect me from that would be scary ass fuckers who don't feel things. that literally makes logical fucking sense.

also, no, having an alter who appears to be shitty as hell or says they're "evil" isn't the evil alter stereotype. 1, alters have their own identities, and can be shitty like any other person, and 2, many alters who say they are evil do it for trauma reasons like what i JUST MENTIONED! me having a demon alter literally named Devil who happens to not feel much strong emotion and acts like an asshole to both the rest of the system and other people isn't grounds for fakeclaiming because this fucker stems from WELL KNOWN types of trauma

- blurry

[aether-amalgam-system]

I saw a post the other day (blocked the account of course) with an ask that was basically “I wanna be a system how do I do it” with an endogenic system responding with “how to create a system” like it’s some fun little game. So I’m here with

How To Become Plural, by Someone Who Is Plural

Build a Time Machine. It doesn’t have to be perfect or take you back very far, as long as it takes you back to when you were before the age of 9 ish. The earlier the better. Ignore all your other selves coming to stop you. Be prepared to break the space time continuum.

Use the machine and find yourself in the past. Do not let your younger self know that you are who you are.

Here’s the tricky part. Take baby you and enact repetitive acts of abuse upon you. Any type is fine, as long as it’s long lasting and repetitive. Do this for as long as you can and maybe even rally others, such as your parents or peers, to help you. Side effects of this method will be mentioned later, but it’s not that big of a deal right? You wanna be a system don’t you?

Sustaining the abuse even after your younger self turns 9 is preferable. Remember, this isn’t a foolproof plan. Not everyone develops a system, but this is the best way to do it!

When you return home to your time, you’ll have people in your brain! (Maybe)

Side effects include: PTSD (severe), depression (chronic and severe), anxiety disorders, physical disability, mystery pain that no one can diagnose, memory loss, identity confusion, borderline personality disorder, migraines, stomach issues, disregulated thinking patterns and behaviors, attachment issues, panic attacks, fainting, getting lost in your own hometown, never having a good relationship with at least one of your parents, hatred of the world, and other possible side effects.

But that’s what you wanted, right? Anything to get your favorite anime character in your head, right? Thats what you fucking wanted isn’t it?

[infernal-collective]

Daily update :

Tw: Emeto

Our newly formed (HH) Adam fictive *having just formed and fronting as the body gets sick*:

T-This is a joke right? I'm dreaming right....what the actual fuck ?!

(Poor dude)

-💖

[our-inspire-verse]

I just. Think the sadness is stored in the tears. So when fluids flow it comes out.

[murdaughter]

@goodjobsport said: "look at us, back where we started."

a sad, crooked smile crosses emily's lips. "we don't have to go in if you don't want to." the pizzeria looms over them, holding a different meaning to her now than she ever could have imagined. it had once been an oasis, then a place of decrepit memories, of fear and family and wistfulness and guilt. but now this is the place that she died. the place where her father killed her. she's alive, sure, but she hadn't been, for a few moments. that counts, she thinks. horribly, it makes her feel better. makes her one of his victims in a way that feels more real. like dying is a rite of passage, like she owes it to the kids, the other victims. and she does. when emily looks inside herself, she knows she does. "i just don't want to bring abby there if..." a deep breath shudders out of her. "if the kids are gone. and if--" she chokes back a wounded sound. when she speaks again, her voice is impossibly small. "if he's there."

it's a fear she rarely acknowledges. with the kids, it's a little easier. the thought of losing them had been painful, but with the pizzeria so completely out of reach, she'd had no hope of seeing them. emily has elected to believe they've been able to move on, to rest. she hopes so dearly that that's true, that they haven't had to be without her, that they aren't in pain. but if her father is there... her only hope is that he went with the suit. that his unfinished business is died to that damned thing and not the place itself.

the police–– the real police–– had been involved while she was comatose. mike had been the one to explain most of it to her; how with the revelations she'd provided about afton's crimes, a more thorough investigation had been carried out. the place was mostly cleared out, but the building still stood and technically belonged to her now. it's been months since the trial, all of which is a blur. it almost feels like everything must have happened to someone else–– not her, not emily, but vanessa. like someone she was in a past life.

standing here, though, it's all too real. back where we started. he isn't kidding.

[thedragonflycluster]

I think all the time about a system I met while at the psych ward who later introduced themselves by saying "I suffer from something called Dissociative Identity Disorder".

The word "suffer" stuck with me . Not because he chose to word it that way, but because I know with how it was said, he was only told to see it that way by doctors. I can imagine multiple professionals told him he "suffers" from DID and didn't go any further than that.

And by no means is there no suffering in DID, that's a given. It's a trauma based disorder and a severe one at that. But I can say that when I viewed our disorder as only suffering it made things really, really difficult. That mindset of "I'll always be suffering because of a disorder that has very few effective treatment options and could have (in some cases) been prevented".

And guess what, when I saw it only as suffering it hurt the others in our system too! They all followed that mindset because we knew nothing else. We felt like all we could be was miserable and broken because this narrative is pushed so strongly onto systems, by the community and professionals alike. And god forbid you're happy or accepting of yourselves, because people will think you're even worse off for wanting to have harmony! How could you be so backwards!

Because who would want to be happy for a disorder that only causes suffering? Why would you want to change that narrative to find self(ves) acceptance and healthy functioning? Or internal camaraderie?

But that's right. They don't want us to have that because the idea of someone who's plural and happy means that it's normal, and should be normalized, and not from something horrible and traumatic, something that people will pity you for and look down on you for.

Self love is rebellion for us systems. They don't want to see us thrive because they don't want to see us at all. Don't forget that.

[bardofhype]

I did it again

okay so. i had a few lore thoughts about Piccolino and i knew i had to write them down in an ordered manner somewhere. and my mind went "what if you made a fic about it" and i went "okay sure what if I made a fic about it" and Good Lord Did I Make A Fic About It in which the staff of Peppino's Pizza is a positively weird found family and a chili pepper goes through Something

TW: unethical experimentation, injection mentions, light existential talk and a first-person POV of a semi-heavy dissociation episode

[luxieloo16]

day 9 goes out to sunny (he/she)! he handles our :sparkles: depression symptoms. she's pretty cool. he likes cats and eels and omori and stardew valley and sleeping. she's posted on here before i love her singular art posted being her demanding love for mewo and eelington (the declared name of the eel plush she will someday have). this is his discord icon

that's all. see you all tomorrow. get me out of front.

[alienmustdie]

Os dias apos minha tentativa de suicídio foram piores que os dias antes de tudo acontecer. Porque eu acreditava que daria certo e depois dali não existiria mais nada, que eu finalmente teria dado um final para toda aquela dor e agonia, que estava tudo acabado e em paz. Mas não, tudo foi completamente diferente, o vazio e angustia se tornaram ainda maiores.  

Quando eu acordei e percebi que nada tinha dado certo e que eu continuaria aqui, eu quis gritar, quis tentar me matar de novo. Tudo ficou ainda mais agoniante. Eu não tinha feito planos para mais nada, eu tinha me despedido de tudo e todos, meus motivos para continuar tinham se esgotado completamente. Os sentimentos ruins voltaram, e estavam ainda mais horríveis do que antes. A culpa e o vazio me consumiam cada vez mais, e eu me sentia um morto vivo vagando. Os dias voltaram a ser apenas borrões e iguais, porque eu só dormia e chorava pedindo para que algo me tirasse desse mundo. Minha tentativa de suicídio poderia ter falhado, e meu corpo poderia continuar vivo, mas minha alma já tinha desistido de mim. Eu ja estava morto a muito tempo. 

Sim os dias antes do suicídio são horríveis, mas talvez os dias após uma tentativa falha sejam um pouco piores. Eles são podres. São vazios. São agoniantes. 

Essa não foi a primeira tentativa, e nem será a ultima. Eu vou continuar até que eu finalmente consiga acabar com tudo. 

[publicabsent]

@lifesver: i can't lose you, too. / accepting.

the injury probably isn't life-threatening. even if it ought to be, she's never been lucky enough for it to end so easily. frail frame is battered & bruised -- this cannibal family would rather kill her for sport than sustenance, apparently. (bet yer bones're all delicate -- make purdy decorations fer the house, huh?) despite knowing she's not in immediate danger, despite leland being right there, promising they'll get out, she's slumped against a wall, thin hands trying to cover the slash in her left side. her gaze is blank, almost dull. past & present are swirling together, the slaughter house & the whitney house blending into one mansion of death. how long have they been here? days? months? hours? she's trying to breathe, but all she can smell is dirt & sweat & blood.

the amount of spirits in this house is overwhelming. the screams, the shouting of run, run, run! blend in with the sounds of the living & the doomed, creating a loud drone that keeps her from focusing. "s-s'too ... t-t-too -- too lou - loud -- so many, they ... they'v-ve k-k-killed s-so -- so m-many --" she's crying now, only aware when the tears glide over open scratches. "s - scr-reaming, all - all th-the time --" she knows she isn't making sense. but the time for that is gone. she's only barely there, curled into herself & shaking.

try as she will to escape it, her mind is taking her back to the whitney house. the nails scraping, trailing the same places that man's knife had threatened to reopen, the ghostly grip digging into her scalp even from its place in the past. she's still bleeding. "i d -- i don' kn-n-ow -- wh ... where a-are we ... ?"

[prehistoricmancunt]

Stood out in the rain for multiple minutes yesterday until I was soaked to the skin in an attempt to come back to my body and it didn’t work. I’m so dissociated I feel numb to my very marrow.