… is being made to communicate the state of my consciousness (the others were abandoned). Plainly, it appears I have DID (Disassociative Identity Disorder). (Expect this article to meander a bit.)
I’ve arrived at a point where I have realized it doesn’t really matter to me whether my life’s work is adopted en masse. I recently heard about how Carl Jung ordered that his one book, there, be published 50 years (or something) after his passing, so that people took his work seriously.
Don’t get me wrong: I absolutely and totally understand why he asked for that.
Simply, it occurred to me yesterday that the learned I am trying to influence may, in fact, be so glued to their wishy-washy understandings and, thus, ‘We are above reproach!’ that no amount of evidence will convince them of anything. It’s the nature of the beast. Really, it’s the nature of the beast.
Do be aware: I had been aware of the idea of a stubbornness to change that flies in the face of evidence long before the trans ideology coupled itself with the cost-sunk fallacy. Give me empathy points for that one; but topically, it’s one of the analogies. I can think of others.
Have I beat around the bush enough?
I know that it’s DID because of circumstantial evidence (of course): Firstly, during one particular psychosis, I’d arrived at a desire not for the whispers to stop, but that they move elsewhere – which they did; secondly, it was when I’d realized the whispers could be unaware that it were its own personality, the psychosis phenomenon (and all the identifiers signalling its resurgency) ceased.
I’ll leave it up to good-faith psychiatrists and psychologists to piece together this puzzle. ‘Seasoned’ health professionals may not all be a lost and debilitating spirit in the machine, but these people deal with the sick. Something I, too, had been a number of times. With that comes so much room for trauma. (I know of one such psychiatrist who shouldn’t be practicing anymore. She’d long ago become jaded, impairing her judgement; I could see it in her eyes and body language the moment she put me in the box labeled ‘so far gone’. And I knew there was no way to rectify the impression I’d made. Despite being fully aware lapses in memory are normal, after that one appointment, it became very clear very soon a loaded die had been rolled.)
I’ve heard a lot about mental illness cases – and I am aware that the ratio of success cases versus the doomed disproportionately leans in one direction. So, I have no idea how the system can be improved – other than the FDA stopping being captured by the pharmaceutical industry. (After listening to DarkHorse Podcast, the idea that the progress of psychiatric medications haven’t been confused, corrupted, and crippled is so far away in the rear-view mirror that I wonder how I’m not a fucking vegetable right now. Honestly, you take five random reviews on drugs.com for the drug they had me on and amalgamate: that was me – and somehow, I didn’t have it that bad – if that makes any sense at all…)
‘When people are introduced to issues concerning people, things become complex.’ For what it’s worth, I’ve gotten in the habit of saying this.
When people are introduced to issues concerning people, things become complex.
What do I mean by ‘they moved elsewhere’? It’s very easy to answer that question: I merely preferred that rather than hearing ‘voices’ where they’d sprung up in my psyche, they take a more active role through the mimicking of speech. Imagine going to talk without actually talking or moving the lips or anything like that.
Now, considering the whispers receded in their activity once the change had occurred, what does that mean?
I’ve been off whispers and off medication for over one year now. And no psychosis in sight. Before, I was going through psychosis every year since 2015. Then, in 2022, I realized DID was a possibility, and logically, after much contemplation and experience, figured whispers could be a personality that doesn’t know it is one. Add to the mix it obviously doesn’t know anything you don’t: voila! You get peace of mind, and whispers stop having any integrity. (Definitely fully aware mentioning ‘whispers’ there is ammunition for bad-faith actors, but whatever… I haven’t gone through the trouble of trying to coin a word for the way it works for me.)
And it has been a great boon to my mental health knowing that I may be on to something.
Here’s the bad news:
I’m probably going to be dying pretty soon, here. Probably from exhaustion.
You know, I care not for those who’ve made a caricature of me in their heads and discard what I’d done. Incidentally, real people may be aware: The people who’ll shout ‘Get help!’ aren’t even trying and, really, haven’t figured out the difference between real values and an inclination to hysteria. It doesn’t take a genius to realize the ‘easy’ thoughts you see on social media don’t belong to the demographic I am trying to reach. All you knee-jerkers are free to be unthinking, bought, and ignorant for the rest of your lives. That’s what the MSM, the government, and the ‘advertisers’ who they’re beholden to ask of you. Have at ‘er, bud!
No; there may be a pocket of psychiatrists, doctors, musicians, and nerds—level-headed people, the learned, and wanting-to-learn alike—who may come across these writings of mine.
Yea; I’m probably going to be dying pretty soon, here.
Today was the first day I woke up, went to go sit in the black chair, and was almost immediately hit by this muscular exhaustion I’ve become accustomed to in my neck. There’s a general warm, tired soreness more regularly moving into my back at large, as well.
It’s a terrifying world where a person won’t be taken seriously because of their history with ‘mental illness’.
But I understand that there are people out there with real somatic delusions (technically, I may or may not have had them in a previous psychosis, though no matter how many times I’d asked, I didn’t get a straight answer), and your average doctor figures you don’t know shit about nothing to start with. Sorry to all the average doctors out there that don’t feel this way!
My uncle figures the right time to be is when you’re alive.
Bret Weinstein has talked about how tissue can only suffer so much trauma before it can no longer heal. I don’t know whether the cold and fine sore stinging my shoulder-to-neck muscles exhibit is a result of this, or is the result of falling asleep before they’re finished doing their thing – and thus, cannot completely heal overnight.
All I know is it’s getting worse, and it’s obviously happening earlier. Supplementing with protein appears to not help.
Sincerely, this affliction was crossing into torturous only just so long ago, and now it’s, I fear, going to be only torturous from here on out.
I have wondered of the distinction between suffering and torture.
For those who’ve only seen this article: By the way, this injury that’s brought me here would not have brought me here if it were not for some very outstanding circumstances! For this reason, I wholly understand why aid cannot be attained.
I do fear a future where I cannot lay in a moderately comfy bed only when I’m tired and cannot hop on the computer or sit with my phone when I’m not tired; that’s a kind of cruel and unusual. And I can’t even imagine the cruel and unusual of being forced medications again when I’m alive, here, right now.
I’d heard a lot of talk of Cain and Able through the grapevine. One does wonder about the meaning of sacrifice.
On one hand, I know humanity is finite; on the other, I want to stand with those who have it in them to nurture the present.
Best regards,
Curtis C.
Date finished: 13th of July, 2024.