Ineffable Ontological Detanglement > Mental Disorders

Yes, I... I guess there's a magical and mystical aspect to dissociative identity disorder. However there is not supposed to be. This is a metaphysical glitch, an unconscious glitch. You have become a surreal dream person. You're dreaming, you're becoming your dream. You're living the dream.

You're pathetic. You're out of this world pathetic. Getting dissociative identity disorder is, like, one of the most irredeemable things you could ever do. Getting dissociative identity disorder is, like, one quarter to one third as difficult to redeem yourself over as committing a holocaust.

I guess you may accidentally magical mystical shaman yourself with this disorder. I guess. Stop doing that.

They're not really a shaman, pretty sure the other shamans would accidentally kill this person the second they saw them. No this isn't the work of God, I mean, it's basically sorta the word of God but God would rather this disorder not be here.

Still not a neural misfire. Your brain knows what it's doing, your neurons are still firing just right to get done what needs to be done. This will only ever happen to the lower end of those who do not bypass their perceptual filters.

The psychological establishment states the myth is that this disorder is always the full on multiple alter dream person wandering out into and attacking the world of the real. Either attacking with what comes out of their face or literally attacking. They state there are lesser forms of dissociative identity disorder, if there is, say, a regular you and an angry you, they are two entirely different people, we all know this is my mother, you have dissociative identity disorder. My mother expressed it to me once, this was her diagnosis, then she said something like "A lot of people actually have this mild amount of dissociative identity disorder" and then put it away and I can only assume never again brought it up internally, she thinks she only has her angry alter but she also has her warm and caring alter and her outside world life alter. No, what she does to cats is not an idea sparked by her dissociative identity disorder, that was her compartmentalization functioning, what she did to those other people was in fact an idea followed through with by her dissociative identity disorder, however she's been working on the idea in her lucid state all her life. We'll follow up on this myth in a moment.

It begins with severe self fragmentation. You have now tapped into the beyond, a little bit you're within the dream world of all of your repressed physical and emotional violence every time you become angry. Moronic emotional repression shaman. This milder form of dissociative identity disorder is theoretically semi-resolvable, but you're probably not going to be able to do it. It's a trauma based disorder, you solve all of these disorders by solving the compartmentalization of the trauma. In this case you would need to re-integrate the selves, this is the kind of thing that feels like it requires psychedelics, and if you have dissociative identity disorder psychedelics are not available to you, psychedelics will deem you unworthy of this state of being and absolutely hammer fuck you. But I don't know it's worth a shot, I mean what's the harm it's just a few hours, it's worth a shot, it's worth a shot...

You can clearly tell, most of the time, it wants to destroy you. I mean... You're so traumatized by your minor life infractions that now I'm you're me you wandering around this world in a dream. Oh yeah you're a cool guy. Yeah you always wished you were a cool guy and now look at you you're a cool guy you have whatever you want, everyone knows you're a cool guy, everyone, you can't touch it. You can....T... Touch... IT. Because because because when I sense the dream world breaking because I can just float away because because off I go there I go I'm going to find another guy and call myself a really cool guy a really cool guy and you can...T... Touch... IT.

All you say, you say for you. All of your words and your tone are presented in the manner that intimidates all but yourself over how oblivious you are to who you actually are and what is actually real and happening. The position of authority you command in this moment is so painfully obvious to everyone, everyone knows you are the ultimate authority. It seems every single person's words and tone are just presented in the manner that is attempting to challenge my authority, and it's so obvious everyone's had enough of this, everyone is running down their noses at you because everyone knows you cannot challenge my authority. I'm all calm cool casual comfortable about my passive authority. Why do people keep wanting to speak of things that don't even mean anything to anybody? We're talking about me and how I am oblivious to myself. I'm trying to figure out how to get all of you to see this, this is incredibly frustrating but I'm really impressively cool about it, everybody knows everybody's sick of everybody challenging my authority. There is a certain forceful air behind my coolness that suggests if you continue to exist in a reality that automatically challenges my authority something will have to be done about it.

You will note, there is all sorts of highly scientific sounding covering of what comes out of their mouth. This is far too messy and subjective and difficult to standardize, so, we need to reframe it, soften it, ignore it.

"I kinda think we're supposed to kill this person." "Oh yeah man let's tell a cool story about a cool guy gettin' murdered. AHHH bullet to the gut, I strike a cool pose. I have really cool hair, I'm wearin' really cool clothes..." "...What." "And then this guy was all sue me I see things too sophisticated I can't see how cool this guy is I'm too sophisticated I'm sorry sue me. I'm an asshole I know but I'm just too awesome to take this guy seriously." "...I..." "Then he was all NO I'M THE COOL GUY. I'm too good to kill a guy for talkin' about his cool clothes and cool hair I'm way too fucking cool man I wanna be cool man I think I'm so cool man cool and (high pitched) SAFISACAA'ED cool and (high pitched) SAFISICAA'ED I just wanna sit here talkin' about my cool clothes my cool hair I think that's how ta' impress people you think I'm IMPRESSED? You think I'm IMPRESSED? OH NICE MAN YOU GUYS SEE THAT COOL THING I JUST SAID MAN LET'S LOOK AT IT LET'S LOOK AT IT 'YOU THINK I'M IMPRESSED? YOU THINK I'M IMPRESSED?' But nah he was all nah man I take myself too seriously ta' take this guy seriously man nah man I'm so cool man yeah man I think I'm so cool man." *takes out a knife* "You wanna fucking die over HAIR? Is that what you want man you wanna fight me over HAIR? Just to prove how much you love your HAIR? Oh my God I'm so sophisticated I just love my hair and I was all okay man relax man we know you love your hair man fucking put the knife away man it's just some cool guy man." *puts knife to his throat* "No man I wanna show you how much I love my HAIR this is how much I fucking love my HAIR."

Everybody with the mild amount of dissociative identity disorder, at one time had full blown murder rampage dissociative identity disorder. Something finally hammered into you, keep it contained. One half of you stopped going out and comiting murder rampages. Within dissociative identity disorder, your body is super charged to the maximum, you can thrust about ten times harder and faster than any other person. You can go out, commit random murders, come home before anybody knows it's you. The police know how to cover it up, the psychological establishment helps them, that would be a HORRIBLE thing to do to people, just for having a disorder, reveal the truth of what this disorder is capable of. Let them LIVE A LIFE, Jesus.

What my mother did to these people in my basement. Within my repressed memories was a moment of me finding a hole in the basement, here I have two false memories. One, seeing several men clothes drenched in blood lying in the corner, a hidden area under the stairs, screaming please leave us please leave us you can't have what's happening you can't have what's happening you know one day this is you. Two, me having a friendly adorable conversation with these men like we're in a treehouse telling them one day I will solve this for you. She would keep men in the basement, feed them and stab them and wait for them to slowly bleed out. There's a hole... There's a hole... Here in... The basement... I know there is. I come in here every night since I started sleeping in the basement, I wake up and I know I need to look for the hole. I need to fortify it. Somebody has access to our basement... He can just... He can just walk into our house from the basement there's a secret compartment. He can-he can-justwalkintomyroomandI'llneverseeit...

Great. On the nose perfection life over the top. Great. You ruined it. Too much. That is the underlying fear of basements in childhood, however, something about them screams of skeletons in the walls. It doesn't necessarily mean there are skeletons in the walls, but, somehow you just know it happens, somehow you just know it's one in fifty homes in North America. It's not family secrets it's organized crime secrets.

You can see within your semi-conscious window, when dealing with somebody with dissociative identity disorder, basically they appear to look like a soldier, their eyes appear to have turned black. One turns to you and within your semi-conscious window you see a hard flash with an angular edged X cross out, this one is off limits you weird litle force you can't have this one.