The Alters

Talking Disassociative Identify Disorder

stream of consciousness 9.18

“The Consciousness of Being Human: Self Portrait” by Vennie Kocsis

I never / consented to this / to be a / part of parts / never asked / for the / broken hearts / the laden road / of being human / I am consuming / energy for air / ripping in half / to leave the / density here / to arrive there / so much to / leave behind / misunderstanding / mistrust / the degeneration / of being human / flat the feel / change the emotion / like ocean waves / this realm will / disengage and / the rage becomes / the sum of the numb / too sequestered / to remember / so they die / fire by fire by fire / and some / we love / memories become / teardrops / and scars / run my fingertip / over the / raised bars / hearing music / there is / no other way / injected through earth / plastic cups which / held my birth / death returns / when it / burns and burns and burns / regrowth the flowers / skin ashen / from flames / renamed and / reclaimed / shine the laughter / in aftermath / sees deeper than seas / trickery / treachery / manipulation / lower dimension / in fifth / long for seven / homeward bound / all your theories / are overthinking / flat or round / beginning or end / real or pretend / free or fenced / cages and rages / self created invasions / float away / against the seam / this is / a nightmare / not a dream / if they can’t / hear the / screams and wails / of innocent souls / this is / no place to / call home / I never / said yes / I’ll be the test / for traumas and / altered DNA / it was never / okay / when their / experiments / get to / intelligent / and layers / become invisible / they march in pairs / watching / from distances / invisibly obvious / mundane / this life / ordinary and / strained / drained by leeches / disguised as / preachers / politicians / the mouthpiece / of the wicked / people / so feeble / co-dependent slaves / cave easily / cracking brittle / can’t learn / from trees to / flow and release / shoot the moon / stage the craft / going back / through time portals / I told you / I am immortal / when this skin / becomes hollow / will I / remember / the aches / of this life / will I / look back / to understand why / floating in / the respite I / daydream of / colored plasma / encased / sleeping / m7

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What Happens When We Dissociate?

How does Dissociation work? Is it okay to Dissociate? What happens during Dissociation? So many questions are posed toward the phenomena of trauma Dissociation.

The scientific process of Dissociation is a brilliant function of a human being’s DNA ability. There are many aspects which could be deeply examined in regards to the phenomena of Dissociation.

  1. Where does the DNA brain and body energy go when it leaves?
  2. Is the ability to Dissociate related to how much torture/pain a human can endure?
  3. Can Dissociation be controlled by the carrier?
  4. What happens during the Dissociative process?
  5. Why do some abuse victim’s Dissociate and not others?

In my memoir, CULT CHILD, I go into great detail about my Dissociative memories. These are real experiences which are extremely clear and prevalent in my memory. They have never changed. They have only been verified.

My Dissociation process as a child did not disappear, but instead, evolved as I became an adult. When I begin to feel my energy separate from my body, a myriad of physical signals happen first.

Sounds disappear. My body feels as though it is floating. My heart rate speeds up. I begin to see my current reality in third person perspective, as an outsider looking in. This happens in a matter of seconds. Then in a blink, I am elsewhere in my mind. I, personally, tend to travel to a dimension outside of my current realm.

Because I dissociated so much as a tortured child, it seemed like a natural and smooth transition to evolve the methods I used to transition, into my own meditative states. If my environment is right, I am able to push through the physically uncomfortable Dissociation transition to access differing sectors of my brain. Now, it is a willful and purposeful action.

The most pertitant element has been grounding to insure I am not left with aftermath; that I can come back to my present reality and be able to function at my own current level. Therefore, before using this technique I usually hold an object in my hand.

For me, there are now two types of “Dissociation”. One, emerged out of a childhood fear, fight/flight instinct, which I used as I was universally assisted through surviving cult inflicted torture.

The other would emerge as a flipping of those ritual tools, utilizing the survival abilities of my childhood abuse as newly assistive methods through which I now freely access the other dimension.

So, from my experiences, there is no set answer to the “What happens when you dissociate?” question. There are too many mitigating factors.

  • a human’s level of pain tolerance
  • a human’s mental strength
  • an abuse victim’s environment
  • an abuse victim’s DNA
  • the type of abuse enacted

For instance, my Dissociations found me continuously returning to the seventh realm, as I know it, while another abuse victim I am friends with jumps to a planet within this galaxy. Yet another abuse survivor I know remains on the ceiling, watching the full extent of their abuse. One element I observe in regards to the extent of an ability to control Disaociation seems to also include a human’s personal evolvement. The more evolved human deals with less fear, thereby being able to travel easier.

To answer how one dissociates would be to speak with every abuse victim who has used Dissociation to cope. While our experiences and circumstances are all differing, what we do have in common are the physical signs, as described above.

Possibly, when we master the skill of traveling, not in fearful Dissociation, but in an ability to focus, using Dissociative abilities to access the levels of our own existence, we have come to explore our memories from a place of empowerment.

This takes work. It has taken me years to evolve my methods. I am still evolving them as I am determined to access more of my mind’s caves. It takes being healthy so the body doesn’t fall ill. One must be able to be in a soothing environment to do this work. Because it is emotionally laborious, most Dissociation carriers avoid the exhaustive journey.

Yet, I say that if one chooses to face the layers of their own dissected childhood, that through the exhaustion, tears and haunting images, learning to stay grounded and traveling into Dissociation has been one of my strongest developments.

Vennie Kocsis is a 2016 Amazon best-selling author of CULT CHILD, a memoir detailing her abusive childhood in Sam Fife’s Move of God cult. She is currently writing the sequel, RISE OF SILA.

She Said It’s Called Compliance

I have my own sketch book.  She doesn’t put this art out for everyone to see.   She says it’s too graphic; that it might make other people sad.
Well, anyways, I’m sad too.  But she said this one we could use this time.  She won’t let you see the sexual stuff.  Not good, she says, to put those things on the internet.  So, that sketchbook is just all my own for my own memories, and even I have a monster sticker on it.

At Ware, Massachusetts, Sister Debbie Hale is the most horrible woman.   I hate her, and I don’t understand why Mama won’t look up at me at meal times.  I just stopped trying to catch her eyes, because she never looks up or even smiles.

Today, the day I draw this about at the bottom, well, I don’t know what I lied about, but Sister Debbie said I did lie.  So all day I had to wear a board around my neck with the word “Liar” only on it.

And also I just wanted to talk.  Why can’t we talk? But I talk too much so my mouth is taped a lot.  All day.  I don’t get water on this day.  My hands were tied together at the wrist and she makes me sit at the table with my hands folded on top.

Everyone is eating.  My stomach growls so hard.  I don’t get lunch or dinner because that’s my punishment.  It’s hard to go to sleep with a growling stomach.  Did you know that?  But I think I’ll take the tied hands, taped mouth and no meals over a belt beating.

If I can get a potato into my pocket, I might try to sneak it to my bunk.  But then Sister Debbie will hear me crunching it when it goes quiet at night, and I’ll get a beating.  Well, I’ll just be hungry tonight, and tomorrow I’ll be extra good so I can have meals.

Sila Caprin

The art of the child recalls the memory.

Abused Children Wear Multiple Faces

What the un-abused cannot understand is how a child can be raped and defiled, then smile at school the next day.

What I can say as a sex and physical child abuse survivor is that a lot of us victims don’t fully understand it either, except to explain that this is where fragmentation of the mind happens.

We function in multiple settings, some violent and horrific, some considered normal, and we move between these fragments in order to survive. As a species, we don’t fully understand the absolute capacity we have to get through horrible events and experiences. So, in order to thrive, there must be in all of us, an acceptance, instead of a need for explanations or closure that we may never recive.

Why do evil humans do what they do?

Who cares.

Let’s stop them.

We spend more time researching, than we do focusing in on victim rehabilitation and harsh sentencing for perpetrators.

We spend more time debating theologies on news panels for television time, than we do walking into the lives of the victims so we can truly understand what they have experienced.

If you want a solution to an epidemic like child abuse, ask some of us victims. You will find that maybe you should listen to us, whether you agree with our view or not. If you have not been a victim you really aren’t the expert. The victim is. To put yourself in your own absolute bubble makes you a part of the problem.

Start to listen, as we are speaking very loudly, and our Survivor Voices are rapidly growing.

Cult Child at Amazon:

To Be a Warrior 


“To be a warrior one must learn to wait silently in the shadows. We must gather our quiet into the arching pull back of our bow. We must watch. We must observe. We must not fall into senses of time. To be a warrior one must paint themselves into the colors of their own vulnerability, disallowing shame or the blaming of victims. We gather information, build dossiers, leaving factually scribed scrolls of truth in secret rooms. The warrior is not quick to reaction, but instead, a steady pace of actions well thought out and enacted. To be a warrior one must survive and stay alive inside the turmoil of human bile. We see the thing for what it is, do not let our minds live inside of unrealistic expectations. We gain evidence from behaviors. To be a warrior, sometimes we must say goodbye.” Vennie Kocsis, author

#MondayBlogs: “Split”: Glorifying MPD 

Am I the only MPD carrier who the movie, “Split”, pissed off? From “Sybil” to “The Many Faces of Eve” to “The United States of Tara”, the media has proven time and again how little research they’ve done on this impairment, and how much they enjoy glorifying it.

Now, every other young person seems to suddenly be walking around with MPD, now classified as DID, as if it’s cool, some kind of fadish excuse for shitty behavior.

There’s the girl on YouTube who does videos in costume in each of her “alters”. There are DID blogs everywhere I look, telling stories of what “alters” have done and said, and I watch quietly from a distance.

I can usually tell immediately who is faking it. I know how MPD works. One, I live with it daily. Two, I self integrated out of pure survival, without even realizing what I was doing, and it doesn’t involve putting ones head down and calling up a “child alter” like JZ Knight channeling her 30,000 year old alien, Ramtha.

I have known only a couple of other people in my life who I would agree with their MPD diagnosis. I’ve personally met one therapist who completely gets it on a level most therapists have yet to even figure out. They have a lot to learn.

A simple example. Do we dress different on days when one of our alters is in the forefront? Sure. So do you, depending on your mood. So, what makes us different? Most likely the conversation in our heads. We have collective conversations. I don’t discuss intimate details of my personal diagnosis simply because there are too many people out in the cyber world who actually think it’s cool to live with this impairment. Cool enough to mimic it.

To you fakers, I say, let’s trade for a day. Then you might not think it’s so cool.

For a movie like “Split” to glorify this impairment as horror, an impairment which is a result of severe childhood trauma, minimizes the every day organization integrated MPD carriers live with and the level of work it takes to be a high funtioning person. Instead of making an accurate film depicting the real workings and curings of MPD, Hollywood creates imaginary tales of horror, of which very few movie goers will ever take the time to truly fact check.

Instead, when MPD is mentioned, the response is “Oh, like Sybil?”, and I want to slap someone awake. I want to ask them when was the last time they did some scientific research. Hollywood scripts are not accurate depictions of the rare impairment of MPD.

What is the result of this media irresponsibility? The possibility of people committing crimes and claiming MPD defenses. Worst of all, a stigma gets put on us by the general public; that we are dangerous. Yet, we are not.

You don’t know us; any of us. You either deny the right to our collective existence with False Memory attempts or dismissive indications, or a mere disinterest in the interim of your life, so we of the MPD society are those “weirdos” who don’t really matter.

We do matter. All of us. We are multi-intelligent, after all, we have numerous people inside of us, all functioning at once. We love to study. We study you. We assess your lives. We live in multiple realities every single day.

So please, get your head of of the media’s ass and come meet me and my alters personally. We openly talk about our lives here. Be cautious who you follow and what you believe. Educate yourself on this syndrome.

I don’t adhere to having a disorder. I am not mentally ill. My abusers and those who deny and/or attack my child abuse are mentally ill. Me? I’m a wealth of interesting people if you throw away the stigmas and introduce yourself to us.

She Cannot Watch

 

She cannot watch this world with it’s lack of concern. She cannot watch humans share stories of horror before they click the channel to another station. Satiation. Satiation. Bring the brain to another dimension. Escape the images. Babies dying. Children crying. Mother’s weeping. Father’s gone flat. This is the aftermath of a planet turned cold.

This is real chemical warfare, when the DNA sitting inside of the body no longer has a voice; when it has become robotic, static and unconcerned with the burdens carried by the most innocent of her species, the children. This earth is seeping and shaking in flight, preparing to sling forward, and so she draws her sword. She straps on metal boots to stay rooted in place. She slices through aggravation and loss. She beheads egotistical diatribe and places aside ignorance with intellectual rhymes.

Everything they hear goes in one echoed ear and through the rear of the skull where everything’s gone numb; where smart has become the new dumb, because the last book read was forced in high school and current events are spread from digital non-evidence.

Opinions carry more weight these days than facts. Belief has become an actual thing as if it is valid so the cabals tally up tithes to set aside for parties with children whose eyes have gone hopeless with the knowing that nobody’s listening to their silence scream. There is hope left still inside of her; that in the depths of the crying, they will know help is coming.

No one hears them because the masses are adhered to the harmonic tone of their own voices, bounced back onto them from their blinders, and they become so tightly bound inside of their illusions that their sensibilities drown.

She will ride high on invisible steeds with chariots of good deeds, boundary lines clearly defined and fight stalwart battles, until generations of trauma have been healed. One life at a time. No child left behind. One step. One wound bandaged,  then a chance to become accustomed to the scars left from being ravaged.

You sleepers and your habits have left the vulnerable tattered. So, she waits. She watches. She listens to the clock’s tick tock as time comes in waves. There’s a storm rising. Can you hear the quiet? When it explodes, everything you know will change, and you will never again be the same.

M7