empath

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.

Being a Medium For Other People’s Trauma

I can feel her very strongly as soon as I walk through the door. We are the only two people here in the lobby. I am waiting to see my therapist. This woman at the table is filling out paperwork, it appears, for her first time here.

She has shoulder length, dark brown hair, and is nicely dressed in a skirt, boots and a matching jacket. I sense that she feels her appearance will make her seem less “crazy”; if she dresses nicely. She doesn’t know that she isn’t crazy. She is a victim and her sadness runs deep.

I am feeling her energy so strongly that it is affecting my physical body. I know this heavy chest I’m suddenly feeling is not mine nor is the tight throat. This did not start until I walked into the waiting room and saw her.

I am writing this now on my phone notepad as I watch her, mainly as a deterrent, so I don’t empathically become impulsive and blurt out talking to her.

When she’s filling out the forms she is agitated. I watch her shift and rub her forehead then finally throw her pen roughly into her purse. In that time period she is also angry.

I can see in my mind someone who feels like her father. He is dark haired. It is short, almost black, hair. He has a narrow, fairly pointed nose and sinister, cold dark eyes. He feels tall and skinny. Now I am sad and tearful inside my body, and my skin has chills with my arm hairs standing up. His energy is thick and mean.

She is reading through all the paperwork of disclaimers, and I am reading her.

My mouth is watering through some nausea. I count my breaths to calm down, reminding myself to stay steady.

My therapist comes through the front door and briefly cuts the connection as she walks between us.

I’ll be right with you.” She says to me as she heads to the back, leaving me alone with the girl again.

Now I see his hand. He is holding a belt that is folded in half, and his hand is more into the middle of it and not towards the belt buckle. He was a disciplinarian who favored exact blows of holding the belt in a more controlled way, as opposed to swinging it and letting it land anywhere on her body.

I want to ask her. I want to verify what I’m seeing. I am deeply fighting this urge. I don’t see small child sexual abuse. I see consistent physical abuse. I do see sexual satiation in her older life, a leaning toward zoning out through sexual escapades of feeling good in the moment.

As she reads her papers, I am feeling her mind, which is currently split between the memories she is about to have to talk about and what she is trying to focus in on reading and absorbing.

I can’t ever say what I see directly to the person I see it about. It’s invasive and could be triggering to them. It’s such a hard position for me to be in when I feel so many multiple things. I want to comfort them. I also so, so badly always want to know if what I’m seeing is correct.

Yet, I cannot say to strangers, “I see your father holding a belt.”

This could cause more trauma for them, and I’m just not comfortable doing that, so I release it.

These moments are sometimes difficult for me as an Empath. I feel compelled to connect to a person in these moments. It’s part of why too much public activity is not an active choice for me.

I can spend a lot of time seeing into someone’s life, something I consider a gift that I cannot necessarily use for anything openly. I can give quiet empathy or only talk about it, if the other person initiates it.

As I watch her, I see she is struggling with something inside of her, something she isn’t sure she wants to talk about. Something with her father. She is having conflicted feelings of having to talk about her father. I am trying to figure out what that is, I get a slight sense she feels sorry for him at times for some reason, maybe his own childhood or times when he was good to her.

She does not look up or over at me once. She is emotionally frozen in time, memories and pain in her own space.

I wish I could tell her that I know this feeling; this throat lump I am physically feeling from her right now. She is just beginning this healing journey. I want to reach out badly, if just to say, I see and understand.

I wonder sometimes if I relayed to someone what I saw, if it would give them validation or comfort. Especially people like her, who come into my field waves very, very strongly.

Yet, I always stay silent. Right now I am pushing away the urge to speak with her by sitting here writing this out on my phone instead.

Post therapy continuance:

My therapist opened the door at this time to call me back to her office. I didnt see the other woman again.

When empathic energy displays images of other people’s lives, it takes constraint to resist the urge to give them a hug.

At times I feel like a medium for other people’s trauma.

Abstract Aberration

The Original One wavers, lazily sleeping, snacking and avoiding. Might I silence the fire, burning and buzzing in the spine? We run into the trails, avoiding the undergrowth of tree roots pushing their way through the ground.  We grab at leafy branches.  She’s an avalanche avoiding her own rubble.   Sideways in the gradients lingering around our eyes, the shadows whisper.  They run beside us, and we wonder if we are shadows to them, dark echoes leaning against their eyelids.  Where do we go when the pressure explodes and the heart is torn?  Where do we scream the aftermath? Into pillows, the skies or buried inside?

Words. We create language for the anguish.  The Brave One stands in her place, warrior and explorer of the past.  She will find answers for the empty spaces.  Don’t fear the faces.  Look into their eyes.  Don’t cry.  We stand beside oceans, gazing through windows of waves.  One day the illusions will pass and the pieces of the flashes will merge into view.   We  see truth for what it is, a planted alibi to cover every lie the truth hides, and humans will bend at their knees to kiss the feet of the malevolent just for a promise of heaven.

The Dark One peers, silently into the whispers, always with us, there are none who can attack our back.  It is revealed in instances, and she chuckles, amused at the minions.  Might she cut open the simulated empathy being used as weaponry by the mind swindlers?  Taking a piece of each, she throws their banter into the dark matter, and turning her face, strides away.  There are days when she is habitual, residual and invisible.  There are moments she is unaffected, stone faced and solid, looking at the rejected faces of the displaced, with malice.

They are an inconsequential waste to this place and should die off, jump cliffs and return into nothingness.”

The Wise One watches, taking in the whole of their life, assessing and regressing into the violet of her quiet.  Traveling back, she brings the messages so they can know the next step.

Nothing is permanent.” She says. “Stay inside the moments.”

We hold hands in the color tunnel where the memories funnel in.  We rewind back, watching the past, progress to the present and the continual disturbance.  The film strip plays sporadically and without warning, disarms the army.  We didn’t morph into what was intended.  We’ve pretended for years, watching you, and now we see all the way through.  You’ve been duped.

(cover art by Simona Ruscheva “MPD” oil on canvas)

She | Otherkin

She will expire in loneliness, the kind that creeps up slowly, meshing itself into all of the times she said she was alone but never lonely. Alone will be the only space in which she finds the deepest solace and the heaviest weight.

She will spend the remaining years in quiet; just her and the wheel members, existing together in conversations unheard or misunderstood by humans. Together they will create an impenetrable wall too high for the eyes of the predatory passerby.

She will watch the silent control; men who secretly love rubenesque skin, yet deeply unable to withstand the idea of public criticism; the possible judgment being the chains binding them to appearance, sexualization of the body, a trophy meant to impress. She will watch them undress and repress the feminine just to satiate their own selfishness.

She will dive inside the pupils of women who silently cry; sometimes with their tear ducts; sometimes quietly out of sight. She will observe the ones with coldness in their eyes, a result of too much twisting of their minds; finding relevance on the outside as their souls wander aimlessly away from their seeding.

She will long for home daily, actively making time with the present, founded by the past, carving new paths in the stone walls she frequently encounters. Lights in the clouds will become consistent reminders, and the trees will become her reprieve. This, her pre-chosen destiny.

To brave the human existence with the horror and the persistence of struggle, she will crawl through mud, huddle in corners and stand on mountain tops screaming for the humans to stop.

There isn’t much time left. Forty years will leave in a blink. She will adventure alone, finding no companion to dive the seas as she leaves them in the shallows to create dances with the coral reefs.

Days will become a continuum of journeys into the blackness where dreams reveal truth, becoming invisible for days; tear letting, but she will never spend a moment on regretting.

When cells are splitting inside her spine, stretching and weaving; as her guides help her rewind time, revealing the stealing of innocence, she is consumed with persistence, focus and dedication to the mission.

Still her human heart winces at moments captured by lovers, gazes of adoration she has never received, and she will remove herself from the dimension where she doesn’t feel welcomed.

She will spend her days floating inside the hoping that she will not succumb to distractions of attractions or conversations material, a viral suck hole for her soul.

Duality has almost disappeared. Her visual has risen to an observant height where she hears whispered reminders.

“You did not come here to be human. Don’t let them confuse you.”

She can no longer couple with their genetics; cannot allow their entrance or the convolution of her elegance. She holds shields, because the charming deserts contain killing fields.

She will look back on the ways she tried to be like them; begged for acceptance from humanoids riddled with rejection, and she will understand the path more clearly.

She will never know the touch of intimacy, lost in infancy, never held out of love, past the age of three.

She will become accustomed to the solitary, the human inconsistencies and lack of loyalty. She will cease attempts to be a part of them; to engage in their normalcy, for her, a foreign objectivity of monotony.

She will understand that she is not here for the endearing hope of comfort for her tears. She will close portals once opened, and they will become caves no longer necessary. We will lock the cages that once disengaged our aching, opening ourselves for the taking. We will become a closed army, many warriors inside of the One, and few will ever penetrate, once she turns the key, locking out their apathy.

She has floated inside of the Empath, fourth dimensional perspective where the rejection doesn’t break her as it once did; where she turns her back on the weakness of the narcissist, no longer their prey.

She stands on wooded trails alone, the trees and clouds her Earth home. She gazes the moon, Artemis smiling through the night sky. She goes astral, flying through time, past the stars and into the gate where her Otherkin wait.

The Song Of a Universe

My heart strings feel
So full of love
These days I
Could let my eyes
Seep the delight

Humanoids call them
Tears of joy

I have morphed into
Triangulated dimensions
New friendships
Beautiful intention
We are here rising
Waiting over, loves, this
Is Ascension

Light gathers like
Water and seashore
Building more
And more
Moving sand
And stone
We build homes from
Ashes and disaster

We are warrior and depth
Adept at flying, hiding,
Smiling and telepathically
Speaking we are
New to you

What to do
What to do

What you knew as one
Has become many
The life of being in
Multiple realities

Welcome to the
Upward slant there’s
No going back
So don’t fight
Float and
Don’t grieve
You hope and
Become the storm
That blows away the
Battered form

For you are
Seven colors of sky
Curved through clouds
You are music and
Violins, soft chords
Voices in harmony
You are the song
Of a Universe

K

Stream Of Consciousness | 5.4

the dream / recurrent / dark planet of / cliffs and crevices we / leapt / trained / fought in / total darkness / only scent to / guide so / we became / adept to / aloneness and / the smell of / predators / repeat / through cycles / same space / similar jumps / morphing body / twisting limbs / solid / then liquid and / back again / whatever form / chosen / was / golden for / the moment / have you / ever smelled / complete / lack of light / it reeks of / coal / sulphur / emaculite / lit on fire / what a / morbid place / no food or / rest we / fed / on the loneliness / just a few / years ago / bath night / candlelight / meditation / we go quiet / in the water / i / her daughter / she / we / went flying / so high / i was / eyes closed / had / followed the / spinning hole / the one / you run from / in we go / clear water sky / dimensions high / there are spaces / then the flat / color emerge / below our float / darkened patch / i spin back / retract / familiar ground i / look down / shoot forward / the maze / walls high / human miles wide / there / she says / the dark place / where you / faced the worst / of hellish / hurt i / felt confused / at first / then remembered / we laughed /i had/ thought it was / a planet / see we / planned this / earth / science who / deems us / human we / smile / sometimes shyly / why label we / yet it has / always been me / molecules and / star dust / formed and / unformed / look away / disinformation / mind control station / she / the seven / says the / human heaven / description so bare / doesn’t even compare / to the beauty / shining there / close my / eyes tight to / take in / all the sights / where colors / are felt and / spirit is / held in / revere / the most / precious gem it / is not / stone nor / rock / these illusions / you are taught / I breathe / in blue / exhale purple / heal you / feel me / tears so / beautiful you are / free this / mission is / not complete / i came to / understand the / reality of / delusion / refusing / confusion / become fusion / step through them / over fear like / under thrown spears / it is finished / when you / make the decision / back into liquid / my body lifted / soak in / the lesson what / i see / me / we / molecular hearts / torn apart / it’s just a / fraction of / what can happen / when / we mend / fly again / become wind / ascend / let go / no pretend / face the masses / without / care of judgment / recall your fall / if this / isn’t familiar it / isn’t for you / my truth / can only / be accepted / nothing expected / unpredictable / stay courses / we / ride the horses / become their skin / go back to / the memories again / each time deeper / layers are / thick / strength for this / one free mind / at a time / the goal to / be whole / fly beyond realms / i am / the helm / gaseous flame / i light worlds / but to you / i’m just / that girl / to a few / i am the sea / the ones who / see me / freely / go back inside / we / suck in air and / prepare to dive

What Is Holding Space? 

Crisis. It happens all around us every day in some form, from the child who cries a lot, to the friend who is dying of a terminal illness, to war and news and everywhere we turn we’re surrounded with crisis and news of crisis. We are often left feeling helpless, because as humans, our heart says “We have to fix this.”

I regularly practice caution in this arena. As a natural Empath, I can easily bring to my bosom, every pain in this heaving planet, leaving me somewhere lost in a great pond of sadness.

Once, when I was going through a deep struggle, a friend said, “I’m holding space for you.”

It is quite one of the nicest things anyone has ever said to me.

So what does it mean to hold space for someone in your life? What does it feel like when you know someone is holding space for you?

When we see others struggling and hurting we want to fix it. We want to help them feel happy. We want to make it better because we love them. This is how beautiful we are underneath our masks which often give off the tone of apathy, a cover for the shame we feel that we cannot fix it.

The first rule of holding space is to NOT do it of you aren’t dedicated. The last thing anyone in crisis needs is am empty promise.

Here are some examples of how to hold space for someone.

1. Answer their calls and texts. Do so willingly and with love. Respond with “I’m so sorry. What can I do to help?” Let them know you are listening. Open the door for them to share with you.

2. Check in on them. Don’t wait for them to reach out. When we are struggling, many of us isolate and cannot find the strength to reach out. So check on us. Let us know when you think of us. You may be the very light we need in that moment.

3. Sometimes we just want an ear. So cease attempting to fix it all. You may say, “Hey, if you need support coming up with solutions, I’ll gladly brainstorm with you otherwise, I’m here holding space for you.”. It’s often best to just hold the space in support, because that one simple act creates these feelings in times of crisis.

We feel Safe
We don’t feel so alone
We become Hopeful
We are Thankful
We feel Supported
We become Motivated

Holding space for our loved ones means sacrifice. I believe that we have to be clear on knowing our own self-love boundaries so that we, as the person holding space, are not depleting our own strength. Holding space requires balance.

Most of all, holding space requires empathy, an ability to step outside of our own self and find the joy in being there for someone else.

Hold space, my friends. It is a beautiful gift to give.