Writing Community

The following is my experience with what living with Dissociative Identity Disorder is like. This is how I experience it and not to be used as a catch all for what others diagnosed may or may not experience. THEM I'm tired. We're all tired. Meeting each other in passing glances wreaks of distortion. Taking the wheel, as another let's go, has lead to conversion. Consoling and nurturing the vessel we control In order to maintain sanctuary has overwhelmed this somber host. My vision tunnels as the sounds of distant echoing voices reverberate through darkened steel walls, the cataclysm within. The vault I call my mind. Bouncing around like flies to a lit bulb, majestically failing at finding a way to their destination, yet continually trying to locate an entrance into the source which has them mesmerized. The black is where I'm kept. Vicarious and numb. The light is dimly lit. I hear them clearer. Soon, reality fades....and then..I am them...they are me. I remember the trinkets upon your arms in which time is kept. Shiny And new. Dull and dated. Only two so far but others glisten in the void. Silently awaiting an alarm to awaken the slumbered and activate your presence to the congress. Only after your appearance and control has been placed, then I know what I'm dealing with. Not by memory, but through the words of others who have witnessed oyr merge. Only then will I be greeted with a name or maybe more. Maybe worse....Only time will tell..... I dont remember when they arrive. I dont remember how long they stay. For me it's an eternity, but to others it's only seconds. I don't remember hours or sometimes even days. I dont remember what they may deceitfully force me to display. I'm told by people close that the words I speak aren't mine. I don't remember places, sometimes people, but mostly, I don't remember time. I feel I don't remember because they protect me from dark spaces. The catacombs inside, house their identities. Inside my mind, they stir and quake but alas...they are me....I am them.