Dissasociation - Tumblr Posts
i hate it here so i will go to secret gardens in my mind ⭐️📚🍂
every day, i feel less and less real ✶⋆.˚
How To Write Supressed Memories
From @differentnighttale we have a new ask: "How do I write a character who becomes a murderer without knowing while dealing with his repressed or surpressed memories?"
The condition that causes "repressed memories" is called dissociative amnesia.
A) Dissociative Amnesia
Dissociative Amnesia is caused when a traumatic or stressful event is so emotionally overwhelming that the brain builds walls surrounding the memories. This either blocks out severe or long-term trauma.
In most cases, the person still has the memories but they're just kept seperate from the everyday consciousness. Ultimately, dissociative amnesia is one of many different kinds of coping mechanisms that the brains adopts whenever a situation is so deeply traumatic and life-altering that the brain needs to shove it away.
However, despite the fact that the consciousness can't actively recall the memories, the traumatic event would still impact their behavior subconsciously.
For example:
giving them a phobia with seemingly no beginning
a refusal to enter in locations for no obvious reason
an avoidance of certain types of people
flashbacks
nightmares
Most people aren't aware of their missing memories until outside circumstances remind them. For example, military men with PTSD might forget the days following the return until someone mentions it.
This time can stretch from days after the trauma to months to even years.
B) Can Murder Be Traumatizing?
Answer: it depends
If the person is murdering people with a cold-hearted attitude and generally fine with murder, then they probably wont be traumatized.
However, if these murders were commited by a person when the tensions were high then it might result in dissociative amnesia.
Another contributing factor in this hyperspecific scenario might be the person's own internal beliefs of themselves! If someone is so convinced they are a great person, then they might shove down memories where they weren't a good person.
grown out
everyday, without fail, she’s here.
everyday. with a book in her hands,
everyday, she reads away beneath my leaves
whether my blossoming flowers slowly
trickle from my branches as the soft wind
hushes them into her perfect hair, causing her to sneeze, making me laugh,
or the strong greens of summer
engulf the sky above her,
shielding her
from quiet warm rains, or
golden leaves, bright oranges, loving reds,
drop upon her words, she picks them up
gently, so careful, as if they’re so precious
to her, as if every part of me is sacred to her,
even after it has abandoned me.
but she never does.
she never abandons me.
reading away at her pages, of love, passion,
kindness and courage, hopes of finding the
one, one day to share her life with,
drowning
in her reading, being absorbed in her life
as someone else, a character who to me
is unknown, as alas, i am unable to read.
i am able to just watch. watch her smile
drain from her face, her hair, scratched away
at my bark, her flawless skin growing paler
and paler everyday as she realizes she’ll
never live the life she lives while she’s under me
reading away, everyday, reading her books
fantasizing about her looks
getting caught onto hooks
until one day she doesn’t come.
she doesn’t read. i don’t know where she is.
has she left me? abandoned me?
she’s usually at my base, in a beautiful dress,
reading away and away everyday
like there’s no tomorrow, but then
tomorrow comes and she comes again too,
only now she’s not here. she isn’t sat where i would usually see her.
instead, others are. standing in her usual place, screaming, crying, desperately dropping
to the ground, on their knees, begging
to be dreaming.
it’s nice her family wishes to have had an imagination as vast as hers.
although one of my branches has been
feeling heavier than usual ever since
deep last night, in the bright
moonlight, when the stars became the leaves
of the sky and i was sat under the tree of the
universe.
they haven’t trimmed me in a while.
i must’ve grown out.
she grows weed in her basement confirmed
Istg she ain't be paying attention to shit but we love her anyway
My thoughts are just fregments of words,
syllables of dreams,
letters of something,
passing too fast to reach
I am merely a ghost of my body.
A reflection of windows in the town of flames.
It keeps you warm but one day you will burn.
I am not here.
Not really...
A wall of glass hides the things in front of me.
Picassos dissociation
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Time is not real
Has it been an hour or just a minute after what you've said? I don't recognize the voice. Who are you?
-
The world is not real
Everything feels so far away, like there's a wall of glass between me and everything else. The faces of friends become the ones of strangers. The world is fake. Is there cotton candy in my head? It feels like a dream, like I'm floating on clouds. Everything I touch feels so light and like smoke. But God, please, give me something to make me real, show me evidence, that I exist! Make me feel the ground beneath my feet, make me feel pain, so I know I'm here!
But even the pain doesn't feel real.
-
I am not real
The thoughts in my head are out of my reach, my memories stored away, my emotions unreal. I'm scared. Someone is screaming at me. I don't know what happened. I remember someone asking me a question, but the words they used are in a different language I do not understand. I try to scream but instead of words, there is silence coming out of my mouth.
-
"Who are you?"
I ask the person in the mirror. It should be me, but the stranger on the other side looks weird. It looks like a painting by Picasso, all messed up. I want to run but my feet don't move. I watch as my body just stands there. So I run without it. As I look behind, the vessel of my soul, once my body, still stand there as I fall into the abyss.
-
Please,
I just wanna go home.
-
-
-
-
My experience with dissociation. It sucks.
Maybe I cry the ocean
-
In the last few weeks I have felt numb, still do and I'm not even sure if a few weeks is enough. It feels like years.
The ocean in my head is drowning everything out. In the far distance, I can hear the 52hz whale crying, but I can't answer. Water stops my voice and fills my lungs. I can't breath, but my heart beats faster than I can count.
I don't have the energy to stay afloat, so I'm sinking like a wrack. The darkness beneath me grabs my feet and pulls me down. I close my eyes, waiting to hit the ground.
I don't feel it. As I open my eyes to look down, all I see is black. I know that down there is a ground. Nothing is infinite. I just don't see it. I can't see it.
While still sinking, the world of creatures swims by me. Beautiful and ugly, tiny and big. I try to touch a shiny fish but it swims away.
I cry. At least I think I do. My tears immediately mix with the water of the sea. I can't tell them apart. The deeper I sink the more I get pulled down. Harsh. It will probably leave markes on my skins.
I try to scream but every last breath of mine seems to be made of the sea. Or my tears.
Maybe I'm drowning in my tears.
Maybe I cry the ocean.