Identity Crisis - Blog Posts

Me is having an identety crisis :'D

When something bad happens to you, you may feel you have to change as a person, you act out and make up a new personality that isn't you to cope, and sometimes you take it so far you don't even remember who you are anymore, I've been dealing with this for the longest time, but I think I've found a good way to explain the way I'm trying to connect to old me and hopefully find out who I am.

Imagine your image of yourself, the way you are is a mirror, and when the bad shit happens, the mirror slightly cracks after something like that happens. You may be like me and purposely chance your personality to deal with that and try not to be like the old you to stop the feelings. Now imagine that is just you breaking the mirror even more. After a few years of this behavior, you can't even recognize your reflection anymore because the mirror has gotten so small it's just shards. So you try to find one shard you can still see yourself in (one part of your past self you still connect to) and try to feel like that version of you again. Eventually, you will connect the bits of the mirror together again. And sure, it may not be perfect, but it's you, and you can stick the bits of mirror together anyway you want. use glue? sure, stickers? why not, tape? fuck yes, that represents the you you are now still being a part of the new you maybe some shards won't fit you anymore maybe the mirror will have a different shape but it's still you in the reflection looking back at yourself.

Once you fix the mirror and find out how to be the you you were before you pretended to be someone else again, you can try and live on and change naturally because of experiences Instead of obsessively making up personalities you're trying so hard to be hoping one day one will feel right, you can slowly, over time, change, mature, and become a different person, and that person would (hopefully) be you.

Sorry if this sounds dumb it's just an idea I use to try and find myself again, I'm still working through it, so I don't know if it works yet.

Dean : *banging a pen on the table out of frustration*

Castiel : Stop that Dean. How would you feel if I banged you on the table?

Dean : I—

Dean : I don’t know the correct answer to that question.

Chuuya's backstory is so insane because like, any one event from 15-Stormbringer would be enough to constitute a lesser man's entire tragic backstory. Heck, that one scene from Dead Apple where you learn six of his friends died would be enough to be a tragic backstory. Grew up on the streets, forced to become the leader of a group of children who only saw you as a weapon, struggling with your own humanity, betrayal, five friends being brutally murdered because of you, even the detective who wanted to bring him out of the Mafia dying could be enough of a backstory, and I haven't even gotten to the torture yet. But Chuuya's just special like that.

Anyway, disclaimer out of the way, I feel very fuzzy.

I don't know anything about fiction kinning, but I read the term fiction flicker once and immediately Sprinted Far Away from it.

Just had the thought "its me? I'm (flash montage of characters I relate to a bit too much)- no, wait,? I'm? Who am i?" And had to take a silent minute of closing my eyes to settle into the fuzzy "I do not know, I do not care, I am what I'm doing right now" that I'm more familiar with.

Disclamer: I do not know anything. I am kind and also confused and that's all I have for sure

My account is having an identity crisis- like I regress n’ shit sometimes but I also am a satanist and I $h- sorry for any uh scaryness. I’m also having an identity crisis irl so my blog probably doesn’t make any sense at the time

Believe in Me

I told them:

.

I had believed I was a messenger of

Heaven;

I still believed I see

Devils on my mirror;

I can believed that my

Beliefs hold me, and I speak beyond my blood

And colour—an organ, carrying my identity with it, pumping my life and no

More than it that.

.

I was made of flesh, born, and see the basin carrying water

To be baptist as newborn under the cross,

Under the view of my

Religion. I assumed, it was

Like many others I witnessed as young kin

Of church.

.

And older, a day, a month, a year, in another country later:

Icy-veins I felt from the fingers to my arms, to my toes, frozing in untangilabe scare, alone

In my dark, dark room.

I was 12, weeping and thought:

I wished my hesrt to resist, let it be stone

So I would not cry, to simmer my anger out

Why not!?

.

It rejects

I reject it:

And heart pounded, my tears

Crinkling from my eyes, hanging off my eyelids

Down, down, to the floor

To my

homely

floor.

My throat chokes

I cannot keep it still.

.

My mind reeled to a story of a memory

I hoped to think I truly do hold dear: My silly mistakes, my promises,

My lies,

My childhood: I was living

Off the floor, a computer and I was

Everywhere, nowhere, but grounded

In my little corner of the

Room.

.

Don’t let me forget you, child.

.

Forget to pray, to beg, to be arrogant,

Be nothing but the silence you permeates

Around you.

.

Don’t forget this lesson, child

You born under the cross,

Once aquianted with the church every Sunday

At mass

And now you see yourself not

A follower

But a lover of arts

And a hyprocite of your religion,

Learning alongside them

And you see it, oh yes,

So close and you are there;

So far and you are the only one here.

.

Be still my beating heart.

.

It asks, “What are you, if nothing

But a walking dead?”

.

I believed to be an animal, a person,

Speaking, recognizing, engaging,

Walking on two feet.

.

It asks again, “Are you true?”

.

Again, I told them:

.

I believed because the rest of me

Can cry,

Can twinkle my toes,

Can laugh,

Can hate,

And love.

I can move and heart,

My dear heart, the holder of my being: “You are alive.

And I am alive.”

.

I can think, therefore I am here. I am living as you,

and

you as me.