Getting things done.

One of the joys of D.I.D. is the inability to remain consistent.  That means even though you are quite skilled in a number of different areas, your renaissance man abilities are not as cool as you think.  Starting one project and jumping to the next, only to come back to another cool project, over and over, becomes frustrating rather quickly.

As a note

Unfortunately passwords don't seem to be isolated and everyone has a tendency to get into shit.  Some things posted here may be removed because someone should not be typing.

I hate these days...

So, I (being the capital I meaning my body, some other aspect of me) wakes up filled with enough energy to power a small city. I hate when this happens, why you might ask? Well even if you don't ask, fuck you I am writing it anyhow, the reason I hate this is because it's some child like aspect of my personality that is in control.  This would seem fun and exciting, except the little fucker decided to talk people into get money and going to spend it willy nilly.  I cannot express how much I despise people (meaning other parts) taking control and doing things that I don't approve of.  Along with spending random amounts of money and running around like an idiot, fuckhead for some reason doesn't eat. While this seems good on the surface, running around in the sunshine for eight hours or so and not eating leaves you with NO blood sugar, the body flakes out, you get all woozy, and then you are to the point you pass out.  Around the time the body is about to fall over is when I retake full possession of my faculties, meaner than hell because I am crashing from blood sugar being way low and apparently running around for numerous hours while already exhausted from the previous days, and I find out I am dressed like a fucking fluorescent Freddy Mercury. So, while this may be fine for some, it really pisses me the fuck off.  I rely heavily on the people around me to make sure that things are kept to a certain order, obviously they find the fact that the other parts of me coming out to be healthy and see no problem in the way I am dressed.  You have any idea how many times I have realized I am out in public dressed like Superman? Too many, way too fucking many for my liking.  I understand living with me (being the plural me) is difficult and I try to understand the amusement that those who are around me get when these things happen, except those in charge have to deal with shit, namely ME (being the singular me). 


Never look at this D.I.D. thing as me being a whole bunch of separate people in one body, it's merely my brains response to life and my inability to fuse the different states of my personality's growth. I understand these parts are ME (Being a singular entity), but I work very hard to maintain what is to be expected, and I detest when these fuckers (being the other asshole fuck faces) completely undo, or embarrass the shit out of me with their antics.  They (being the fucktards), aren't out here doing 98% of the work, their 2% of bullshit is pretty damning though.


Assfuckers

Stress you say? Well...fucky you!

So it is in the world of Chaos, and where your mind is fractured into more than one entity, stress has a habit of making reality take a shit on you.  It's not so much the event itself that is the issue, but more the fact that one fragment takes over and shoves the others into a little box until the stressor is gone.  Much like lighting a fire under a bucket of rats, the buried parts become agitated and eventually explode in a fucktastic display of lost time, inappropriate behavior, and all around unwanted chaos and disruption of life.  The most damning part of this process is the fragment that takes control seems to be immune to many of the drugs normally used to help alleviate stress, "emotions are irrelevant, they impede the process of functioning, law and order will be maintained until necessity no longer presents itself."  So basically I operate as a normal human being, I play through emotion as I should, I act as I should, I present as I should, though being unattached to these emotions and unable to feel them causes distress. There is nothing more disheartening than watching the perfect person you want to be and having no ability to connect and take part into that.  The next step of this process is the stressors will pass, those fragments that do feel emotion have been suppressed and will seek to release all their pent up anger, fears, and desires.  This defense mechanism seems ideal on the surface, but the backlash I am about to face and try to work through is going to be hell in a hand basket.


I hate dealing with stupid, dramatic, fat assholes.

Mentalwhatness?????

As a foundation of our fictitious relationship I should probably fill you in on at least the main topic of this Blog, my mental illness... such an icky pair of words.  I don't have that cute, you hold me down when I throw a tantrum then I fuck you silly with gratitude kind of mental illness, although that could be preferable at times. Mental illness is never quite as neat and clean as they depict it on TV or in movies, or fuck even in the media.  Cynicism is my life partner and we are quite happy being irritated at everyone else's expression of what we suffer with.  Just remember that whatever they tell you on TV or in the movies is never as dramatic as you would imagine. It's often long periods of mind numbing suffering while waiting for this or that to be over or some drug to take affect. Quite frankly it's a miserable process that would make a sane person want to commit suicide, let alone a suicidal person...hmmm.


A brief overview of my diagnosis, schozoaffective disorder, sounds quite like two horrible mental illness had awkward drunken sex in the back of an escort(hope you are old enough to know what this is) and this is the three headed, two dicked, one tittied offspring.  Well it's not quite that bad.  It's actually a spectrum disorder, kind of like Asperger's only Bi-polar and schizophrenia are your goal posts, fucking YAY! Fun shit, right?  Well on top of that let's throw in the newest and most guarded diagnosis that I have received...drum roll...yeah not that exciting, it's Dissociative Identity Disorder.  Most are thinking WTF?! and the rest are like Oh! United States of Tara, yeah, well, sort of, no. Again take away the fucking drama, they need drama llama season.  The whole D.I.D. thing pisses me off on so many levels it's not funny, but fuck everything in life pisses me off.


Things will be spelled out, maybe, depending greatly on what mood I am in, either way welcome to me KingKoKo chaos rider extraordinaire... more along the lines of another lazy bastard preaching to the empty electrons of existence.

Something Something blow me...

To many of these blogs fall into a day to day whine fest.  I have to really wonder if they serve any real purpose beyond that.  A way for the masses to let their voices be heard by a world not listening. I have deleted the previous bitching put in place by minds not fit to be typing at a keyboard. 


Of all the things in this world "Who am I?" is a question we all ask ourselves at some point. "Who do you need me to be?" is more often than not the fucked up answer to this question.