I also wonder sometimes if this wouldn't be easier if I didn't know what was going to happen next. If I didn't know that this is merely the up side of the cycle, and that it's just an episode of almost clarity, and it's going to end. If I didn't know that without treatment, which I'm certainly not getting, dreams of psych wards aside, that these periods of psuedo-lucidity are going to get shorter and shorter.
And knowing that, I can't help but worry about my gestalt mates. I can see the side effects my... problem... is causing with me, but how is it affecting them? I can feel them, sometimes, in the blackness between dreams. But it's not enough to tell me how they're holding out, or if they're really there at all.
The problem with knowing you're hallucinating is that you can't trust anything. Not even yourself.
Especially not yourself.
----
Evisceration - warnings for gore. Obviously. :P This is the oldest file in here, wrote back in 2004. Yes, I was just as creepy back then.
The air was hot and wet; every breath brought with it a fetid weight that pulled at the lungs, the scent of rancid blood choked the throat as effectively as a gag. Walking forward took far more effort then it should, the curtain of befouled air closing around, as tangible as the taste of it in the mouth.
The entire room was covered in red in the harsh light coming from behind, in the hallway, shining almost reluctantly on the heaped refuse within. The walls were painted in splashing arcs, smeared, with the dark red-brown of blood long dried. Along the walls and heaped throughout the room were piles of things. Things that might have been part of a human, once. The lines of a mutilated arm and leg slid out of the mass, still holding to the brighter red of meat that has not yet dried, and coated with the darker of old blood. More blood and other fluids had ran across the floor and soaked into the floorboards, staining the wood.
no subject
The mirrorverse Vortex interlude:
I also wonder sometimes if this wouldn't be easier if I didn't know what was going to happen next. If I didn't know that this is merely the up side of the cycle, and that it's just an episode of almost clarity, and it's going to end. If I didn't know that without treatment, which I'm certainly not getting, dreams of psych wards aside, that these periods of psuedo-lucidity are going to get shorter and shorter.
And knowing that, I can't help but worry about my gestalt mates. I can see the side effects my... problem... is causing with me, but how is it affecting them? I can feel them, sometimes, in the blackness between dreams. But it's not enough to tell me how they're holding out, or if they're really there at all.
The problem with knowing you're hallucinating is that you can't trust anything. Not even yourself.
Especially not yourself.
----
Evisceration - warnings for gore. Obviously. :P This is the oldest file in here, wrote back in 2004. Yes, I was just as creepy back then.
The air was hot and wet; every breath brought with it a fetid weight that pulled at the lungs, the scent of rancid blood choked the throat as effectively as a gag. Walking forward took far more effort then it should, the curtain of befouled air closing around, as tangible as the taste of it in the mouth.
The entire room was covered in red in the harsh light coming from behind, in the hallway, shining almost reluctantly on the heaped refuse within. The walls were painted in splashing arcs, smeared, with the dark red-brown of blood long dried. Along the walls and heaped throughout the room were piles of things. Things that might have been part of a human, once. The lines of a mutilated arm and leg slid out of the mass, still holding to the brighter red of meat that has not yet dried, and coated with the darker of old blood. More blood and other fluids had ran across the floor and soaked into the floorboards, staining the wood.