Wait, Who Am I Here?

Part two: I am the morally injured

Photo by Greg Rakozy on Unsplash

So, THREE years ago I didn’t know who I was, and I wrote a ridiculous piece of traumatized hash trying to explain what it feels like to be completely dissociated from oneself to other people who might not be so dissociate.

Wait. . .Who Am I Here?

Might as well record all of human experience, even the weird stuff of depersonalization.

And I’ve made almost no progress in three years, despite the support of friends and a little LSD and a little MDMA and finding a new place to live and somehow managing to save my cats in the process.

At least I saved the cats.

But I am no longer a person. The best I can do is be a bunch of different, contradictory people, so, that’s what I will do now. I will be a fragment, or rather, a lot of fragments. “Call me legion, for I am many.” And, thank you Mary Shelley, I am also dead and yet somehow walking around like the undead or the wrongly resuscitated, or as if a narcissist zombie really did eat my brain.