The_root_system

[when-the-bug]

"endos make a mockery of REAL systems" "ace people make a mockery of REAL queer people" "nonbinary people make a mockery of REAL trans people" "self-diagnosed people make a mockery of REAL disabled people" "bisexuals make a mockery of REAL gay people" "non-dysphoric trans people make a mockery of REAL trans people" "trans lesbians make a mockery of REAL lesbians"

arent you tired? arent you tired? arent you tired?

[clutching-our-plurals]

POV you're plural and you forget you're piloting someone else's meat suit and then you get jumpscared by a reflective surface:

[x0401x]

So I just saw a post by a random personal blog that said “don’t follow me if we never even had a conversation before” and?????? Not to be rude but literally what the fuck??????????

I’ve had people (non-pornbots) try to strike conversation out of nowhere in my DMs recently, and now I’m wondering if they were doing that because they wanted to follow me and thought they needed to interact first. I feel compelled to say, just in case, that it’s totally okay to follow this blog (or my side blog, for that matter) even if we’ve never talked before.

Also, I’m legit confused. Is this how follow culture works right now? It was worded like it’s common sense but is that really a thing?

[x0401x]

Saw a sharp increase in my follower count after posting this. The legitimacy of it is driving me nuts so I also feel the need to say that you can follow anyone on here regardless of whether you’ve interacted with them or not. People like the above mentioned blog are exceptions. Perhaps they themselves think they aren’t and therefore will act like they aren’t, but they are, trust me.

Just follow anyone you wanna follow. The worst thing that can happen is maybe getting soft-blocked by the other person, but if they do soft-block you, then they were never that worth following in the first place.

[starfieldcanvas]

wow. really hope this isn't actually a norm taking hold with new users! this isn't facebook, you don't need to know people before following them

[westiec]

this is the '10 year mutuals you've never spoken to once' site

[startrekgifs]

Follow! REBLOG! It's how the site works!!

[therealbeachfox]

Twenty years ago, February 15th, 2004, I got married for the first time.

It was twenty years earlier than I ever expected to.

To celebrate/comemorate the date, I'm sitting down to write out everything I remember as I remember it. No checking all the pictures I took or all the times I've written about this before. I'm not going to turn to my husband (of twenty years, how the f'ing hell) to remember a detail for me.

This is not a 100% accurate recounting of that first wild weekend in San Francisco. But it -is- a 100% accurate recounting of how I remember it today, twenty years after the fact.

Join me below, if you would.

2004 was an election year, and much like conservatives are whipping up anti-trans hysteria and anti-trans bills and propositions to drive out the vote today, in 2004 it was all anti-gay stuff. Specifically, preventing the evil scourge of same-sex marriage from destroying everything good and decent in the world.

Enter Gavin Newstrom. At the time, he was the newly elected mayor of San Francisco. Despite living next door to the city all my life, I hadn’t even heard of the man until Valentines Day 2004 when he announced that gay marriage was legal in San Francisco and started marrying people at city hall.

It was a political stunt. It was very obviously a political stunt. That shit was illegal, after all. But it was a very sweet political stunt. I still remember the front page photo of two ancient women hugging each other forehead to forehead and crying happy tears.

But it was only going to last for as long as it took for the California legal system to come in and make them knock it off.

The next day, we’re on the phone with an acquaintance, and she casually mentions that she’s surprised the two of us aren’t up at San Francisco getting married with everyone else.

“Everyone else?” Goes I, “I thought they would’ve shut that down already?”

“Oh no!” goes she, “The courts aren’t open until Tuesday. Presidents Day on Monday and all. They’re doing them all weekend long!”

We didn’t know because social media wasn’t a thing yet. I only knew as much about it as I’d read on CNN, and most of the blogs I was following were more focused on what bullshit President George W Bush was up to that day.

"Well shit", me and my man go, "do you wanna?" I mean, it’s a political stunt, it wont really mean anything, but we’re not going to get another chance like this for at least 20 years. Why not?

The next day, Sunday, we get up early. We drive north to the southern-most BART station. We load onto Bay Area Rapid Transit, and rattle back and forth all the way to the San Francisco City Hall stop.

We had slightly miscalculated.

Apparently, demand for marriages was far outstripping the staff they had on hand to process them. Who knew. Everyone who’d gotten turned away Saturday had been given tickets with times to show up Sunday to get their marriages done. My babe and I, we could either wait to see if there was a space that opened up, or come back the next day, Monday.

“Isn’t City Hall closed on Monday?” I asked. “It’s a holiday”

“Oh sure,” they reply, “but people are allowed to volunteer their time to come in and work on stuff anyways. And we have a lot of people who want to volunteer their time to have the marriage licensing offices open tomorrow.”

“Oh cool,” we go, “Backup.”

“Make sure you’re here if you do,” they say, “because the California Supreme Court is back in session Tuesday, and will be reviewing the motion that got filed to shut us down.”

And all this shit is super not-legal, so they’ll totally be shutting us down goes unsaid.

00000

We don’t get in Saturday. We wind up hanging out most of the day, though.

It’s… incredible. I can say, without hyperbole, that I have never experienced so much concentrated joy and happiness and celebration of others’ joy and happiness in all my life before or since. My face literally ached from grinning. Every other minute, a new couple was coming out of City Hall, waving their paperwork to the crowd and cheering and leaping and skipping. Two glorious Latina women in full Mariachi band outfits came out, one in the arms of another. A pair of Jewish boys with their families and Rabbi. One couple managed to get a Just Married convertible arranged complete with tin-cans tied to the bumper to drive off in. More than once I was giving some rice to throw at whoever was coming out next.

At some point in the mid-afternoon, there was a sudden wave of extra cheering from the several hundred of us gathered at the steps, even though no one was coming out. There was a group going up the steps to head inside, with some generic black-haired shiny guy at the front. My not-yet-husband nudged me, “That’s Newsom.” He said, because he knew I was hopeless about matching names and people.

Ooooooh, I go. That explains it. Then I joined in the cheers. He waved and ducked inside.

So dusk is starting to fall. It’s February, so it’s only six or so, but it’s getting dark.

“Should we just try getting in line for tomorrow -now-?” we ask.

“Yeah, I’m afraid that’s not going to be possible.” One of the volunteers tells us. “We’re not allowed to have people hang out overnight like this unless there are facilities for them and security. We’d need Porta-Poties for a thousand people and police patrols and the whole lot, and no one had time to get all that organized. Your best bet is to get home, sleep, and then catch the first BART train up at 5am and keep your fingers crossed.

Monday is the last day to do this, after all.

00000

So we go home. We crash out early. We wake up at 4:00. We drive an hour to hit the BART station. We get the first train up. We arrive at City Hall at 6:30AM.

The line stretches around the entirety of San Francisco City Hall. You could toss a can of Coke from the end of the line to the people who’re up to be first through the doors and not have to worry about cracking it open after.

“Uh.” We go. “What the fuck is -this-?”

So.

Remember why they weren’t going to be able to have people hang out overnight?

Turns out, enough SF cops were willing to volunteer unpaid time to do patrols to cover security. And some anonymous person delivered over a dozen Porta-Poties that’d gotten dropped off around 8 the night before.

It’s 6:30 am, there are almost a thousand people in front of us in line to get this literal once in a lifetime marriage, the last chance we expect to have for at least 15 more years (it was 2004, gay rights were getting shoved back on every front. It was not looking good. We were just happy we lived in California were we at least weren’t likely to loose job protections any time soon.).

Then it starts to rain.

We had not dressed for rain.

00000

Here is how the next six hours go.

We’re in line. Once the doors open at 7am, it will creep forward at a slow crawl. It’s around 7 when someone shows up with garbage bags for everyone. Cut holes for the head and arms and you’ve got a makeshift raincoat! So you’ve got hundreds of gays and lesbians decked out in the nicest shit they could get on short notice wearing trashbags over it.

Everyone is so happy.

Everyone is so nervous/scared/frantic that we wont be able to get through the doors before they close for the day.

People online start making delivery orders.

Coffee and bagels are ordered in bulk and delivered to City Hall for whoever needs it. We get pizza. We get roses. Random people come by who just want to give hugs to people in line because they’re just so happy for us. The tour busses make detours to go past the lines. Chinese tourists lean out with their cameras and shout GOOD LUCK while car horns honk.

A single sad man holding a Bible tries to talk people out of doing this, tells us all we’re sinning and to please don’t. He gives up after an hour. A nun replaces him with a small sign about how this is against God’s will. She leaves after it disintegrates in the rain.

The day before, when it was sunny, there had been a lot of protestors. Including a large Muslim group with their signs about how “Not even DOGS do such things!” Which… Yes they do.

A lot of snide words are said (by me) about how the fact that we’re willing to come out in the rain to do this while they’re not willing to come out in the rain to protest it proves who actually gives an actual shit about the topic.

Time passes. I measure it based on which side of City Hall we’re on. The doors face East. We start on Northside. Coffee and trashbags are delivered when we’re on the North Side. Pizza first starts showing up when we’re on Westside, which is also where I see Bible Man and Nun. Roses are delivered on Southside. And so forth.

00000

We have Line Neighbors.

Ahead of us are a gay couple a decade or two older than us. They’ve been together for eight years. The older one is a school teacher. He has his coat collar up and turns away from any news cameras that come near while we reposition ourselves between the lenses and him. He’s worried about the parents of one of his students seeing him on the news and getting him fired. The younger one will step away to get interviewed on his own later on. They drove down for the weekend once they heard what was going on. They’d started around the same time we did, coming from the Northeast, and are parked in a nearby garage.

The most perky energetic joyful woman I’ve ever met shows up right after we turned the corner to Southside to tackle the younger of the two into a hug. She’s their local friend who’d just gotten their message about what they’re doing and she will NOT be missing this. She is -so- happy for them. Her friends cry on her shoulders at her unconditional joy.

Behind us are a lesbian couple who’d been up in San Francisco to celebrate their 12th anniversary together. “We met here Valentines Day weekend! We live down in San Diego, now, but we like to come up for the weekend because it’s our first love city.”

“Then they announced -this-,” the other one says, “and we can’t leave until we get married. I called work Sunday and told them I calling in sick until Wednesday.”

“I told them why,” her partner says, “I don’t care if they want to give me trouble for it. This is worth it. Fuck them.”

My husband-to-be and I look at each other. We’ve been together for not even two years at this point. Less than two years. Is it right for us to be here? We’re potentially taking a spot from another couple that’d been together longer, who needed it more, who deserved it more.”

“Don’t you fucking dare.” Says the 40-something gay couple in front of us.

“This is as much for you as it is for us!” says the lesbian couple who’ve been together for over a decade behind us.

“You kids are too cute together,” says the gay couple’s friend. “you -have- to. Someday -you’re- going to be the old gay couple that’s been together for years and years, and you deserve to have been married by then.”

We stay in line.

It’s while we’re on the Southside of City Hall, just about to turn the corner to Eastside at long last that we pick up our own companions. A white woman who reminds me an awful lot of my aunt with a four year old black boy riding on her shoulders. “Can we say we’re with you? His uncles are already inside and they’re not letting anyone in who isn’t with a couple right there.” “Of course!” we say.

The kid is so very confused about what all the big deal is, but there’s free pizza and the busses keep driving by and honking, so he’s having a great time.

We pass by a statue of Lincoln with ‘Marriage for All!’ and "Gay Rights are Human Rights!" flags tucked in the crooks of his arms and hanging off his hat.

It’s about noon, noon-thirty when we finally make it through the doors and out of the rain.

They’ve promised that anyone who’s inside when the doors shut will get married. We made it. We’re safe.

We still have a -long- way to go.

00000

They’re trying to fit as many people into City Hall as possible. Partially to get people out of the rain, mostly to get as many people indoors as possible. The line now stretches down into the basement and up side stairs and through hallways I’m not entirely sure the public should ever be given access to. We crawl along slowly but surely.

It’s after we’ve gone through the low-ceiling basement hallways past offices and storage and back up another set of staircases and are going through a back hallway of low-ranked functionary offices that someone comes along handing out the paperwork. “It’s an hour or so until you hit the office, but take the time to fill these out so you don’t have to do it there!”

We spend our time filling out the paperwork against walls, against backs, on stone floors, on books.

We enter one of the public areas, filled with displays and photos of City Hall Demonstrations of years past.

I take pictures of the big black and white photo of the Abraham Lincoln statue holding banners and signs against segregation and for civil rights.

The four year old boy we helped get inside runs past us around this time, chased by a blond haired girl about his own age, both perused by an exhausted looking teenager helplessly begging them to stop running.

Everyone is wet and exhausted and vibrating with anticipation and the building-wide aura of happiness that infuses everything.

The line goes into the marriage office. A dozen people are at the desk, shoulder to shoulder, far more than it was built to have working it at once.

A Sister of Perpetual Indulgence is directing people to city officials the moment they open up. She’s done up in her nun getup with all her makeup on and her beard is fluffed and be-glittered and on point. “Oh, I was here yesterday getting married myself, but today I’m acting as your guide. Number 4 sweeties, and -Congradulatiooooons!-“

The guy behind the counter has been there since six. It’s now 1:30. He’s still giddy with joy. He counts our money. He takes our paperwork, reviews it, stamps it, sends off the parts he needs to, and hands the rest back to us. “Alright, go to the Rotunda, they’ll direct you to someone who’ll do the ceremony. Then, if you want the certificate, they’ll direct you to -that- line.” “Can’t you just mail it to us?” “Normally, yeah, but the moment the courts shut us down, we’re not going to be allowed to.”

We take our paperwork and join the line to the Rotunda.

If you’ve seen James Bond: A View to a Kill, you’ve seen the San Francisco City Hall Rotunda. There are literally a dozen spots set up along the balconies that overlook the open area where marriage officials and witnesses are gathered and are just processing people through as fast as they can.

That’s for the people who didn’t bring their own wedding officials.

There’s a Catholic-adjacent couple there who seem to have brought their entire families -and- the priest on the main steps. They’re doing the whole damn thing. There’s at least one more Rabbi at work, I can’t remember what else. Just that there was a -lot-.

We get directed to the second story, northside. The San Francisco City Treasurer is one of our two witnesses. Our marriage officient is some other elected official I cannot remember for the life of me (and I'm only writing down what I can actively remember, so I can't turn to my husband next to me and ask, but he'll have remembered because that's what he does.)

I have a wilting lily flower tucked into my shirt pocket. My pants have water stains up to the knees. My hair is still wet from the rain, I am blubbering, and I can’t get the ring on my husband’s finger. The picture is a treat, I tell you.

There really isn’t a word for the mix of emotions I had at that time. Complete disbelief that this was reality and was happening. Relief that we’d made it. Awe at how many dozens of people had personally cheered for us along the way and the hundreds to thousands who’d cheered for us generally.

Then we're married.

Then we get in line to get our license.

It’s another hour. This time, the line goes through the higher stories. Then snakes around and goes past the doorway to the mayor’s office.

Mayor Newsom is not in today. And will be having trouble getting into his office on Tuesday because of the absolute barricade of letters and flowers and folded up notes and stuffed animals and City Hall maps with black marked “THANK YOU!”s that have been piled up against it.

We make it to the marriage records office.

I take a picture of my now husband standing in front of a case of the marriage records for 1902-1912. Numerous kids are curled up in corners sleeping. My own memory is spotty. I just know we got the papers, and then we’re done with lines. We get out, we head to the front entrance, and we walk out onto the City Hall steps.

It's almost 3PM.

00000

There are cheers, there’s rice thrown at us, there are hundreds of people celebrating us with unconditional love and joy and I had never before felt the goodness that exists in humanity to such an extent. It’s no longer raining, just a light sprinkle, but there are still no protestors. There’s barely even any news vans.

We make our way through the gauntlet, we get hands shaked, people with signs reading ”Congratulations!” jump up and down for us. We hit the sidewalks, and we begin to limp our way back to the BART station.

I’m at the BART station, we’re waiting for our train back south, and I’m sitting on the ground leaning against a pillar and in danger of falling asleep when a nondescript young man stops in front of me and shuffles his feet nervously. “Hey. I just- I saw you guys, down at City Hall, and I just… I’m so happy for you. I’m so proud of what you could do. I’m- I’m just really glad, glad you could get to do this.”

He shakes my hand, clasps it with both of his and shakes it. I thank him and he smiles and then hurries away as fast as he can without running.

Our train arrives and the trip south passes in a semilucid blur.

We get back to our car and climb in.

It’s 4:30 and we are starving.

There’s a Carls Jr near the station that we stop off at and have our first official meal as a married couple. We sit by the window and watch people walking past and pick out others who are returning from San Francisco. We're all easy to pick out, what with the combination of giddiness and water damage.

We get home about 6-7. We take the dog out for a good long walk after being left alone for two days in a row. We shower. We bundle ourselves up. We bury ourselves in blankets and curl up and just sort of sit adrift in the surrealness of what we’d just done.

We wake up the next day, Tuesday, to read that the California State Supreme Court has rejected the petition to shut down the San Francisco weddings because the paperwork had a misplaced comma that made the meaning of one phrase unclear.

The State Supreme Court would proceed to play similar bureaucratic tricks to drag the process out for nearly a full month before they have nothing left and finally shut down Mayor Newsom’s marriages.

My parents had been out of state at the time at a convention. They were flying into SFO about the same moment we were walking out of City Hall. I apologized to them later for not waiting and my mom all but shook me by the shoulders. “No! No one knew that they’d go on for so long! You did what you needed to do! I’ll just be there for the next one!”

00000

It was just a piece of paper. Legally, it didn’t even hold any weight thirty days later. My philosophy at the time was “marriage really isn’t that important, aside from the legal benefits. It’s just confirming what you already have.”

But maybe it’s just societal weight, or ingrained culture, or something, but it was different after. The way I described it at the time, and I’ve never really come up with a better metaphor is, “It’s like we were both holding onto each other in the middle of the ocean in the middle of a storm. We were keeping each other above water, we were each other’s support. But then we got this piece of paper. And it was like the ground rose up to meet our feet. We were still in an ocean, still in the middle of a storm, but there was a solid foundation beneath our feet. We still supported each other, but there was this other thing that was also keeping our heads above the water.

It was different. It was better. It made things more solid and real.

I am forever grateful for all the forces and all the people who came together to make it possible. It’s been twenty years and we’re still together and still married.

We did a domestic partnership a year later to get the legal paperwork. We’d done a private ceremony with proper rings (not just ones grabbed out of the husband’s collection hours before) before then. And in 2008, we did a legal marriage again.

Rushed. In a hurry. Because there was Proposition 13 to be voted on which would make them all illegal again if it passed.

It did, but we were already married at that point, and they couldn’t negate it that time.

Another few years after that, the Supreme Court finally threw up their hands and said "Fine! It's been legal in places and nothing's caught on fire or been devoured by locusts. It's legal everywhere. Shut up about it!"

And that was that.

00000

When I was in highschool, in the late 90s, I didn’t expect to see legal gay marriage until I was in my 50s. I just couldn’t see how the American public as it was would ever be okay with it.

I never expected to be getting married within five years. I never expected it to be legal nationwide before I’d barely started by 30s. I never thought I’d be in my 40s and it’d be such a non-issue that the conservative rabble rousers would’ve had to move onto other wedge issues altogether.

I never thought that I could introduce another man as my husband and absolutely no one involved would so much as blink.

I never thought I’d live in this world.

And it’s twenty years later today. I wonder how our line buddies are doing. Those babies who were running around the wide open rooms playing tag will have graduated college by now. The kids whose parents the one line-buddy was worried would see him are probably married too now. Some of them to others of the same gender.

I don’t have some greater message to make with all this. Other then, culture can shift suddenly in ways you can’t predict. For good or ill. Mainly this is just me remembering the craziest fucking 36 hours of my life twenty years after the fact and sharing them with all of you.

The future we’re resigned to doesn’t have to be the one we live in. Society can shift faster than you think. The unimaginable of twenty years ago is the baseline reality of today.

And always remember that the people who want to get married will show up by the thousands in rain that none of those who’re against it will brave.

[starfieldcanvas]

you want to read this

[only-cat-memes]

[unfortunate-beetle-and-friends]

@funnier-as-a-system

[funnier-as-a-system]

[ID: a picture of an angry cat with text above it. The text reads: Everyone talks about an inner child. I have an inner cat who hisses at strangers, judges everyone and wants to sleep all day. / end ID]

[ispyspookymansion]

and of course it goes without saying that i am hopelessly dependent on the fictional little guys i carry around in my brain at all times

[eldermindless]

@funnier-as-a-system

[damespock]

i’m so glad earth only has one moon, if there were more i’d have to pick a favorite and that sounds too emotionally taxing to even fathom

[snowdropskylark]

​hey so funny thing about this

[sidsky]

Can only accurately reblog this addition until November 25, 2024.

[paprus-teutonic-knight]

yeah

[poll-position]

Will you be welcoming inbox trick-or-treaters this year?

YES! - Feel free to trick-or-treat in my inbox!

NO! - I would rather not participate!

Voting ended onOct 15, 2024

Please reblog if YES so your followers will know!

[transgarlicbreadlover]

Yes trick or treat in my inbox please

[real-chicago]

trick my treat

[official-ottawa]

Yes absolutely!

[coolhumanoidbeing]

"Your alters are all a part of you."

We're all parts of a person that could be. Hell, maybe even a person that should have been.

But they are not a part of me.

I'm as much of an alter as they are.

I have parts in me, as in, I have moods and tastes and goals. Those part are not alters.

Alters are their own separate entity, although we are all parts of a dissociated potential whole.

I am an alter. They can't be parts of me if im also a piece of the puzzle.

Edit: I will delete (both sides of) any arguments, unless they are respectful on both sides. By respect, I mean debating against points and not the person you're talking to.

[the-haunted-rainbow-system]

No one talks about grieving with D.I.D, and how badily it affects your entire system. Like people without D.I.D keep telling us that we are going through the five stages of grief etc and that you go through them in order, but for us it feels like its something that constantly restarts itself and loops due to switches.

Like no matter how much we think that we are finnaly at the acceptance stage it feels like we go right back to denial again.

I am NOT saying feeling this way automatically equals having D.I.D, but us feeling this way is most likely because of that.

Can anyone else relate??

[therootsystem]

ok but like it gets even worse when you’re grieving something that happened inside the system

the denial especially hits way worse in my experience, and like grief has a physical aspect right? It feels li’e the body is going through all the stages of grief over and over for every single member of the system and to people on the outside there is literally no explanation and it sucks

[funnier-as-a-system]

decoration i found at a thrift store

[ID: a simple black decoration with white text that reads: If you see me talking to myself, just move along... We're having a team meeting. / end ID]

[therootsystem]

One day I’m getting us one of those

[the-habitat-sysblog]

DID ALTER EXPLAINS: TYPES OF CDDs

so, what are CDDs? complex dissociative disorders are dissociative disorders that occur with the presence of "alternate self states" - alters. this includes DID, OSDD1, P-DID & some presentations of UDD. in this post, i will cover quick overviews regarding the key differences between these complex dissociative disorders.

DID - DISSOCIATIVE IDENTITY DISORDER

likely the most well-known complex dissociative disorder, DID is classified by:

the existence of two or more distinct identity states (as said before, i will be referring to these as "alters") accompanied by changes in behaviour, memory & thinking.

dissociative amnesia, which includes both partial & complete episodes of memory loss.

DPDR that affects daily life & functioning.

the symptoms must not be caused by substance use or another medical condition, & must not be part of normal cultural or religious practices.

this is a summary of the diagnostic criteria for DID¹, however there may be many other features present as well. common phenomena include: alters taking control of the patient's body in turns, the existence of an "internal world", as well as comorbid C-PTSD symptoms (flashbacks, hypervigilance, etc).

NOTE: DID with polyfragmentation (sometimes called complex DID) will be discussed in a later post.

OSDD1 - OTHERWISE SPECIFIED DISSOCIATIVE DISORDER (TYPE 1)

OSDD1 as a diagnosis - previously called DDNOS (dissociative disorder not otherwise specified) - is given to patients who nearly fit the diagnostic criteria for DID, however they lack one of the criteria needed to make a DID diagnosis.

OSDD1, therefore, is a spectrum of experiences².

in the online CDD community, you may hear talk of two OSDD1 subtypes: OSDD1-a & OSDD1-b. these are community terms that describe two of the most common OSDD1 presentations. take note, not all OSDD1 cases will fit neatly into either of these subtypes, but many still find these labels important when describing their experiences. here is a short overview:

OSDD1-a: the lacking criterion comes in where i mentioned "distinct identity states". in OSDD1-a patients, their alters are separated by the amnesia barriers present in DID, however the individual alters are often very similar in identity. these alters tend to seem more like "modes" of the same person, rather than distinct individuals. an example would be a patient named sarah, whose alters could perhaps be describes as "angry sarah", "childlike sarah" & "happy sarah".

OSDD1-b: the lacking criterion here is the presence of amnesia. those with OSDD1-b do not experience dissociative amnesia.

P-DID - PARTIAL DISSOCIATIVE IDENTITY DISORDER

P-DID is quite different compared to other complex dissociative disorders in terms of how it presents! the disorder is (typically) classified as such:

there are no episodes of amnesia.

one identity state exists as the "dominant" consciousness.

the dominant identity is intruded upon by 1 or more non-dominant self states, who do not recurrently take full control of the patient's consciousness & body (however episodes thereof may occur occasionally).

P-DID³ is under-researched compared to DID & even OSDD1.

UDD - UNSPECIFIED DISSOCIATIVE DISORDER

the diagnosis of UDD is given to those whose symptoms do not neatly fit into the criteria of another dissociative disorder⁴, including complex dissociative disorders.

as such, those with UDD may or may not note the presence of alters. it will all depend on the individual experience of patients with UDD.

this diagnosis may also be made in emergencies, or when a clinician is not able to gather enough information to diagnose a more specified CDD/DD.

these are all of the recognised types of complex dissociative disorders!

i hope i was able to set out this information in a manner that makes sense to those both within the online CDD community, & those new to it. thank you for taking this time to educate yourself on these dissociative disorders! if you have any questions, my askbox is open.

POST AUTHOR: finn🍄 (he/it) | dazey🐛 (they/she) SOURCES: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 DISCLAIMER: this post - alongside any other posts from @the-habitat-sysblog - is not a substitute for professional medical help. the DID ALTER EXPLAINS series is written with reference to the medical research of others, CDD community input & the author's personal experience.

[pride-sys]

Just reblogging so we can look at if we need to say it to someone, but if anyone wants to know, here it is!

[therootsystem]

Saving this one for later

[pukicho]

What the hell!!! Where am I

[pukicho]

Turns out i was in my house <3 I'm okay

[mitunacaptorofficial]

@funnier-as-a-system

[fashionablyfyrdraaca]

PSA: BAD LITTERBOX

i don't usually make posts like this, but this is a truly upsetting topic to me as a lifelong cat owner, so i feel i have a duty to share my knowledge with others.

there is a type of automatic litterbox for cats being sold that is EXTREMELY dangerous and has killed numerous cats through blunt force trauma, suffocation, etc. this litterbox is being sold under different brand names and logos, so i will include the picture of the model and two links to informational videos with more evidence and eloquence than i am able to provide.

please consider not having this type of litterbox in your home for your furry friends. me and my 16 year old tortie, puddy, want the best for all your kitty friends

image of litterbox below:

here are my two video links that provide proof and testimonials of this harmful product:

This Scam is Killing Cats by penguinz0

The DEADLY self-cleaning litter boxes that have flooded the market by One Man Five Cats

[lrndvs]

compliments from girls go hard

[mxmorbidmidnight]

I think we need to start putting up some of those classroom kindness posters in the nonhuman community or something. Can we all just calm the fuck down please and stop acting like territorial animals butting horns. Someone experiencing nonhumanity in a way that is different to you doesn't mean they're faking it. If this person's identity and self expression isn't causing any harm then it's not an issue! you can't justify cyberbullying someone just because "they made me mad".

It's really not that deep. Someone getting their theriotype wrong? not a big deal. Someone accidentally makes a mistake with their terminology? not a valid reason to harass them. Someone has a common theriotype? doesn't mean they're faking. This person identifies as physically nonhuman? also not a valid reason to harass them.

This community has so many fascinating critters and beings, there are so many wonderful acquaintances and conversations to be found. So please let's all calm down and read some posters.

(if still feeling the need to cyberbully others please re-read posters).

[funnier-as-a-system]

[ID: tweet by shirt dog (@ theshirtdog): "Just tried a "sorry this is my first day" to a customer's question and he was like I saw you here two weeks ago!" /End ID]