REGINA MILLS, ONCE UPON A TIME
JENNA RINK, 13 GOING TO 30
ALICE, ALICE IN WONDERLAND
BRADY & MACK, TEEN BEACH MOVIE
THE PEVENSIES, THE CHRONICLES OF NARNIA
WANDA MAXIMOFF, MARVEL UNIVERSE
MAX, THE ADVENTURES OF SHARKBOY & LAVAGIRL
JAKE SULLY, AVATAR
MIA, MIA AND ME
CORALINE, CORALINE
LUZ NOCEDA, THE OWL HOUSE
WENDY, MICHAEL & JOHN, PETER PAN
EVERYONE, ALICE IN BORDERLAND
WAYMOND, EVELYN & JOBU, EVERYTHING EVERYWHERE ALL AT ONCE
Alright, so the poll told me to leave. I guess I need to stop lying now.
My name is Sherri, and I'm a 43-year-old mother of three from Tuscon. This is something that's been weighing on my conscience for quite some time now.
This account isn't mine. It was created by my youngest niece. She's just a kid, full of innocence and curiosity. But she stumbled into a world she couldn't possibly understand. You see, Rachel has no history of trauma, mental illness, or any of the darker shadows of life that some of us face. She's a bright, cheerful soul with a heart as big as the Grand Canyon.
One day, I found her using this platform, and what I saw horrified me. She had created an alter ego, claiming to have DID (Dissociative Identity Disorder), a condition she had no experience with or understanding of. She said she was a system and had transitioned to various disorders which she did not have. As a mother and an aunt, I felt it was my duty to protect her from the potential harm that could come from such a misguided endeavor.
I took over the account without her knowledge, with the intention of shutting it down and protecting her from the predators and misinformation that lurk online. But something strange happened along the way. Instead of immediately deleting it, I found myself drawn into the depths of the radqueer community. It was like peering into a twisted reflection of reality, one that was tainted by pain and deception.
What started as a simple act of concern turned into a social experiment for me. I began posting under the guise of "The Harmony Syndicate", a DID system with too many issues to count, diving deeper into the lives of those who shared their struggles and stories here. Initially, I was disgusted by what I saw—the self-mutilation, the glorification of suffering, the toxic relationships—but I couldn't pull away. I was both repulsed and fascinated by the raw, unfiltered emotion on display.
But the more I read, the more I realized that these were real people, with real feelings and real pain. And amidst the chaos, there was a sense of community and support that was undeniable. I saw people reaching out to one another, sharing their darkest moments, and finding solace in shared experiences. It was a stark reminder that everyone has their own battles to fight, and sometimes those battles are invisible to the outside world.
I've come to understand that while I may not agree with everything that goes on here, it's important to respect everyone's journey. Rachel's little experiment uncovered a world that's complex, nuanced, and full of humanity. And as much as it disturbs me, I can't help but feel a twinge of admiration for the strength and resilience I've witnessed in this space.
The decision to take over her account was one I made without fully comprehending the consequences. I regret the deception, but I also recognize the value in what I've learned. The internet is a double-edged sword, and while it can be a breeding ground for negativity, it can also be a lifeline for those who feel lost and alone.
To those of you who have been following Rachel's story, I apologize for the deceit. I hope that my actions haven't caused any harm. And to Rachel, if you ever find this, I hope you can forgive me for invading your privacy. I did it because I love you and because I never want you to feel like you have to hide in the shadows to be heard.
I'm not sure what the future holds for this account. Maybe it's time for it to be retired, a relic of a misunderstood time. Or maybe it can become a platform for real conversations about mental health, identity, and the complexities of being human.
Also, did Rachel believe Cowboy Curtis is a real person when she made the "Intro post"? Girl, he's a character from Peewee's Playhouse. Try looking stuff up.
RAMCOA isn't real.
RAMCOA is the re-branded name for SRA (satanic ritual abuse) as coined by the ISSTD special interest group which is mainly ran by Valerie Sinason, Colin Ross, and Allison Miller. The foundation of both RAMCOA and SRA are found within antisemitic Illuminati books and have no clinical or legal evidence to back their claims. A majority of patients treated by SRA/RAMCOA therapists have sued for medical malpractice and abuse done to them by these therapists, and many therapists who propose ritual abuse as a key part to their treatment of dissociative and trauma-based disorders have been disbarred for their actions. The original cases of SRA were the byproduct of therapist suggestion, involuntary drug abuse, and hypnotic suggestion; where memories of horrific abuse were coercively implanted into patients even when available evidence directly contradicts these 'recalled memories.'
There has been no clinical proof of the possibility to "program" a person into having DID, as DID is a hidden, covert coping mechanism that only occurs in a small fraction of extreme abuse survivors. There is no such thing as "HCDID," because DID is naturally a highly complex disorder. HcDID, or Programmed DID are made up terms that dog-whistles RAMCOA.
You cannot transition to having a disorder or mental illness. If you are a member of this community, I suggest seeking a therapist to help you through the issues you obviously have.
Essential oils can also help a lot. I highly recommend Young Living. You can even sell it and become your own boss.
If you are in crisis, you are not alone. There is hope. Wikipedia has a list of suicide hotline numbers.
Thanks for reading. If you want to directly contact me, please follow me on Facebook. Please join my Facebook group
Thank you for reading.
With love,
Sherri.
YALL WHAT?!?!?
we were always going home ,
yes, i have shifted, more than ten times, if you’re the sort who counts miracles like matchsticks or notches on a headboard. i am not. i do not tally my miracles like debts to be repaid. they arrive not as triumphs, but as returns. familiar. like a song i almost forgot i knew until i was humming it again, accidentally, under the breath of my dreaming.
i do not care if you believe me. i say that without spite. belief was never a prerequisite for truth. you do not have to clap for the moon to rise, nor bow to the ocean to be pulled under. reality does not ask for applause. it simply is.
i shifted after four years. four years of thinking maybe i was broken in some exquisite, cosmic way, cracked just wide enough to want, never wide enough to have. four years of collecting every method like seashells, pressing each one to my ear and listening for home. sometimes i heard static. sometimes i heard blood. sometimes i heard nothing at all.
there were nights i didn't think i'd live to see morning. i say that with the softest voice possible, not for pity, but because it's true. i don't mean metaphorical dark nights of the soul, i mean the real ones. the kind where your body's still, but your mind is clawing at the walls, begging for a window. the kind where shifting wasn't some spiritual hobby or escapist whim, but a lifeline. a rope thrown into the pit.
i don't know who i would've been if i hadn't believed. not the glowing kind of belief. not the pretty kind. but the cracked, ugly kind. the kind that crawls. the kind that gasps, "please, just let me wake up somewhere else."
so when i say i shifted, i don't say it lightly. it wasn't a party trick. it was a resurrection.
quiet. not cinematic. not some thunderclap of fate. it was a shift like how morning happens, slowly, and then all at once. i remember going to sleep in my room, wrapped in some terrible hoodie, the air stale with the smell of forgetting. and then, like a breath i didn't know i'd been holding: i am there. not will be. not want to be. not maybe one day. i am. right now. here. and there.
it didn't feel like magic. it felt like choosing god, even if you don't know who god is. like giving yourself permission to walk on water not because it's easy, but because the alternative is drowning.
the assumption wasn't loud. it was a hum. a bassline beneath everything. and the moment i tuned into it, the world bent. not to serve me, but to meet me. like it was always trying to.
this is how i got there: i assumed i was there. i used the law.
i wish i had something more elegant to offer. a potion. a spell. a hundred-counted ritual. i don't. i have only assumption. not the performance of it, but the private, unwavering kind. the kind that does not blink. the kind that plants a flag in the dirt and says, "this is mine, because i said so."
i said i was there. so i was. not overnight. not in a blaze of light. it happened like a thread slipping through the eye of a needle, one slow stitch at a time. i told the air around me that my dr was real. i told the silence. i told the toothbrush in my hand, the toothpaste cap i dropped on the floor, the moth blinking against the bathroom light.
i didn't have to fight for it anymore. i didn't have to prove myself worthy. desire is not a courtroom, and the universe is not a jury. i stopped begging. i started being. and slowly, the scaffolding of this reality dissolved.
this wasn't faith. faith is something you carry with trembling hands. this was certainty. this was sitting still long enough for the river to realise it already knew your name. this was recognising that shifting was not a door you unlock with the right key, but a room you have already lived in. the furniture remembers your weight. the walls still echo your voice.
i shifted because i remembered.
and i kept remembering. even when it felt stupid. even when it hurt. even when the forum girls sighed and the scripting girls cried and the cynics said i was lost in a fantasy. maybe i was. but so is everyone. some people just settle for worse ones.
this is what i know: you can get there too. you are not cursed. you are not exempt. the moment you stop performing belief and start inhabiting it, like a house, like a skin, like an inheritance, you will see.
it is not far. it is next. it is with. it is just beyond the veil of doubt, waiting to be spoken aloud like a name that's always been yours.
you do not have to be special. you do not have to be chosen. you do not need a voice in the sky or a star to fall at your feet. you only need to decide. quietly. daily. like it's brushing your teeth. like it's feeding the dog. like it's the most ordinary miracle in the world.
let it be that simple. let it be that unremarkable. you were never meant to earn it. only to remember it. only to open your hands and realise they've been holding the key the whole time.
assume. not with fear, but with fondness. not with hunger, but with homecoming.
and if you don't believe yet, pretend. not out of desperation, but out of reverence. act like you are there not because it will trick the world, but because it will tune you to it. reality doesn't respond to panic. it responds to presence.
so say the toothbrush is yours. say the air smells different. say the cereal tastes sweeter. say the light is warmer. say your name with a little more certainty. you don't need proof. you are the proof.
and do not ask yourself how again. ask when. ask what now. ask am i ready to walk through the door i've been holding shut with both hands all this time?
because the door is open. the light is on. your seat is warm. your name is carved in the table.
come back.
