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In April of this year, I entered into another dimension of reality … or unreality, as I’ve come to understand it. It’s as if I was picked up and placed in the front-most, center-most seat of a classroom within which the darkest strategies of destruction would be presented. The topic? A disorder so sinister, so shrewd, and so malevolent that one could not be blamed for turning tail and jumping off the nearest cliff to certain death in order to escape the hellish existence this disorder voraciously seeks to foist with determined intent upon unsuspecting innocents.
Forgive the drama. I’m trying to get your attention.
This is a malady of disintegration and fragmentation made up of lies, superstition, fear, and despair; manifesting uncontrollable compulsions, illogical rituals, and overwhelming blasts of a thousand voices in the head, accusing the innocent of fabricated faults and irredeemable flaws without end, leaving the innocent with only one thing: the belief that they are hopelessly insane and of no worth.