So anyway after a good deal of effort I finally managed to split off all the disagreeable aspects of my personality – of which they were many – and as a result I pretty well got shot of them, which as you may imagine was a considerable relief to me. I objectified them in the external environment which, in more down-to-earth language, meant that I had been able to safely distance myself from them. I turned them all into extrojects and thereby freed myself from all the unpleasantness that had been associated with them when they were still ‘me’. This whole manoeuvre worked astonishingly well – it worked very well indeed. When the extrojects got up to bad stuff (as they pretty much were bound to, that being their nature) I could express outrage and indignation just like everyone else. I could join in with the general round of condemnation, which felt wonderfully good. I was on the right side of things. I no longer felt any responsibility whatsoever for their vile actions – quite the contrary was true because I felt very strongly that the responsibility lay fairly and squarely with them. I knew damn well that the responsibility lay with them and was determined to make them pay for it. As I say this was great for a while but then as a result of some sort of unexpected acceleration of the dissociative process I found myself in a world consisting entirely of me and my split-off personality fragments, which all proceeded to gang up on me and do their level best to make my life miserable. I was the primary gravitational body and they were my malignant satellites, sneering at me and poking fun at me as they danced around and around, just out of my reach. Needless to say I soon grew to hate them with a passion but try as I may I was completely unable to harm them. Before long matters degenerated still further and I found myself in a dark shed or outhouse of some kind chasing some small deformed-looking animal around. The creature was about the size of a badger but it had a human face with a piteous kind of expression – it never spoke but it looked at me as if pleading for mercy. Something about the creature excited the most intense feelings of hatred within me – I yearned to hurt it, badly if possible, but the wretched thing kept skipping out of my reach. This went on for what seemed like hours – days even – and the creature always escaped me. I evolved various methods of cornering it and finally succeeded, managing to give it a tremendous kick square in the ribs. Immediately I was doubled up in unbearable agony rolling around the floor mewling like a sick kitten unable to catch my breath unable to string two thoughts together. The pain brought me to my senses and I realized then that I was persecuting myself and that I had better stop before it all got out of hand, before it turned too nasty. The thing was however, as I learned shortly afterwards, that I was unable to stop – I was addicted to the chase, addicted to trying to hurt the pathetic-looking creature, trying to get it back for being so awkwardly stupid and vulnerable. I would periodically become convinced all the bad stuff that had ever happened to me was all this stupid-looking creature’s fault and there was no limit to my righteous indignation, no limit to my sheer undiluted rage and malice.  My malevolence was infinite and it could never be satiated. At these times, as I say, nothing could hold me back from trying to hurt the stupid gormless-looking creature as much as I possibly could, as very badly as I possibly could do, but every time I managed to succeed in this quest and managed with joy to savagely and effectively inflict the degree of pain that I so badly wanted to the result was always the same – I would realize anew with helpless horror as the agony struck home that I was systematically and single-mindedly torturing and abusing myself in the most horrific way…