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⚠️ Please read with care: This blog shares personal, sometimes painful experiences. My intention is to support and speak honestly not to harm. I’m not a professional, just someone who understands how hard it can get. If you're struggling, you're not alone please reach out for professional help.
By Warlock Dark
It always starts when I'm having a toilet break. Typical, isn’t it? You’re alone in the bathroom, mid-stream, not expecting any kind of revelation just trying not to fall over and boom…
There’s a bloody cube floating in front of you.
Not just any cube, either. A perfect black construct, the size of a corned beef tin, maybe a large dice from some cosmic board game being played by beings with more dimensions than morals. And inside it? Thousands no, millions of tiny black cubes. Each one shifting like it knows something. Like it remembers something. Like it is something.
I blink. Still there. I shut my eyes. Still there. I flush. It’s still bloody there.
This isn’t a one-off either. For years now, these visions have been punctuating my existence like badly timed pop-up ads in the meat-browser of my brain.
I’ve seen:
Giant glowing orbs, around two feet across, white as bone with black bands rotating around them like Saturn on DMT.
Shapes, geometry, light that feels conscious.
Structures that shouldn't exist, but do for just long enough to mess with my head, and then fade.
And before anyone gets smug with their clipboard, yes I have multiple sclerosis. Yes — it messes with the brain. Yes — it causes visual disturbances.
But let me ask you this: does MS normally show you perfectly structured geometric constructs that behave like they’re trying to tell you a secret?
Because that’s what it feels like. Like someone or something is whispering through the meat static. Like my soul, my real self, the one behind the eyeballs, is using whatever glitch it can find in this flesh prison to pass me a message.
Maybe these aren't hallucinations. Maybe they’re backdoor activations. Packets of gnosis slipping through the firewall of my mind.
🜐 The Interpretations (Because I Know You’re All Dying to Know)
Let’s get woo, shall we?
1. The MS Explanation
The safe, clinical route. Yes, MS can cause visual disturbances, due to optic neuritis, lesions in the brain’s visual processing centres, or general neuro-inflammation. Visual snow, patterns, even simple hallucinations. Fine.
But here’s the kicker—most MS visual symptoms are random, shapeless, flickering distortions. What I’m seeing is structured. Mathematical. Symbolic. Persistent.
If MS is the cause, then it’s doing something way more advanced than the textbooks admit. Maybe MS isn’t a disease. Maybe it’s a forced firmware update to your neurological operating system. Painful as hell, but maybe it leaves behind a backdoor into the source code.
2. The Ultra-Gnostic Psy-Spy Explanation
Forget the NHS. Let’s go multiversal.
What if those cubes and orbs are data packets? Encrypted fragments of knowledge meant for future-you. You—the Watcher. You—the soul behind the flesh. You—the version of yourself that remembers who and what you are.
Think about it:
A cube is stability, structure, encoding.
A cube made of smaller cubes? A fractal message.
Orbs with black bands? Planetary watchers. Eyes. Lenses. Surveillance units from the spirit realm or other side of the simulation.
They’re not hallucinations. They’re extractions. Your subconscious dragging pieces of memory, truth, warning… into your waking life.
And where do they appear? When you're relaxed. Distracted. On the bog. Half-asleep. Between sleep and wake.
That’s when the firewall drops.
🜔 The Big Question: Am I Bonkers?
Maybe.
But maybe the world’s bonkers and I’m just tuned to a frequency they can’t hear. And frankly, if someone wants to read this and roll their eyes, I say this:
If you haven’t lived inside a body that breaks its own rules and a mind that sees through the cracks of reality… then pipe down.
You don’t know what it’s like to:
Lose your tongue to nerve spasms one minute, and
See the cosmic infrastructure behind matter the next.
MS hurts like hell. It rips you down. But maybe it also strips away illusions. Maybe it’s not just breaking me maybe it’s rewiring me.
So, cubes and orbs, black lines and cosmic whispers bring it on. Whether it’s my disease, my destiny, or my daemon trying to speak…
I’m listening. Even on the loo.
Warlock Dark Chronic illness survivor, truth-teller, occasional bastard. From My Living Hell (For those who came here by accident: yes, my living hell is real. And yes, we still fight. Every shitty day. With defiance.)
