Billy, a man with 24 personalities, faced a long and tumultuous road of therapy and legal battles in court hospitals. Despite multiple psychiatrists and mental health experts testifying on his behalf, lawmakers made some rather ruthless decisions. For people, abstract and distant issues are often reduced to flat, judgmental opinions. Empathy and compassion tend to pour out only for what’s immediately in front of them. There’s no need to remind people to “care for the kitten in front of them rather than the distant cries”—most people can’t even hear the distant cries in the first place.
Billy is certainly not the first case in human history. How did ancient people interpret cases of dissociative identity disorder (DID)? In East Asia, such cases were likely explained through spirits, possessions, and supernatural beliefs. But why is it that we assume one person should only have one consciousness? From a biological and psychological perspective, humans are social creatures—needing love, recognition, resonance, and a sense of security. If every brain housed multiple distinct identities like Billy’s, it would be like an internal family, a lively mental household. If every single person had DID, then maybe all mental health issues could be “solved with one click.” Of course, society’s entire structure would have to be rewritten.
Two Strange Thoughts About Dissociative Identity
I have two peculiar theories about multiple personalities. First, Billy’s total cognitive ability seems to far exceed that of a “merged” singular self. His IQ isn’t low either. Maybe it’s because the human brain naturally devotes much of its function to subconscious processes. Perhaps Billy has unlocked parts of the subconscious that we suppress—allowing not just the left hemisphere (which controls language) to speak, but the right hemisphere as well. If that’s the case, then each of his personalities possesses a unique capability, making his brain both immensely powerful and wildly unstable. Normal people, in contrast, dedicate enormous mental energy to stabilizing a single, continuous identity—maintaining a coherent memory and suppressing subconscious noise—whereas those with DID sacrifice stability in exchange for greater cognitive flexibility across different identities.
Another theory, purely speculative, is that our universe might be coded—a simulation built by some advanced being. I once read an article arguing that reality could be algorithmically generated. What if DID is simply a programming glitch? If human consciousness was designed to be singular, maybe Billy’s mind was an accident, a bug triggered by his traumatic childhood. His consciousness wasn’t formed as intended, leading him to generate personalities on loop.
The Layers of Consciousness
As a child, I noticed that every time I thought, “I want to…”, there was always a voice behind that thought. And another behind that one. I tried counting how many layers of awareness existed, but every time I paid attention to one, it would vanish—like catching an echo of itself (perhaps alpha waves at work?). Later, I learned that the brain’s left and right hemispheres have independent thoughts, but the left hemisphere tends to narrate and rationalize everything the right hemisphere does. Consciousness, it seems, isn’t about making decisions—it’s about explaining decisions already made.
The Fictional Residents in My Mind
Reading Billy’s story, I often felt as if I were having a conversation with him. I, too, have long carried “residents” in my mind—characters who have existed and evolved over the years. When I was in elementary school, my thoughts revolved around The Chronicles of Spring and Autumn. Then came the zakki era, the PQMN and President phase in high school, and now, the ongoing R and Her Girlfriend and Their Family storyline. Each of these “residents” has distinct personalities and histories. Sometimes, for dramatic effect, their stories get rewritten and their roles reshuffled—like a script undergoing constant edits.
From The Cosmic Tree to The Universal Electric Slide, from Jumping Off Uranus to Is Time Truly One-Way?, from Headlight Masks and Human Immortality to The Debate on Civilization vs. Barbarism, my imaginary residents have debated all kinds of topics. They’ve lived their own lives, and some have even made it into my journals. In daily life, interesting events get woven into their narratives. I often find myself zoning out—on walks, eating alone, traveling—lost in thoughts of these fictional inhabitants. For a long time, I assumed everyone did this. But as I grew up, I realized that maybe most people don’t.
Halfway through the book, I found myself envying Billy lol. He could fully embody and experience every identity in his mind, whereas I have always been hyper-aware that mine are fictional. My characters are the ones I resonate with most—I discuss with them the nature of evolution, how to deal with setbacks, the limited perspectives of people obsessed with material success, and the emotional poverty that comes with it. I debate with myself about the meaning of life, the future regrets of my present self, and whether love is simply a neutral phenomenon.
But Billy lived through an unimaginable childhood. He suffered time lapses, amnesia, and the trauma of fragmented consciousness. Compared to that, having a single, self-aware mind—even one that houses fictional characters—is a blessing.
Billy, too, experienced loneliness. Maybe, no matter how many identities live inside our minds—whether they are real or imaginary—it doesn’t change the fact that we come into this world alone, and we leave it alone. Loneliness, in one way or another, is simply a fact of life.
