Brice Taylor's story is way up there on The WTF weird shitometer scale....

....Holidays always signaled times of trauma. One Christmas I awoke excited to see what Santa had brought for me. My two worlds and the personalities that lived in them were continually subjected to different realities, and this day was to be no different. Susie in her red velveteen robe got special treatment while other personalities had "Xmas," a very different painful and evil reality. While Susie got a Christmas stocking full of goodies, Sharon got razor blades and coal and parts of dead animals. "Sharon" was another one of my inner personalities my father created, which he developed as my "inner twin" to Susie, my conscious everyday personality. One Christmas ritual trauma I vividly remembered was when my father laid me down on the rug in front of the fireplace and placed his finger inside my vagina while he readied a hot poker in the fire. Somehow putting me in a trance-state, he began, "You won't feel this. You will only continue to feel the pleasure, just like I am rubbing now. Does it feel good?"

"Yes Daddy," I robotically answered.

"Good, then when I do this it will only increase the pleasure," he kept his finger in place until he got the hot poker out of the fire and as he put it inside me, he took his finger out and as hypnotically commanded, I felt only the pleasure of the hot inside me. Very lovingly he said, "Very good, honey. You're doing very well. Now take a deep breath and count to three and feel like you have to pee. Then when I take this out, you will feel even more pleasure. Okay?"

"Yes, Daddy," I said putting my little hand up in front of my face while I counted off, "One," as I held up one finger, then "two," putting up two fingers, then, "three," and when he had taken the poker out, I felt really happy. It didn't even hurt. I couldn't feel the pain of the red-hot thing. In months that followed, I reached out and touched a piece of red-hot angle iron when my father was welding, and when it burned my hand badly, I was surprised. I didn't understand that it would bum me. My father was an expert at those "games."

At other times he put something scary in front of my face to startle me before he did something traumatic to me. Then he would tell me to feel numb while he put a silver metal band around my wrist and forehead and would shock me with the black box that was attached to the bands with wires. He'd say "you're doing very well," but my face would be sweating and it stung when he gave me what he called "a jolt."

At odd times, even when other people were around, my father would say, "Do you want a jolt?"

I'd say, "No," while I giggled nervously, acting like it was a game but it wasn't.

Often after one of these jolting experiences, I felt so sleepy and my mom would say, "What's wrong with you? Are you sick?"

"I dunno," I'd say, because I didn't know anything. To know was to 'know,' and to 'know' was very bad and you got very hurt. So certain personalities within me took the pain and torture after which I would be switched back to Susie who had no knowledge of any of it.

https://exploringrealhistory.blogspot.com/2019/11/part-1-thanks-for-memories-hopes-and.html