TRIGGER WARNING: Mature content. Descriptions can be upsetting or disturbing, perhaps graphic and vulgar. By proceeding, you confirm to be of legal age & acknowledge and agree to the Privacy Policy, Disclaimer, and Confidentiality Agreement | Last Updated: 23. 06. 2019, 09:38 – 14:55


Y Satori, 
Dialectic “Writer” & “Model”

“Alive” and “living” since April 25, 1996. 
Mentally stricken and striving to “understand” since 2008  
Academic Scholarship following iGCSE results ( A A A A A B) 2015  
2:1 in Psychology Bachelors of Science (Honours) 2019 
Self-Portrait “photographer”/experimenter since 2009 
Occasional Glamour & Editorial “Model” since 2015 
Content Creator on since late 2018

“I sell my soul on

This is what I somewhat jokingly (and frankly bitterly) presented in various “about me”s’ and “bio”s’ in a kind of half-arsed attempt to (kind of) hopefully reach more readers/viewers.
I’m not sure how long ago, but at that point, I was bleakly (and losing the will to continue) struggling and (somewhat) desperately trying to reestablish some sort of stability in my “life” and (somewhat) trying to make this not only a means of expression and “salvation”, but also a means of subsistence. 

Yes, I am aware that it is a derogatory expression.

It is not that I was dismissive of doing so or scornful/disgraced by my site, but that I was beyond dishearted by the fact that I had to resort to monetizing what had been a means of self-therapy: sharing my journal of confrontation which documented my (rather erratic) thoughts, notions and more simply put: the (obsessive) devotion to answering a question that was never really asked, nor did it ever require an answer: Why? 

However, I was able to put several others to place: “What?When? How? Who? followinhe recollection, realisation, acceptance and acknowledgement of the “trauma” I had been “subjected to” was not at all gentle. Seemingly random flashbacks of “memories”, imagery, sensations, and sometimes pure emotion rapid increased in frequency, and one evening, October 2018, I was flooded with years of memories.

in the form of materialised (or, rather, pixelised) thoughts, notions and emotions expressed and captured through ( often impromptu) “photoshoots and “op-eds” (rants), “journal entries” (word vomit)…

I had debilitated many things and written and pondered and scrutinised for more than a decade – but I had also (very conveniently) “forgotten” most of my “life”. I remember (or at least I’d like to think/believe) little to nothing of the past 23 years of my “life”. However, thanks to photos and journal entries alike, I am able to cling on to and somewhat stay grounded by the blessing of being able to somewhat believe I have lived, despite not being able to remember/feel alive (apparently a phenomenon referred to as “depersonalisation”)

“For some strange reason” ( probably the irritating human desire for approval), the very act of posting on a blog – even anonymously (back then) – as opposed to simly leaving the word vomit buried in the depths of my notes (apple) It consolidated it.  They were no longer buried (ie denied/suppressed/ignored) thoughts or notions. Even though I do not have the best attitude and still remain reluctant and sceptical, I am trying my best to acknowledge and accept – and digest these experiences with an open mind and heart…

(04.28) I write about my journey of ups and downs in the (wavering) quest to establish, develop and fine-tune healthy coping mechanisms to cope with various psychiatric and physiological ailments – lingering impediments of emotional, psychological, sexual, and narcissistic abuse – and the aftermath of extremely unhealthy coping mechanisms.

I am doing my best to confront and make peace with these conflicts. I’m doing what I can, but it seems for every step I take, I fall back two. Upon confronting my mother after I finally came to terms with her “true” nature, she proceeded to block me (and then decide to suddenly reappear and act as though nothing had happened). Not only was I outright abandoned, I was stripped of even the right to forgive. I am doing what I can to make peace with this. (/04.28) 


Following a ( previously denied to be/disregarded/buriedabusive relationship with a conman in which I was (later admitted/realisedemotionally, psychologically, physically and narcissistically abused (April 2016 – 2017 June), the symptoms of depression which I used to be (somewhat) “in control” of eventually rendered me dysfunctional – which my Psychiatrist proposed was triggered by social conflict later discovered/admitted/believed to be the time (et Feb 2018) I was physically thrown and dragged down a flight of stairs and outcast & heard some of the most intriguing stories of what I had apparently done – <s>a</s> stor<s>y</s>ies for another time). 

Sometime around late March/April (2018), my condition “peaked”, to the point where I became no more than an abandoned shell of who I was (or at least believed to be). As I am writing this, I am doing so as I refer to images and texts from then on. The “simple” act of recalling those days alone triggers an overwhelming range of emotions, none of which are pleasant. However, I am now (somewhat) able to admit that doing so absolutely terrifies me. Even now, I find it fascinating how emotions trigger not only emotional responses but physical too.  This is where I admit I am a coward and (kind of) “skip” this chapter.

“Brief” summary of the highlights of 2018-2019


Countless rollercoaster of depressive/manic episodes, two codependent “relationships” (I just realised it’s more like four), a foolish decision to abandon prescribed antidepressants & other meds, the presentation of what can be described as an eating disorder, agoraphobia, psychosis, delusions, DID, social anxiety, the acknowledgement/realisation of how my childhood is actually considered to be (pretty much the model example of) narcissistic abusive, a foolish confrontation which resulted in more drama (blocked me, msged me again pretending nothing happened… etc – another story)


I am (once again) under the impression that I am (most likely) now “ok” and (kind of) “no longer” “depressed”.

I am also (painfully) aware that realistically/in reality this is just another hyper-manic episode… but I am (trying to be) hopeful that it isn’t (?) 
am still struggling and volition still fluctuates but I feel like 
(honestly, this just feels cheesy af but I’m saying it anyways b/c I’m tired af and need to go to sleep b/c my stubborn ass wanted to finish this before I forgot what I wanted to write) 

I’ve come a long way.

It is now June 24, 2019. It has been 5 months since we’ve begun this journey.

I am (somewhat) more able and willing to acknowledge and accept not only the events of the past but also the emotional & psychological turmoils that accompany them. 
I know (I’m sorry) this sounds cheesy af, but I am honestly grateful to you guys (and Reddit) for this. 
Even now, I am overwhelmed/boggled by the notion that someone actually values my content (and that some of you actually benefit from it)  
Every time I am reminded of this through feedback/comments/messages my heart genuinely wobbles. I don’t mean to be a whiny/sob-by/cringey sentimental sap/mush/”tear jearker” but seriously, Thank You Even if you really don’t give a shit and just want to find nudes, I appreciate every bit of support I am given. It is heart-lightening and just overwhelmingly encouraging. Just, really – Thank You


How much is my soul worth to you?

To be honest, I’d like to think/believe my soul, or at least my content, is worth something.  (Thank you to those of you that have somehow convinced me of this) 

My content is not paywalled for the sole purpose of income, but most importantly to be able to share openly without feeling too exposed/vulnerable and in turn becoming once again discouraged and “censored”. I genuinely hope that I will be able to appease your curiosity/desires/expectations.

(04.28)So, what am I offering?
I am not selling you a tale of novel adventure, nor am I promising some marvellous feat of great deeds. What I offer is not some woeful tale of despair nor do I wish to paint you an image of pain so vivid it will remain scarred into your mind’s due, forever haunting.
What I am offering is for you to join me as I scramble to gather, rediscover, and reconstruct the dissociated and fragmented bits and pieces that make up the shattered puzzle that is my life as I know it, and (gradually) “all” the “content” that date back to 2009 – photos, diary entries, flashbacks…(/04.28)


All content is released via

Joining as a member on means fewer bugs, rules & regulations, fees and other bureaucratic restrictions due to things such as patreon-wordpress integrations, bentbox T&C’s, etc.

Patrons and members, depending on tier, can gain privileges such as:

  • Access to all private & intimate journal entries
  • Access to private & nsfw photos
  • Access to intimate photo sets (18+) (private dropbox)
  • Access to private & nsfw video clips
  • 5-50% off exclusive (uncensored) sets & shop

Photo sets can also be purchased individually on a per-set basis on or Bentbox

Full discretion: I am not creating pornographic material, nor am I implying so.
Please be aware of this before you decide to subscribe.

Thank You

Even if you decide not to join me, thank you for your time & I hope you find your way as I search for mine.As for those who do: thank you for being so supportive, patient and understanding with me whilst I figure all this out. Your support means more to me than you might think, more so as moral/psychological/mental support. Giving me hope and encouraging me to believe in what good you see in me. Convincing me that I’m somewhat useful(?) or maybe just another train wreck to amuse yourself with.

Whatever the case, Thank You