It's incredibly hard to describe what it's like to be eldritch. Almost by definition, an eldritch thing is something that defies understanding. It's incomprehensible. That doesn't mean that I can't try. I've thrown together some snippets I've used to describe myself at different times in hopes that between all of them, something will click.
I'm primarily an eldritch critter, though not of the Lovecraftian sort. Think "incomprehensible void dweller" and you're on the right track.
I like to describe it to people as those deep dream pictures. That's me in the same way that a toddler's crayon drawing of a cat is a living, breathing cat. Getting any more specific than that requires a whole discussion of anti-information. Think about how holes encode the things that fill them, how opposing sound waves cancel out, and apply that to reality itself. That gives you what I'm made of. It's incredibly hard to convey to people but deeply important to what I am.:
If I had to describe it, it's more like being a 4D or 5D entity, something that defies 3D notions of space and time. Have you ever seen a hypercube? How about a 5D cube? It's that same sort of idea. It's incomprehensible because it doesn't fit into normal space or existence. You can catch glimpses of what it looks like in full, but it's not going to make sense from a 3D perspective, and you're stuck working with 3D slices. [...]:
Take that and add in a concept that I call anti-information. If there's a square hole, you know you could fill it with a cube. The thing is, that hole isn't a cube. It's the opposite or absence of a cube. Despite that, you could reconstruct the cube's shape just by looking at the hole. I like to think of that hole as being anti-information of a cube. It's the absence of a cube, but that absence perfectly opposes the cube in such a way that you could reconstruct one from the other. That's anti-information. As best I can figure, a slew of anti-information what I was made of.
I'm what you get when you put a mirror in front of a mirror and then bend it. I'm a 4D sandbox. I'm the feeling of the ground turning below you when you lie down and close your eyes, then look to the side until you fill up the room without moving a finger, lights spinning and flickering in your mind like glitter thrown out the window. I'm those worm off the string memes, and the rush of a hand reaching through a screen to grab television colorbars, and the feeling of riding a bike at midnight when there's no one there to see you and the wind rushes through your jacket and carries you away into the stars, where your name doesn't matter and the universe rises up to fill you. I'm the impossibility of a not-mouth in the sky, almost-shapes creeping down the walls late at night in neon colors that burn your retinas, old hotel rooms where the fabrics clash horribly with the wallpaper, the liminal space of empty non-hallways with no ceiling and no walls and yet there's something there in that empty space that defies description. I'm Technicolor bubblewrap, that feeling inside your chest before taking that big step that's terrifying and exciting and dreadful all at once.
If I think about it, I guess that being a whole bunch of gray zones fits in with being eldritch. Good luck putting an incomprehensible horror into solid labels when nothing on it will hold still long enough for you to even start identifying where its eyes are, assuming it has them.
All of this is even messier because I analyze things, so I wind up taking these experiences and reframing them in different ways that are more psychological. Even the spiritual experiences don't escape analysis. I wind up torn between "this is a soul/past life/shard situation that's carried over into the present" and "it's how my brain manages to process feeling fundamentally misunderstood and othered by humanity since childhood thanks to undiagnosed neurodivergence", and both are correct but neither feels right. It's a perpetual mess that I usually solve by saying, "it doesn't matter what caused the experience; I'm having it and that's what matters.":
I think that the hardest part for me is the ache of something missing. And being out of place. I feel confined and restricted, almost squeezed.
There's something that fundamentally feels like change or incomprehensibility. I can simplify, but my root state is beyond words and perception in a way that's incredibly hard to convey.
Otherwise most of the impressions I have don't translate well into words or drawings. They're not really something I can convey understandably beyond "impossible geometry". And I have nowhere close to full view of them now- brains can only perceive so much.
And then I feel incredibly small and limited on top of that, like most of me isn't here.
A connection to the void and mutual understanding of its nature (and a deep feeling of missing it and carrying a part of it), being confused at the association of the void with madness and corruption because it feels like home, a sense of something missing or empty, weird experiences with phantom limbs, feeling a need or hunger for significant and meaningful information and gaining energy from it, worrying about being crazy because of these experiences, and struggling to convey any of it in words because it just doesn't translate well.:
I'm eldritch in the sense of "void dweller that's incomprehensible to beings in this reality because of the nature of the void".:
Large is the first word to come to mind- it's enormous but in a way that's not entirely stable. Putting an exact scale to it is tricky because there's a degree of flexibility in size, an ability to expand or compress as needed and occupy the same space with many folds of oneself, and getting an idea of size at all is hard because generally the entire entity doesn't exist physically outside of poking into the world in occasional manifestations.
As for what exactly it is, take all your conceptions of what an earthly being is and throw them out the window. Ideas like clear body parts or sensory organs, concreteness of form, and other things of that nature don't really apply. Instead, imagine an enormous, eternally-shifting thing drifting through space, flickering tendrils of mind and awareness given fluid and overlapping shapes that don't make sense. It's a creature of raw being, but in a different way from how we usually experience existence. It's incredibly hard to describe because of that. There's still a body, but it's not as concrete. It changes constantly, and the only constant is the awareness behind it- and that's multifaceted and shifting as well. It's a mind not constrained by time or space. It's a mirror box with a prism in it. Everything happens at once and not at all, and it somehow works itself out into disjointed cohesion. It sounds like a paradox because it honestly is, and there's no other way to describe it. It's a living contradiction if you try to describe it by Earth rules and misses the truth of it.
Manifested into the physical, it's an onslaught of color and not-color, shapes that twist into existence one second and are gone as if they were never there the next, things that one almost recognizes but loses sight of before they saw them. It's an assault to one's sense of reality. If you've ever seen 4D shapes (great example here), you have some idea of how it might look, but amplify that weirdness substantially. It's like if you badly trained an AI to produce 4D images. If you've ever seen that one photo that looks like it should be recognizable but there's nothing that one can actually name, that's a good snapshot.:
An incomprehensible extradimensional entity. Think of a shifting mass of shapes and tangled, offshoot limbs that twist in and out of sight in yet-unnamed colors, something peeking in corners of itself from elsewhere to interact with the world.:
I've always felt more like something alien to humanity altogether, something that defies concepts of form and body. If I had the choice, I wouldn't have a body at all and would be a disembodied consciousness spanning a vast amount of time and space at once.
Polymorphism and Forms:
Being eldritch is very closely paired with polymorphism. My nature in that area is change. There's no one shape to me, and any shapes change depending on where you look and who's doing the looking.:
I don't really have one "true" form. My form is in constant flux and changes based on the circumstances. You could argue that my form is the absence of form.:
I see something and I replicate it as part of myself. I don't really perceive myself as having one true shape in a 3D way. It's more like my shape is change itself. If I do have a consistent form, it's not something that can be properly perceived from a 3D perspective. The closest I can get is a mass of shifting colors and shapes as a 3D projection. It's a little frustrating and feels like I can't see all of myself from here. All I can get is snippets of the whole that barely make sense.:
[Phantom] limbs are all over the place for me. It's weird, because there are so many different ones. It's consistently inconsistent. Suppose it's the changing side of things.
More often, it's the sense that I should expand to fill a room or larger, but I'm confined in a too-small body.
And like I'm larger than that body as well. That I extend past it. And I know I'm confined to it (and that's part of why this feeds the "what if I'm just crazy" issue), but at the same time I feel that the boundaries of me are much larger.:
Phantom limbs are... really weird. It's less a sense of something concrete and more the feeling of a cloud of being, the feeling of a body occupying a space without being able to say exactly what is where. It's still an extension of me and is felt, but it's more a sense of filling a space and constantly shifting within it than it is the discrete limbs others tend to describe. Sometimes it feels like something is lashing around in that cloud, but most of the time it's a feeling of slow, constant movement. That's always there to some degree, but the size of the cloud varies. When it's especially prominent, it feels like it presses against the nearby walls of the room, but usually it's extending a meter or so out from my body in one or two directions. Sometimes it compresses down to a foot outwards and a meter wide.
As best I can figure, a slew of anti-information what I was made of. [...] The biggest clue I had there was a need to feed on information and existence. That information had to go somewhere and be processed to be me, but I know I wasn't made of the information itself. It wasn't destroyed, but it was altered in some way. When I worked out the concept of anti-information, it clicked.
I take in/took in information as a need (I still do feel a need to consume new information that leaves me miserable if I don't feed it; maybe I'm just curious, but who knows). All of that becomes part of me.:
What I do remember was an obsession with information, almost feeding off it. An all-consuming need to know.
I find the information I was (and am) most drawn to is the information that has something more attached to it. Emotion, sentiment, impact, things below the surface. I don't know how to convey it properly but "information of substance".
Mine is a longing for something that nothing fills. An empty space that I can try to ease, but it's always empty and always demanding something I don't have the ability to give it. I think of it like a hunger. I have a few ways to ease it, but it never goes away and it's always there. Something just feels missing.:
It's not just any information that feeds it, though. If only. Any helps, but it's not going to satisfy it and just holds off the worst. It's more... personal and intimate information. Things people keep to themselves or that are sensitive in nature. Information that requires some trust to give.:
Honestly out of all the alterhuman experiences I have, this is the one I struggle with doubt on the most. Takes times where I don't have access to people for me to see there is at least something happening there.
It's instead somewhere beyond the physical world most of the time, and I honestly can't say exactly where that is. I've tried to figure it out for some time and just don't know beyond it being possibly on some other plane of existence that I can't describe outside of sensations and flashes of almost perceiving it. Do you know the feeling you get when looking at beautiful art, that feeling of awe and expansion, something more? Or the feeling you get when you realize exactly how large space is, the enormity of it? Take that feeling, toss in the static and cold of your limbs falling asleep, mix in colors that human eyes can't describe because they just can't see them, throw in something I honestly can't put into words, stretch and distort it all like taffy, and make that a place. It's not unpleasant per se, but it definitely isn't human-friendly. Pretty sure the place itself would kill a human body if you dropped someone in there. It's not something a human body is meant to survive, let alone fully comprehend. I get flashes of it sometimes but it's very hard to make sense of because it's incredibly alien to human experiences, and I'm in a human body with a human brain. I think that's part of why I'm here, honestly, to understand humanity completely by incarnating in one myself, but it's annoying to be cut off from being able to understand that sort of thing.:
It's something beyond words that I've only ever been able to approximate. Language can't quite capture any of it for me. It's more than what words can contain. Words are too concrete for it.
First written . Updated as more opportunities to describe my experiences popped up.