The actions may be more embarrassing: breaking something, causing pain, exhibiting the sexual organs; the patient may be transported by violent rage, and abuse relatives, friends or even perfect strangers; he may spit carelessly, or undress himself—possibly with a vague idea that he is unwell, and would be better in bed.
Finally the acts may be criminal: sexual or other assault, murder, arson, theft, or suicide.
In this state, the patient is dazed, and though he appreciates to some extent his surroundings, and may be able to answer questions more or less rationally, he is really in a profound reverie. The attack soon ends with exhaustion; the victim falls asleep, and a few moments later wakes, ignorant of having done or said anything peculiar.
We usually think of our mind as the aggregate of the various emotions of which we are actually conscious, when, in reality, consciousness forms but a small portion of our mentality, the subconscious—which is composed of all our past experiences filed away below consciousness—directing every thought and act. Inconceivably delicate and intricate mind-machinery directs us, and our idlest fancy arises, not by chance as most people surmise, but through endless associations of subconscious mental processes, which can often be laid bare by skilful psycho-analysis.
Our subconscious mind does not let the past jar with the present, for life would be made bitter by the eternal vivid recollection of incidents best forgotten. Every set of ideas, as it is done with, is locked up separately in the dungeons of subconsciousness, and these imprisoned ideas form the basis of memory. Nothing is ever forgotten, though we may never again "remember" it this side the grave.
In a few cases we can unlock the cell-door and release the prisoner—we "remember"; in some, we mislay the key for awhile; in many, the wards of the lock have rusted, and we cannot open the door although we have the key—we "forget"; finally, our prisoner may pick the lock, and make us attend to him whether we wish to or not—something "strikes us".
Normally, only one set of ideas (a complex) can hold
the stage of consciousness at any one time. When two sets get on the boards together, double-consciousness occurs, but even then they cannot try to shout each other down; one set plays "leading lady", the other set the "chorus belle" and so life is rendered bearable.
This "dissociation of consciousness" occurs in all of us. A skilled pianist plays a piece "automatically" while talking to a friend; we often read a book and think of other things at the same time: our full attention is devoted to neither action; neither is done perfectly, yet both are done sufficiently well to escape comment.