Sometimes I feel like I am in a dream – that I am not fully awake and everything is kind of hazy, distorted, dissonant and uncanny.
Sometimes I look at my partner and I know I love him so much but I am looking at him and he doesn’t seem real and it doesn’t feel like we are together. I think this is why sometimes I can not physically get close enough to a person I feel affection for, like closeness can not be felt until I merge into them. Sometimes I want him to lie on top of me, his weight pushing down, suffocating, in order to feel him there.
Sometimes I am driving and my surroundings feel like they are moving as if on a reel and I am still and I am on autopilot. This happens also when I am walking, my limbs moving of their own accord and I am just present to watch a landscape paint itself around me. I feel like I am in a movie and somewhere there is a soundtrack playing, but I can not hear it. Images break down into patterns – geometric or organic lines flattening into two dimensions. This happened just now when I looked out my office window into the building-enclosed courtyard and my heart started racing and I got scared and couldn’t look anymore. I don’t usually get scared. Mostly I just feel ambivalent, grey, but sometimes I am scared that I am also flattening.
Sometimes I can not process my reflection – I can not consolidate that image with my own. I know rationally that I am looking at myself, but it doesn’t feel like me.
I can not connect to photographs of myself.
I am incapable of nostalgia. My past happened to someone else. I hardly remember it anyways, like waking from a dream I can not quite bring into focus. I know the events of my past like a book I read once and still remember parts of. Whole men that I used to love do not exist as real people anymore. Some elements of my experiences have left lasting impressions on me and my behavior, but I feel mostly detached from it all – even instances of trauma. I do not think about the abuse my father inflicted on my mother and feel sad or angry. I feel… objective, detached.
Sometimes I want to feel sad but mostly I just feel empty, and when I feel empty I can feel the blood moving inside me and I am uncomfortable. I don’t know how I am alive. I don’t know how my body works or does the things it does.
Sometimes I worry that I don’t have real thoughts. This is why I am uninteresting. This is why it is so hard for me to connect to other people. I have nothing to share. So I just say things and I just do things and sometimes I think, that was a stupid thing to say, that was a stupid thing to do, but sometimes I am just automated, just participating to feel like I am involved because if I am involved then I must really exist. This is also why I need my worth to be validated by other people because it is so hard for me to trust my own perceptions of myself.
I think about the materiality of existence a lot. I like the feeling of reducing everything to atoms, to abstract units beyond perception, knowing that most of what we can see and touch is just empty space. It makes me feel enmeshed with my surroundings – a static part of some plane. I like less the thought of reality being defined by process of a subjective mind, preferring a subjective mind being a product of unique material occurrences. But then when I think about this too much I get scared again because I am losing myself. I am in a constant resistance to unbecoming.
Yesterday I learned that “depersonalization” and “derealization” are things. I feel simultaneously comforted knowing there might be a reason why I perceive the world and myself the way I do, but also feel symptoms have gotten worse the past 24 hours as I slip into a hypochondriatic need to define myself, even through disorder. Putting names to things is the realest they can get. But even sometimes the unrealness becomes real and suddenly trees are so pretty when I can not process their treeness but just see them as a collection of shapes and colors. And every song then becomes about me because everyone else is a projection and my mind, wherever it is, is the only real real thing. And it is so real.