I've been resisting disclosing my story for a long time, but here it goes.
About six or so months ago, I developed Dissociative Disorder. One of the most uncommon mental illnesses out there. Consequently, you're left alone, scared and misunderstood by most. I have only shared this with my closest of friends as it triggers me some, but I think it may help to inform people of this disorder and also portray the individual struggles endured. It may also surprisingly help me to finally speak aloud of my truest struggle yet. It always seems like your situation is worse than anyone else's. Truth is, we all go through some really tough times, whether they're physical, mental, or emotional.
Here's mine.
What is Dissociative Disorder exactly?
In my opinion, one of the most insane, frightening disorders that someone could develop. But we always think that about our own struggle so...
Any who, it comes from traumatic events. Whether it's one terrible event (i.e., rape, death in the family, war, etc. Luckily, that's not the case for me.) or an accumulation of them. There are a few types of them. I, (I guess) fortunately, have the Derealization and Depersonalization form of dissociation. Derealization is when your whole world seems unreal, dream-like, off. It has to be one of the most frightening things I've ever had to experience in my whole life, and I've seen some s***.
With derealization, you get multiple weird feelings at different times.
I endured being completely frightened by our world in the sense that it's three-dimensional (4d, whatever). It felt as though it was supposed to be two-dimensional and you were completely new to the world of 3D. How can people even comfort you when they can't understand your struggle and it sounds utterly incomprehensible that you'd even be suffering from such a strange concept?! It will also make you question...everything. Suddenly, the fundamentals of life are totally perplexing and foreign.
Another one of the SCARIEST things I've ever dealt with is being someplace, yet... not feeling like it at all. You feel like you're somewhere else and perhaps seeing a totally fake version of said place. It's difficult to even make intelligible. You sometimes need to touch surroundings and people just to confirm you're not just seeing it, but that's it's actually tangible and there. To an extent, it felt almost like I had died and was living my afterlife or at least stuck in some mental purgatory. Brutal.
Other times, it almost felt as though where I was, was the only place that existed. It just felt like in mid air was your location and there was nothing outside of it. Almost like what you see in those sci-fi or kid movies and think ‘yeah right, that’s real realistic’.
Lastly, time gets very warped. Fortunately, I did not have too much of an issue with that. I felt a hint of time freezing occasionally, though. It didn’t seem like time was even going by; it was like playing pause in a movie and doing what you want during that time.
That, thank goodness, concludes the derealization that I experienced!
On the other hand… is depersonalization. My current and primary struggle now. When I began my anxiety meds, my derealization faded slowly but surely. But I kind of grew this new, very inexplicable feeling (initially) where when I played with my hands when I was bored and fidgety, it didn’t feel right. I didn’t know what was happening to me then and of course, the disorder is so uncommon that you can’t exactly ask around to know that it’s at least normal for your disorder…
Eventually, as it worsened, I realized I was experiencing depersonalization. It’s a WHOLE new level of being FAR too aware of your own being. And definitely a whole new level of “what…the actual…f***?”
It’s one thing to question your life and be scared. It’s another thing to question your own being. You altogether have no understanding as to what you are. You know you’re a person, yes. But what even is that? You wake up every morning like the girl from “Fifty First Dates.” You don’t remember what you are but you’re stuck as a person and it’s scary as all h***. You’re a prisoner in your own body that you feel like you literally woke up one morning to being. You kind of feel like a wandering pair of eyes in the air but then you see you belong to a body, a person. Because you can’t see your own face without a mirror, you grow very disconcerted. It’s seriously the oddest, most uncomfortable concept. I had a miserable senior year of high school followed by an incredibly lonely, depressing first couple years of college, let me tell you. To be honest, I think I may sometimes rather live those devastating few years of my life over again than suffer through this.
You begin to look at your own being in a way you’ve never looked at it. Your head sometimes feels like a box with eyes plastered on the front. Sometimes you’re confused as to why your head consists of everything it has.
Other times, you don’t even feel like a person. You feel like an inanimate object so when you speak, it’s incredibly peculiar to you. Your voice may not even sound like it’s your own. It could sound like it’s coming from someone else.
Occasionally, probably one of the scarier feelings is when you feel completely as though you are watching someone else control your body. It’s like you’re a pair of eyes on someone else’s body.
You’re essentially at a loss of yourself. You don’t know what you are, you don’t know how to “human” and you don’t remember what it’s like to even feel normal as a person again. Your own touch feels like someone else’s touch. Unfathomable.
I think, for the most part, that covers it, or at least can manage to cover right now.
Thankfully, this disorder isn’t genetic, so if and when I decide to have children, it can’t be passed on, hallelujah…
It purely comes from the lovely collection of traumatic events you’ve experienced. And this taught that me no matter how strong you think you are, do NOT bottle up your feelings and just “adapt” to any suffering you feel. Address your sadness, depression, traumas. That was my mistake. I grew up thinking I was fine; that nothing I was experiencing could linger in my mind and impact me seriously in the long run. I saw, heard, and did things. I grew up with divorced parents. Due to the terrible relationship between the two of them, who could blame it? Ever hear the line, “The family always pays the sins of the father”? Well, most of the time, nobody can really deny that. Things are much better with my parents now, however, back in the day, it wasn’t so peaceful. My father was also an alcoholic with a temper, along with my stepmother, so the combination wasn’t a settling one. Again, things are much better now: sober for 10+ years, etc.
Throughout my years, I experienced family loss (not death, just no longer speaking) and friendship loss. For many years, my brother and I stopped speaking to my father, as it was too difficult to have a relationship with his temper and irrationality. Followed that was silence from his whole family; cousins, stepfamily, uncles, grandparents, would not speak with us. Given that my brother and I are big family people, it took a major toll on us.
On top of that, high school was accompanied by major rejection. I had moved and was starting in this new school. I was immature, snobby, and didn’t know how to handle my emotions. I pushed people away unintentionally, or tried too hard and aggressively to make friends. Luckily I started dating my best friend who was also my neighbor. We dated for two years and I pretty much shared his friends with him. Once we broke up, I felt like I was left with nothing. I no longer had his friends, I wasn’t seeing him all the time, and my best friends from my old town were getting tired of hearing for months about the devastation I felt. Can’t honestly totally blame them, though. They would no longer speak with me. I felt so alone. All the losses from years built up finally caught up to me. I no longer had close friends, or even really friends for that matter, nor half my family. That began aggressive years of everyone I met, trying so hard to be close with them that I pushed them away. Isolation, silence for two to three years. Luckily, things shaped up when I transferred to Kean University. I slowly but surely found my closest friends that helped me mold the person I am now.
…Then came Fall semester 2015 of college. The breaking point of all my traumas. I took on a load too great for myself. I had officially stopped seeing a guy that meant an incredible amount to me, and he was younger, so it didn’t particularly end smoothly. I was President of a club, taking six of some of the toughest core classes I had to take, I was working, and living with four girls. Talk about stress. Towards the end of the semester, I had breakdowns constantly. I literally felt as though I was going to die before the semester ended. I later learned it was anxiety talking. I made a list of all the final projects and exams I had to conquer within three weeks, with other responsibilities: 16. I had mental breakdowns like never before. I developed a fear of being above ground, which also meant I couldn’t go to any of my classes anymore because they were on the third floor. I didn’t understand what the h*** was happening. Why did I feel so unstable just walking upstairs?! As soon as I did, I would be shaking, sweating, could barely move, just absolutely petrified. I felt almost as if I was floating in mid air and the floor wasn’t really there. Impossible to articulate and be understood. I would constantly feel my surroundings to make sure they’re there (effect of derealization). Try my very best to feel grounded. I needed to touch the walls whenever I walked to confirm what I was seeing was there. I luckily made it through the semester, though I missed the last couple weeks of classes due to them being on the third floor. All winter break, I was dreading every class I registered for on the fourth floor. It scared the absolute s*** out of me. People around me were starting to express their lack of enthusiasm to go back to school in just a few weeks. It upset me so much that I couldn’t have the normal dread of not wanting incoming homework and classes, etc. My dread was on an entirely new, excruciating level. Anxiety just told me that I wasn’t going to make it. I would literally die when school started. How? No idea. I guess I would just vanish or something.
My family and friends knew what I was going through, but just to an extent. I was scared out of my mind, didn't even want to live. I didn't know was wrong with me, no less how to explain. I just felt alone.
Spring semester had begun. The anxiety was at full throttle. If I made it through this semester, I graduate. I GRADUATE. ALAS. That only added to the pressure of pulling through and brushing off my anxiety. Each day went by with the dread of the next day; having to work at my job on the second floor, be on the third and forth for all my classes. I must have had a guardian angel when an old friend told me to get out of the classes anyways as they are too stressful for a last semester. She, then, suggested some classes I take instead. So I changed up my schedule to at least have three classes on the first floor. I loved every single one of them that I picked. Relief took over. Excitement. Finally, I could be excited for school. I could definitely manage having only two classes on the third and fourth floor. I can pull through. Definitely. Right?
