Depersonalization Disorder

"Depersonalization-derealization disorder occurs when you persistently or repeatedly have the feeling that you're observing yourself from outside your body or you have a sense that things around you aren't real, or both. Feelings of depersonalization and derealization can be very disturbing and may feel like you're living in a dream.
Many people have a passing experience of depersonalization or derealization at some point. But when these feelings keep occurring or never completely go away, it's considered depersonalization-derealization disorder. This disorder is more common in people who've had traumatic experiences.

Depersonalization-derealization disorder can be severe and may interfere with relationships, work and other daily activities." Mayo Clinic.

Confirmed. 

I stared at the wall for an hour tonight, doing nothing, thinking nothing, silent. I made myself seek company and found it hard to care about anything that people were saying. Topics that normally would draw me out just washed over me.

Over the weekend, I visited family and friends. Almost nine minutes in - I counted - I was ready to go home. But the weekend was spent away from home, in a guest room. I watched myself sit. I watched myself tap my fingers. I counted how many times I blinked while I added sums in my head clumsily. I observed myself forcing carefully constructed greetings and jokes, the smile never looking quite right to me - always a bit off. Insincere. Underneath, there was a blankness, a chapter in my book that had been misplaced or just left out. I had to improvise and I never properly pulled it off. I was sure once or twice that people were catching on. I guess I just got lucky.

I drifted along minute after minute. When I woke Sunday, I just lay there for a long time. I didn't get out of bed almost all day.

Still I feel like nothing is real. Still I have trouble getting back to myself, getting back to feeling and living.

I realize now that I never regained what I lost in August.
I'm still not me.
Not human.

Stillness in the Eye of the Storm

 “I guess I should have reacted the way most of the other girls were, but I couldn't get myself to react. I felt very still and very empty, the way the eye of a tornado must feel, moving dully along in the middle of the surrounding hullabaloo.”
― Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar

I've put myself back in the company of others, but I'm alarmed to find that it takes more energy than before, being social. Introverts always expel a certain amount of energy around others, but lately it's taking more and more. I find it more difficult to simulate the appropriate emotion when I don't feel it and cringe when I come in physical contact with others. Even accidentally brushing their arm as I pass leaves me recoiling as if scalded.

Everything feels so busy. It feels like time is speeding up and I am slowing down.

Silence is palpable. I have to fill it with downloaded sounds of thunderstorms or rushing water, especially during sleep. Even in the shower, I need to play music loudly. Not a second must be silent. I always valued silence before this. I'm unsure why I now fear it.

I enjoyed simple, repetitive tasks because they gave me time to daydream or think. Now they leave me feeling frustrated and empty.

Nothing feels very real. I feel too still in a world that's rushing by in a blur.

I've concluded that in the month I spent separated from myself and the rest of the world, I've become a bit disconnected with reality. I talked to the psych and it was suggested that I was experiencing depersonalization disorder. He said that this was common for someone in my situation. The causes are cited as: 

"...severe stress; major depressive disorder and panic; and hallucinogen ingestion. People who live in highly individualistic cultures may be more vulnerable to depersonalization, due to threat hypersensitivity and an external locus of control." wikipedia.org

I haven't taken any hallucinogens, so I can rule that out. What I'm left with is my clinical depression, the depression of the previous month's events, and stress. I always knew it would take time to get back to the way things were, but after a few hours of discussion with the doc, he suggested that these effects may be more lasting than that. As in permanent. Under extreme conditions, a person can undergo a lasting change in their personality and in the way see/deal with the world and situations around them.

If this is a lasting effect, this is going to be really interesting to learn to cope with and work around.

Only Death by Pablo Neruda

There are cemeteries that are lonely,
graves full of bones that do not make a sound,
the heart moving through a tunnel,
in it darkness, darkness, darkness,
like a shipwreck we die going into ourselves,
as though we were drowning inside our hearts,
as though we lived falling out of the skin into the soul.

And there are corpses,
feet made of cold and sticky clay,
death is inside the bones,
like a barking where there are no dogs,
coming out from bells somewhere, from graves somewhere,
growing in the damp air like tears of rain.

Sometimes I see alone
coffins under sail,
embarking with the pale dead, with women that have dead hair,
with bakers who are as white as angels,
and pensive young girls married to notary publics,
caskets sailing up the vertical river of the dead,
the river of dark purple,
moving upstream with sails filled out by the sound of death,
filled by the sound of death which is silence.

Death arrives among all that sound
like a shoe with no foot in it, like a suit with no man in it,
comes and knocks, using a ring with no stone in it, with no
finger in it,
comes and shouts with no mouth, with no tongue, with no
throat.
Nevertheless its steps can be heard
and its clothing makes a hushed sound, like a tree.

I’m not sure, I understand only a little, I can hardly see,
but it seems to me that its singing has the color of damp violets,
of violets that are at home in the earth,
because the face of death is green,
and the look death gives is green,
with the penetrating dampness of a violet leaf
and the somber color of embittered winter.

But death also goes through the world dressed as a broom,
lapping the floor, looking for dead bodies,
death is inside the broom,
the broom is the tongue of death looking for corpses,
it is the needle of death looking for thread.

Death is inside the folding cots:
it spends its life sleeping on the slow mattresses,
in the black blankets, and suddenly breathes out:
it blows out a mournful sound that swells the sheets,
and the beds go sailing toward a port
where death is waiting, dressed like an admiral.

Death and Depression Part 5: To Hell and Back - Redemption

It has been eight days. As I have my whole life, I struggle to balance the two halves of my whole. Having seen life through the eyes of my darkest side, I can no longer doubt that my psych profile was right - at least in part. Yes, I am a highly functioning sociopath - but that's not all of me. I affectionately call myself a freak hybrid. One half of me has a complete disregard for human life, a cruel attitude, easily manipulating and mocking others just for fun, smiling while wishing for everyone to burn... But another side of me tempers it, keeping the peace. It shows understanding (even if I don't feel the same), impartiality, a desire for honesty and loyalty, a craving for acceptance and affection, and even the occasional love for others.

Sometimes it does get too dark. I fed the corrupt side of me and it grew stronger; there's no changing that. The two halves of me constantly fight for control. I can see the truth behind both of them. Yes, humans are inherently evil. But like me, they can choose to keep it in check.

It's cliche to quote from Harry Potter, I know. But those books have had a profound effect on me. It's far more than it seems. It is - among many other layers - a struggle between the dark and the light in all of us...

"... [T]he world isn't split into good people and Death Eaters. We've all got both light and dark inside us. What matters is the part we choose to act on. That's who we really are." 

(Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix film, 2007)

Lately, I find myself flipping back through the pages, searching for the lines that remind me...

“It is our choices... that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities.” 
- J.K. Rowling  (Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets)

I have the ability to be cruel. I have the ability to do the unthinkable. But I choose not to.

It's a long way back from Hell, and the road is full of unseen pitfalls that test me. But I will stick to the morals that have gotten me this far. I can only hope that with time, I'll find a way to finally beat this, to be human again. You may say "you're still human," but having lived through those last 30+ days, I can honestly say, "No. I'm not." I may be a human physically, but under the flesh, I still have a long way to go to get back to humanity. It won't be easy, but I have to believe I'll make it.

“Understanding is the first step to acceptance, and only with acceptance can there be recovery.”
- J.K. Rowling  (Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire)

“Understanding is the first step to acceptance, and only with acceptance can there be recovery.”
- J.K. Rowling  (Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire) - See more at: http://quotesnsmiles.com/quotes/44-magical-j-k-rowling-quotes/#sthash.yIjBJEPn.dpuf

“Understanding is the first step to acceptance, and only with acceptance can there be recovery.”
- J.K. Rowling  (Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire) - See more at: http://quotesnsmiles.com/quotes/44-magical-j-k-rowling-quotes/#sthash.yIjBJEPn.dpuf

“Understanding is the first step to acceptance, and only with acceptance can there be recovery.”
- J.K. Rowling  (Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire) - See more at: http://quotesnsmiles.com/quotes/44-magical-j-k-rowling-quotes/#sthash.yIjBJEPn.dpuf

Death and Depression Part 4: A Light

Finally cured of my suffering through insouciance, I was able to fake being normal again. I dusted off my masks and put them on one by one, moving through life with carefully constructed personas. It was easier now, and even those closest to me believed my facade as they always did. No one sensed that underneath, I hated them all in varying degrees. At best, I regarded them with mild amusement; their petty problems, their vapid smiles and boorish opinions. It felt better to just give up on them than it did to care about a single one.

I started interacting with friends again, playing games and having conversations, pretending to care about their thoughts and feelings. I was so good at pretending that sometimes I almost believed it myself. On such occasions, I would withdraw and fine-tune myself. My walls were still broken, my defenses destroyed. It allowed the emotions of others to invade; instead of blocking them out, I had taken the tactic of just swatting them away. It was no longer a stronghold where I would hide away, letting down the drawbridge here and there. It was now an open battlefield where anything that came to me was brutally beaten into oblivion. Let their emotions in, I decided, Let it all in, and let them die here. I mocked them in my mind while consoling them on the surface. I was laughing at them and they never knew.

But in allowing this, I forgot the cardinal rule of life, the one I had heard and etched in every molecule of my being: In the end, we all are who we are, no matter how much we may appear to have changed (Joss Whedon).

Despite my best efforts, I couldn't deny my true nature. I couldn't kill off my humanity completely. I couldn't fight it all off, couldn't mock it all away. Some things - some people - started to slip through the cracks. I was uneasy. I didn't want to go through it all again. But I had no choice. Where before I only felt their judgement and pity, their sorrow and pain, I now felt their affection and admiration. I felt their friendship, their honest concern. It disarmed me. I don't know if you've tried, but it's hard to completely hate people who show such loyalty and love. But believe me, I tried.

After a couple of days that felt like years, the darkness began to break. Behind it, a light poured through. I could be normal again - or as normal as I ever was. I could start over, but this time I would do it better. I would be smarter about it. 

But my new self wasn't going to give up without a fight.

Death and Depression Part 3: Anti-human Virus

I became infected with a virus that spread through my veins; it made me resent company in any form. Made me hate people even more than my usual jaded, misanthropic philosophy (for lack of a better word than philosophy). I was an HSP by nature, very in tune with my surroundings and the emotions of others. It's like wearing clothing that isn't mine. I started feeling emotions that didn't belong to me. I couldn't block them out anymore, I had long since forgotten how. It had served me well in the past, using these insights to tweak things to my advantage, to influence others' actions, or to just gain the upper hand by knowing when someone was lying. I was a master of manipulation, though I mostly used it for the benefit of others - as long as it didn't effect me. Now? Now it was a constant source of raw emotion: judgement, pity, sorrow...

I became even more cynical than I had been before everything had happened. I had even more hatred for other humans - though I had stopped defining myself as human long ago and I was even less human now. What good did it do anyone to help someone else? They were all going to die, so what did it matter what happened to them before their time was up? And who were they to judge me? That wasn't how it worked! I judged them! I was angry that anyone would judge or pity me. I was not to be pitied.

My coldness became colder. I had removed the remnants of my heart. I turned the pain into darkness and hate, distrust and disgust.

Before... As an INFJ, I had always felt that I should council others. My sociopathic side said that it fell in my moral code and that was what good humans did. So I did. The INFJ in me said that I should protect people, to stand up for them when no one else would. The sociopath in me rolled its eyes - people should learn to stand on their own two feet and not expect everyone to help them - but still it went along with it. The INFJ said that I had the power in me to make a difference in the world, to change it and save it. The sociopath fought tooth and nail on that one. Why should I? People aren't worth it. Humans are inherently evil and selfish creatures. Let them destroy themselves and be done with it. This belief was so overpowering that it led me to join VHEMT, the Voluntary Human Extinction Movement. Though VHEMT had their reason to refuse to reproduce because it would harm the earth, I decided to refuse because humans were pathetic, cruel, evil, beings that I loathed - and nothing would make me happier than to have humanity wiped out by their own stupidity.

After... With four deaths under my belt in three weeks, the sociopath side silenced the INFJ. I reasoned that if I hated everything, I wouldn't have to care about anything. Besides that, what point was there in caring? Everything died, everything faded. It's just the way things are. Waste no tears on humans, I thought. Waste no effort in saving those who - by their very nature - shouldn't be saved. The anti-human virus had done it's job; it spread through my system, poisoning my mind until - by pure reason - I gave up on the world and embraced whatever else was left when you stripped a person of humanity and compassion.

The accumulated filth of all their sex and murder will foam up about their waists and all the whores and politicians will look up and shout "Save us!"... and I'll look down and whisper "No."
- Watchmen by Alan Moore

Death and Depression Part 2: Build. Destroy. Repeat.

It was the week after my grand-uncle's funeral when I got a message from a close friend that his cousin (who for privacy reasons, we will call J) passed away in a car crash and that our other friend (K) was in critical condition; they weren't sure he was going to make it.

I just watched myself sink to the floor and sit there for the longest time, as if detached from my body. I stared at me, staring at the wall, and wondered when the pain would stop so I could get up again. I came back to myself after a couple of hours. I made myself go through the motions, but there was something off about my routine.

I washed my face for an hour, I painstakingly made the prefect cup of tea and poured it down the sink without tasting it. I opened the fridge to look for a meal and stared at the contents for over twenty minutes. I wanted the company of people, but I now live in a bit of a remote area, so I turned to Facebook to contact my friends.

But as soon as they messaged me, I wanted to get away. I couldn't stand being alone, but I couldn't stomach company. I grew increasingly agitated with everyone and everything, withdrawing into myself and picking fights just to feel something that could - for a moment - overshadow my agony. I started questioning myself and my life... Did I have a right to be here? Did I have a right to sit here, eat, sleep, and breathe while people I loved were dying? Did I have a right to be upset when others were having to cope with the loss of their fathers, their children? Who was I to sit here and think about my pain?

And then I questioned who I was. If I could feel this pain, was I really an HFS like my psych profile said? If not, what was I? What was wrong with me, if not that?

The agitation grew. The walls I built up to keep me from - well, everything - broke. I lost part of my sanity, I lost part of my identity, and all of my reason. I would sit for hours and rebuild myself, only to have one stray thought that crumbled them me into dust. Within a week, K passed away, rejoining J. I longed to go with them; I was destroyed. I tried to remember that we are energy and by physical laws, energy cannot be created nor destroyed; I was rebuilt. The cycle continued. Tragedy struck again.

An underclassman that I went to high school with, that I had classes with and befriended, died. It was all over Facebook, the newspaper, the whole damn town. My emotions were all over the place, unreasonable and confusing. At times I would feel blissfully numb, then I would feel angry and confused, then the crushing anguish all over again.

I lashed out at anyone and everyone only to apologize and fall to pieces immediately. I didn't think I cared about my classmate so much, and in truth I probably didn't; it was simply latching onto the residual loss and hopelessness, magnifying it tenfold. In my entire life of caring about almost nothing, I suddenly cared about everything.

The days blurred together and I no longer cared to control it. I simply embraced it. I did whatever came naturally and didn't attempt to regret it. I decided that if it happened, it happened. I wasn't going to add to the blackness by feeling sorry for hurting other people.

The cycle ended. I remained destroyed.

Death and Depression Part 1: Family Feuds and Funerals

It was a bad day. Rather, it was a bad month. Losing family members and friends is always hard, but I usually deal with it better than most. I view death differently. I see it as a transition from one state of being to the next. In that sense, nothing ever really dies. It just changes.

So imagine my surprise when I find myself losing my mind over the death of a family member that I loved dearly - my "grand-uncle". I hadn't seen him in years due to tension throughout our family. Stupid things, really. I see that now. Up until then, I had always been able to remain composed and keep in mind that those I loved weren't really gone. When I heard the news, it felt like all the oxygen was sucked out of the air. I felt hollow. Shocked. I didn't understand why I wasn't dealing with it the way I normally do.

And then there was the funeral. As I saw him lying there in the coffin, his wife sitting by his side looking more frail and lost than I had ever seen her, I couldn't keep control. Her eyes were small and watery. Her thin, pale frame trembled with grief and such a hopelessness that mirrored what I felt inside. She didn't recognize me at first. I'm not sure she ever fully comprehended who I was and that made it all the more painful. I had loved them both dearly, like my own grandparents. And because family members decided to be at odds with each other (namely my mother and my "father's" adopted parents), I had kept myself from them. It was easier, I told myself, better. But it wasn't.

I couldn't find words to say to her; I couldn't make my mouth speak to tell her that I love her, that I was so sorry I wasn't there. I couldn't. I just stood there, holding her hand and crying as her small eyes stared into mine with such pain that I felt my defenses crumbling. I was before her, unprotected from her emotion and mine. I became sick. My brother rescued me by stepping up and voicing his condolences as I gave her hand one last squeeze and moved to the coffin where my cousin - her grandchild - stood watch over her late grandfather.

He was pale, as expected, and too perfect. His lips were thin and drawn wide. His veins didn't show as they had in life. He had no tan, no imperfections in his skin that made him so utterly... him. Though I had spent the morning looking at pictures of him, I didn't recognize him laying there. It wasn't right. There was something so grotesque in how peaceful and perfect he looked. People always say that it looks as if the dead are merely sleeping. To me, it couldn't be further from the truth. I couldn't look at him for very long. I couldn't stand there. I had to get away. It scared me, what I saw. It was too real. It was too frightening.

I found a pew in the chapel toward the back, but not too far from the front to be conspicuous or disrespectful. I sat between my older brother and my fiance, praying that my father wouldn't show up, that his parents wouldn't corner me, demanding to know what I was doing there among their family. But as I watched the looped slideshow of pictures - moments of his life that I had missed, I realized with a stab of regret - I was met with nothing but kindness. Sure, my grandparents kept their distance; my grandmother sat beside her sister as she grieved for her husband as soon as I left the room. But that didn't bother me. Everyone else put aside all the bullshit going on and treated me like I belonged there, even if they didn't speak to me directly. A watery smile. An affectionate nod of the head as I passed. Family hugged me, held my hands, came up to me (as well as my brother and mum) to say how they thought about us every day and how sorry they were. They told us that we were welcome in their homes any time.

This brought some measure of comfort, but a new knife of sharp pain to my heart. It should never have taken the death of a loved one for us to realize how stupid all the fighting was. Life is too short to let the arguments between a couple of people tear a family apart into sides. If my parents argue, it's between them. If my grandparents snub us, that's their own problem. I am no longer going to let people dictate who I see and care about. Family is family. Friends are friends. Thier quarrels have nothing to do with me and I refuse to let another person I care about leave this earth without knowing that I love them.