Swirling through myself everyday. What does that mean? A constant shift, evanescent yet solid as iron, going through me, me going through me.
“feeling detached from one’s own thoughts or emotions; a sense of automation, going through the motions of life but not experiencing it or participating in it; loss of conviction with one’s identity; feeling a disconnection from one’s body; inability to accept one’s reflection as one’s own; difficulty relating oneself to reality and the environment; feeling as though one is in a dream”
Courtesy of Wikipedia, under Depersonalization disorder. All of these things I know well. This is the first time I have read a record of “inability to accept one’s reflection as one’s own”. Common sensation for me. It just doesn’t look like me. I know it’s me, but there’s something not there.
I am due for lunch. I have a midterm tomorrow, and an exam the next day, neither of which I have studied for, though I just printed out a bout 60 pages of notes. I will be sure to use the back side of the paper for other things, for what a waste that would be. Fishie and I are doing well. It is very nice to have another live thing there. I hope I can pass my Gen Ed and Intro. Breathe. Long term hospitalization. I feel this might be a good idea. What else am I going to do, just bum around? May as well, it will be summer, and I save money when I’m in the hospital, and this time I can pack clothes, bring snacks, be prepared.
It’s so strange to think, to realize, that I experience reality differently, that most people don’t feel confused about what is real, do not question the legitimacy of their existence in terms of matter. My vision changes when I feel like this- the world seems extra 3-D, very crisp, there is more distance between my hands and the keyboard, though of course, there isn’t. Other people feel alien. I feel alien. I want to be disruptive, when I feel this like. I was hitting the table, lightly, but enough to hear. Why? I don’t know. I just wanted to. I just want to see what will happen if I throw a computer across the room, or strip all my clothes, or scream or dance or anything, I want to test the bounds of human interaction, or human realness, to check whether or not I am in this world. I feel like what I do will be ignored, like it will not be noticed. That is a delusion. This is where my love of theatre comes in, the way we effect the world around us with our actions, it’s marvelous, the power one has over an audience, and the ease of existing, the undeniable realness of it all. It’s really living. I haven’t menstruated in a while, but I haven’t had sex either, so no reason to worry, but it’s usually punctual. I suppose if I was left untreated I really would lose my mind, and proceed with the strange thoughts I get, and find myself in a lot of trouble, hurting myself, perhaps hurting others. The path to insanity begins with the odd, the peculiar. No wonder people can be so puritanical about oddity, and that conforming is so important. It’s a sign of health, of proper function. Rebels will lead the masses out of clean functioning to dysfunction, to adventure and scandal and messiness. Sanity is clean cut. Madness is chaos.