I am so glad that I can cry.
Many people may be able to relate to that statement, whilst others might think it sounds insane. Crying is an expression of emotion. It can be cathartic, it can be embarrassing. For me, crying is a sign that I am (sometimes slowly) getting better.
I suffer from something called depersonalisation. It's a dissociative symptom (sometimes characterised as a disorder in itself). It's a very common symptom, appearing with depression, anxiety, PTSD, BPD, OCD, sleep deprivation, epilepsy, acute stress, jetlag, and a host of other illnesses and situations. Despite this, it remains relatively little-known and poorly understood.
Just like anxiety or depression, depersonalisation is a natural state that we all experience at some point in our lives. Think about the times you've walked in the rain, already so cold and wet that you switch off and just keep walking, barely registering the drops on your skin anymore. Think about the times you've been on a train ride and watched the scenery rush past, but haven't really seen it. Think about when you walk in a crowded city and the hustle and bustle of cars and people blurs into one long note of grey noise. These are all everyday examples of depersonalisation.
In its acute form, depersonalisation is a genius coping mechanism triggered by the brain in times of high stress and trauma. It's an action plan for those times when emotional processing isn't an option. It may be physically unsafe for you – maybe you're in a life or death situation and you don't have the time to try and process what's happening to you. It may be emotionally unsafe – your brain knows that you cannot handle the emotional reality of what you're going through right now; so it simply switches the emotions off. It's genius, often lifesaving. However, when it becomes chronic it can be life destroying.
When I try to explain the feeling of depersonalisation, I'm shocked by how many people react positively, as though it's something to be desired. “oh good, that means you don't feel shit about bad stuff! I'd love that!”. Unfortunately, I still feel shit about stuff, it's just a different kind of shit. Even if I didn't feel shit, feeling shit in the face of shit situations is healthy. We have feelings for a reason and we need to respond to them in healthy ways.
Depersonalisation does not mean you can shift away the negativity and live your life carefree. To suffer from depersonalisation means you live your life like a shadow on the wall. You are outside everything, you cannot touch your emotions or feel the hearts of others. It can feel as though you are walking around behind yourself, as a robot takes over your body and helps you to continue functioning. The best news ever does not excite you, and the worst news ever does not devastate you. You are simply numb. Food becomes tasteless, music becomes white noise, your reflection becomes a pallid face with black eyes and blurred edges. It's a hollow existence. It's the death of your soul. It's the full awareness that your soul has died, and it's the broken longing to revive it.
Truly, living with depersonalisation is hell.
Illustration: Shawn Coss. http://shawn-coss.squarespace.com/inktoberillness/
I've spent a long time in this state of mind. Sometimes over a year at a time. When I was younger, I thought I was broken and couldn't be fixed. Now, eight years after my first long episode; its impact on my daily life is finally shrinking. I'd like to save my story of how I began to recover for another time. For now I'd like to talk a bit about life after depersonalisation.
When you've experienced life as an emotionless zombie, the mundane transforms into beautiful. Your mind becomes an artist. You take a moment to stop trudging grumpily through the rain, and you dance in it. As you look up at the sky you see the drops shimmer in the light as they fall to earth. Allow yourself to focus on them and you'll see them slow down in their trajectory, taking their time to hit the ground as you take your time to enjoy the moment. You throw your hands up to the sky and the drops dance with you as they move down your skin. You are not wet or cold, you just are. You move your feet through puddles and hear the movement of the water as if it comes from your own body. In a moment you develop an understanding that is deeper and older than any understanding of our physical mind; and you realise that you are a part of the water and it is a part of you.
When you watch the scenery rush past on the train you see it like music. You compose the mountains into a silent, deafening symphony as they move past you on their way to sing some more. You let your body sway with the movement of the train and know that your soul is soaring above the peaks of the mountains themselves. Moments of life flash past the window in a crescendo of colour that twists and balances in ways so wild and unpredictable that they go beyond the work of an artist.
Return to the city, and instead of blending people together watch the moments and feelings they are offering to you right now. All moments that we put out to the universe can be shared by those around us. Revel in the joy of the child in squeaky shoes who runs around in sheer delight. Feel the pride and exhilaration of the teenagers on their skateboards who have learnt to believe that they can fly. You can hurt with the homeless person, who sits in the doorway as invisible as breath; and who no longer looks up at passers-by because every oblivious stranger is another rejection, a further excommunication of humanity. You feel it all, the joy and the pain. You connect with them and again that ancient understanding arises and you know that at some point you were them, and one day you will be them again.
The touch of my own skin, the wind in my hair, the crunch of leaves under my shoes, the sun shining too bright in my eyes, the music on the radio; it all comes to life again.
Me experiencing things
I used to wish every day that I didn't suffer from depersonalisation. It made my life joyless and sombre. Now, for the first time in my life; I feel grateful for my symptoms. I understand now that depersonalisation saved me from being totally destroyed by my trauma, it allowed me to survive this far. Even more incredible, by removing all the feeling from my life, depersonalisation taught me how to experience and appreciate all that comes my way. Depersonalisation taught me how to live and not merely exist. Depersonalisation closed my heart so that one day I could be strong enough to open it wider than I ever though possible.
So, depersonalisation, thank you.