Derealization Disorder Level 3
The worst that derealization disorder can present.
This piece is especially written for those suffering from a dissociative disorder. There are many kinds of dissociative disorders, and they can all be very hard to live with, especially for lengthy periods of time. I have derealization disorder, and it has been a year of living in this world which feels so unreal to me. I have never dropped out of derealization, although I so dearly wish to. Dissociative disorders are usually caused by traumatic incidences in a person’s life. In this blog, there is an “about me” post. There is also a post about electroconvulsive therapy, emphasizing that I hate being that sort of horror story which people tell you avoid reading before you go for the treatment. I have already been called a liar by a psychiatrist, so I suppose that’s the worst it can get in terms of your voice not being heard by a professional. The comment did shock and pain me, at the time. There are many ways in which my fifth session went wrong and left me with so much lost, but I can say the following. This treatment has high success rates and the literature on it reflects its efficacy. Incidences of severe damage are very rare. I hate to admit that I feel contempt, but also a rationalization. Continue treating the thousands, but if one gets hurt in the process. Do not ignore what they have to say.
This blog post is different in the sense that it is a message to a friend about the incident which made me slip. When I use the term “made me slip” I usually refer to it as slipping into suicidal ideation. It had been a long while since this had happened. The reason I am using this message as opposed to simply writing about derealization, is because it gives insight into a personal perspective of the disorder. It is also useful in displaying all typical symptoms which can occur at its worst. I wrote this many weeks ago, to a dear friend. So he could understand what shook me so, after those three days.
“One day I woke up. Nothing had happened, nothing had prompted anything bad to happen. My pills were fine and nothing had changed. But that barrier between me and the real world was severe. Derealization… I can’t explain it. Your logical brain will tell you everything is real. But sometimes, the world is not real, you are so sure. It’s the “not real” fuzzy but not quite fuzzy. You can’t say it’s blurry but it’s warped. Wrong. And of course I’d never dropped out of it but I’d never known it like this. I got scared, and blocked the fear.
I was starting to tick every box of severe derealization disorder. I had to go to the gynaecologist about problems with my Mirena, and that’s when it was confirmed that things were bad. I felt like I was underwater. But the worst were the people in the waiting room with me. I knew they weren’t real. They were clones, or something else. They are 1’s and 0’s. I didn’t panic, I just knew they weren’t real. My gynaecologist, I’d never been to her before. Her face… So distorted. Moving features. Fear made me forget, as it does. What am I allergic to? I had no idea. It’s quinolones. My medication… That was a problem. I tried. I don’t know what she thought was wrong with me. My sister, who was taking me there and back. You know how I love her. But… She was a clone too. Or not real. And that made me so sad, I just cried on the way home. She doesn’t push for questions if I don’t want to talk about it and I didn’t.
I have no idea what I did for the rest of the day. Probably fought fear. I did sleep, I always find a way… Somehow.
The next day I woke up and it was the same. But I had to check. I walked to the park with my head down and when I got there and sat down, I looked around. No, the same. I saw a yellow flower. I picked it. I crushed it to see if it’s colour would drip out, but also because I was angry, and sad and scared. I had been dropped in a world that wasn’t mine. It was a badly rendered Matrix. Just 1’s and 0’s. And there is one more way to check how bad my derealization is for the day. Writing, on my laptop. If it is at its baseline, writing is fine and goes normally. If it is a little higher, it’s a little harder but I still do and can.
And so this was the worst. Writing. The words were distorted and I… My heart oh God. It hurt so much. Writing was all I had and I couldn’t and I tried but I couldn’t. I think I just lay there. I don’t know if I was fearful but I was just… A brain with false memories belonging to a girl in an imposter’s body. I didn’t know what to do. So I lay there. And I was seeing Jaime the next day.
Jaime. His face was not warped, I knew him. I knew his face. I didn’t know what to say and I told him some things, and then cried. I don’t think he knows how to deal with dissociation this high. Or dissociation disorders. Or if he was trained, I absolutely did not expect him to fix it. This was something else. So I just said what was hurting me most. I said I couldn’t write. He took a CBT approach and I interrupted him. Softly. “Jaime, I can’t write”. He took another unhelpful approach, but I suppose he was just trying to do his job. I shouted. “JAIME I CAN’T WRITE” and collapsed into myself like never before. The truest pain that he had seen in the office. He held his heart like he could feel it, and I thought that was bullshit.
Before left he said there was a safe space at the clinic. I retorted that ‘oh yes I’m sure some OT, group therapy. Some art therapy. Some safe place would be perfect for a girl who truly thinks the world is unreal and everyone is a clone.’ Venomously. I hated him but not because he didn’t help but because I had anger and pain and he was the easiest person to take it out on. He didn’t say anything after that.
That night in the shower I had a thought that terrified me briefly. If the world isn’t real… And you aren’t real… And everyone is nothing of themselves. Is it not easy, to just leave it? Like the woman in Inception who jumps because she thought she was still in a dream. A suicidal thought. It had been a while but the disturbing thing was that this one seemed more valid. What I was feeling felt like psychosis and I wondered how much more I could take. I didn’t know.
And the next day when I woke up, it had dropped. Randomly, it had dropped back to baseline. I checked- yes I had successfully ticked every box for severe derealization and I knew that I was terrified of it. All it took was three days to push me to suicidal ideation… That was all it took. I gave derealization levels. 1 being baseline, 2 being above but manageable and 3 being the highest.
But the baseline derealization I haven’t dropped out of, and that. That’s all… Trauma. And Jaime isn’t getting to it. And this EMDR woman is not a fix but maybe she can get closer to it because my trauma is a monster and fear follows me every day. So the next time I saw Jaime, I was calm. And asked him about the therapy he wanted me to go to but that I could not afford. And said I was using my PMB days on her… Something I said I would never do, it’s almost a phobia.
I never told anyone about those three days except my sister. It sounded too psychotic and too over-the-edge. Sometimes I reach level 3 before I fall asleep. The worst part is lying there and wondering who or what you are. But it has stopped now, the nights of reaching that level. The last two nights were free of it.
So… Those are the three days I never spoke of. Today I seem to be close to that level and so I didn’t know if I could speak to anyone today. Unless they knew what was going on, which you now do.”
That is the message which was sent. Yes, I was eventually beginning to tick every box of severe derealization and was terrified of it. I have started a new therapy called EMDR which I have meaning to write about for a while. When I say using my “PMB” days on it, those would be hospital or clinic days which the medical aid pays for. I was very worried about tapping into them but after the incident, did not care anymore. It was too severe. I absolutely do not expect her to perform some kind of magical healing process and make it all go away, but I have decided to try all I can. Even if all that she can do for the trauma is dent it.
These days? I usually sit at a level 2. It is enough to write, which is what matters. Things are a little strange but it is amazing the circumstances people come to adjust to. Whatever demons or burdens we carry, we will carry them and still maintain the life most sustainable for us. As per the nights, I reach level 3 often. But as soon as I am very tired and lying there drifting off, I wonder who I am and what I am. But, if any regular readers know, I cannot sleep without my plush toy called Squishy-Camus. A gift from the friend I love the most in the whole world. What Squishy is filled with is memories, many happy memories. And so, even if I don’t quite know who I am, I can still fill my head with these memories as I drift away.
