One of the most turbulent sources of frustration for me is what are referred to as "negative symptoms." Negative symptoms are commonly associated with schizophrenia, but they are present with depersonalization as well (this is one of the reasons why I thought I may have been schizophrenic at some point, despite the fact that I lack "positive symptoms" such as delusions and hallucinations). Negative symptoms are behaviors that are lacking which a 'normal' person would express. It is these symptoms that result in difficulty concentrating, thinking, expressing emotion, socializing and just enjoying life in general. Any sort of spontaneity in life is gone. While there is certainly a will, there is little agency. It is extremely difficult for me to hold a conversation with someone, for example, or to conceptualize what is necessary to perform a certain activity. I'm presently most frustrated by the fact that I will hold (mostly one-sided) conversations with people, and will not remember a word of what was said a moment later. While I have a few good friends, a loving and supportive partner, and family that cares deeply about me, I still find myself lonely most of the time. My thoughts are typically disjointed and loud. It's not that I can audibly hear them, but that they are so prevalent and all-encompassing that everything in my environment gets lost in the background. It's almost as if nothing outside of myself exists. I feel that I'm nothing but a brain in a jar, and the world outside of me is 'unreal,' as I've mentioned in previous posts.
There is always this question in my mind as to whether it is anxiety that causes my derealization, or if the derealization came first, and my anxiety is the result of it. I'm of the opinion that it is the latter case. I've been working with therapists at controlling my anxiety, but the feelings of being 'unreal,' and of being in a consistently 'zoned out' state do not seem to disappear, even when my anxiety levels are relatively low (if not completely gone).
I've come to my wits end with this 'thing.' I would like it to end, but I might just be forced to live with it for the rest of my life. I don't know if I can live with that.
Friday, July 27, 2012
Thursday, July 19, 2012
Frustration
This week I had two very important appointments. One was with my regular therapist, the other was with my psychiatrist. I had given my therapist a book that I had been reading on Depersonalization Disorder. I have been seeing her for the last six months or so, and after having read the book, she came to the conclusion that this is, in fact, the affliction from which I've been suffering most of my life, based on what I've been saying so frequently in our sessions. She wants to continue reading the book to see if she can figure out any possible further course of treatment for me, since nothing we have been pursuing up to this point has been successful.
I also went to visit my psychiatrist today. I was in a pretty disturbed state. I mentioned the depersonalization to him as well, and he noted that the disorder is a very controversial one for a couple of reasons. First, there is not much in the way of empirical, peer-reviewed testing that has confirmed the diagnosis. On the other hand, the DMS-IV does recognize Depersonalization Disorder as a distinct affliction. The second reason behind the 'controversy' is that there presently is no cure or treatment for it.
And that set me off a little bit. It seems to me that if someone has a terminal illness for which there is no cure, that that illness does still exist and is 'real.' But with the subjective sensations of depersonalization, there is no external 'object' that we can view with a microscope, MRI, etc. And if there has not been any medication treatment that has shown successful in combating the symptoms, as there are for depression and anxiety, for example, then there is no justification for claiming the physiological status of a 'chemical imbalance' or something along those lines.
I'm thinking there needs to be much more research into this disorder. Seeing as it affects the sufferer immensely, yet others often do not observe anything irregular, I don't see much hope in that happening any time soon.
By the way, the book that I referred to in the opening paragraph of this post is called Feeling Unreal: Depersonalization Disorder and the Loss of the Self by Daphne Simeon and Jeffrey Abugel. Should any of you wish to learn more about my disorder (in much more vivid detail than I've been able to describe here), the book is available in paperback on Amazon for around $17.00.
I also went to visit my psychiatrist today. I was in a pretty disturbed state. I mentioned the depersonalization to him as well, and he noted that the disorder is a very controversial one for a couple of reasons. First, there is not much in the way of empirical, peer-reviewed testing that has confirmed the diagnosis. On the other hand, the DMS-IV does recognize Depersonalization Disorder as a distinct affliction. The second reason behind the 'controversy' is that there presently is no cure or treatment for it.
And that set me off a little bit. It seems to me that if someone has a terminal illness for which there is no cure, that that illness does still exist and is 'real.' But with the subjective sensations of depersonalization, there is no external 'object' that we can view with a microscope, MRI, etc. And if there has not been any medication treatment that has shown successful in combating the symptoms, as there are for depression and anxiety, for example, then there is no justification for claiming the physiological status of a 'chemical imbalance' or something along those lines.
I'm thinking there needs to be much more research into this disorder. Seeing as it affects the sufferer immensely, yet others often do not observe anything irregular, I don't see much hope in that happening any time soon.
By the way, the book that I referred to in the opening paragraph of this post is called Feeling Unreal: Depersonalization Disorder and the Loss of the Self by Daphne Simeon and Jeffrey Abugel. Should any of you wish to learn more about my disorder (in much more vivid detail than I've been able to describe here), the book is available in paperback on Amazon for around $17.00.
Thursday, July 12, 2012
Symptoms 2: Subjective Feelings of Unreality
It may seem as if the title says it all, but really, what does it mean to feel "unreal?"
These feelings of "spaciness" or "fogginess" that I experience 90% of the time are difficult to describe, and I'm not sure this post will successfully accomplish that task. But I will do my best to elaborate the way that I view the world.
The two primary subjective perspective states of my disorder are depersonalization and derealization. The two are often combined in the medical literature, but their effects on the sufferer are bluntly distinct. Depersonalization refers to a sense of strangeness about one's own body. People suffering from this symptom will often complain that their body feels strange and foreign to them. Body parts appear to imbue a bizarre shape or size, and may seem to not belong to the individual who does, in fact, possess them. The person may stare at him- or herself in the mirror and not recognize the reflection glaring back at them. They may also feel as though they are watching themselves from above, or at some vantage point outside of their body.
I have had these feelings in the past, but only under period of heavy anxiety and extreme duress. Most of the time, though, I feel as though my eyes are entrenched far in the back of my head, nowhere near the sockets, and that I cannot penetrate the world from the inside of my body. Except under certain rare circumstances, I also haven't had the misfortune of not recognizing myself in the mirror. Indeed, I find that a nearly opposite phenomenon occurs when I look at my reflection. Considering that I spend so much time stuck in my head--whether in an anxious state or contemplating a complex idea--I often feel that my mind and my body are two distinct entities. Rather frequently do I feel that my mind is not in control of what my body does, or that I am a mind without a body. Staring at myself in the mirror typically proves to be one of the best grounding techniques I have in my arsenal, as it reinforces the fact that the image staring back at me is my own. That I truly do exist and am not solely a meandering mind.
My primary complaint is that I have great difficulty connecting with the world around me. People and things that I pass by do not get processed in my brain. Moreover, when I do stop and try to pay attention to these things, I get easily flustered and frustrated by the fact that what my eyes are staring, or what my ears are hearing, seems to receive no input. When I say that things around me feel unreal ("derealization"), it means that they seem to be distant and fuzzy. It seems that there is this veil or glass wall blocking me from my surroundings. Furthermore, when I actively try to pay attention to these things, the veil becomes darker; the wall becomes more dense. I believe this is because my anxiety is increasing due to my frustration.
I read a book recently about this disorder, wherein one of the patients, feeling exacerbated by her condition, confessed that she would rather have cancer. Her reasoning was that, at least with cancer, there is a certain degree of empathy that one receives from people. There are marathons and telethons devoted to those suffering from a crippling and terminal illness. You are considered "brave" and a "fighter" for having to deal with such a horrible disease. Whereas with depersonalization disorder, the sufferer--if he or she does bring it up to others at all--is frequently considered neurotic and self-absorbed. So we don't talk about it. We merely suffer in silence. We don't have to wait for the cancer to destroy us, as we already feel dead inside. Suicide seems like a tautology.
I'm not sure I agree completely with this patient's sentiment. In some respects (and at particularly low points in my life), it does have a degree of poignancy to me. I, however, maintain hope that, in time, I will be able to feel and conduct business as everyone else does. I know that, under certain conditions, the DP/DR does diminish, and may even disappear entirely. This disorder is highly resistant to treatment, but if I can flesh out and begin to understand why I feel better under those conditions, I may be able to unlock the key to permanently ridding myself of this impairment.
These feelings of "spaciness" or "fogginess" that I experience 90% of the time are difficult to describe, and I'm not sure this post will successfully accomplish that task. But I will do my best to elaborate the way that I view the world.
The two primary subjective perspective states of my disorder are depersonalization and derealization. The two are often combined in the medical literature, but their effects on the sufferer are bluntly distinct. Depersonalization refers to a sense of strangeness about one's own body. People suffering from this symptom will often complain that their body feels strange and foreign to them. Body parts appear to imbue a bizarre shape or size, and may seem to not belong to the individual who does, in fact, possess them. The person may stare at him- or herself in the mirror and not recognize the reflection glaring back at them. They may also feel as though they are watching themselves from above, or at some vantage point outside of their body.
I have had these feelings in the past, but only under period of heavy anxiety and extreme duress. Most of the time, though, I feel as though my eyes are entrenched far in the back of my head, nowhere near the sockets, and that I cannot penetrate the world from the inside of my body. Except under certain rare circumstances, I also haven't had the misfortune of not recognizing myself in the mirror. Indeed, I find that a nearly opposite phenomenon occurs when I look at my reflection. Considering that I spend so much time stuck in my head--whether in an anxious state or contemplating a complex idea--I often feel that my mind and my body are two distinct entities. Rather frequently do I feel that my mind is not in control of what my body does, or that I am a mind without a body. Staring at myself in the mirror typically proves to be one of the best grounding techniques I have in my arsenal, as it reinforces the fact that the image staring back at me is my own. That I truly do exist and am not solely a meandering mind.
My primary complaint is that I have great difficulty connecting with the world around me. People and things that I pass by do not get processed in my brain. Moreover, when I do stop and try to pay attention to these things, I get easily flustered and frustrated by the fact that what my eyes are staring, or what my ears are hearing, seems to receive no input. When I say that things around me feel unreal ("derealization"), it means that they seem to be distant and fuzzy. It seems that there is this veil or glass wall blocking me from my surroundings. Furthermore, when I actively try to pay attention to these things, the veil becomes darker; the wall becomes more dense. I believe this is because my anxiety is increasing due to my frustration.
I read a book recently about this disorder, wherein one of the patients, feeling exacerbated by her condition, confessed that she would rather have cancer. Her reasoning was that, at least with cancer, there is a certain degree of empathy that one receives from people. There are marathons and telethons devoted to those suffering from a crippling and terminal illness. You are considered "brave" and a "fighter" for having to deal with such a horrible disease. Whereas with depersonalization disorder, the sufferer--if he or she does bring it up to others at all--is frequently considered neurotic and self-absorbed. So we don't talk about it. We merely suffer in silence. We don't have to wait for the cancer to destroy us, as we already feel dead inside. Suicide seems like a tautology.
I'm not sure I agree completely with this patient's sentiment. In some respects (and at particularly low points in my life), it does have a degree of poignancy to me. I, however, maintain hope that, in time, I will be able to feel and conduct business as everyone else does. I know that, under certain conditions, the DP/DR does diminish, and may even disappear entirely. This disorder is highly resistant to treatment, but if I can flesh out and begin to understand why I feel better under those conditions, I may be able to unlock the key to permanently ridding myself of this impairment.
Wednesday, July 11, 2012
Symptoms: External Signs
I've decided to dedicate two separate posts to my symptoms. The first (this one) defines the ways that my subjective experiences may be perceived by others, and how it affects my ability to attend to daily tasks. The next post will attempt to put into words the seemingly impossible; that is, I will try to define what depersonalization/derealization feels like from my own perspective.
The first clause of the previous sentence might have been misleading. In fact, few people have remarked that there seems to be anything different about me. At certain times I can be charming and witty, proceeding through life successfully. Yet on other occasions--and more frequently--I can seem oblivious to everything in my surroundings, including the person with whom I am engaged in conversation. Others have also witness how easily I lose my sense of direction, and how I wander around in a seemingly aimless manner. My close friends, relatives, and coworkers often become frustrated with me because my memory and processing speed are slow, and I often forget what has just been told to me or important events, such as birthdays. These are merely byproducts of my symptoms, rather than any visual signs or cues that may inform another person that something is terribly wrong.
I thought it would be helpful to describe my actions and behaviors on a typical day. I often have trouble waking up in the morning, as the transition from dream-state to real life is often a hazy one. In fact, I frequently feel as if my dreams are more real than waking life. I cannot, nor have I ever been able to take a shower in the morning, as my spaciness seems to be strongest in the early hours. In fact, I have developed a routine whereby I lay out my clothes and everything necessary for the next day the night before, or I would surely forget them. I then walk out to the bus stop, typically forgetting to eat breakfast or pack a lunch. While waiting for the bus, I get impatient and wander around, often making circles around the bus shelter. When the bus arrives, I board and try to find a seat. I typically daydream when on the bus, and frequently miss my stop as a result of it. Once on campus, I go get a coffee (I've switched to decaf). It has happened on several occasions that I will pay the cashier and then walk out of the building, forgetting to take the coffee I had just purchased with me (I've done this at drive-through windows as well...an utterly embarrassing experience!). I will often then wander around campus, making circles around the library, lost in my own thoughts as usual while smoking a cigarette, maybe two, sometimes three. I enter the library, show her my credit card (as opposed to my Student ID), and walk down to the basement, where I've found the one spot on campus where I can work. I spend most of the day there, reading and taking frequent trips outside for a cigarette, not because I have a craving, but because I've come to an interesting point in my reading and I have a constant urge to get up and pace in order to follow through on a thought. Finding something for lunch is often one of the most difficult parts of my days, as I'm so stuck in my head, I'm not paying attention to any of the shops or kiosks around me, and I have trouble deciding what to do. So I wander some more.
I come home at the end of the day, usually between six and seven, feeling as if I've accomplished nothing. Everything I've read has slipped my consciousness, and I dread the next day, having to do it all over again. When I arrive at my house, I peruse my kitchen, which is usually bare, because grocery shopping is a highly stressful experience for me. Once I've decided what I'm going to eat, I open up all the covers, desperately searching for the pots and pans. It's not that I don't know where they are, but my mind is so lost in thought that I cannot seem to focus on making dinner. For this reason, I often have a boring routine for dinner as well: rice and a vegetable in the rice cooker, while I fry some form of protein in a frying pan. I then think some more about how my day went, and what I might have to look forward to in the future. As I go to take a shower, I walk into the bathroom with nothing. I come out and return to my room to grab a towel only to enter the room and forget what I was coming back to retrieve. I enter the bathroom once more, towel-less, and repeat the same pattern a couple of times.
I've heard people tell me that this form of spaciness happens to them on occasion. They then inform me that when it happens, they tell themselves how stupid they are for doing it. Imagine if nearly every moment of your life was spent walking around in a fog, unaware of where you are and what you are doing. Making frequent mistakes. It takes a toll on a person's self-esteem. I've heard of the absent-minded professor, but this is ridiculous!
Once the arduous task of bathing has been successfully accomplished, I return to my room, take everything out of the pockets of my current outfit, and place them in the pockets of the garments I plan on wearing the next day. After that, I peruse the internet for awhile...the same sites everyday. Not intending to actually learn anything new or useful, but simply to rest my mind after an exhausting yet unproductive day. I cannot, nor have I ever been able to really sleep without a visual distraction (television or the Internet) to keep my thoughts at bay. I anxiously await the next day when I can look forward to repeating this pattern again.
The first clause of the previous sentence might have been misleading. In fact, few people have remarked that there seems to be anything different about me. At certain times I can be charming and witty, proceeding through life successfully. Yet on other occasions--and more frequently--I can seem oblivious to everything in my surroundings, including the person with whom I am engaged in conversation. Others have also witness how easily I lose my sense of direction, and how I wander around in a seemingly aimless manner. My close friends, relatives, and coworkers often become frustrated with me because my memory and processing speed are slow, and I often forget what has just been told to me or important events, such as birthdays. These are merely byproducts of my symptoms, rather than any visual signs or cues that may inform another person that something is terribly wrong.
I thought it would be helpful to describe my actions and behaviors on a typical day. I often have trouble waking up in the morning, as the transition from dream-state to real life is often a hazy one. In fact, I frequently feel as if my dreams are more real than waking life. I cannot, nor have I ever been able to take a shower in the morning, as my spaciness seems to be strongest in the early hours. In fact, I have developed a routine whereby I lay out my clothes and everything necessary for the next day the night before, or I would surely forget them. I then walk out to the bus stop, typically forgetting to eat breakfast or pack a lunch. While waiting for the bus, I get impatient and wander around, often making circles around the bus shelter. When the bus arrives, I board and try to find a seat. I typically daydream when on the bus, and frequently miss my stop as a result of it. Once on campus, I go get a coffee (I've switched to decaf). It has happened on several occasions that I will pay the cashier and then walk out of the building, forgetting to take the coffee I had just purchased with me (I've done this at drive-through windows as well...an utterly embarrassing experience!). I will often then wander around campus, making circles around the library, lost in my own thoughts as usual while smoking a cigarette, maybe two, sometimes three. I enter the library, show her my credit card (as opposed to my Student ID), and walk down to the basement, where I've found the one spot on campus where I can work. I spend most of the day there, reading and taking frequent trips outside for a cigarette, not because I have a craving, but because I've come to an interesting point in my reading and I have a constant urge to get up and pace in order to follow through on a thought. Finding something for lunch is often one of the most difficult parts of my days, as I'm so stuck in my head, I'm not paying attention to any of the shops or kiosks around me, and I have trouble deciding what to do. So I wander some more.
I come home at the end of the day, usually between six and seven, feeling as if I've accomplished nothing. Everything I've read has slipped my consciousness, and I dread the next day, having to do it all over again. When I arrive at my house, I peruse my kitchen, which is usually bare, because grocery shopping is a highly stressful experience for me. Once I've decided what I'm going to eat, I open up all the covers, desperately searching for the pots and pans. It's not that I don't know where they are, but my mind is so lost in thought that I cannot seem to focus on making dinner. For this reason, I often have a boring routine for dinner as well: rice and a vegetable in the rice cooker, while I fry some form of protein in a frying pan. I then think some more about how my day went, and what I might have to look forward to in the future. As I go to take a shower, I walk into the bathroom with nothing. I come out and return to my room to grab a towel only to enter the room and forget what I was coming back to retrieve. I enter the bathroom once more, towel-less, and repeat the same pattern a couple of times.
I've heard people tell me that this form of spaciness happens to them on occasion. They then inform me that when it happens, they tell themselves how stupid they are for doing it. Imagine if nearly every moment of your life was spent walking around in a fog, unaware of where you are and what you are doing. Making frequent mistakes. It takes a toll on a person's self-esteem. I've heard of the absent-minded professor, but this is ridiculous!
Once the arduous task of bathing has been successfully accomplished, I return to my room, take everything out of the pockets of my current outfit, and place them in the pockets of the garments I plan on wearing the next day. After that, I peruse the internet for awhile...the same sites everyday. Not intending to actually learn anything new or useful, but simply to rest my mind after an exhausting yet unproductive day. I cannot, nor have I ever been able to really sleep without a visual distraction (television or the Internet) to keep my thoughts at bay. I anxiously await the next day when I can look forward to repeating this pattern again.
Tuesday, July 3, 2012
My parents have informed me that, even at an age too young for me to remember, I was very "spacey." They used to say that I always had my head in the clouds, and that they considered it a sign of intelligence. Perhaps they were right about that, but everything is different now.
Growing up, I always felt "different" from the other kids in school, though I couldn't pinpoint exactly what it was that made me different. I had a very difficult time socializing with other kids, and I often didn't want to. You could call it a form of extreme social anxiety, but for me, I much preferred to daydream. At recess, while the other kids were playing games on the playground, I would merely wander around, lost in my own thoughts. I always felt as if I were "stuck in my own head"--trapped, if you will--and I couldn't figure out a way out of it.
I had always wondered what was different about me, and I had been concerned about it for a long time. My one consolation was that I was good at school, and everyone told me that working hard in school is all that mattered. I was skeptical of this, of course, but since education was the one thing that made me comfortable, I excelled at it, and I graduated high school with highest honors...a bright future was awaiting me.
Given my interest in learning French and Music, it seemed only natural that I obtain my undergraduate degree in New Orleans. I was fascinated with the city; its magnificent architecture, culture and music enthralled me. However, when my parents moved me into my first dorm, I felt this strange sensation that I had never felt before. I didn't know anyone there, and I felt disillusioned by what I had come to expect. The world seemed like quite a frightening place. Everything became dark and dull, and I spent most of my first year doing what I did best: excelling in my academic pursuits. I made few friends, but I was still confident that my grades would get me somewhere, even if I didn't know where I was going.
I decided to travel abroad my Junior Year. I went to Paris, to study at the Sorbonne and enrich myself in la vie francaise. Little did I know that this would be the experience that would completely change my life. I was anxious and afraid nearly every moment there, and I would lock myself in my room listening to music, as it was the only time I ever felt really comfortable. But my avoidance would only take me so far. Eventually, I had to produce something.
In an art history course entitled "Egypt and Islam," our final project was to go to the Louvre and recreate an Egyptian temple using the artifacts that were there. Simple enough, right? Yet I struggled with this project, but it wasn't the nature of the project itself that troubled me so much. We had to take pictures of the artifacts we were using for our project, yet I did not own a camera. So I went out to the streets of Paris looking for a simple disposable camera for this project. The problem was, every time I was out on the street, I would dissociate, and get "lost in my head" again. I would lose my direction, but then I stopped, thought about where I was, and continued. This lasted for four days. To this day, I believe I was in a fugue state, wandering around, but lost in my own thoughts, unable to come back to the present moment. The anxiety that resulted from my being unable to perform the simplest of tasks was intense. My head felt heavy, yet empty. My shoulders curled up and I couldn't seem to stop my mind from racing. Six sleepless nights and days I spent in this horrific state until my good friend finally called an SOS doctor for me. I was immediately placed in St. Anne's mental institution and diagnosed with Major Depression, where I would stay for 9 days until my parents bailed me out.
This wasn't the first time such a bizarre experience happened to me. The first such experience happened less than a year prior to my stay in Paris, when I unfortunately smoked some weed with a friend of mine. I was never a pot-head, but I had smoked on rare occasions in the past, but nothing would prepare me for what was about to happen that evening. I felt as if I had lost control of all of my bodily functions, and my mind started racing incessantly. I kept seeing these flashing images that I can only describe as loose associations at light speed. For example, I would think of a Michael Chrighton book that I had read, which reminded me of Michael Moore's "Fahrenheit 911," which would lead me into my High School English class when I was informed that 911 had occurred, which would in turn result in a song Mrs. Johansson would sing to us in second grade, where a basketball was in the corner of the room, which reminded me of my one year playing basketball, etc., etc. etc. All this happened over a matter of milliseconds, and I couldn't seem to shut it off. It was as bad high, to say the least, and I had to spend the night in the hospital because of it.
I've read stories of people who claim that their depersonalization was triggered by pot or another drug, or by an extremely stressful situation. Both of the above situations match those criteria, yet in my case, I don't think my depersonalization was triggered by smoking weed or my troubles in Paris. I believe I was always this way, though in a milder form, and that those situations exacerbated the problem I was already experiencing. To this day, I have been having difficulty coping with the (sometimes simple) demands of everyday life, yet I know that there have been situations where this "fogginess" has left me, and I have seen clearly.
My next post will attempt to elucidate some of these scenarios that have provided temporary relief from my near-chronically spaced-out state of being.
Growing up, I always felt "different" from the other kids in school, though I couldn't pinpoint exactly what it was that made me different. I had a very difficult time socializing with other kids, and I often didn't want to. You could call it a form of extreme social anxiety, but for me, I much preferred to daydream. At recess, while the other kids were playing games on the playground, I would merely wander around, lost in my own thoughts. I always felt as if I were "stuck in my own head"--trapped, if you will--and I couldn't figure out a way out of it.
I had always wondered what was different about me, and I had been concerned about it for a long time. My one consolation was that I was good at school, and everyone told me that working hard in school is all that mattered. I was skeptical of this, of course, but since education was the one thing that made me comfortable, I excelled at it, and I graduated high school with highest honors...a bright future was awaiting me.
Given my interest in learning French and Music, it seemed only natural that I obtain my undergraduate degree in New Orleans. I was fascinated with the city; its magnificent architecture, culture and music enthralled me. However, when my parents moved me into my first dorm, I felt this strange sensation that I had never felt before. I didn't know anyone there, and I felt disillusioned by what I had come to expect. The world seemed like quite a frightening place. Everything became dark and dull, and I spent most of my first year doing what I did best: excelling in my academic pursuits. I made few friends, but I was still confident that my grades would get me somewhere, even if I didn't know where I was going.
I decided to travel abroad my Junior Year. I went to Paris, to study at the Sorbonne and enrich myself in la vie francaise. Little did I know that this would be the experience that would completely change my life. I was anxious and afraid nearly every moment there, and I would lock myself in my room listening to music, as it was the only time I ever felt really comfortable. But my avoidance would only take me so far. Eventually, I had to produce something.
In an art history course entitled "Egypt and Islam," our final project was to go to the Louvre and recreate an Egyptian temple using the artifacts that were there. Simple enough, right? Yet I struggled with this project, but it wasn't the nature of the project itself that troubled me so much. We had to take pictures of the artifacts we were using for our project, yet I did not own a camera. So I went out to the streets of Paris looking for a simple disposable camera for this project. The problem was, every time I was out on the street, I would dissociate, and get "lost in my head" again. I would lose my direction, but then I stopped, thought about where I was, and continued. This lasted for four days. To this day, I believe I was in a fugue state, wandering around, but lost in my own thoughts, unable to come back to the present moment. The anxiety that resulted from my being unable to perform the simplest of tasks was intense. My head felt heavy, yet empty. My shoulders curled up and I couldn't seem to stop my mind from racing. Six sleepless nights and days I spent in this horrific state until my good friend finally called an SOS doctor for me. I was immediately placed in St. Anne's mental institution and diagnosed with Major Depression, where I would stay for 9 days until my parents bailed me out.
This wasn't the first time such a bizarre experience happened to me. The first such experience happened less than a year prior to my stay in Paris, when I unfortunately smoked some weed with a friend of mine. I was never a pot-head, but I had smoked on rare occasions in the past, but nothing would prepare me for what was about to happen that evening. I felt as if I had lost control of all of my bodily functions, and my mind started racing incessantly. I kept seeing these flashing images that I can only describe as loose associations at light speed. For example, I would think of a Michael Chrighton book that I had read, which reminded me of Michael Moore's "Fahrenheit 911," which would lead me into my High School English class when I was informed that 911 had occurred, which would in turn result in a song Mrs. Johansson would sing to us in second grade, where a basketball was in the corner of the room, which reminded me of my one year playing basketball, etc., etc. etc. All this happened over a matter of milliseconds, and I couldn't seem to shut it off. It was as bad high, to say the least, and I had to spend the night in the hospital because of it.
I've read stories of people who claim that their depersonalization was triggered by pot or another drug, or by an extremely stressful situation. Both of the above situations match those criteria, yet in my case, I don't think my depersonalization was triggered by smoking weed or my troubles in Paris. I believe I was always this way, though in a milder form, and that those situations exacerbated the problem I was already experiencing. To this day, I have been having difficulty coping with the (sometimes simple) demands of everyday life, yet I know that there have been situations where this "fogginess" has left me, and I have seen clearly.
My next post will attempt to elucidate some of these scenarios that have provided temporary relief from my near-chronically spaced-out state of being.
Sunday, July 1, 2012
I have it made. To all appearances, I am a healthy, vibrant, attractive and well-adjusted 28-year-old guy. I have a loving family, and several wonderful and supportive friends. I graduated Summa cum Laude with Honors in French and Music six years ago, and I just successfully completed my first year in a Ph.D. program studying music theory. I seem to have just about everything I could have ever dreamed of, and life is looking positive for me.
However ideal my life may superficially seem, there's still something not quite right, something dark and insidious buried deep within me. When I walk the streets, everything seems flat and lifeless, as if the real world were only two-dimensional. The people on the street seem almost mechanical, as if they were robots, and the world feels dull and What's more, I feel as if I am a robot, going through the motions of everyday life, but lacking a will or agency. I feel as if I lack willful control of my bodily processes, and that I'm not in control of my thoughts. Time seems distorted, and I have extreme difficulty executing some of the most basic of all tasks, such as preparing to take a shower, cooking meals, and just generally organizing my day. My thoughts are primarily of an existential nature; because I feel that my mind is somehow manifestly separated from my body, I continuously question my very own nature: "do I truly exist? Is this world outside of me truly real, or simply an image created by my own mind?" I'm often wandering around aimlessly, feeling as though I'm walking through a living dream.
I have Depersonalization Disorder.
I haven't been diagnosed as such by a psychiatrist, and for reasons that are understandable. I have a life-long history of depression and anxiety. I developed panic disorder when I was 20 and studying abroad in Paris. I have been hospitalized four times, have been on just about every anti-depressant/anti-anxiety medication that exists, tried hypnotherrapy and have even undergone 14 sessions of ECT (Electroconvulsive therapy, or "electric shock" treaments, as it is known colloquially). It is these symptoms that become manifest when I am disturbed enough to go see a therapist or a psychiatrist. Moreover, depersonalization/derealization (DP/DR) symptoms frequently accompany chronic or intense feelings of stress or anxiety: feelings of unreality, as if observing the world through a glass wall or a haze, or as if one is watching life pass through a movie screen.
However, in my case, the symptoms are still there when I am not undergoing stress or in a state of depression. My mind feels constantly clouded and foggy, and I have difficulty remembering things or making decisions. Probably the most disturbing symptom for me, I suppose, is finding it difficult to listen when people are speaking to me. There is a self-absorption involved, which should not be confused with narcissism. It's merely a constant state of self-observation. My partner, whom I loved and still love, recently ended our relationship, in great part, because of the manifestation of these symptoms, coupled with the anxiety and depression that are byproducts of feeling unable to connect with the world.
Yet I've noticed throughout my life that there are certain situations where the symptoms have been able to subside for a brief period, yet as of this moment, I haven't figured out how remove the fog entirely.
There are a number of reasons why I've started this blog. First, I would like to document my day-to-day experiences, in order that this little-understood phenomenon can be brought to the attention of a broader audience. Second, I wish to get in touch with others who experience this sometimes crippling sensation--be it chronically or during fleeting moments--so that those of us who have this do not have to suffer in silence. I'm hoping that I, or we, can discuss the distress caused by depersonalization in our daily lives, ways to cope with it, and perhaps to even hope someday for a cure.
Like anyone, my ultimate goal in life is my own happiness and the happiness of others. This disability has robbed me of that opportunity, yet despite my struggles, I still yearn and hope for a cure.
In my next post, I will discuss my own personal experiences with DP/DR, what experiences I believe may have triggered and/or exacerbated it, and how I've so far managed to cope with it.
However ideal my life may superficially seem, there's still something not quite right, something dark and insidious buried deep within me. When I walk the streets, everything seems flat and lifeless, as if the real world were only two-dimensional. The people on the street seem almost mechanical, as if they were robots, and the world feels dull and What's more, I feel as if I am a robot, going through the motions of everyday life, but lacking a will or agency. I feel as if I lack willful control of my bodily processes, and that I'm not in control of my thoughts. Time seems distorted, and I have extreme difficulty executing some of the most basic of all tasks, such as preparing to take a shower, cooking meals, and just generally organizing my day. My thoughts are primarily of an existential nature; because I feel that my mind is somehow manifestly separated from my body, I continuously question my very own nature: "do I truly exist? Is this world outside of me truly real, or simply an image created by my own mind?" I'm often wandering around aimlessly, feeling as though I'm walking through a living dream.
I have Depersonalization Disorder.
I haven't been diagnosed as such by a psychiatrist, and for reasons that are understandable. I have a life-long history of depression and anxiety. I developed panic disorder when I was 20 and studying abroad in Paris. I have been hospitalized four times, have been on just about every anti-depressant/anti-anxiety medication that exists, tried hypnotherrapy and have even undergone 14 sessions of ECT (Electroconvulsive therapy, or "electric shock" treaments, as it is known colloquially). It is these symptoms that become manifest when I am disturbed enough to go see a therapist or a psychiatrist. Moreover, depersonalization/derealization (DP/DR) symptoms frequently accompany chronic or intense feelings of stress or anxiety: feelings of unreality, as if observing the world through a glass wall or a haze, or as if one is watching life pass through a movie screen.
However, in my case, the symptoms are still there when I am not undergoing stress or in a state of depression. My mind feels constantly clouded and foggy, and I have difficulty remembering things or making decisions. Probably the most disturbing symptom for me, I suppose, is finding it difficult to listen when people are speaking to me. There is a self-absorption involved, which should not be confused with narcissism. It's merely a constant state of self-observation. My partner, whom I loved and still love, recently ended our relationship, in great part, because of the manifestation of these symptoms, coupled with the anxiety and depression that are byproducts of feeling unable to connect with the world.
Yet I've noticed throughout my life that there are certain situations where the symptoms have been able to subside for a brief period, yet as of this moment, I haven't figured out how remove the fog entirely.
There are a number of reasons why I've started this blog. First, I would like to document my day-to-day experiences, in order that this little-understood phenomenon can be brought to the attention of a broader audience. Second, I wish to get in touch with others who experience this sometimes crippling sensation--be it chronically or during fleeting moments--so that those of us who have this do not have to suffer in silence. I'm hoping that I, or we, can discuss the distress caused by depersonalization in our daily lives, ways to cope with it, and perhaps to even hope someday for a cure.
Like anyone, my ultimate goal in life is my own happiness and the happiness of others. This disability has robbed me of that opportunity, yet despite my struggles, I still yearn and hope for a cure.
In my next post, I will discuss my own personal experiences with DP/DR, what experiences I believe may have triggered and/or exacerbated it, and how I've so far managed to cope with it.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)