Derealization - Blog Posts
i don’t struggle with derealization. i like to think i’m pretty good at it :w
𝓛𝓮𝓽 𝓶𝓮 𝓲𝓷𝓽𝓻𝓸𝓭𝓾𝓬𝓮 𝓶𝔂𝓼𝓮𝓵𝓯!
Hi!
My name online is Ray (she/they) , I'm from the UK.
I enjoy being in nature, playing the violin and a whole host of other things that i may well post about.
BOUNDARIES:
I have Derealization Disorder, so please refrain from mentioning "simulation theory" as this tends to worsen my symptoms.
I also have Tourette's syndrome so please do not purposefully trigger any of my tics (if you know what I have as tics) in my comment section!
Please just be generally respectful :)
DNI:
I don't have a full DNI yet, I may add to this.
Essentially don't be a d**k!
2.16.22 - Ghost. Some days I float through this life with my brain fogged and the world recognizable but feeling eerily off. For on these dream-like days I am simply a ghost haunting this horrid human body.
T̵͕̳̜̗̱̑̀̚͜ͅà̵̮̳͇͉̝̲̩͖͌͗̑̂͛͝ḷ̵͕̜͉̣͚̇̎k̶̢͉͓̗̦͔̦̱̉͛̓̿̊́͑̃̍̆ͅͅ ̸̧̮͕͆̒͂̓̏͊̍̕̚t̷̩̯̏̽͠o̶̡̝̞͚̤̝͙͑͑̿̓̒̓͂̚ ̶̔̇̂ͅm̴͈̜̲̬̭͍͍͝ḛ̷̗̺̙̞͚̗̣̻̺̔̆͐̀͑ ̵̣͓͙̥̥̀̾̈́̓̽͊̾̽̚a̴̩̬̬̪̪͓͔͎̒͗͠s̸̳̞̘̟̅̑͌̃͝ ̵̢̨̫͓͎̼̖̙̳̺̒̑̂͋͑̍̕͝Ì̷̤̲͍͖̺̟̟̱ ̴̧̨͍̠̝͚̬̯͍̼̈͊ä̷̢̗̲̩́̓m̶̢̨̲̙͎͌̏́̍ͅ ̶̻͚͉͊́̉͆̚̕͝ͅs̸̨̳̅l̸̪̜̦͉͌̀ȇ̶̢͖͝ě̵̯̭̪͉͇͙̙͔̋̃̏̕͝ͅp̷̨̞̦̮̼͍͈̹̭̜͌͒̀̈͆́̈͒ị̵͚̪̻̙̳̰̒̃̊̀͌͛n̵̥͙͖͉̮̏̑̈́̃́͗́͂͜͝g̷̜̤͚̿,̴̢̩̗̜̙̤͈̤̈́̅̚ ̴̥̈́́͗͊̚h̷̬̞̫́ơ̶̺͓̤͉͊̅̓l̷͓͈̩͍͖̮̜̠̝̖̽̆̓̌̈́͆̆͠d̶̢̢̮͙̯̭̩̅̔̉́͗̓͘͜ ̷͇̺͇̀̃͌̕̚m̷̟͇̣̲̠̱̭͕̅͌̓̎͋̎͌̕͝ḙ̷͙͎͖̘̩̪͍̓̎̍̈́ ̸̯̣̳̻͂̂͜w̷̢̙͚͈̪̠͌͂̇̄̎̈́͊͛ͅͅȟ̴͚̜̳͕̝̈́̈́̕̕̚͝i̶͚̻̝͂̃̈́̎͝l̷̲̠̲̉̋̽̽̇e̸̛̻̰̬͖͐̈́͠͠ ̶̡͖̖̼̫͕͔̪̅̏Í̸̡̥̜͇̙͈̘̪̫͗̄̄́̀̍’̸̨̧̺̹̞͇̩͕̜̥̇̑m̵̩̮̈͛̃ ̶̬̫̐̅d̵̬͑̿̇̅͊r̵͈̺̘̖̪͒̐̀e̸̪̹̬̭͍͓͉̘̦̦͆̈̈́̓̆͑̓͘͝ã̸̮̘̹̻̥̠̳́̀̑̀͝m̸̨͉̣͂̽̂͛̑̓̕̕͝ḭ̵̜͖̗̦̫̠̱͛̓͑ͅn̸̘̦̹̻̘̝̎͛͆ͅg̸͔̤̤̹̹̩̹̍̈́̒͘
TW // some weird ass biblical satanic hallucination shit that was originally supposed to be a flower field
yk what. I have to force myself out of the derealization mindset. only bc I know I will actually lose my mind and do stuff that's not great js because I'll think it won't matter bc I'm not real and nothing is and I'll get sent to a mental hospital
Toothache
Mirror mirror why do you show
The train that can’t be coming that slow
I feel the rumbling under my feet, in my bones and in my teeth
Mirror mirror why do you lie
Showing me a girl when I can’t fly
I feel the ache, the tears and all I’ve ate
Mirror mirror why have you forsaken me
Why don’t you show me what I could see
I see your cracks and blood and flack
Mirror mirror what have you done
What can I do to make us one
I see them here, dead and free
Why do I see them in your face, but only death stares in my place
Hi! Op Loki here in the explain-inator! Welcome those who are curious enough to step foot into the ‘keep reading’ box! I suffer from insomnia and occasional hallucinations during said insomnia episodes, which often can be somewhat useful in helping me pinpoint which part of my mental state caused this little bout of insomnia. Recently (for when I wrote this) I’ve been suffering from bodily autonomy issues due to my education’s strict policies and many people demanding my time and effort for their own conveniences. I usually have a hard time saying no to these people because they’re usually closer to me, and it got to the point where it was like ‘hold on a minute, this is *deadname*, not Legion/Loki’. When I thought about myself. And, well, the hallucination wanted to highlight the unstoppable passage of time, my autonomy issues, and the inherent dysphoria that comes with being LGBT in general. And, to do that, it chose time, mirrors, and vampires. But who am I to question- would this be Apollo? Thanks, Apollo, ik I’m still new to worship, but this helped. A lot. And Ares, for giving me the strength to fight.
i am soooo out of it todayyy i cant ground enough to do anything but read and watch stuff rahhh
nothing feels real enough todayyy
The world moves around my body, sensations ghosts on my empty form. I hear the sound of life, of people, anchored in the here and now. Their world in colour, vibrant touch, souls as light as feathers. Webs of feeling stretch between, emotion, taste, (felt, not unseen).
My world I see in black and white, my anchor cut, all light unfelt. Inside my mind a world of dreams, of light and colour, (touch, all seen). My comfort, it bleeds thin. Too many layers, broken webs, foggy eyes with my too-full head. This world it feels too much for me, heavy soul, all in 2D. Inside my mind I find recluse, running free in vibrant stories. I watch it all as I move through, webs twist around, trap me apart. This life it is not meant for me. People ground. And I cut free.
i bring a “what if none of this is real and you’re all just figments of my imagination” sort of vibe that my family and friends don’t seem to appreciate
⚠️TW: HEAVY DEREALIZATION ⚠️
We’re not fully convinced that we are real, we look into a mirror and see something that is very much NOT us, not me.
This vessel we use, our body, is not right. We are meant to have claws and more eyes and less limbs. We are meant to be more and less than we are. We are not meant to exist this way.
We’re not real and when we look around we can’t be sure that anyone or thing else is either. It all feels fake, fuzzy, like a photograph being burned or a dream that you can’t remember.
I have low empathy, the things around us and their feeling don’t make sense, they don’t seem real. Who’s to say that they ever were. Their reactions, even positive, seem like acts of aggression. Like a wolf bearing its teeth.
Maybe it’s not real, maybe I’m not real, I feel like I’m not. At least in the form that we’re in now.
Growing up neurodivergent coupled with abuse (mainly emotional) definitely shaped the way I see myself gender wise and existing in general.
I felt like a frankenweenie of a person. A stitched up creature in the shape of a dog that wore a shirt and pants.
It felt like my main abuser, my creator, didn't want me to be a human. That for some reason other children were stitched up with love and fresh flesh in the shape of a human while I was stitched up and patched together with wooden screws and dead flesh in the shape of a dog. And when people asked what the smell was she always pointed to me as if I'd chosen to wear a rotten suit.
I sat stuffed with organs that didn't belong at the table with my creator and others like her and tried to pretend I was made up of the same stuff. Everyone tried to pretend too. But there's a difference between a human's company and a dog. My tail always hit the table in loud thumps until it fell off and I would crank my head to chew while everyone else ate normally. Something always ruined the already horrible disguise. And then the whole table would point out how truly horrible the disguise was. I would retreat to the ground with my ears folded in.
My creator wasn't afraid of telling me how the green mold and cracking of bones were becoming too much of a problem. Most days it felt like she had given up on even looking at me. She had a dog for a child and I knew myself that I was in no way better than a real child. I was a dog. No dog made up for a human. And no human wanted a dog for a child.
I see myself in the mirror and try to imagine a version of myself that's human. A womanly me, a manly me. But I still end up poking and shoving that dead flesh back into its stitch before I get dressed. I know I'm human. I know I'm human, but here's a disconnect between the words me and human.
(Most of my posts have been me talking about my experience with being neurodivergent and having cptsd since Tumblr for me is a place where a bunch of skrunkly humans join and be skrunkly humans for however long this site stands up so here's another post about that.)
Anyways, that's it for tonight I got to scroll all the way back through my last searched tag since my Tumble crashed.
Sometimes I look back at my memories and think "Yeah no, my childhood wasn't that much it was pretty normal."
Cue someone asking me what it was like and the complete dread that passes through me as my brain intentionally tries to sift through the river for normal memories because you don't share some messed up shit with most strangers unless ya' want to and everytime it comes up really blurred or practically nonexistent. And that makes me realize that yeah, my childhood wasn't actually normal. Does someone with a normal childhood need to search every nook and cranny of their memories for a single memory that they can comfortably share with someone and come up short each time? Probably not.
Alone I can convince myself of having a normal enough childhood but that's because my brain accepts a single moment out of hundreds that was relatively normal enough to count and then immediately takes it as a "Yeah that works, it was a good childhood."
Hell my brain can barely remember most of my childhood not because of a lack of memory but because it just won't show up. I search and search and it's all a blurry mass of "Yeah I was alive at that point." But like, that's not what I'm looking for. I'm looking for what I did when I was alive. But yeah, brains are flippin' weird.
gang why the fuck does my dissociation issues sneak up on me at random ass times
I'm trying to paint a pair of pants why am I getting anxious and feel like nothing is real LEAVE ME ALONE...????????????
I already crashed today i don't need this
warnin for bright lights, buncha eyes, and derealization im ptty sure
"A MASK OF MY OWN FACE!"
The urge to rip out your arms during derealization.
✨️CATATONIC ✨️
I don't want to write about how i feel
bc I feel like shit
& im so fucking sick of it
it's like every day it's the same damn tricks
she's manic again it never quits
the grey mush is spreading nice
all around the brain twice
maybe if they feed it, that will be suffice
pain oozing, it's been sliced
we're at this point, the point we hate
where now our mental state
is up for debate
as if our fate won't devastate
oh for god fucking sake
please let this feeling go away
I'm finished now I don't want to play
if it must, it can stay
to keep the monsters at bay
we can't afford for them to come out and pray
is it my density to be this mad
is this hell or wonderland
why is everything so brightly colored
why is every noise muffled
I look in the mirror, oh no who's this
it looks like someone different
someone familiar but not quite right
you're hiding out in plain sight
that's you that's you that's you, you scream
the mirrored image is baffling
that's not me
oh wait, I see
my reflection, how could this be
change something immediately
work tediously
so they don't see
how you're bursting out through every seam
hurry now, they're so mean
they'll never understand defeat
sinking you within concrete
do whatever you can to avoid the carnival
it doesn't matter how loud you shout
once you're in you'll never get out
Oh God I'm never going to heal
I'll never be okay again
I'll always be that sad, broken child looking for a caretaker
But nobody came
Nothing really matters anymore, does it?
It wasn't the fact that everyone else's parents were proud of them, except for mine
It wasn't the fact that my parents never seemed to have time for me, so I settle for watching other kids with theirs
It wasn't the fact that I thought that a loving family was just a tv trope until I was invited over to other people's houses
It wasn't the fact that while other people's parents praised them, mine belittled me
It wasn't the fact that I had to rely on teachers and other parents' praise just to feel like I had someone in my life who liked me
It wasn't the fact that everyone else had goals for the future but I didn't see myself living to adulthood
No
It was the fact that my eyes were slits and my skin was jaundice compared to everyone else
It was the fact that people treated me like a zoo animal for their entertainment
It was the fact that everything I ate was poison compared to theirs
It was the fact that I had nobody else to relate to
It was the fact that I was the only one who didn't experience it
It was the fact that I was the only one who did experience it
It was the fact that my identity was nothing more than a punchline to them, just a joke
It was the fact that I had to pretend everything was fine and laugh
The only thing I can do is laugh, otherwise I'll just cry
That's what broke me
That's why I'm broken
"just be yourself" small problem i don't know who that is