Dissociation. in Like No One Is Reading

“Dissociation is a break in how your mind handles information. You may feel disconnected from your thoughts, feelings, memories, and surroundings. It can affect your sense of identity and your perception of time.”

I’ve been spending a lot of time in the ADHD and autistic communities on Twitter for awhile now. I’ve been learning a lot about what being ADHD really means for me and what kinds of tools and strategies I can use to mitigate symptoms.

Because I’ve upped my exposure to other neurodivergent people and discovered that many (all, it’s fucking ALL of them) of the things about myself that I’ve spent my life trying to mask are actually incredibly common among neurodivergent people. I’m not an anomaly. I’m not a freak. I’m not alone.

I kept seeing this term, dissociation, and descriptions of it, and I kind of avoided it? Like, I told myself, “That doesn’t apply to me.” I didn’t even know what it meant, not really. Two days ago, I Googled it. Like, for the first time ever. And reading about it hit me like a freight train, over and over again, the more I read. This resonated with me on what felt like a cellular level. I could suddenly feel my heartbeat pounding through my entire body and I got a little light-headed.

What I have read about dissociation was like reading something I wrote myself. I have been doing this for as long as I can remember and having to admit to myself (and now everyone else) that this is what’s happening to me is… it feels not-fun. It feels scary and shameful and embarrassing. It shouldn’t. I know it shouldn’t. It is literally not my fault that I am this way.

Sometimes everything becomes boring. That’s how I perceive it. Things that interested me just don’t anymore. People, too. It’s like I just don’t feel anything. I complained about the bipolar meds and antidepressants of the past made me feel like a robot but… Sometimes I am a robot without those meds. Sometimes I don’t feel anything but a deep, grieving sadness about the fact that I don’t feel anything, that nothing interests me, that all I want to do is sleep and not wake up. I don’t feel like myself at all, like my real self has just stepped out for a bit and this other self isn’t capable of processing all of the big emotions and just… doesn’t. Maybe my real self is just so overwhelmed. Maybe I reach the overload point and blow a fuse and just shut down.

That’s what it feels like. Shutting down. On standby. Yeah, on standby. Like I’m aware of all of the things but I’m outside of them. And I am capable of feeling happiness during these times. That might be the only thing I’m capable of feeling, really. In little bursts, little things make me smile or laugh. But only in little bursts and then it’s back to feeling empty, hollowed-out.

I’m learning tools and strategies to stop this, to pull myself out of it. It’s slow going. I’m trying.