Dissociation: An Essay
Dissociation Feels The Way That I Imagine It Must Feel To Be Dead. That’s a conclusion that I drew one sunny afternoon while walking home and realizing that I could not account for the last thirty minutes of my life. My body had still been operating in all of the meaningful ways but my thoughts were detached. I saw myself as an outside observer but some combination of extant thinking or surrounding action brought me back down. Suddenly, I was this person again but my hands were strangely foreign with sensations that I did not recognize, my breathing felt deliberate and dangerous — like it could stop if I thought too hard, and my head felt like it would explode — entirely too small to contain me. I panicked, spun around a few times, noticed people watching from their porches, and then hurried home on legs that were barely mine anymore.