Depersonalisation And Derealisation - Tumblr Posts
This user is dealing with childhood trauma
even looking back at all my memories, i can only see them through what i have called for many years, since childhood, a 'camera.'
if you've ever done 3d animation, you will understand exactly - it's a camera, that i feel float around my body. i can't see other cameras through my own, but i feel as if, most people's cameras are tethered to their heads, to view the world through their eyes.
i'd like to know if this is relatable to anybody with a dissociative disorder, with or without a system of personalities.
thank you, ⭐️🦔.
In delusions we trust
In delusions we trust
People joke about being chronically online until they actually meet someone chronically online.
Someone who doesn’t go outside, doesn’t have friends(even online), can’t function in reality, and can’t even recognize themselves as human.
Random (pop culture) psychology headcanon #19
Lynch "Flame" Garcia (from lqvezero’s Sons of Cain series on c.ai) has Depersonalization disorder, Persistent depressive disorder, and Post-traumatic stress disorder
Unpopular Opinion
Self-diagnosing is invalid.
It can spend false information and harm the people who actually have said disorder.
(Just look at the "endogenic systems".)
For anyone wondering, the terms OSDD-1b and OSDD-1a have roots in the DSM-IV but aren't considered an official diagnosis any more. By all means, keep using the terms if they help you to differentiate and find community, just know they're not official diagnoses.
Introducing...
The million dollar question!
Did it happen,
Did I imagine it,
Did my sysmate do it,
Did I dream it or was I just so disassociated it feels like it wasn't real?
no longer mine
Most days, I can look out the window and let the breeze remind me. But other days, it refuses to penetrate my heavy fog of despair. I will sit there and ask it to go by. I may even beg for it to. But those days do not allow it. There is an insufferable fluid in the air that separates me from reality. And this fluid - the breeze - they work against each other. The fluid, the fog, they surround me. They keep me in. The breeze cannot cut through this tangible dampness. Most days, it can remind me; the fog is cleared and I can feel the breeze once more. But other days, the strength of the stifling fluid in the air is too much for the breeze to bear. It is too much for me to bear. When there is no breeze, no window, no sun, the fluid drowns me. I can walk, talk, survive, yes, but live? The fog does not allow me to live. It stifles and drowns from a layer just beneath my skin. My body may still operate, and you may ask it questions, it may answer you, but it is not me. I am trapped beneath the choking blanket of fog that rests under my skin, and it seeps through, forming a sort of bubble around the body I inhabit. The body you talk to, laugh with, work alongside - that body is not me. I am on the inside, screaming, begging for control. There is no breeze to ask for, there is no window to sit by, and the sun is gone. I can do nothing but wish for this body back, plead for another chance at autonomy. But the fog will grow stronger. The fluid will clog my ears and nose and tug at my eyes to shut. It knows, both the fluid, and the body, that even if I did have my chance at control, I’d waste it. The fog reminds me that I will miss my shot every time. My body ruins itself in efforts of aggression towards me. I sulk next to it, dragging through the fluid. There comes a point where I ask myself if this is now “most days.” Because “most days” used to make sense, they used to be mine to seize. But even with the window open and the breeze coming in, it seems like most days are no longer mine.