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.

Yesterday on the train I didn’t feel real I felt hallow

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