My dissociation almost ruined my life. That’s a conclusion I drew one sunny afternoon while walking home and realizing I could not account for the last 30 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 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.
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