Did you know that there are actually 3 types of dissociative disorder, according to the DSM 5? Depersonalization-derealization disorder is one of them. I struggled most of my life with this.

Depersonalization for me has been never feeling a part of my own mind and body. As I have been on my healing journey these past 18 years, including lots of therapy, my Self simply finally integrated, is about the best way I can describe it. Derealization, which I continue to struggle with a little but more, feels like you never woke up and you are walking through a dream. Nothing seems “real.” This post focuses more on the depersonalization component, as it is easier to process and describe things we’ve healed from. I still don’t really understand my derealization, and it would be hard to find words to accurately describe it.

It is my fervent prayer that you will find solidarity, boldness, or perhaps deepened understanding for a friend or family member through my sharing.

These were my depersonalization symptoms every day from at least age 6 until, I would say 3-5 years ago:
1. Feeling like I was floating outside myself
2. Feeling I was watching myself as another person living my life
3. An almost constant narration of my activities

Here’s a poem that I wrote about my experiences with depersonalization.

Space Walking

i live
dissociated days when i know
what its like to be a shadow on the wall
of a self ive never seen as
my mind moves through frames
of far and near,
alive and dead.

i have separated,
soul from body,
like an egg white abandoning
its bright yellow center.

How did i get here?

the cracking is closely
followed by
a shattering of perceptions.

What is real?

my Self asks its mirage
as it is dragged across
the jagged mirror edge.

my journal is the only means
of concrete proof,
delineating days in case they go missing.

Wormhole, wormhole in the sky…
Wormhole, wormhole passing by…
Wish I may,
Wish I might
catch a ride
with you tonight.

nowhere to go,
noplace to be,
i am an aimless observer of my time.

I am, I am, I am…!

i hang on the reflection from every window
to tell me whether I still exist.

from my memoir The Locust Years