I never meant to contort my reality into what it has become today. My stare zooms in and out like a vintage camera attempting to catch the clarity. My thoughts talk to me instead of me thinking them. My body cannot understand certain commands or ordinary occurrences. I don’t think it comprehends hunger. I can go hours upon hours without food, and be completely satisfied. I can go hours upon hours without sleep and function normally. I cry when I hear certain people’s voices, or a change of tone, or a drop in pitch. I am too easily absorbed out of myself. I lack the sensation of the carpet touching the balls of my feet. I lack the touch of the keyboard against my fingertips.

            At times I am far away from my body, miles and miles behind as if in the past observing the future unable to do a thing. I may be in the middle of a conversation and my mind detaches and floats away. I can no longer speak; my words get caught up in my lungs and cannot form. There are things about me that are at times separate. I do not know how it became this.

             I have created a big scheme to make this all easier to understand. I know deep down that it is not true, and that it is a way to articulate my experiences inside my head. Yet it feels so real. It makes me question everything. This scheme is one of attack. My thoughts are at war with my core self. My thoughts are not mine. When I do something they dislike, they talk to me. It’s in my voice. There is never a raised tone or emotion. It is just a phrase repeated by multiples of my own voice.

            “You are a failure.”

            “You are worthless.”

            “You deserve nothing.”

            “You are a bad person.”

            The claims are alarming and intense, but they are so common now that I can almost prepare myself for them. I know not to trust them as sincerely. I have created the scheme that these thoughts are against me, not in my control. I learned in years of therapy that I have control over my thoughts. I know deep down in my logic that I do. It doesn’t feel like it. Sometimes a feeling isn’t reality.

            My thoughts are against me. My body isn’t mine. I awoke one morning and saw in the mirror someone else. Heavier, bulkier and slow. I used to be so thin in hopes that the less of me there was, the less pain there would be. That body was mine. This one is not. I have convinced myself that I must tame this one to get to mine, hidden somewhere beneath this.

            The only part I can trust to some degree is my core self: my values, dreams, morals. At times I have questioned those too, but they have proven to be a bit more reliable than the rest. I look to others I trust outside of my head for support and structure. I have become so detached from reality that I need to check my own thoughts and decisions before finalizing them.

            I don’t know what I have become. I am getting better, but it is strange to feel so far from normality. 


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