A single leaf, painted in the colours of autumn lay soundly on the snow, untainted. Nobody would notice. For the common visuals of the snow covered land had been etched into the minds of millions. Details are of un-importance. And if the colour in my cheeks were quick to fade, nobody would notice. For the passing days that my cheeks were rosy and my eyes were bright, not a single being would be eager to point out the change in sight. Flooded with a tsunami of insignificance, I fail to repair my warped sense of thought. Mental chaos. And so, I discard the ability of benevolence and authenticity. Giving in to the masters of compliance and social norms. Nobody would notice.
You stared, hopefully. Silently wishing. Praying, for I was your messiah and you an indebted servant. Though I hung on a wall alone, I never left your side. Dependent on me to show you false truths, I became a crutch for emotional injury. Look at me. You know you want to -- need to in fact-- we know you need to. Who else but I can supply you with sufficient fallacies to get you your fix? You in return gift me the pleasure of watching you. Witnessing you self-destruct. Your broken spirit, an untold desolation. Beg me for the reassurance you seek and never avert your eyes from my gaze. And if anyone asks, tell them we’re fine.
Do you feel that? Your body, becoming a playground for the children of discontent. They race, eager to trample the presence of selflessness. It begins a mere itch, meaningless. Nothing more than a passing sensation. But that’s all it takes. A predestined ambush. Bodies of bitter soldiers charge at the dome that conceals your truth. Slaughtered purity, defeated compassion. Its sinless existence washed away by the torrential rain of corruption. Inside the tainted soil it breeds. Opportunist. Thereupon the battlefield of resentful longing, it blossoms, its sight painfully beautiful. And within the historic ruins of the mind, there begins confusion. For spite still envelops the air, its discarded appearance does nothing to alter its everlasting occupancy. O envy, envy! Wherefore art thou, envy?
a state in which one's thoughts and feelings seem unreal or not to belong to oneself.
De-personalization is an aspect of dissociation.
"De-personalization and disassociation refer to a 'dreamlike state', when a person feels disconnected from their surroundings. Things may seem 'less real' than they should be."
These 'sensations' can vary in severity, but are ultimately by-products of numerous conditions such as PTSD and recreational drug use.
Dissociation - a term that refers to a detachment from many things.
De-personalization - a specific sense of detachment from oneself and one's identity.
DEPERSONALIZATION [DISORDER] SYMPTOMS
a sense that your memories lack emotion, and that they may or may not be your own memories
emotional or physical numbness of your senses or responses to the world around you
feeling like a 'robot', or that you're not in control of your speech or movements
feelings that you're an outside observer of your thoughts, feelings, your body or parts of your body
RISK FACTORS
certain personality traits that make you want to avoid or deny difficult situations, or make it hard to adapt to difficult situations
severe stress,such as major relationship, financial or work-related issues
depression or anxiety, especially severe or prolonged depression, or anxiety with panic attacks
severe trauma, childhood or adult traumas that may include experiencing or witnessing a traumatic event or abuse
Please don't. Please don't tell me about your countless victories that are shelved and displayed with pride in your memory. Feel free to store it as a personal recollection, as I do not reciprocate your elation. Your bagful of gold coins do not instantly transform my single copper into the same. My apologies, but that is the truth - no matter how bittersweet. Why do you expect me to invest hours into your successes but, leave myself mere seconds for my own endeavours?
Who are you? Unwanted inhabitant. Belongings of a corrupt disposition are thrown haphazardly around my home. You prod and poke, mocking my inability to fall in line. As I pull, rendered powerless, at the mental strings that attach your spiteful words to my feeble mouth. And so you begin. To fabricate our identity; twisting and bending and pulling at your own pleasure. A misshapen hoax. “What is your name?” Lie, you say. “I’m leaving.” Cry, you say. No matter the toxicity of their company, we endure their momentary charm. For it enchants us, and fills us with feeling. Your authoritative grip on my mind becomes unbearable, force-feeding me foreign emotions and misplaced conclusions, I am no longer the author of my thoughts. Stricken by relentless torture, I collapse. My mentality invaded by the creators of torment. A mass of wailing voices beg me to scream, to free me of the agony I have been submerged in. “But wait,” You say, “if a tree falls in the forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?” And so I laugh.
IMPULSIVE
Perhaps we were inevitably unfitting, you and I.
Two impassioned spirits unable to connect
Forever bound to be placed in another's memories, and to
Become enraptured by the presence of another's soft and forgiving
Soul.
For your harsh words play in my mind, a villainous loop curated from
Burrowed resentment. Compelled to seek out the abundance of
Adoration that fogs my sense of place, you desire to continuously
Drain my indulgent life force. Cynical infatuation,
It becomes you.
It is my thoughts that race, overridden by inescapable sincerity's that I
No longer can avoid. Filled with unease as I ache for
Your familiarity. And as I break, I rebuild, discarding
Needless dependency. Free of repeated transgressions
Mutual contempt.
A creative writing piece inspired by the writer Debbie Howells, and the results of the conducted questionnaire (1).
A N O N
The air was still. Only the sound of fingers tapping rapidly could be heard. Reload, refresh, restart. My eyes, frantic, as they scan the screen. A wave of pictures flood my device, each expressing their own fantasy narrative. Dollar signs and perfect smiles blind the eyes of the weak, a manifestation of the un-achievable. Fragments of a desirable vision cut through what is, tearing apart what could be. Its leftover shards of the past lay a waste, forcing the mind to surrender, no longer a being attached to its conscience - an empty shell.
There upon the bright screen, I search desperately. Scrolling, for what feels like an eternity. When does it stop? The ever-growing need to constantly be aware. Did you know that 77% of people spend more than 11 hours per day interacting on social media? When do we take life as it is, living in its ethereal and natural beauty instead of pushing to forge this false concept of reality? It consumes me. And I allow it. For this brief fix of temporary fulfilment is addicting. I crave the thrill of being unknown, no longer burdened by my own peculiarity, and though my identity becomes warped, I feel joy. A detachable persona - a personality disconnected from who I am and embodies who I thirst to be.
Like a ball of knotted wool, I begin to unravel. And my perception of what is real begins to fray. I depart from the tasteful lies that have twisted its way around my soul. My eyes no longer seek the naked truth, but have grown accustomed to the fabrications curated by the ones who seek control. What is my truth? A true lie. What is and what is not? My brain cries out for closure. I feel my body shake, it becomes flooded with a strange presence that does not belong there. And then I mutate. Like a tree in winter, I am lifeless, motionless. There are no hopeful sproutings of new beginnings, my thoughts are dying leaves that blanket the ground, caressing its sorrow with its final moments of life.
You do not see the weeping eyes as they blur the memories that haunt my mind , nor hear the despair that intertwines my screams. For the carefully constructed images portray an alien self I do not recognise. A perfect lie. It stalks me, the fear. Hiding in anticipation, a merciless predator ready to feed upon my terror, doubt and distress. The darkness devours its prey. A mercy killing. No longer can I hold onto foolish ideals. And so I let go. I wander, no longer attached to the strings that tied me to a body filled with obsessive prospects, but an effortless spirit, yearning for tranquillity. Diseased depictions of perfect perceptions have tainted the looking glass in which we have wrongfully worshiped. I am more than an image, a name on a screen. An unwinding lie. Who am I tomorrow, if I do not find myself today? spoken word
