sometimes i feel like
sometimes
sometimes i feel like i'm in a dream
but only sometimes
and it's foggy
it's hard to tell
maybe i'm awake and it's more clear than my usual dreams
but then
what if i'm dreaming
what if i'm not real
what if
what
is going on
and my brain goes in a million different directions
my handwriting is messy
so is my head, i guess
that's all
i guess
i don't know
my hands are just making words
this room is filled with a cloud
hey guys
my name is ally and i think
i may be dreaming
how about you
how are you

I live in many places:
Sometimes, in the weight between the top of my neck and the bottom edge of my skull,
or about 3 feet trailing behind my left ear;
a few times I've found myself in your right eye;
But, most of the time, I am hanging, suspended a breathe away from the skin that clothes the body that lives for me.

Waiting for your night stories,
instead, empty glasses dancing. 
Kahlo paints for me, surreal dreams.

related to childhood emotional abuse or neglect...
not to be confused with derealization or 'fantasy prone personality'

maladaptive daydreaming is seeing your face when I fall asleep at night
or hearing your voice in a children's store

"Come look! Look at these shoes!", and seeing you scramble at a pair of sandals

Big brown eyes begging me to buy them as "an early birthday present, just this once."

Maladaptive daydreaming
is blinking and not even having time to register the fact that you'd disappeared

and I was standing alone in the children's shoe aisle,
on my knees holding a pair of sandals
and feeling that same twist in my gut that I did on the day

the papers were signed and my passport was stamped,
to get on a plane to another country

without so much as waving goodbye

Maladaptive daydreaming is crying through anti-abortion rhetoric
and sympathising with teenage mothers

it's seeing you smile behind a nikon camera, calling
"Look at this pretty picture I took! See, see?"

and then realising that I was only smiling at a fallen camera in the sand

Maladaptive daydreaming
is regretting a choice I didn't make

it's steeling my jaw at immature jokes
and relating to all those children raising children

Maladaptive daydreaming
is regretting giving up a daughter
I never had

The world warps
And goes fuzzy around the edges
Like I am not real,
A place holder or chest piece.
My limbs do not move like they are mine,
As if they are foreign bodies attached to my trunk.
The floor is the only solace.
I melt into the stiff boards and rough carpet
Until the world tilts back and becomes
Whole again.

i remember it like it was yesterday, which i have to say is strange, because i have trouble remembering everything else. i remember you were sitting in front of me and i was terrified, palms sweating, eyes watering. i was truly scared if you, or rather of myself. a little part of me hated you too. you looked so, self-righteous sitting in your rolling chair, with you perfect posture and your clicky pen. when you started to ask me question i ignored you. id been shacked up in my head for so long i forgot how to talk to people. anyways, my head was comfortable, familiar. i had a bed full of memories and a closet full of monsters. i had drawers full of hopes (i never opened them of course), but they were there, it was nice to know they were there.

my favourite possession in my mind however, was a little glass jar on my nightstand. it looks empty at first glance, but the harder you look the more you see. there are colours, like rays of light, they swirl around and hit each other, a vibrant crimson color. theres a green in there to, if you saw it you'd swear mother nature put it there herself. theres also a blue, its the largest of all the swirls. it looks royal and dark, beautiful.

theres also a yellow. but its different, not in its beauty or vibrance, but in its location . it isn't in the jar. the yellow swirls around the edge of the glass. occasionally bumping into it  almost as if it wants in, but theres no way for it.

i remember holding back, never telling you that because i thought you'd think i was crazy. so i didn't say a thing. but man do i remember that jar. that room. i remember the colours, their saturation, how they moved. i remember the monsters beating on the closet door looking for a way out. i remember the bed of sweet memories. but im sorry, i don't remember more important thing, like how to feel. i truly am.

The world is my movie screen,
I’m constantly being reminded,
That I am only a spectator,
In this ****** up life.
My hands are not my hands,
Yet they’re right in front of me.
The thing is, I can never press pause.
I am always on the go.
It’s as if my mind is a separate deity,
Than my body.
I look in the mirror,
And see someone who I know
Is supposed to be me.
However, this fog that constantly
Fills my brain makes me feel as if I am
Walking on clouds, unaware of my steps.
I wish I could see the world in 1st person.
Instead of this bright, oversized world,
That pounds with every step I take.
I feel nothing which means I feel everything.
It’s just all in the inside, constantly building up,
Without notice.
It’s as if I am driving a rental car.
I know how to drive but the car is foreign to me.
The gears work, but they aren’t mine.

Hyperventilation
Depleting frustration
Suffocation
A painful sensation
Desperation
Without moderation
Devastation
Eternal damnation
Deprivation
Emotional mutilation
Derealization
Fear escalation
Depersonalization
Self extermination

Am I real?

I don't... feel real.

Am I alive?

Or am I dead?

Everything is so...

L O U D-

"Hey!!"

Huh...?

"Dude! Are you okay?"

Oh, it's him...

"Hey, it's okay, I'm here..."

'I'm here...'



Liar.

I'm getting derealization twenty-four/seven;
Unreality has made alterations
unto my perception.

Donnie Darko awoke in bewildered displacement,
I too arose to this disconcerting amazement.
Found myself lying on green grass
at a golf course twisted by Alice In Wonderland.
Checkered tiles black-and-white
and pine trees swaying in the half-light.
Familiar faces put me at ease, an acid blotter
got emptied.
Got dosed in my dreams. Got on my knees.
Was tripping in my sleep.
What would it mean for when I woke up?

This dream didn't stop.
I woke up but my mind did not.
Reality wasn't enough.
Disassociation followed me home.

I woke up
but kept dreaming. The walls felt soft
and the colors were peeling.
I have felt this before,
Felt the days double over;
My mind lucid,
Fatigued no more.

Gravity is not my friend.
It forgets from time to time
To do its job and keep my two feet
Planted firmly on the ground.
I can’t seem to get around
Invisible stumbling blocks,
Tripping over my own two feet,
Knocking into things just by
Walking in a straight line.

Gravity is lazy,
Wanting only to do the bare minimum.
It makes my chest feel heavy when
I lay down but if I close my eyes
I feel my own untethered soul
Float up into the ceiling
And hide amongst the water pipes.

Sometimes, I think gravity gets scared
When I wish myself into something
Scattered brain and disconnected
Disassociation, depersonalization,
Derealization—these side effects on the bottle
They’re all taunting gravity
And gravity runs to hide,
Knocking me off balance and
Up the stairs and skinning my knees
And sometimes I don’t even know I’m bleeding

But sometimes gravity fights back
And my feet are stuck to the ground
My limbs can’t seem to move, my
Head feels like a hundred pounds
My body aches until I lay down
And sink into the carpet.

Sometimes I wonder if you feel it too
If gravity and you are on the odds as well
With all your liquid confidence
And substances to keep you happy
And your tales of falling down stairs—
You fall down, I fall up.
We bob together in a sea of regret
And change and past and
Present and future and lust
And hate but most of all love
Nursing our wounds through
Self medication until a very fed up gravity
Pushes us down, down down down.

Sometimes I think if gravity
Were a little more benevolent
We’d never have hit
These bumps in the road.
I could stay grounded,
Feet planted firmly.
You could stay buoyant
Far above the surface.

But no,
Gravity is a very fickle beast.
And as you’re leading me
Back to my room
For one last goodnight kiss
I trip

And float away.

This is not home
Not these limbs, not this head
Drifter come and gone
Tabernacle bed  
Ghosting the body
Until this wandering skin shed

She saw people praying and using the violence in
the name of religion at the same time, while no
religion is preaching violence. She understood that
this kind of violence was too conflictual for peace, and
yet too diplomatic for war. And that violence no  
solution had; nor never none. She thought those
  
people lived in black light having blind eyes not seeing
the reality of life. She had to accept that this wicked
goodness and this pretty badness belong to our reality
so *****-like, vexing and hiding so many victimless crimes.
Suddenly, she realized that she could be a new victim.
She started to run while wondering where her safe place was.
  
She was better than to expect to be caught. She understood
her fear, that fear leading to frightening thoughts, those thoughts
leading to panic, that panic leading to derealization. She looked
around trying to recognize the place. She felt worry because she
couldn't see very well. She searched to make a sword of everything
around, but quickly after that, she thought that the swords are the
  
  
weapons of warriors, but she's not a warrior, she's a victim. She
started to give praise with idle tears, to give praise with wisdom,
to give praise with deep despair. She asked herself if God is there to
hear her, over those ravages of war overwhelmed by the natural
catastrophes and over the ludicrous effect of their transformation
into nothing. She, firstly, believed her religious man was a fighter
  
  
against enemies of God to conclude that he was an enemy of the real
fighters for God. This man was her husband learning in time to beat her
body and to hurt her soul. She saw herself as a little bleeding part of this
world wondering to know if her man is still the man she fell in love with
once, or he's an illusion. She stopped her run to sit on the ground. She
began to pray hoping that God is there to hear her and to bring a new light
  
  
  
to her crying reality. She stayed there to think how much a rose can
describe a flower, how much a flower can describe a woman, and how
much the feminine can describe many things around .She concluded
that no feminine thing can break this life down. She asked herself,
''What can happen to this world in the absolute absence of feminine?''
She found herself an innocent person dreaming at a new world without violence.

sitting in a bar unawares

sobriety is relinquished

incoherence

voicing hallucinated delirium

sweating profusely in distress

disconnected

without identity, without form

a long and terrible descent

into the effects of derealization

staring at nothing

listening to imaginary sounds

that cling to the dark draperies

that hang upon the walls of the mind

charting the outer geography of life

with invested inner humanity

now, i’m one with the wind
because im no longer a person.

There's a lot more to the world
Than what meets the eye
Physical intimacy laced with
Eradicating emotion
There's no time in the universe
In which peace can be acquired
The day the earth stands still
Is the day we know what comes next
In a memory flashing by your mind
Just sputtering through the motions
But suddenly you're caught in derealization
And you can hear her voice again
Clear as wedding bells
A young girl reading sermons
To a man passed out drunk, and the woman who made him that way
I was just 4 when I first tasted beer
And I vomited all over myself
I was just 8 when I first tasted liquor
And I don't remember much else
Chicken wings with candles
And the songs my mother used to sing to me
The way she'd crawl in bed with me
In times of drunken solitude
Ungrateful **** of a daughter
Who should've been aborted,
Well I tried, mama, I tried
Now that you're gone and you are nothing more than ashen memories
I look at you in your black box prison
With your name pasted to the front
And I tell you all the ways I have already died
I tell you all the ways I don't feel alive.
The way you screamed for help at the top of the stairs
And he's shoving he's pushing and you can't run
And I'm still here
And I'm still here fighting him away
He says he can't sleep in beds without you anymore
And coming home from 2nd grade
Police badges light up the front porch
And they're shoving you they're pushing and you can't run
And you're in handcuffs
And his arm is bleeding
the young man told me I was not alone
And falling apart on your floor
At a ripe 5 years old
And I'm crying I'm sobbing and you don't care
And I scream
And you don't love me anymore
The piano goes quiet
And after grandpa died
she took all his medicine
Muscle relaxers and pain killers and the daily *****
And anger
And she screamed at the walls she called god
For taking her children away
It was her all along
I do not hold grudges
But it took you dying for me to hold that promise
It took you dying for forgiveness
The family shuns me like how they did you
Black sheep we are
Your ashes lay on the table beside my bed
With fake vanilla candles that light up all kinds of colors
And I tell you all the ways I have already died
I tell you all the ways that I do not feel alive.

A true relationship is fluid and energy generating
Being dynamic, it should activate your highest potentials

You have forced me to realize what we had for those years was never a true relationship, or a true love
I do not solely blame myself or solely blame you for our many fails
But as far as myself goes, I know what my faults were

I often lost my sense of self the longer we were "on"
Wondering when it would end that time, I became anxious and derealization would occur randomly
I clung to you in anticipation of my heart sinking and shattering and taking my soul with it

Those feelings do not emanate from love though, do they?
No
They emanate from fear
I did love you
But then I feared you
Feared your absence, neglect, reactions, and that, is not love in any way

The trust I gave you time and time again was never held with care
Maybe you never knew just how low and broken I'd be
Maybe you did
My wisdom never let me forget that loving someone and being loved meant allowing vulnerability
I knew and know love will never be love unless you're vulnerable in some way
But my oblivious heart somehow believed giving you complete control was a part of that

Starting anew after a year or so sounded incredible
But it didn't take long before reality emerged and I found myself in the same degrading and depraving phase I have been oh so familiar with, with you

The entire meaning of this is to say I know what I had for so long was not love, but fear
And now that I don't fear you...
You're just a stranger that knows my weaknesses and none of my strengths
One that's only ever seen my lows, never my highs
And I'm ok with that

Hyperventilation
Depleting Frustration
Suffocation
A Painful Sensation
Desperation
Without Moderation
Devastation
Eternal Damnation
Deprivation
Emotional Mutilation
Derealization
Fear Escalation
Depersonalization
Self Extermination

o love, tell me, where did you go? you adandoned my bones here ages ago. centuries past, a ticking time bomb. broken clock, two blinks, blood, it drips in awaiting. no home, sharpened teeth, empty gaps lie underneath. take me anywhere, get me crazy. i am suffocating underneath this dirt. derealization is a coffin made to fit my exact measurements. swallow the worms, choke on the maggots, taste the filth in your heart. pain rots the membrane. decomposing, a corpse girl within. but still breathing, still abandoned, all alone again.

I

Bright blues and youthful yellows induce a daze of derealization,
Heavy haptic perfumes fill the nose,
All that is heard is soft music and softer chatter,
Standing among the spring dresses,
Feeling like an odd hallow mannequin,
As pretty girls and ugly women pass by,
The dumb blonde fakely smiles to my aunt;
Who holds up a spring dress.

II

It it Ireland's biggest lingerie section I understand,
I read that....somewhere...



-Jamie F. Nugent

The world is fake.
An empty play dough
world where all our
heads are in clouds
of derealization.
We’ve lost our touch
with reality
running razors across
our bellies.
Our mind a shaking
bath tub full of
water and bubbles.
Tap it.
Ripple. Splash it.
Wave.
Shake in it.
You’re gone
in the tsunami
Of bubbles over the
side.
You disrupted the peace.
Now you’re cold among
all the popping bubbles.

You made the world a
trembling earthquake of
pain. And it will not
have your *******.

   You are books left
   alone on the library
   tables. Scattered.
   Disorganized. You are
   a mess. You are frowned
   upon. Nobody’s going to
   pick you up. Well not
   until someone who under
   stands the code on your
   spinal cord and
   can handle you like a
   problem, when you want
   to be opened. And your
   pages caressed and your
   tears and rips cried over like
   they should be. Have someone
   finger your creased pages
   as they read the heart breaking
   parts.

       But they put you back
       in your a slot. Where
       you “belong.”
           And you sit there
           silently screaming “learn me"

I have days where I feel zoned out and want to sleep off the day. I feel no motivation to do anything and just want to go in the mind escape of my brain.
   Then there’s part of my brain that wakes up and realizes I shouldn’t be doing this to myself. I should do something motivating. Like interacting with family and living it up, so I don’t focus on my derealization.
    Suddenly, there are days were I feel motivated and ambitious about hobbies, fashion and school.  I start to feel the burst of happiness for life.

I latch on memories.
This is probably the reason I have derealization.
I admire the past and it’s events; although, they have to be events that are different and not usual for my daily routine.
It could be from Yesterday or 3 years ago.
I start thinking about that event for along time.
If I am alone I will start sobbing.
I have no reason why I do this, but I do this.
Although, when I am in that event in the present I don’t consume the event all. Though when it’s the next day in the shower (can be anywhere )I start consuming the event and my emotions.

I feel like I'm going insane.
I can't remember anything.
My short term memory is, poor at best.
My long term memory continues to fade.

Dissociation
Depersonalization
Derealization

I have an MS but you would never know.
I'm too dumb to get a PhD.
I'm too dumb to communicate with most people.

I'm checking out.
Missing gaps.
Making up stories.

Intoxicated by my thoughts.
Wishing I knew what is making it all swerve around like snake or worm. I don’t know what caused it? It might had been the tragic event that happened on Wednesday? Even maybe this might be my next mental state prospective; that is strange like all of them.
     I wish that everything was normal and that I could think straight. Too many things my brain can process, a tragic event or my brain trying to confused me with answers on a test cause I start thinking about my future. Wishing I could go back to the past and be in those comfort memories, that I day dream about and play in a movie in my brain on constant.
    Only if I could dissect brain. Though I’m in this real world; I’m supposedly in. I could dissect it; however, it would be hard cause I have Derealization and Dyslexia.

i.
You thought that the kitchen lights were almost high-beams on a freeway. Colors were crisp (too crisp), vivid as if the world were a high definition television, one with everyone scurrying around on fast forward with the volume turned up, blaring louder than your ability to comprehend. Everything was too much, too fast, too loud.

Everything was, simply put, overwhelming.

ii.
There was a word for that, you thought. A word for that feeling of detached, surreal immediacy.

Dissociation? No.
Derealization? Maybe.

Whatever it was, it couldn't possibly hold this, the whole of what this was, how it felt, in this moment, in this moment, in this—

iii.
You realized you were spiraling.

You pulled out, sharply, sharp enough to cut yourself. You looked at the blood beading on your wrist like ruby spheres of light. It was beautiful, entrancing. You could watch it forever...

iv.
There is a knife in your hand.

There is always a knife in your hand, you think, even when there isn't, when your hands are empty.

It means you're always ready to hurt someone, even when you're not, when you are empty.

v.
The world is normal again, after that.
Slowed down, quieter.

vi.
Kitchen lights are just kitchen lights, after all. How could they possibly make you think of driving? Driving fast, and furiously, reaching the speed limit and still flooring the pedal, seeing how far you could go before you ran out of gas or crashed gloriously in a blaze of light and sound and sparks and sirens—

vii.
You've forgotten where you're going with this.

viii.
You've been gone a while, you think, in that state.
You're pretty sure you're back again.

Now?
You just want to sleep.

h.f.m.

I am 16 years old, and I don’t even know if I’m real. Even as I type this, I am wondering how these thoughts in my head are turning into words on the screen. Who came up with the concept of time? Are we even really living in the moment if a moment is gone before we even get there? Does Elle Richard question her existence on a daily basis? Am I the only one dealing with these seemingly unanswerable questions?

For about a year now, I have struggled with the concept of the human condition — why we are the way we are and what our divine purpose here on this planet is. Thus far, I’ve concluded that our existence must account for something more than creating reality television and drive-thru restaurants. I was told that having these questions about life and reality is normal in college, especially during my sophomore year, where I will hit the “sophomore slump” and start questioning what I am doing with my life. I was thrilled to know that other people would be experiencing this strange sense of disorientation as well. I wouldn’t be alone.

Sophomore year has come, and it is about to go. The number of times I have been crippled by the weight of an existential crisis outweighs the number of times I’ve been able to clean my kitchen countertops without questioning the point of it all. During my biweekly crises, my friends would reassure me, offering a helping hand and confirming that this plague of questioning everything hit them, too. The only problem was that they were pondering the purpose of being in college and what the point of school was, whereas I was trying to figure out if a heartbeat really meant someone was alive.

The discussion about human existence outside of philosophy classes is sparse and can result in feelings of isolation and anxiety. Constant questioning is stressful and panic-inducing. In some cases, it can lead to depersonalization, also known as derealization, which is a symptom of a panic attack. It is basically an out-of-body experience of sorts. You may feel detached, removed, or like you are watching the situation you’re in from an outsider’s perspective. It can cause you to question your reality and whether you will ever gain control again. While this may sound alarming and scary, according to an article on AnxietyCoach.com, this symptom is harmless.

“Depersonalization seems to occur when you have become less involved with what’s going on around you, especially the people around you, and become preoccupied with your own thoughts,” said Dr. David Carbonell in the article. “These are typically not thoughts about your immediate surroundings, but thoughts of other people, times, and places. The less energy and attention you bring to your immediate circumstances, the more your thoughts wander toward ideas that can only happen in your imagination.”

As we enter into our final week of the semester, these feelings are likely to arise due to the panic-induced environment we will be in. Know that your peers may very well be experiencing the same type of pressure and anxiety that you are – you are not alone. Resources like counseling through the CSU Health Network are made available to help you work through these thoughts.

The thing is, we will never know why we are here. Having our beliefs and faith helps some of us – many of us need something to put our hope into. But who knows, maybe we are just in a huge game of Sims.

If you have not questioned your existence at least once amid the constant state of panic that is college, you probably are not real.

I have floated above myself before
A blank faced sheet,  a fractured mirror
Self looking down on distant self
A Charlie, pushing arches against bubble fans
Burping up desperation
Grasping to be grounded

This morning the derealization was different

Winged above I saw myself in a dream
Grown up me
As I had idealized  
as a crimson heart-eyed child

Standing
in a cluttered room
Wrapped in silk, held in your wings
You tickling me, pushing nose into nape
It had finally happened
The first view
of the best version of myself
Unlike nothing else.

I looked at it from every angle
I analyzed it for years
I came out of the derealization
I drowned in the postponed tears

i dont know
if im going through a depressive episode
a suicidal episode
a dissociative episode
a derealization episode
a depersonalization episode
a psychotic episode
a sociopathic episode
or something else
but something is definitely wrong