After I slept, it went away.
On october, almost a year and a half later, I had a horrible panic attack. I got paralyzed. I lost track of time. I felt I had been standing where I was for the last 10 hours, when I had only been there 7 minutes. I saw the cars and people went by, and as I stood there, I tried to remember why was I there. I was waiting for my mom and brother to pick me up on our car. How does my car look like? Was color is it? What shape? How did my mom looked like? How old was my brother? Which kind of people I was waiting for? How did they look?
People passed me by and saw me with tears running down my cheeks. I wiped them with my fore arm as I couldn’t move my hands. I felt the night was coming an more hours had went by, so I decided I would walk out to the street and take a cab home. Where’s home? It’s near a shopping mall.
Have my mom and brother gone by? I asked myself as I gazed out to the street. Why do I look at cars when I don’t know what car I’m supposed to find? Could it be that one? Or that one? Or the red one right there?
A guy is calling my name and waving me. He looks at me and smiles. He calls me by the nickname my brother uses with me. He must be my brother, but I’m not sure. Still, he’s the best option, so I let him take me by the hand and show me to a grey car. Yes, I’ve seen it. I have been on it? Did I rode it today? I sat and there’s a kind lady who smiles and paddles my head. She’s my mom. I’m not sure, but I feel it... I don’t seem to comprehend it, but I do feel it.
I cried. And cried. And cried. I recognized my brother and my mom, and felt safe. I looked at myself in the mirror and… Is that me? That’s not me? That doesn’t look like me, I thought while I removed my lipstick and makeup with my bare hands and the water from tears.
On Saturday I woke up. And I felt a part of me didn’t woke up with me. A part of me wasn’t living that day with me. I just know I don’t remember much of what happened, but apparently I yelled at people and was stressed out and then, spaced out.
And… I don’t remember anything else.
That’s my story with dissociation. I know it seems a little short. I know that it rises more questions than answers. But that's dissociation. I can't tell you what it is, I can explain any more than the fact that I forget who I am, where I am, how I got there. I forget my life. My identity. My story. My present and my past, so my future feels unexistent.
I don’t know. I don’t know where it goes, how it happens, how to control it. I can't tell if it's because something I already have, or a new condition, and to be honest I couldn't care less the diagnosis because all that I know is that it's real. I don’t know if it is part of it, or apart from it. I don’t know anything. Only that I’m losing my mind.
All that I know is that for a second, my existence doesn't exist.
A guy is calling my name and waving me. He looks at me and smiles. He calls me by the nickname my brother uses with me. He must be my brother, but I’m not sure. Still, he’s the best option, so I let him take me by the hand and show me to a grey car. Yes, I’ve seen it. I have been on it? Did I rode it today? I sat and there’s a kind lady who smiles and paddles my head. She’s my mom. I’m not sure, but I feel it... I don’t seem to comprehend it, but I do feel it.
I cried. And cried. And cried. I recognized my brother and my mom, and felt safe. I looked at myself in the mirror and… Is that me? That’s not me? That doesn’t look like me, I thought while I removed my lipstick and makeup with my bare hands and the water from tears.
On Saturday I woke up. And I felt a part of me didn’t woke up with me. A part of me wasn’t living that day with me. I just know I don’t remember much of what happened, but apparently I yelled at people and was stressed out and then, spaced out.
And… I don’t remember anything else.
That’s my story with dissociation. I know it seems a little short. I know that it rises more questions than answers. But that's dissociation. I can't tell you what it is, I can explain any more than the fact that I forget who I am, where I am, how I got there. I forget my life. My identity. My story. My present and my past, so my future feels unexistent.
I don’t know. I don’t know where it goes, how it happens, how to control it. I can't tell if it's because something I already have, or a new condition, and to be honest I couldn't care less the diagnosis because all that I know is that it's real. I don’t know if it is part of it, or apart from it. I don’t know anything. Only that I’m losing my mind.
All that I know is that for a second, my existence doesn't exist.
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