My current episode of depersonalization/derealization has been going on for well over a year, as I’ve mentioned before, but it’s particularly bad today. I slept way too late, until 2:00 this afternoon, and woke up feeling very disoriented and detached. I sat on the couch for close to an hour, staring out the window…it felt like five minutes. I wasn’t even thinking about anything; my mind was essentially blank.
I wish I knew of a better way to describe what the detachment feels like. I usually tell people that it’s like being in a dreamlike state, and sometimes say it’s like being incredibly stoned (if the person in question has dabbled). D. sat on the floor next to me this evening while I had a smoke, and as I described how I was feeling, I was making a fist with my free hand.
I didn’t even notice the bloody furrows my nails had left behind until I went to wash my hands about ten minutes later. I didn’t feel my hand clenching up. I didn’t feel any pain.
Today, my mind is about a thousand miles away from my body. It’s usually not this bad; I’m not sure what’s triggering it, though I suspect it’s the oversleeping. But at the same time, I can’t really help that—I’m going through a nasty depressive cycle (which, given the fact that my bipolar is rapid-cycling, should be over soon—that’s the silver lining to all of this) and tend to be especially somnolent during these phases.
I have therapy tomorrow at five. I tutor on Tuesday night, have another doctor appointment on Wednesday, and work Thursday through Saturday. I’m hoping I’ll make some decent money this weekend, now that I know how to handle my shit at work. I feel bad for not being able to work a regular full-time nine-to-five, but the combination of mental illnesses I have can be pretty debilitating. It’s hard to keep a forty-hour work week when you regularly bottom out at two P.M. and feel like if you don’t go home and bury yourself in a mountain of blankets, you’ll finally snap and do yourself in.
I hate living like this.