I enjoy seeing a happy smiley in this post of yours!!!!
Glad to hear that... :thumbup: I'm still dreading this surgery a wee bit, though. Always thinkin' the worst, I get that from my mum. :oh:
I should really be feel the same way as the happy smiley in ma previous post, but am no.
. . . and now I'm feeling strangely disconnected from myself. It's not as extreme as it was when I awoke a little while ago, when the person who washed dishes and made phone calls and worried so very much today seemed a stranger in my consciousness. I woke up thinking about the time I got called in for jury duty a few years ago. I remember it all too well—so much fear, anxiety, nearly fainting in the courthouse—but it was like it happened to someone else, like I was recalling another person's ordeal. The feeling spread from there to other memories, right up to today.
I've seen this phenomenon mentioned here before. There's a word for it, which presently escapes me. Some kind of defense mechanism in the mind? Take the victim out of me and stand him over there. The big bad's not so big and bad when it's after someone else; the movie monster's not as scary as the real one under the bed.
I suspect I may feel this way to some degree much of the time. It's hard to say. Detachment from detachment—was that the word?—denial in a dreamscape. This is not my apartment, not my body, not my life. Some other slob was dealt this hand, dug this hole, not me. This couldn't possibly happen to me.
But it did.
I have moments of clarity, moments of now and here, when it all comes together and this is me doing this right here and right now, but those are rare. Seems to happen mostly when I'm driving, particularly when I've not been out for a while. They can come as a bit of a shock sometimes, these sudden flashes. I guess I've been a figment of my own imagination for so long that I take surreality for granted. Any glimpse of objective reality—even the reality of my fantasy of reality—is surprising.
Last night was the second time where I had a dream about someone discovering the antidepressants I've hidden away and then having to explain what's going on. Probably says something poor about my mental condition.
. . . and now I'm feeling strangely disconnected from myself. It's not as extreme as it was when I awoke a little while ago, when the person who washed dishes and made phone calls and worried so very much today seemed a stranger in my consciousness. I woke up thinking about the time I got called in for jury duty a few years ago. I remember it all too well—so much fear, anxiety, nearly fainting in the courthouse—but it was like it happened to someone else, like I was recalling another person's ordeal. The feeling spread from there to other memories, right up to today.
I've seen this phenomenon mentioned here before. There's a word for it, which presently escapes me. Some kind of defense mechanism in the mind? Take the victim out of me and stand him over there. The big bad's not so big and bad when it's after someone else; the movie monster's not as scary as the real one under the bed.
I suspect I may feel this way to some degree much of the time. It's hard to say. Detachment from detachment—was that the word?—denial in a dreamscape. This is not my apartment, not my body, not my life. Some other slob was dealt this hand, dug this hole, not me. This couldn't possibly happen to me.
But it did.
I have moments of clarity, moments of now and here, when it all comes together and this is me doing this right here and right now, but those are rare. Seems to happen mostly when I'm driving, particularly when I've not been out for a while. They can come as a bit of a shock sometimes, these sudden flashes. I guess I've been a figment of my own imagination for so long that I take surreality for granted. Any glimpse of objective reality—even the reality of my fantasy of reality—is surprising.
Look up for derealisation or depersonalization. I used to have that - still does when I'm not careful - extremely unpleasant feeling when you're aware of it.
Kept oot the loop again as per feckin' usual. :thumbdown: Ma family dinnae bother informing me of anythin' until the last minute. Yet the nosy c***s huv the nerve to get annoy when ah dinnae inform them ah've bought a DVD... The bloody cheek o' them. :veryangry:
Sorry if ah seem to be ragin' aboot summit that doesnae matter. :sad:
I'm in this weird state (the state I describe as my hopeful depression; which also really describes my personality... some may understand) where I realize and notice and admire all the beautiful, wondrous, out of this world greatness that comes from us, the human population, and yet I'm only on the outside. I still feel a bit proud and, although in silence, I'm cheering us ****ers on.
I just watched a movie and the main character is a narcissistic *******, and yet while I was watching, I related. It felt good. Honestly I didn't even realize he was narcissistic until I read about the movie online.
Now I know for a fact I'm a narcissistic ******* and that's why I have no friends. Strangely, I don't feel too bad about it. I feel like these tendencies are being left behind as I grow up. It feels good to relate to someone.
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But ma intital reaction and first thought is...
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