“This time, I know I’m fighting. This time, I know I’m back in my body.”

 - Back in My Body By Maggie Rogers

I was walking down Boylston, on my way to the Ansin building, when I felt so dizzy I thought I was going to throw up. I wasn’t a part of myself; it was like I was watching myself from the cheap seats up in the sky, somewhere in the clouds. At the same time, I found myself feeling trapped in my chest, screaming, trying to get out. I crossed the street to Tremont, feeling less claustrophobic being in an actual building than being in the fresh air of Boston. I spent my class answering questions, yet not remembering what I said immediately after, or having no idea if I ever said anything at all. I could only depend on a faint voice in my head reflecting on something I might have said or not. I was 3 months off my anxiety medication. Later in the day, I went back to my dorm and slept for 5 hours. I woke up with the worst headache I can ever remember having. It was 8 at night.  I ate dinner at 9 and then went back to sleep at 11. 

A couple of weeks later I was texting my friend who goes to another school, asking how she was doing. She told me she was feeling depressed, kind of anxious, and generally numb. She believed she was “dissociating.” I had heard of that term before, but I wasn’t that well versed in what it really meant. I pulled up Google on my phone, typed it in.  As pages upon pages of information dropped, I started sobbing. 

Dissociation, according to Mental Health America, is a “mental process that causes a lack of connection in a person’s thoughts, memory and sense of identity.” It can branch into other forms, such as derealization, which is the feeling of not being real, or depersonalization, feeling an out of body experience. 

Dissociation can show up for a lot of reasons, but one of the main causes is trauma. Dissociation can  “take the pain away,” because it is unbearable for one person to deal with, and push the brain to derail any sense of self. Therefore, when you dissociate, you feel outside of your own body. Dr. Samiris Sostre, a psychiatrist from New Jersey, says that dissociation, specifically depersonalization, “saves you from some level of psychological distress, but then creates another distress: that of feeling unreal.”  Evidently, this kind of detachment “helps you cope with anxiety, but then [makes] you pay a high price because you are also detached from your connection with others. We are highly social beings that need to feel connected to feel whole and safe.” 

About 2% of people have actual dissociative disorders, but far more people experience milder spouts of dissociation. It is even more common among people in their teens. It seems as though people our age are taking the reins over de-stigmatizing mental health, particularly anxiety and depression. So, why don’t we talk more about dissociation? 

Illnesses like anxiety and depression can make one feel like they are experiencing dissociation. They do not feel like a part of their own bodies, and they may not feel a strong sense of themselves. This further exemplifies the dire need to bring dissociation into the forefront of mental health education. Dissociating is one of the most emotionally painful experiences I’ve ever gone through, mostly because it took me three months to realize that I was in a dissociative state. If I had the sense that what I was feeling was valid, maybe I would have reached out to others sooner, or avoiding associating these feelings with my diagnosed generalized anxiety disorder.

Giving those who experience dissociation the help they need so that suffering in silence because of thinking it's just a “passing feeling” or a “different issue altogether” must be encouraged. I don’t think I am ever going to feel like I’ve been “cured” of dissociation. I am still going through the effects of coming back from dissociation, and find solace in knowing that some days are going to be better than others. Having knowledge of what dissociation is and how it will make me feel makes the bad days a little less scary.