it's so weird growing up while spending the vast majority of your life dissociated. people will ask if you remember something from a few years back, and you'll answer something akin to, "of course, how could i forget?" but the whole time you'll be reflecting back on that time, thinking: those memories don't feel like my own. that version of myself doesn't feel like me. it's as if the universe has been shifted ever so slightly to the left.
you'll look at both old and current photographs of yourself, and feel no connection to them. some days you'll wake up and wonder why your feelings for your family suddenly feel so grey, so stifled, and you'll question if maybe things were always this way and you're kidding yourself trying to pretend otherwise.
it's difficult for me to wrap my head around the fact that most people experience their entire lives with startling clarity, both towards who they are and what people mean to them, from birth to death. i can't imagine going a whole month without questioning if i truly know myself as well as i think i do, wondering whether or not i'm actually the same kid i once was. because how are you supposed to feel a connection to a version of yourself that was almost a blank slate?
even before my dissociation grew into a chronic disorder, feelings of detachment always clung to me: time confused and startled me, some days would feel bleaker and appear less colourful than others, familiar environments would feel uncanny, my relationships with my friends would feel empty... i could go on.
it's just strange, is all, when i hear people recount their childhood as being so bright and colourful and magical and alive, when i only recall feeling near-constantly anxious towards the nature of, not only my life, but the act of living as a whole. i'd be so easily pulled into fictional worlds, because they felt more real to me than real life. i think maybe a lot of the only times i felt safe as a kid was when i was engaging with media i enjoyed.
dissociation is a tricky thing to live with. i pray one day the things of the past will stop feeling so fickle, so fragile, so easily pulled apart and scribbled over.
hopefully that time will come soon.