It’s nearly impossible to make another person understand that when you look in the mirror, you know from experience that it’s your face you see, but it still doesn’t feel like yours.
That you clearly recognize your family and remember myriad facts about them, but they still don’t feel real nor do they feel like yours.
That you are utterly astounded when you happen to remember that life is real, that you really exist, and that this isn’t the dream it feels like it is.
That sometimes you’re so astounded that you sit for minutes at a time, just watching what you know to be your hand open and close and move about.
That you don’t mean to seem callous, but that it’s hard to be anything but apathetic when none of it feels real.
That you live your life in autopilot, feeling like your body and mouth move independently from you.
That you seldom feel in control of yourself.
That for the longest time, you felt like you were losing your mind.
That you were ashamed and afraid.
That the greatest relief of your life came when you discovered at long last that you weren’t alone, that this thing that haunted you day in and day out had a name, and that you weren’t crazy.
That you cried in happiness at this enlightenment.
That suddenly the last ten years of your life finally made sense.
That this knowledge somehow made it easier to cope with the damnable thing itself.
That you were no longer ashamed to talk about it or to seek help for it.
And that suddenly you saw a light at the end of the tunnel that you couldn’t have before imagined: the possibility of, through treatment, finally feeling real again.
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