Dissociation Disorder

The first time I remember dissociating was when I was 12. This was before I could put a name to it. The only way I could explain it to my mother when I told her I felt weird: "I think I am dreaming. I feel like my body doesn't belong to me." My mother thought it was because there was too much sugar in my diet, so she took away my Cocoa Puffs. I never dissociated again until I reached 16.

I was with my closest friend at the time, and we decided to go down to a forest near our homes to smoke weed. I remember feeling nice and mellow, and then something happened. I moved without moving. How I explain it now is that my physical self is in one spot, but the rest of me—the psychological aspect of me—is somewhere else. Hanging out in its own space away from me. We are disconnected, kind of like two girlfriends after a dispute and sitting on opposite sides of the room, turning their backs on each other in silence.

I didn't like it. My eyes felt too far in the back of my head and the world around me was spinning. I remember thinking, I am going to fall off the Earth, so I laid down on the ground and grasped the grass underneath me, as if it was a tether keeping me from falling into space. I tried to make a joke out of it, pretending like it I was just too stoned. My friend laughed and took pictures of my demise and my fear that I played off casually. I didn't have the words to explain to her what was happening.

She drove me home. I decided to draw. I tried to go to sleep and I woke up feeling the exact same way. It had dissipated. It wasn't as intense, but it was still there. My friend, my psychological self, was still mad at me and still sitting on the opposite side of the room, glaring. The feeling didn't go away until three days later.

Dissociating stopped again until I was 18. I was in my first year of college and my friend from high school invited me over to her apartment to hang out. I was still unfamiliar with Chicago, so I asked my two roommates if they wanted to join. We took the bus down a couple streets and as soon as we arrived, my friend offered me a bowl. I looked at it and remembered the last time I smoked weed. Since this point, I had gone two years without smoking because of the fear I felt the last time. I was at a party though, so I took the bowl.

I felt fine at first after the small hit I took. Mellow, chill, happy. Until a large bong was brought out and being passed around the circle. I never smoked out of a bong before that night, so I felt like I couldn't pass up this opportunity. After ten minutes, I felt weird again. Not just "oh hey, this is different," but full on fear. The fear you get when you know something awful is about to happen. The fear that leaves your chest locked up and your heartbeat in your throat. I started taking as many deep breaths as I could, but I could tell people were starting to stare. My friend grabbed my hand and led me into another room while my roommates sat unaware on the couch.

She sat me on the floor and looked at me with a smile and asked me what was wrong. I tried my best to explain it to her. I asked her if the weed was laced. I asked her if I would die. She reassured me as best as she could. The fear left my body almost as fast as it came. My shaking stopped, my heart beat slowed. I remember her holding my hand the entire time. I still wasn't connected to my body. I was still floating in some sort of other dimension but looking in on myself. I was a ghost.

I ignored it. I went back to the party for a while longer and then left with my roommates. When they asked if I was okay, I just shrugged it off and said I was too high.

Once again, that feeling lasted a couple days. I attributed my dissociation to weed, so I didn't smoke again. The thing was, I kept dissociating. Randomly. In school, at home, anywhere. It wasn't as intense, but it was noticeable and really, really weird. All of a sudden, everything I once knew as stone, as rock, as a solid perception of reality was gone. I didn't know who I was, where I was, or when I was going to feel normal again.

As time went past, my dissociations were minor, easy to ignore, easy to cope with. Which prompted me to make the decision to smoke weed again, and I planned it like I was going to do acid.

It was the most magical experience of my entire life. I was with a friend of mine, in her dorm room a couple floors above me. We hid behind a window curtain that was decorated with flowers, soothing lights and positivity. We smoked out of a wooden vape slowly. She played music for me, she told me encouraging things and made me laugh. I felt safe for the first time in years.

I did dissociate and I started to panic because it was intense. She held me, she told me I was on an adventure. An adventure only I can experience. She said I could talk through it—I told her what was happening.

She started researching. She read out the medical name and I started crying. Not crying because I was upset or angry because I was broken, but because I wasn't alone. Other people know how I was feeling. Other people don't feel connected either. I felt relief, something I haven't felt since I was 16.

For the rest of the night, I enjoyed the first high I had in a long time. Since the first time I smoked at 15.

I decided to go to therapy to get properly acquainted with this new but rather familiar feeling. The therapist quickly validated my feelings and said what my friend told me was right.

Dissociation disorder, a name that rang like a bell in my brain

It was usually brought on by trauma, and just like people who are predisposed to schizophrenia, dissociation can also be brought on with marijuana.

I asked if there was medication I could take to make this all go away, but there wasn't. Only coping mechanisms. Which I learned and put to good use, but it never fully made the dissociation go away. It just made it easier to ignore and for me to move on with my day to day life.

I'm 23 now. I've been in CBT therapy for years. I still dissociate. Its unnoticeable until I have that feeling of my body slowly moving away. I've noticed it happens when I have a face to face conversation with someone for more than 20 minutes, if I don't take my medication, if I am in an argument with someone, if I sit still for too long, if I stand up for too long...to be honest, I don't think there are any triggers. It just happens. They are a part of me now and my day to day life. I've gotten used to it and the intensity has considerably diminished.

Now, instead of feeling like my friend is mad at me and sitting across the room and ignoring me, it feels more like my friend and I made up. That we came to an understanding but still are sitting across the room, unbothered by each other's existence.