Hey guys. I look on the discussion forum and I literally see my name everywhere; I post ALOT. Part of me feels like I'm being annoying as hell, but I don't know. I've been having a battle between being hopeful and being hopeless about my future.
Anyways, I've always had the "take it one day at a time" mentality when it comes to this disorder. This sort of changed when I woke up Tuesday morning feeling so incredibly dissociated I thought I was dead. I felt like I lost a giant chunk of my soul, and the fog around me thickened to an impenetrable haze. This lead me to think quite intensely about my future. I am well aware of a disturbing trend that is my disorder has only gotten worse since it started 9 weeks ago. There isn't really any consistency to its progression, there are some things that make it only temporarily worse, some days it actually gets considerably better, but overall, I am ALOT more dissociated than I was two months ago when this all started. And well, when I extrapolate this data to make a projection for the future; I should be metaphysically dead within less than a year; I will be gone, there will be none of me left. You may think this scares the shit out of me, and it does, but not as much as you might think.
You see, I've came to a rather comforting realization about life, and especially about my life. Things may never be as good as you want them to be, and some things are simply too good to be true. But, things are never really as bad as you think they may be, and some things may very well be too BAD to be true. This is especially true for me as I am the single most pessimistic person I know. In every major event that has happened in my life I have set the bar so extremely low for any single one of them for how good I was expecting it to turn out. And virtually every single time I am shocked to find that those events turn out to be much BETTER than I thought. The happenings in my life have almost never been as bad or god forbid worse than I thought they were going to be. At the end of the day, the outcomes of a lot of the occurrences in our lives are under the overpowering force of statistics. I really believe in the law of averages. If one imagines the best possible outcome of their life and the worst possible outcome, the reality will likely fall somewhere in the middle, this has been evident for my life. Of course, some rather unlikely events will inevitably happen. For instance, developing this mental disorder. I guess I won a pretty shitty genetic draw to get this, but it wasn't no lottery. This disorder effects 1-2% of the population. Rare sure, but not tremendously rare. Mental illness effects 20% if the population, It aint no surprise that being a part of a family with a considerably harsh history of mental illness that I would develop one of my own.
This has all made me realize, am I really fucked? really? It just cant be true. As a 16 year old kid, how likely is it that I not only have a mental disorder, but an incredibly severe degenerative version of one that will essentially erode my soul to nothing within a year. See the thing is, tragedy and adversity are a common part of life, shit happens. But, people GET CANCER, everyone LOSES LOVED ONES, people DIE IN CAR ACCIDENTS, people have MISCARRIAGES, people have to get LIFE THREATINING SURGERIES. I am in no way undermining how horrible these tragedies and adversities are, but that doesn't negate the fact that these are very common, sometimes inevitable. And what is my disorder but another tragedy? But how likely is it that people just acquire some abstract degenerative form of a mental illness that will essentially ruin any chance of experiencing life before they even become an adult? That doesn't just happen to people, and so why would I think it is happening to me? Could it be that rather, I am just experiencing plain ol DPDR, that is rather worse than other peoples (based off what I read) but will eventually stabilize? Now I am not denying that unfortunately such degenerative cases are real, I have read a handful of them on this forum. But a handful out of the thousands of posts I've read on and outside this forum makes it incredibly rare. And it seems what triggered my case was considerably less severe than theirs, and was devoid of any consumption of any sort of drugs (besides zoloft, but I took that a month in, I seriously doubt it has contributed to my progression) which is very contrary to the degenerative cases I've read. Perhaps im being narcissistic right? It's a common psychological phenomenon where people underestimate the likely hood of unfortunate events happening to them, but overestimate the chances of it happening to others. But I almost laugh when I think that. I literally am not asking for a lot... like at all. I am more then willing to accept the highly likely possibility that I have the chronic form of this disorder; it may stick around the rest of my life. But, I am not willing to accept the possibility that I have the extremely rare degenerative form, and I will be virtually dead before I'm even old enough to vote. There is just no goddamn way, there can't be. I think about the law of averages; it would be a holy miracle if one day I 100% recover from this disorder sooner or later and never think about it again. Then I think about the gut wrenching fatalistic situation in which I will only walk further into the fog with each new day, my sense of self eluding me forever and ever until there is none left. I think that in all likely hood, I will land somewhere in the middle. Maybe I suffer from this for some more years, but maybe with time my symptoms enter the background of my life, and I can return to living the best I can. But, sometimes unlikely things happen.... but there is a 50/50 chance that unlikely event might be positive.
All these thoughts race through my mind but I calm myself down, I tell myself that I have statistics on my side. But then I look around me, the giant mirage that is masking reality is still there. My quiet, dissolved sense of self still just as miniscule as before... and so the thoughts come back again:
What if Im in a state of denial? What if I am merely rejecting my fate? It has been 9 weeks and it has only gotten alot worse. Everything is pointing towards that ugly possibility that I might very well be fucked. Why have I not read about a lot of people who have experienced it getting worse for the first few months since the onset? Why am I seemingly the only one in which that has happened to? Why do my symptoms seem to be so much more severe than everyone elses? You know, the disorder also plays tricks on you in this regard. It makes me feel like I have transcended the human experience, I am outside of life itself. So why would I believe that "statistics" are on my side? What statistics protect me from losing my soul, from losing my perception of reality, what so called "life" was there in the first place that I am so desperately hoping to come back to? It makes me forget that what I am experiencing is a mental health disorder, not some torturous spiritual phenomenon. I know that the only person that will answer this predicament is time himself. I patiently wait for his answer, and so far he has only told me I will get worse, I hope he will change his mind...
I look at my mom. I don't recognize her, but I recognize one thing; the pain she will feel if I am gone. I imagine the helpless misery my family would experience as they witness me slowly disappear, I can see glimpses of it now. It makes me feel horrible to think about it, and that is how I am reminded how much I love my family. I remember how much I love my friends, my skateboard, my bed, my stupid little telescope tripod that I use as a camera stand to make short videos. I remember how much I loved life, but I just didn't realize how much I did until now. I think about all these things, and I am bathed in a soft warm calmness. I can't go. I can't leave this all behind. I have so much goddamn years ahead of me, so much experiences to be had, this can't be it. Right now, existence itself doesn't make sense, I currently experience life like some uninteresting toy a kid randomly finds underneath their bed; It's just some long forgotten thing, no particular use, no purpose, in fact, I don't even know how I got it in the first place, what even is it? These existential thoughts scare me, but I try my hardest to remember it is all part of the DPDR experience. I try to promise myself that one day, It will all make sense. I will be okay, because I have to.