One day, about 8 years ago, I was following my mother through the Commissary just as I had on countless boring grocery trips before. We were on our way down the isle of canned soup and veggies when everything suddenly seemed too real. It's difficult to explain, but the closest imagery that comes to mind is that every single thing around me became extremely loud. It wasn't just noise that became overwhelming, but the items on the Commissary shelves, the florescent lights above, the solid white tiles on the ground, my own hands being held out before my eyes. Everything was sharp. It was like sensory overload, yet it wasn't. I began to panic. I started crying, because I was afraid. There was nothing unusually threatening about the environment, nothing particularly scary, but it felt unnatural, and I couldn't catch my breath.

I didn't know it at the time, but this would be later recognized as my first experience with Depersonalization Disorder. Depersonalization Disorder usually, at it's most basic level, involves symptoms such as the victim feeling as if they are "in a dream", or having an out-of-body experience. The disorder may also include "derealization" which alters the victim's experience of the environment around them, making everything outside themselves seem unreal or different than usual.

The first experience I had with the disorder, that I knew of, was coming out of an episode of depersonalization. I had no idea how long the episode had lasted, but it wasn't until I came out of it that I knew my world felt weird beforehand. Today I can usually tell when I am in a detached state, but I still do not have a solid grasp on what triggers my entry into those episodes.

I have always experienced difficulties with anxiety and phobias throughout my past, and anyone who has also been at war with themselves because of these things knows that they are not something you can just change because you "will" it to be different. Depersonalization works, or doesn't work, in the same way.

For me, Depersonalization started at a time when my family began to unravel. Mom and dad were fighting daily, and while they were never physical there was a tension in the house which made you want to hide and never come out. Mom was depressed. Dad was depressed. My whole life seemed like one huge reveal, the ultimate "coming down" experience, where my entire life before this point in time was nothing but some hazy peripheral view and I was finally waking up. It was too real. This seemed to shape my interaction with people for a long time afterward. Detaching, though an entirely involuntary act, protected me from reality. But at some point protection comes to harm us.

My best guess as to what triggers my detachment is simply trying to be around people I care about. Ones that I don't know well enough yet, who don't know me well enough yet. All throughout high school, I tried to be when I was with my fellow classmates. I tried to be myself. It was so important to me, the fear that they would reject me so great, that I would just leave without even knowing it.

Noises are far away. You lose your awareness of the world around you. It doesn't feel hot or cold outside. You don't notice the people standing across the street. You are completely present, and can understand almost everything that is going on. You are listening to the people you are with. You are processing everything they say. But you are stuck inside, unable to get out no matter your efforts. The world doesn't feel real. You do not feel like you.

It is more than social anxiety.

It is sitting in traffic, so unconvinced of the reality of your world that if I just opened the car door and touched the gravel beneath the tires...maybe then it will feel real.

It is coming home in tears after yet another outing where you did nothing. Said nothing. You became nothing. Even after you tried with all the might you could muster out of your tiny little soul, you couldn't reach for your boyfriend's hand. It's all you wanted in the world at that moment, but how can you reach outside when you're so afraid of the world that you can't even reach yourself anymore?

Disorders like Depersonalization Disorder come to us in a time of need. These things come to us as a form of salvation in a moment of emotional danger. Anxiety can be seen as a heightened form of awareness. Depersonalization, an emotional shield. These things are survival. But one day these things will start to harm us. When that moment comes, your mind will not yet be convinced of your depleted need for them, and you will need to fight with everything you have, every single day, to make sure that they do not take you over.

For those who suffer at the hands of Depersonalization Disorder, it seems like the only thing you can do is wait for the day that you don't detach, or the moment you come back. Once you're in it, you feel powerless. As powerless as the sole passenger of a panic attack. As powerless as a fly tangled in a spider's web. I can't tell you that I've conquered this particular demon of mine. In fact, even on good days, it sits behind me, waiting for the moment that I relinquish the will to be in control. Waiting for the moment that I become unsure of myself. Waiting for the moment I am made to feel like I am less than, or not wanted.

But I still do everything in my power to keep this thing at bay.

One of the things that you can do for yourself at home is a technique called "grounding". You can do breathing exercises. You can listen to a particular song. Touch several different surfaces within your home. Feel the differences in texture between your wooden desk, the glass window, and a stuffed animal. Focus on the objects in your world, and attempt to focus on your perceptions of those things.

It helps best when you form a routine, something that will be a constant experience for you. Make these tests of the senses a specific succession of objects to feel, or songs to listen to.

When I feel like I'm floating above everything else, not really in my body, the most grounding experience I have is in the outdoors. Natural light, fresh air, and quiet are very helpful in grounding my spirit. Grounding my mind and body comes from taking this adventure barefoot. To hear a breeze through the leaves of the Oregon trees. To feel the sunlight on my face. To recognize the little bumps and cracks in the pavement. To experience the temperature of that pavement and how it varies between sets of shade.

These things don't always bring me back into the full "feeling" of reality, but they help me to remember that there is a reality, even if I can't feel it.