Sometimes it occurs to me just how derealized I am all the time. Like it only happens once a week or so where I’ll just suddenly realize…
Holy shit I’m real.
I am actually living and breathing and existing in this space and my life is real and everything that’s happening is real.
I’ll usually only have that feeling of being hyper-present in the universe for like… five minutes, until I get distracted or whatever and then I just go back into this daze. I don’t feel time passing, everything just seems so infinite. I don’t really pay attention to where I am or who I’m with or even what I’m doing or saying, even precise, focused things, or some sort of deep conversation.
So when the realization happens I realize that I wasn’t even aware of what I was doing up until that point. It’s not a blackout, I remember it, I just wasn’t… paying attention, I guess. To my whole life and everything in it.
I’m pretty sure derealization can be a part of depression but it’s usually only for brief periods, rather than… the norm. And yeah, I’m depressed, majorly, but it doesn’t feel like it’s that bad, you know? But I could be saying this because I literally haven’t been NOT depressed for more than one month at MOST at a time since I was about ten so feeling this absolutely empty and disconnected might not actually be normal. It’s also kind of a weird thought how much I’m not actually bothered by it. Like… yeah, I’m in a big pit right now for other reasons, but for the most part I don’t even realize I’m depressed. It’s just so /normal/ for me.
Sometimes I wish I had something internal to relate to, to know from memory what it’s like to not be depressed, to be “normal” and optimistic and… happy?
But then I shake it off. I’m fine how I am, I look bad next to most people but on my own I don’t actively think “wow I’m so depressed” all the time.
This probably looks really bad to most people. Like… my mind is /fucked/, in so many more ways than just the above. And here I am, seeing absolutely no reason to do anything about it. Not that I “don’t want to be happy”, I am happy with how I am. I’m not happy with my situation, but myself, the way /I/ am as an individual, I love. It just doesn’t seem particularly appealing to me to be any different than I am.
Is that true, spiritual happiness? Being so absolutely comfortable with how you are, no matter how shitty your body or your life or your mind is? Buddha would probably say so. Most people would probably see it as someone who doesn’t fit their definition of happy, so they must be in need of outside “help”.
I’m rambling a bit so I’ll cut this off here. But it’s interesting, isn’t it? Existentialism and psychoanalyzing yourself are both fun.