Looking for Similarities

I wrote a poem about my experience with dissociation and depersonalization the other day, and I thought I would share it. When it was particularly bad for me, I wish I would have known what was happening and known other people were going through it too.

 

I feel disconnected from my own being

I look into the mirror and I do not know who I am

And not in a philosophical way

 

I am surprised by my own reflection

I do not know what I look like

Pictures from six years ago show who I think I am

But the mirror is telling me a different story

 

When people tell me I’m pretty, it does not feel like a compliment

I could not tell you if my body is objectively beautiful or not

 

I remember who I was before

What I wore

How I did my makeup

What I looked like

Now I am not sure

It’s one hell of a coping mechanism

 

I spend half an hour staring at myself in the mirror

Not because I’m vain, but because I’m curious

Have I always had this freckle next to my bottom lip?

When did my eyes get these gold specks in them?

I feel as if I am examining myself under a microscope

Looking for familiarity

 

My most recognizable feature is a line of three freckles on my right leg

It’s so minuscule and yet it reminds me, in times of desperation, that I still have the same body

 

My phone recognizes my face as three different people, as if it knows my inner thoughts

I constantly compare photographs from Christmas of 2015 to recent pictures, to find similarities

I’m playing Where’s Waldo with my own body, but I don’t win anything in the end

Not even satisfaction

 

My soul walks around this world and my body is just along for the ride

Showing up in my reflection to remind me how separated I’ve become

Maybe this is why I don’t go shopping

I’m too old to be dressing up a doll

 

 

 

P.S. If you haven’t seen yet, I’m doing a Q&A in honor of Queerly Texan turning one! Leave your questions in the comments below on this post or the Birthday post!

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Ragged Doll

I am a ragged doll

Dropped in the mud too many times

Beaten, broken, and stained

 

I am a ragged doll

Cast aside

Sprawled out in the bottom of the toy chest

Bending beneath the weight of better newer toys

 

Toys that haven’t been stained

Haven’t been dropped in the mud

Haven’t been broken

 

I spend my nights awake

Wondering if someone will ever want this ragged doll

This ragged, broken doll

 

Some days I appear to be new

My porcelain skin has yet to start crazing

When I shatter will you still pick me over the other toys?

 

I’d want a shiny new doll if I were you

These stains are off putting

And these chips are more trouble than they’re worth

 

In a sea of shiny toys

Who would pick this ragged doll

This ragged, broken doll

Attack

Sometimes I write poetry when I’m feeling overwhelmed and I decided to share some today. I really like reading other peoples poetry, so I hope you enjoy mine.

 

Attack

I am tired
Tired of pain
Tired of “cures”
Tired of being a “head scratcher”

No amount of water or exercise is going to cure me
and in five years do you honestly believe i haven’t tried?

I don’t want to be hesitant on good days
I don’t want to question when my next flare will be
I don’t want to live my life in fear

I’m more scared of the future than excited
I just want to go to sleep
Because my nightmare goes on while I’m awake

But then some days it isn’t bad
Some weeks it isn’t bad
Some months it isn’t that bad

I crawl out of my dark hole to see the sun
I think it’s over
But the beast has other plans

She comes back with a vengeance
Making up for lost time
Putting me in my place

How dare i believe i could live a normal life?
That’s too much to ask for

But then she takes her hand from my throat once again
Giving me hope that she’ll leave me be
But i know her games

I see her lurking in the corners
I see her darkness underneath the cracks
She’s still her, just waiting to attack