A day in the life of dissociative disorder.
Age: 19 Year: 2014
I awaken to the haze of a mid-winter morning, foggy from my drug induced sleep. Mornings are hard now, not only because it takes a while to shake off the effects of the Temazepam, but because overnight is the longest I go without my current safety net of other medications. To try and stay away from the onslaught of emotion that will invariably come sooner or later, my morning routine now involves a hefty dose of 600mg Quetiapine (Seroquel) with a side of Valium, all before I get out of bed.
How did it come to this? Well, things have snowballed the last couple of months. It wasn't long after leaving butterfly that it became all too apparent we had tackled the coping mechanism that was my eating disorder, but not the underlying cause of my struggles. I still have the overwhelming and confusing emotional drivers that had led to me wanting to drown out my mind with food or lack thereof.
I went from seemingly on top of things, getting jobs again, re-entering study, engaging in life, to incapacitated by depression, paired with gaps in time that went missing from my memory. I was denying the existence of my emotions and struggles, putting on a masquerade that even had me convinced for a while, but the body and mind are more powerful than that. They remember, and sooner or later they will remind you in some way.
Once the familiar and comfortable haze of the medications kicks in I feel safe enough to get out of bed. I live in fear of myself now. In fear of when the next emotional onslaught will come and trigger my conscious brain to detach from my awareness. But the cost of the safety that comes with these medications, particularly the high doses I have been prescribed, is that I no longer have the capacity to feel or think much at all. So I head downstairs back to my usual spot on the couch, and in front of yet another movie eat whatever breakfast mum puts in front of me.
In the past two months me and mum have made it through almost the entire Drama section at the local Video Ezy. Hundreds of movies, yet I don't remember a single one. I sit in a daze and stare at the screen, some colouring-in pages in front of me. I can barely keep my textas within the lines, and all the colours blur into a single mess of greyish brown in my mind. But that's okay. As long as I am here, sedated, with my fluffy blanket, soft toys and Maya close by, I am safe.
If anything goes awry, if a feeling of anxiety comes, I take another Valium. We also have an allotment of another 300mg of Seroquel that is 'PRN', so I can take that as needed. I can only hope it is enough to see me through today without incident.
Sometimes though, it isn't. I'm not sure what happens to trigger this one, but suddenly I feel the rush that starts somewhere deep inside and envelops me like a wave you had your back to. As the emotion crashes in, I feel myself slipping away. I grasp my soft toy Ray and cover myself in the blanket, trying anything to stay attached to the moment and within the room. The only thing I remember after this, is a moment of lucidity in which I find myself sprinting down my street towards the local shops, wondering why I am running and what I am running from.
Later, I am told by mum that I went to 'that place' again. I was sitting on the couch, colouring and watching my movies as always, when mum came in to find me curled into a ball, rocking back and forth with Ray in my arms. Maya was licking my face as we had taught her, trying to bring me back. As mum tried to comfort me, I whispered in a zombie-like manner 'Simone's not home'. Staring at the wall as I rocked, mum kept talking, but it must have become too much as soon I was up and running out of the door.
I'm not sure how much later it was, but I eventually re-entered reality sitting on the floor of a public bathroom. I was covered in blood, resting my head on the toilet seat. A packet of blades that I must have stolen sat nearby. The sense of fear and disappointment that I couldn't control myself again brings about a heaviness that cannot be put into words. One thought enters my mind. This thought is the source of a lot of my fear.
If I can lose time and do this to myself, what happens if all of a sudden I lose control and hurt someone else? I can live with me damaging my own being, but if I were to unconsciously hurt another human, and not even remember doing it? ... I can't let that happen.
With that sense of dread and responsibility I go about the tasks that have become somewhat routine. Clean the bathroom, clean myself as best I can with toilet paper, and dispose of everything. Then I walk into fresh air, not even caring that I must look a scary sight to anyone that sees me, and call an ambulance. I need to be locked up, taken to a place I can't get away from to keep others safe.
On the phone to 000 I answer the questions I have come to know all too well. This isn't the first time this has happened, and each time I detach more and more from this process. I tell them I have self-harmed and need stitches, that I am walking home and would prefer to be picked up from my home address. That yes it is urgent, I can't risk losing myself again.
Arriving home I am welcomed to the open arms of mum, who knows by now that panicking herself will only trigger me again. She puts in a valiant effort to stay calm and talk as if it's just another day, part of the routine. I see the pain in her eyes and it stabs me in the chest with a pang of guilt and shame. I tell her I have already called an ambulance, help is on it's way. We sit on the front steps waiting. My arms and legs are stinging, but that is helping me stay present so I appreciate the pain.
Soon enough the ambulance arrives and with relief I see that it is one of the local paramedics whom I have come to know that is driving. Comforted by his presence, I am shuffled into the back of the ambulance and we drive to the hospital. On the drive they do a quick assessment and determine that yes I do need stitches, possibly surgery to repair the nerves, but that I am not in immediate danger of bleeding too much. Exhausted, I lay there and shut my eyes, feeling the to and fro of the ambulance. I wonder if this nightmare will ever end.
At the hospital emergency room the routine is again familiar. I get a wristband, because as soon as you are inside you become a number in the system. Nurses and doctors come and go, the usual questions are asked, I am taken to a curtained off area and cleaned by a nurse. Eventually a doctor comes along with a stitch kit and goes to work. Sometimes they are silent and foreboding, giving off an air that is hard to perceive as anything but blame. Other times they are kind and chatty, doing what they can to lighten the situation. These times I always appreciate that I am treated like a human being and made to feel somewhat normal and valued in a completely warped situation. I did not ask for this either.
Once I am 'fixed' the paperwork continues as plans are made. It is late enough in the day now for me to take my next 600mg dose of Seroquel, and once I have that and another valium in my system I feel safe enough to return home with Mum for the night with plans of being admitted to my usual private hospital tomorrow. I don't want to go back. I want to stay home with Maya and my family. But I feel I have to because I don't trust myself. How can I when I am able to do these horrific things without even knowing it at the time?
Once home it is straight to bed with my usual 20mg dose of Temazepam on board. At times it feels like all I do is try to survive the times between pills. Today I didn't. I failed. But tomorrow at least I am back to the dreaded but safe place that at least serves some purpose for protection, and giving my poor family another break. There the people are paid to help rather than forced to. There, no one suffers but me.
" As the emotion crashes in, I feel myself slipping away. "
Dissociations are not always this extreme. This is during the time when mine was at its worst, but other times it is more of an insidious feeling of constantly being detached from what you are doing, moving through life in a dream like state. It can seem like you are watching yourself do things rather than actually doing them. Or it can be the feeling that nothing around you and the people you see aren't real, but part of some virtual reality. When complete memory loss came, those times truly were petrifying as I worried about what I might do. I can only imagine how hard it also was for those around me as I told people 'Simone isn't home' and the like, talking about myself in third person. Also, this is just my experience of the disorder, which can manifest in many different ways in different people. The most important thing to remember is that underneath it all, the human being is still there. Maya was a service dog for me at this time and trained to bring me back to reality by licking my face. Things that made me feel safe brought me back quickest and I have seen things like weighted blankets, cold showers, holding ice, cups of tea and similar work for me and others.
For more information head to organisations such as SANE, Headspace and Orygen Youth Health. A useful fact sheet can be found at https://www.orygen.org.au/Education-Training/Resources-Training/Resources/Free/Fact-Sheets/Dissociation-trauma.
A reminder I am doing this to raise awareness and funds for Headpsace and the amazing work they do. If you can, please head to https://www.thepushupchallenge.com.au/team/the-power-to-push-on to donate and help keep their life-saving services going. All donations are tax deductable and anyone that donates (Providing name and email) goes in the draw to wind a brand new Sunnto 5 Sports Watch thanks to the support of my amazing running sponsor Suunto.
Still We Rise.