i am living in a constant dreamstate

…because i can’t drink.. because i have the worst of the Asian genes, i guess smoking marijuana will be my thing!!! I will do the drug!

There was about 4 or 5 of us. I was maybe 15 years old. We were huddled around this movie theatre plaza in my hometown when the boys were passing around a poorly rolled joint. They took the first few hits and let me have my round. It had been a while since I first smoked. I got more and more excited to be able to do it again since it became so popular. I could be that cool stoner chick. I was 3 tokes in until I finally felt something.

About an hour later, my dad picked us up. I was tense and rigid at the prospect of him finding out. ‘BE COOL, DON’T SAY ANYTHING’. I’d scream, telepathically, as everybody was hunched together in the back seat.

It wasn’t until I woke up in the morning that I felt it.

I was still high.

The room was dodgy. It felt like I was watching the world through a screen. Everything was so much further from my own eyes. I would look at my hands, waving them and feeling as though something else was doing it.

Over the course of a few weeks (or months), I freaked out. I cried. I had never felt so rejected and discontent. I felt as though my life would never truly be my life so as long as I kept feeling this way.

Before I smoked that night, I had been living with a lower level version of this dream state. I actually got my mom to take me to get contact lenses because I thought it was a problem with my vision.

When I finally got the trial pair in, I had to walk along the streets waiting for my mom. I remember looking at cars zipping past me in the dark, feeling exactly the way I did before I had the contacts in.

I searched every corner of the internet, hoping there was some magic cure. I talked to therapists and psychologists and social workers in hopes of figuring out what was wrong with me (and received nothing but confused expressions and simple to-the-book techniques like eat right and sleep). It wasn’t until I found a name that I was shown a light of hope.

Derealization. Depersonalization.

It feels like the world is vignetted. It feels like theres this blanket screen covering my eyes, obstructing my vision, keeping me away from feeling the vividness of reality. It feels like I’m this RPG character trying to get through life, but the screen is dimmed to the lowest setting. It feels like my limbs aren’t mine.

It’s been years since I figured this out. And to this day, I still have it.

But I only recently remembered that I even have it.

I forgot.

It was the days I learned to laugh again, the days I performed and made jokes, empathized and cried… that I realized how little this mental illness actually effected me.

I used to define myself as incapable of living life. But really, it was merely the thoughts convincing me.

I’m growing older, and I’m realizing that your perspective of reality marks the way you live life. If you see the world as a cynical Sally and everything you ever come across is perceived in a pessimistic way, the magnitude of a bad encounter will set the stage for the rest of your day.. and maybe even your life… where something slightly off would feel as though the world were being shaken.

I decided against that. It’s my life. I’ll live exactly the way I want to. I decided to forget and make do with what I have. If I’m still able to feel and express myself freely, nothing can stop me. So what’s the point in stressing out about it?

I am here. I am present. I am alive. And that’s more than enough for me.

PS. I don’t smoke weed.

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