Dissociate: poetry

If it weren’t for my fingers

Sliding back and forth over the grooves

In the arm rest

I would not even know I were here.

Only when I noticed what my hand was doing

That it was my body that was moving

Did I realize that I was infact still alive.

I had been staring at a spider web

Sitting outside

as it sat in the sun

And a butterfly

flew up and around and around it

For what could have been minutes or hours or none.

I will never know.

Dissociative states can either be manic

and panic

Or sleepwalking half dead

I’m not sure which I dislike more

Each brings it’s own variety of dread.

Both are a sentence I wish I did not have to live with.

So to tell me ” It isn’t what happened to you, it’s what you do with it,”

well that is just bullshit.

There is nothing TO do ABOUT it.

It IS it.

And that’s all their really is.

4 thoughts on “Dissociate: poetry

  1. Such a vivid way to describe dissociation. I’m sorry you are dealing with this. And you know…I didn’t think of manic and panic as a state of dissociation before reading this but it’s true. I can think of many times I felt that way, being in a really upset or angry state, and can understand now, how that was dissociation.

    Therapists don’t seem to understand that dissociation isn’t only DID. I remember describing that and explaining that in the DBT group once and I got a blank look from one of the other clients plus silence from the therapist.

    Oh and my mother used to say that shit…it’s not what happened to you it’s what you do with it. Well fuck that. You’re right it’s complete and utter bullshit. People hurt you and then make it your fault for what they did or that you’re hurt about it. Another blame the victim tactic to lie to themselves. Or if it’s someone who didn’t do the damage that you tell and they say that, they’re minimizing your pain. Dickheads either way.


    • This was written from exactly what I was experiencing when I realized I was sitting there and we needed to go to an appointment. And had no idea how long I was there and I thought how odd that this is the same as when I am completely frantic. I mean different. But still the same. Not really there.
      I knew you would understand the whole don’t tell me it’s what i do with it. Fuck that and fuck everyone who makes someone feel like it’s a fucking choice. It’s what I do with it? Like really? That makes it seem like I have a fucking choice and I don’t always have a choice. Who would CHOOSE to live in a dissociative triggered state I mean ….ugh. You summed it up really well. And I don’t even know why that became part of my poem other than I saw someone post it on Instagram and thought well I’m sure that is a positive spin kind of way to say make something good out of bad but how about just let yourself be really.

      Liked by 1 person

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