My Teen Living | tøp

Derealization

Tyler's POV:

"Derealization is an alteration in the perception of the external world, causing those with the condition to perceive it as 'unreal', 'distant', 'distorted,' or falsified'.

"So, what do you mean?" I asked my teacher.

"I have a feeling that you may have this, Tyler," he looks down at his desk and types something else in his computer, "that or.."

He gets up from his desk and goes to the printer where something else is printing.

He hands me another paper.

"Depersonalization is a dissociative phenomenon characterized by a subjective feeling of detachment from oneself, manifesting as a sense of disconnection from one's thoughts, emotions, sensations or actions."

"These two are very similar," my teacher says, "derealization basically means you feel like the things around you aren't real but depersonalized means that you don't feel real,"

I cleared my throat, "and what makes you think I have this,"

My teacher sighed and sat down next to me to the open desk where Josh usually sits. He wasn't here today for some reason.

"Well obviously I don't see your perspectives and I don't have your eyes," he started, "but as you know in the beginning of the year, I've had a talk with your mom, and she's explained what you have been through,"

"Huh?" I asked still not understanding.

"The panic attacks.. your sleep deprivation, your anxiety, your stress and your freshman year where she found marijuan-"

"Okay okay I get it," I cut him off. I wasn't proud of my freshman year. I would get high three times in a row with my new friends because I felt like I had too. Since they do it too what's so bad of me doing it too. That was my mindset. That was long gone though. It was junior year, September. It's been a month since school started, "and are those like.. symptoms of this 'di-real-i-' thing?"

"Derealization or depersonalization, yes," he spoke.

"I got ahold of your middle school grades and saw that you were a decent student, you've only had two F's but that was in math for 6th grade first semester and 8th first semester as well," he straightened his posture, "but your freshman and sophomore year grades... they weren't so well,"

"Well yeah, it's the first years of high school, a lot of people suck in the beginning,"

"That yes, but you also have been through a lot according to your mom during the summer, also the weed in your closet" he mumbled a bit sarcastically like it was supposed to be easy to understand.

"So.. like I feel like I'm out of my body?"
I looked up at him.

"For depersonalization."

"I feel like nothing is real?"

"Derealization," he returned.

I sat there in silence for a bit thinking. I looked around and looked at myself, at the clothes I was wearing, the markings on the desk, the other kids talking to their friends about which "disorder" they have. Maybe I did have it. But what if I don't and I just have bad sleep or something- no there's no way I could have it because-

"Tyler," he cut my thoughts off.

"Huh?"

He sighed, "that right there proves that you might have it even more,"

"What just because I was zoning out?"

"Yes," he replied not looking at me.

"Isn't this a little like, I don't know, over exaggerating?"

"This is what I think you have, I'm not saying that you have it for sure. Teen Living is to understand what teens are going through, and hopefully they could get it checked out by their own parents or doctors in their own time, does that make sense? I'm here trying to understand what you might be going through. After all you could only attend this class if your parents or guardians signed you in,"

I slowly nod my head. I understood but I didn't at the same time.

"Now, I want you to give this to your mom or therapist so they could do an actual professional diagnosis and see if you do have this, okay?"

"Fine," I grabbed my paper and shoved it into my backpack.

||-//

a/n : tw sh!!!

"What if I feel both?" I said aloud. But no one heard me. I was in the bathroom sitting on the floor. I told my mom I was going to go shower but I found myself looking at myself in the mirror. Once I was aware of me spacing out, my eyes seemed widened out. I shook it off and sighed.

Maybe I did have it but I didn't want to be those corny people that think they have depression because they were sad for one day or those people who act blind because their eyes are blurry when they wake up.

!!starts here!!
I look at what's in my hand. A purple eyebrow razor that I saw my sister using on her peach fuzz one time. I opened it slowly and saw the blade, the sharp metal blade. I haven't cut myself in a year. I honestly kinda forgot about since I was getting high all the time. But if "my sensations" or "actions" don't feel real then..

I didn't feel much. I still felt the piercing pain and how it glided across my skin but I didn't feel anything.

I got frustrated. I started to slash across my forearms to feel something. Just something. I wanted to feel the pain so I knew I was in reality. But it didn't hurt as much as it did when I used to do it, hell I don't even remember it hurting last year. I don't remember anything from last year.

I stared my now cut forearms and saw all the slashes on it. I didn't cut so deep for blood to come gushing out (I'm pretty sure I would've felt that) but just deep enough to leave red marks on me. I felt them with my finger. It felt a nice sensation on my fingertip as I brush against my fresh wounds. I put the razor blade back in the little eyebrow razor thing and put it back in its original spot.

!!safe to read!!
I was silence for a bit but got up and got the water running.

After my shower I was in my room again.

*Squish Squish*

I lay back down my messy bed. I never kept it clean, I never bothered to keep it clean. I heard my bones from my back crack as I rested on my pillows. I looked at what was in my hand.

Blue slime I got from the dollar store. It was meant to be for Josh's birthday gift but I honestly haven't had the time to give it to him. (I have no motivation to go over to his house and give it anymore)

I stretch the slime out and use it to block the light from my ceiling fan.

I examine the small air bubbles already creating in it. I set the slime back in its container and grab my phone and open the notes app.

I would probably forget next morning if I don't write right now. I write almost everyday, (well at least I try too) about what happened everyday so I can remember.

So I can remember