Dissociated Reality

“Margot. Margot!” said my mom. I snapped out of my safe space and into the great unknown. 

With what felt like word vomit, I uttered, “yes - I’m sorry - what did you say?” I made eye contact with the woman behind the counter, swallowed, and felt my stomach drop as the next words came out of her mouth. 

“They’re ready for you whenever you are!” she said with a smile; a grin that was somewhere in between sincere and deceiving. “Through those double doors you’ll head into the lunch room where they’ll have daily inspection.” Again with that smile. Daily inspection? What does that even mean?

I felt numb. My mother gave her goodbyes to me and her thank yous to the staff. Then, I was on my own. Tunnel vision took over my eyes as the woman behind the counter became the woman guiding me to those ominous double doors. They slowly opened and echoes of my fate began to fill my ears. Sounds of mumbling, crying, and electronic beeping seemed to billow out of the lunchroom. 

My anxiety was at an all-time high. Each step was a chore as my entire body shook in anticipation of what the day could hold. As I stepped into the lunchroom, the eyes of every individual shot in my direction. Why is she shaking? What is that outfit? She must be new here - look at how anxious she is! Each stare held a different comment attached to a fear of mine. There was no way I was going to survive the next seven weeks here. 

I made my way to the end of the line where I held my arms crossed, bit my nails, darted my eyes, and tapped my foot. I inspected the room as I stood there. In front of me was someone, I assume a therapist or leader of some kind, searching lunch boxes for contraband or anything that could be used to harm someone. In front of them was another leader using a metal detector to find yet more contraband. On top of that - wait. My eyes stopped dead in their tracks when I reached the corner of the room. Standing there, arms dropped to their sides, was a girl. She seemed out of the ordinary; eyes not quite human, clothing covered in soot, and a blank stare directed straight at me. 

As one does, I proceeded to scream for help. I yelled of this demonic girl in the corner and how she seemed to be staring at me. In five seconds flat, my hands were held behind my back and I was being asked, “what girl? It’s ok, there’s no one there. We’re only here to help.” I felt helpless and, honestly, crazy. The truth was, the girl was there and the fear I felt was warranted. Not to them. To them, I was just another patient with hallucinations - a nut case. 

I flailed and lashed my limbs until I had no more energy. They shoved me into a room with blank walls and told me that I had to, “take deep breaths and calm down,” before I would be allowed out. 

I began to sob as I felt a wave of desperation fell over me. How much longer would I feel this way?  I was so extremely tired of being stuck in this loop. It was inescapable - anxiety, hallucinations, self harm, repeat.  What began as desperation became unadulterated anger. I pulled my hair, scratched my arms, and banged my head on the wall. If my mind was going to remain a hellscape, I had to do the only thing in my control and make my physical reality parallel to my mental reality. Pain swallowed my physical self and I felt relief.  

I should have expected what came next. The same people who restrained me minutes before came back for round two. The same moment I thought I was in control became the moment I knew I had lost it. 

In the midst of all of this, I saw a glimpse of that godforsaken girl in the narrow window of the door. Fear creeped down my spine and all the way down to my toes. I let out a scream from the depths of my soul and yelled, “there she is again! Do you not see the way she’s looking at me?” There was no response from the people holding my hands behind my chilled spine. At this point, all I felt was hopelessness. 

It felt like an eternity before I was calm enough to sit still. Even then, there was overwhelming dread swallowing my being. As I sat in the corner of the psychiatrists’ office, awaiting their arrival, tingles shivered up the nape of my neck. The feeling that someone was watching me was something I couldn’t ignore. I slowly turned my head to face behind me and, yet again, there she was. There was an initial shock, undoubtedly. However, this time, I took  step after apprehensive step towards her. It was the moment I was about to touch her inhuman hand when the door swung open. I gasped and scurried anxiously back to my chair. 

The doctor gave me a confused look and ‘joked’, “you look like you’ve seen a ghost!” 

I gave a polite, quiet laugh and muttered under my breath, “little do you know…”

He went right to the point, “so you’re having hallucinations.” Embarrassment filled my face and I could feel a red flush come over me.

“I guess you could call them that… Or maybe you guys just keep missing what I’m seeing.” I said with a new-found confidence. 

He sighed and continued, “unfortunately, they will be considered hallucinations until proven otherwise. So, for the time being, you’ll be taking aripiprazole to alleviate those visions. It should help with depression and schizophrenia moving forward.”

I answered with a soft, “ok,” and twiddled my fingers as I anxiously awaited leaving the situation. 

Hours had passed after I took my first dose of the new medication. Much to the doctor’s dismay, I had two more visions of the girl. These times, I focused on relaxing and even touched her hand in one of the ‘hallucinations.’ How could something so tangible and undeniable be the root of what they call mental illness? It just didn’t make sense.

Days had gone by and I was still seeing the girl. At this point, there was no way that she was simply a counterfeit reality - she had to be real. I whispered shakily as she made another appearance, “you were never a figment of my imagination, were you?”