It wasn’t the first time I felt like I wasn’t in my own body. I sat across from the therapist, unsure if she was real or just a mirage I’d made up in my own head, a pixelated image to entertain me like the characters on TV who felt more real than flesh-and-blood companions. I wanted to reach across the room and poke her, but I knew that was against the rules. What finally did seem real was her diagnosis that I have depersonalization disorder.
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