Dissociation: pt III

I think. Who knows, really.

When I was little, I pretty much had run of the house in the morning, before mom woke up, and when I’d get out of school. I would read anything I could get my hands on. Much of it was inappropriate for my age. Most of it. Potentially all of it.

I loved all of it.

In particular, I remember coming across a Vonnegut novel wherein the gravity of earth would fluctuate like the weather. High gravity days. Low gravity days. I remember being scandalized by how this author — who everyone said was very good — talked about his erection. Words, at this point, and people who made books, were heroes to me and somehow supposed to produce something different from the raunchy banter of the people around me. I was wall into high school before I was able to not flinch and in fact, embrace a well placed “fuck” in good writing. I got over it. Obvs.

But that idea, the idea that something so central to existence would change and wreak havoc on daily life was intriguing and fun.

I’ve come to think about dissociation in much the same way. There are days when it’s normal and I barely think about it. When it’s light, I feel happy and connected and in control.

Today was not fun. It was, to continue to squeeze every possible ounce out of Vonnegut’s weird and wonderful creation, what I would call a high dissociation day. Gravity was heavy. I went out for lunch with a friend and was dizzy and couldn’t concentrate on the conversation…