Things are bad, but not in the “omg I’m so depressed” way.

Fugue — a state or period of loss of awareness of one’s identity, often coupled with flight from one’s usual environment.

I’m functional, but dissociating. I go to work and do work and go home. It’s nearly impossible to go to the store or visit friends. I have the need to exist solely in well-known safe and quiet places. My throat begins to close if I think about any variance from a well-worn path.

I might start crying if I try to order a sandwich and I don’t know what kind of bread or cheese or anything. I don’t know what I like.

My partner does — my constant — and the things I like are in my refrigerator, in my kitchen, safe.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s