Feeling imaginary.

[DoubtingThomas29]

You want to know what I do for a joke when I go to the pharmacy? I ask the pharmicist if they legalized cocain yet and ask her if I can get a prescription for cocain. Pretty funny huh? Or I'll ask them can I get one of every nonprescription drug you have back there, that'll get them, they go "No you can't, we don't have time for that." When I start making the big bucks, I will one of these days go to the pharmacy and buy one of every nonprescripton drug from the pharmacy and go to Mc Donald's and order 100 double cheese burgers, and laugh at them when they make that stuff.

On a serious note, you hang in there Soulwings, and listining to Ariel about praying in the house sounds like a great idea, maybe you could hang up some art and plants in the apartment make it look reall artsy or something too. Remember don't do what I would do, do what you would do! Hang in there!

 

[EbonNelumbo]

Per the OP: I've felt this way. I feel like everything is a blur, nothing is really real.

 

[Soulwings]

Yes, Hallee. That's exactly how it feels. It's really scary and it sucks. Especially the thoughts of the apartment being alive, which really don't have anything to do with the feeling imaginary; they just come along with it, sort of. I don't know. I can't explain it very well...

 

[EbonNelumbo]

Here's my description from a blog 2.5 years ago, see if this is accurate, April:

It's all a blur.
A progression of reality occuring around me, which I wait listlessly in a parellel dimension, simply observing things as they occur. I go through the motions from day to day, those which are required to assimilate to the rest of society all the while being completely oblivious to what is really going on.
A mixed view of road markers as you pass them driving by at 85mph, things blurring together in one steady stream, passing you everywhere you look. Riding in a silent car with an invisible driver, absolutely devoid of sound, smell, taste. There is nothing, nothing but your thoughts to console, or torment you. Nothing but your past, the worries of the future, everything but now. Your mind is filled with smoke, everything hazy, a jargon of emotions, of feelings, or desires, streamlined into a grey inkblot. Nothing makes since anymore, nothing seems real, it's all a blur.
It's all a blur. It's held together, life is now held together, with the thoughts which brought you where you are. Conversations occur much like a broken record playing in a metal-sheathed room, everything echoing, blending, becoming one long sound of nothing.
Everything is nothing, nothing like the blackness of night to a blind-folded blind person, nothing like stillness of humanity at the wake of someone great, nothing like the meaning of existence.
Turmoil, rage and anguish are patient beings. They take turns to torment the maladjusted, often teaming together to persecute deserving mortals. Rage is the reflection of the past, the failures and mistakes and lessons unlearned, recurring and endless. Anguish is the feeling which accompanies rage, the pain from what was, and what has been and what isn't and will never be, and often what was and will forever more remain tainted. Turmoil is being in a metal, rusted cage in a molding and dilapidated torture chambers, where screams echo, piercing the complete and total lack of all light. Where the only light is the shimmer of the blade from the flash of fire in the enemy's eyes, and crimson coats the soul of every being which screams from that realm. Turmoil is being alone in a ghost inhabited forest where the only other creatures are things which cannot even be imagined nor created, for they exist, and come, from hell itself, a spawn of Hades.
Anguish, turmoil and rage...they exist when it's all a blur.

 

[Soulwings]

That sounds pretty accurate, Hallee, although it wasn't quite that bad at its worst. Now I'm coming out of it somewhat, but I still feel imaginary, especially when I come back to the apartment. It's more like it's my little bubble and I'm hiding away from the world in it... not so psychotic anymore, though - whew!!!

 

[Jeshu]

Here's my description from a blog 2.5 years ago, see if this is accurate, April:

It's all a blur.
A progression of reality occuring around me, which I wait listlessly in a parellel dimension, simply observing things as they occur. I go through the motions from day to day, those which are required to assimilate to the rest of society all the while being completely oblivious to what is really going on.
A mixed view of road markers as you pass them driving by at 85mph, things blurring together in one steady stream, passing you everywhere you look. Riding in a silent car with an invisible driver, absolutely devoid of sound, smell, taste. There is nothing, nothing but your thoughts to console, or torment you. Nothing but your past, the worries of the future, everything but now. Your mind is filled with smoke, everything hazy, a jargon of emotions, of feelings, or desires, streamlined into a grey inkblot. Nothing makes since anymore, nothing seems real, it's all a blur.
It's all a blur. It's held together, life is now held together, with the thoughts which brought you where you are. Conversations occur much like a broken record playing in a metal-sheathed room, everything echoing, blending, becoming one long sound of nothing.
Everything is nothing, nothing like the blackness of night to a blind-folded blind person, nothing like stillness of humanity at the wake of someone great, nothing like the meaning of existence.
Turmoil, rage and anguish are patient beings. They take turns to torment the maladjusted, often teaming together to persecute deserving mortals. Rage is the reflection of the past, the failures and mistakes and lessons unlearned, recurring and endless. Anguish is the feeling which accompanies rage, the pain from what was, and what has been and what isn't and will never be, and often what was and will forever more remain tainted. Turmoil is being in a metal, rusted cage in a molding and dilapidated torture chambers, where screams echo, piercing the complete and total lack of all light. Where the only light is the shimmer of the blade from the flash of fire in the enemy's eyes, and crimson coats the soul of every being which screams from that realm. Turmoil is being alone in a ghost inhabited forest where the only other creatures are things which cannot even be imagined nor created, for they exist, and come, from hell itself, a spawn of Hades.
Anguish, turmoil and rage...they exist when it's all a blur.

Don't you find it amazing how acute mental pain can be? Frightening how it drags us into a different dimension of existence altogether. I used to call it the torture chamber!

Which truly is!