There I go again feeling like this: detached, distant, invisible. Maybe it's because I'm agitated and I feel like I can't control anything anymore. It happens a lot lately, mainly when I'm in a group of people, with my friends, in the evening, on the weekends, or at the dinner table with others. I shut down, completely. Everything around me moves, while I remain still, missing my grip to get on the train of reality.

Mouths move, and I watch them speak. I try to concentrate on each word, so much so that with each word the goes by I have already forgotten the previous one, preventing me from constructing a meaningful sentence.

The others around me appear imperceptible to me, almost as if they were abstract clouds floating in the air. They are not real physical bodies. I am not a real physical person. Who am I? What am I? What am I doing here? What is the world? Why does it exist? Where do we come from? Why do I see and feel? Why do I feel agony, sadness or joy? I try to focus on every word they say, but I can't stop these thoughts.

And annoyingly so, other people seem so superficial to me, as if life were passing over them like a mountain stream flowing downstream. As if no one felt anything, as if pain didn’t exist. But someone else in the world is suffering in this very moment…why are we here? What superior right do we have to be here? Why aren't we doing anything? Shouldn't we get up and take action? How are we supposed to stay calm?

So all these thoughts keep me outside from the world, they are deafening. The world outside of me becomes a buzz, background noise. I can't think of anything that has to do with the conversation my friends are having. I have nothing to add, nothing to argue with. Because in the end I don't know what they’re talking about. Or rather, I know but I don't register it. It's just a bunch of words thrown around, uncatchable. Yet those conversations are very normal, things I’d also say at times when I am well. Whereas now, they seem pointless, mindless and cold.

And even though I'm sitting at the table with them, I couldn't be further from them. If I notice, I try to bring my attention back to them. But so many thoughts carry me back away every time I get closer to the feeling of being alive.

I focus on my breathing, I squeeze my eyes shut and pinch myself. “You're here, you're alive and you're with your friends”. I sit back down. I force myself to laugh at jokes and to say something. “Come back here, reconnect” I tell myself. I slowly come to my senses, feeling attached to a physical body. I begin to feel tired. It's a good sign, I think, it means I’m back to reality.

I can't wait to get into bed. There I can think about whatever I want alone, without feeling guilty about being in the presence of other people. The ceiling feels a little like it's flying over me, but also a little like it's about to collapse. The room seems giant to me, and so I remember how small and tiny I am. I'm nothing in the world, I'm dust of cells that can disintegrate at any moment. And thoughts come and go...

I stop, squint my eyes, and decide to write. Writing things down makes me feel real, I can see in front of me how I feel, giving me a sense of security and finally, of concreteness.