I have little clue as to how I can adequately explain how it feels to be detached from reality.
It isn’t quite like dreaming, where the absurdity of it all and total lack of causality is what makes them so confusing; but then again, you only notice the absurdity of your dreams when you wake up. While you’re dreaming, everything, however strange, makes perfect sense. Regardless, detachment from reality doesn’t quite feel like that. It isn’t quite like what a ghost must experience either, as people are directly aware of your presence whether they acknowledge it or not. Isn’t quite like feeling like an extraterrestrial inhabiting a human’s body, as confusing as it must/would be, knowing the names of all earthly objects as well as their intended purpose, but wondering why it is designed a certain way. It feels, perhaps, as much of a stretch as it is theoretically, like your consciousness exists in a fourth spatial dimension while your body resides in the third, with time being the fourth temporal dimension… but not quite. The sensation is, as best as I could explain it, like smoking at dawn, when the sun is just high enough on the horizon so it illuminates the skies but not enough that you can see its round, golden form. Smoking at dawn on an empty stomach and running on three hours of sleep in a restricted area no one is allowed in. That’s how it feels. Disorienting, uncomfortable, in an unpleasant daze, with that lurking feeling of not belonging, of imposing. Like you aren’t meant to be there, but it is impossible to leave. Then you begin to wonder if people notice you look through them instead of at them, or if they hear the hollowness of your voice, as if someone else is speaking for you, unseen to others. And you forget, at times, of the concept of consequences, and have to remind yourself that cars will not pass through you at high speed but would crush every bone in your body like stepping on broken glass.
What scares me the most about feeling this way is how one day I may just lose touch entirely.