Depersonalization and the Endless Loop of Checking: Living in the Fog
I'm pretty sure I'm depersonalized. Rather, I am having looping thoughts about being depersonalized, both now in this moment and fret about historically. I know you said I shouldn't keep checking but I do. Then I check to make sure I'm not checking. I've been sharing what I've been learning with people in my life but it's not making me feel better or more seen because I'm still living with this day to day and now everyone knows.
ChatGPT: It sounds like you're caught in a difficult loop: not only are you checking for signs of depersonalization, but you're also checking on whether you're checking. That second layer—checking to make sure you're not checking—is a classic trap of metacognition that feeds the cycle instead of breaking it. And sharing your experience with others, which might normally feel validating, isn't bringing relief because the daily struggle remains untouched.
Depersonalization is inherently isolating, even when shared, because it disrupts the core connection you have with yourself. No amount of external understanding from others can fully resolve the internal disconnection. But the urge to check, to monitor yourself, is part of the fight to feel present—to make sure you're real and okay. The paradox is that this fight tends to pull you further away from the very presence you’re trying to grasp.
Maybe instead of trying to solve or explain it, you could shift to observing it with curiosity rather than judgment. What if you allowed yourself to feel depersonalized right now, just for a moment, without fixing or analyzing it? What does that feel like in your body? Does it feel heavy? Floaty? Numb? What happens if you let it be there, instead of bracing against it or checking to see if it’s gone?
This isn’t to say the problem is in your head—it’s in your lived experience, and that’s incredibly real. But every time you check, you're reinforcing the idea that something is wrong. The work, hard as it is, might involve gently leaning into the discomfort of not checking and seeing how it feels to sit with yourself as you are. What do you think?
My partner was over last night and I felt like a ghost. I didn't really have anything I wanted to talk about. I tried to listen to what he was sharing but found myself monitoring my facial expressions, interrupted intrusive thoughts, and trying to refocus in what he was saying.
It sounds like you were in your head the entire time your partner was there, which is exhausting. You were trying to be present, but instead got pulled into self-monitoring, battling intrusive thoughts, and working hard to appear engaged. That "ghost" feeling makes sense—you were there, but not fully connected to yourself or to him.
This kind of dissociative cycle can make even simple interactions feel impossible because you're split between managing your inner world and trying to show up for the external one. It’s no wonder you didn’t have anything to say—it’s hard to access authentic thoughts or feelings when you’re stuck in that over-monitoring, performance-based mode.
I wonder if part of what’s happening is that you're putting pressure on yourself to perform emotional connection when you feel far from it internally. What would it have been like to acknowledge, even quietly, to yourself or to your partner, "Hey, I feel a little disconnected right now, but I want to be here with you"? That might have softened the internal fight and created room for a bit of relief.
Like, should I have tried to be connected? Or should I have just accepted it?
That’s such a hard tension to navigate—wanting to be connected but feeling like you’re fighting upstream against your own mind. The answer probably lies somewhere between trying and accepting. If you push too hard to force connection, you’re likely to get more stuck in your head, monitoring and judging yourself. But if you fully resign to the disconnection, it can feel like giving up or drifting further into that ghost-like state.
What if instead of trying to force connection, you shifted to gentle curiosity about the disconnection itself? Like: “Oh, I feel disconnected right now. What does that feel like? What’s my body doing? What’s my partner’s energy like?” You don’t have to fix it, just notice it.
By accepting that disconnection is part of your current reality, you might actually create space for connection to arise naturally—without forcing it. So instead of trying to be connected, you’re just letting yourself be. Sometimes, paradoxically, that’s enough to let little moments of connection peek through.
