Life as Lies

This past November I participated in National Novel Writing Month, aka NaNoWriMo. The challenge is to write 50,000 words or more for a new novel. It's hard and it's fun and the novel-wanna-be that I wrote needs a lot of editing or a recycle bin. Here's a small snippet from it that I rather like. It's from the perspective of my female main character and she is reflecting on her early college years, remembering her life when she was 18 or 19 years old.

No. I was not happy. I thought I was. I was having a great time, but I was manic and didn't know it. I had no idea what bipolar disorder was. I had never heard about it and 20 years passed before I was diagnosed with it.

At that time, I thought I was a normal college kid. I hadn't lost any friends yet. I wasn't failing my classes yet. Although, I was eating less and less frequently, drinking more and more often. That's the way it was for everyone. Right?

Yes, I thought I was happy. Pretending to be happy. Fake it 'till you make it. I think other people saw me as happy and having fun. Too much fun. Being irresponsible. I don't know.

I was numb - that lack of sensation that follows a tragedy, a trauma - but there had been no life event that would warrant such a reaction. I was unable to feel much more than empty, hallow, and disconnected.

I didn't feel disconnected from another person. I wasn't hallow because I lost an attachment or empty because I was missing someone. I was just empty.

I felt disconnected from the world. Like I was in this world but not really in this world. If that makes any sense at all. Think of it like a dream. At some point in many dreams you realize you are dreaming. You don't wake up. You don’t stop the dream. You notice and move on. But your dream version of yourself knows that leaving the dream is possible. Returning to reality is a reality and you can return to the dreams again later. Back and forth between dreaming and waking -- always recognizing the dream as a dream, a lie -- always recognizing the waking as reality, the truth. It was kind of like that. Only I could not ever wake up. I felt like I should be able wake up and at any instant appear in reality, in truth, and it would be in a place that was not this place. Of course, that's nonsense and on some level I knew it. Sometimes.

I felt the atoms on my skin. I saw the molecules of air. Not literally, but I was acutely aware of them - each one. When I touched something, I saw the atoms repelling one another. I understood that we never really touch anything. Our sense of touch is nothing more than the force of atoms attracting and repelling one another. It's a rather depressing view of the world I suppose. But that's how I saw it.

At the same time, I felt the connection to everything. No. I sensed, saw, the connections. Electrons in an atom are not confined to little circles around a nucleus, like the nice drawings in textbooks depict. Electrons are not points. They are not little dots running round and round like the monkey and the weasel.They are waves. And they extend to infinity. And that means everything is literally connected to everything else. All of existence is woven together.  It's a great tapestry made of electron waves. I saw it all. Sensed it all. It was clear to me. I understood. But I was not part of it. I was on the outside looking across this universe. I was an observer, only watching and seeing this world and all that happened in it. But I was not part of it. I could not interact with it.

I know it sounds crazy. It sounds like I'm trying to tell you that I'm from another planet or another dimension. I guess that's how it comes across. If you've never felt it before, it's understandable that you would likely come to that conclusion. I know I'm not from another planet. I know I'm not an alien or from another dimension. Intellectually I know that. Knew that. Still, I could never shake the feeling that this life was the lie.

Thanks for reading. I hope I captured some small part of the onset of a mental illness. Please share your thoughts and feelings about it. Constructive criticism is always welcome.