What if you really are living in a fragile bubble, and every discontinuity, every mis-apprehending, every deja vu, every scrap of paranoia is real? Would it matter? Would you do anything different? Would you just scrap morality and kindness and go for life as entertainment? Somehow, I don't think so.
The only thing that would be different, what would that be? You'd still feel lonely. You'd still feel singled out for all sorts of crazy treatment, from wonderful serendipities to a face bruised from closed doors and being ignored. You'd still feel frustrated by your faults. You might cry a little more. Or less.
This is what dissociation feels like: a disconnect between what people say and do and what is really happening. Forgetfulness. Mistakeness. Loss of hearing and buzzing in the ears. A sudden ability to lose 35 lbs of fat. A hidden ability to do the unthinkable task of caring for an aging parent. Double rainbows ending on the highway in front of you. Shadows getting longer in one day.
I guess if I knew that it was all bogus, I'd at least know something for sure. Right now, I don't know anything.
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