As French-speaking Swiss philosopher and author Henri-Frédéric Amiel once wrote in his journal:
“I find myself regarding existence as though from beyond the tomb, from another world; all is strange to me; I am, as it were, outside my own body and individuality; I am depersonalized, detached, cut adrift. Is this madness?”
This entry on 8th July 1880 showed, for the first time, the feeling of losing one’s own personality. It was from this journal that psychologists determined the symptoms of a cognitive illness and established a diagnosis for it. By then, Amiel had already been dead for 9 years, but his journal entry ended up saving the lives of many so-called “windmen“. This term refers to people who are affected by a very rare psychological illness: its lethality stems in actuality from its rarity. Almost nobody knows what happens to windmen – many patients live out an existence in complete ignorance of this disease and end up losing their minds to themselves.
But how does it feel like to be affected? What goes on their heads? Well, I guess I’m fairly qualified to answer those questions. I received a diagnosis a few months ago, and as it turns out, I’ve been gradually turning into a windman for the past six years.
The greatest challenge about this is that the illness usually appears in combination with other characterological disorders that complicate the diagnosis. In my case, it was a narcissistic personality disorder bundled together with a moderate depression.
I don’t know how I feel and I don’t know how to conduct myself – I simply lack the ability to do so. I don’t know exactly how I look, and so I need a moment every now and then to think about that. My memories become blurred like water, butts, wind. My head feels empty. I’m downright characterless; I don’t know what I want from life anymore. And I haven’t felt entirely “right” for a long time now.
My head handles everything, so anything that isn’t logical gets suppressed. There is usually only room left for clear commands, but none for emotion. The brain simply forbids it. And with the loss of feeling, loneliness sets in. In a room full of people, you feel alone. Your closest companions feel foreign to you; everything is numb; there is no longer any connection between you and everyone you have ever loved. You now feel that this world is totally alien; as though you were something else entirely – something that no longer belongs here. The reference is lost. With each passing day, you drift away further and further away, over an ocean, into the mists that slowly thickens, until you no longer know where you are, and more importantly, who you are.
No matter what happens, nothing feels real anymore. No matter how beautiful a story, no matter how wonderful the experience. Smiling feels wrong, crying is long extinct. A delicate touch triggers nothing, and even kisses and intimacy gradually lose their appeal. They become nothing to you, or you try to become nothing to them. Compassion is just a word, and although you understand empathy and want to be a good person, nothing affects you anymore. You could commit murder without feeling the slightest bit of guilt.
Your life is controlled remotely, as though your brain were detached from the rest of your body. You can almost watch yourself move through life. Eyes without a body, flesh without a soul. You’re something that contains life, but doesn’t really live. Alien and stiff, every movement feels as though they directed by someone else. Your body is a puppet.
All the little moments and all the joyfulness you ever felt fade away. There are no more memories to define you, and you start to forget who you actually are.
It started off with the small things: you forgot what your favourite food was; you start to eat only for survival. You forgot the places where you lost yourself to enjoyment and the music you danced to. Your head becomes empty, and everything fades away gradually. New memories only last so long – they crumble like an antique marble statue, leaving only remnants of their former glory. Day-old experiences disappear. Their residual memories are nothing more than fragments, having been replaced by feelings of dejà-vu.
Cold and pain feel as foreign as the warmth you so missed. You don’t freeze – you bleed but feel it neither physically nor mentally. Everything becomes numb, like the world has been kissed by gracious frost. It’s complete sleep paralysis. You want to wake up from this, but you are afraid to. It starts to feel almost like a blessing, doesn’t it? To no longer be a part of the world and to see everything from afar?
If you feel like this, I can empathise. I know of the forest that grows over the soul, and the beast that lurks within its depths. I know of the frost that freezes everything its cold fingers touch. Professional help will allow you to gain your life back. New days will come; the sun will shine and flood you with a renewed warmth. Winter might seem long, but it is never a thing of permanance – eventually, summer will return. And it will bring your life with it.
Information source: wikipedia.org
Image source: pixabay.com
