Very often, I see a splash of colour or texture in any room I’m in, so I follow it around with my eyes. They can take up a small space or cover up to one-fourth of my vision, however, it does not seem like it covers anything because it is a part of my world.

When I describe myself, my behaviour, it is of staying afar, staring at walls, textile, and objects, and physically touching them more than a regular person amount. As if while a regular person can look at things and understand them, I would look at things and, at first, prove to myself that it is real by my sense of touch and then I will spend time understanding them.

This has become a characteristic of me after a decade-long living with hallucinations.

A year and a half ago, my therapist and my psychiatrist told me that I have a certain degree of depersonalization-derealization. That is how I come up with the regular person amount, because till then—even now actually — my reality of simple and complex hallucinations feels regular to me.

There have been a few times when I’ve been caught up in derealization for hours before exhausting myself and then experiencing actual reality. There have been a few times, the intensity has been exactly as to real-world. And mostly they are small duration, less-intense depersonalization experiences triggered when I have to express a feeling.

So instead of crying, instead of shouting, instead of expressing excitement, my brain would rather dissociate and make up unreal worlds.

Chapter: Persistence of Vision from the book “The Mind’s Eye” by Oliver Sacks

It’s beautiful too, right? I get to experience rain when it’s not, leaves falling to the ground in all seasons, more stars in the night sky, pet dogs and cats from across the road, be more prepared for accidents, and see so many more colours than perhaps a regular person.

A few wonderful songs that feel like depersonalization-derealization:

• Liability, Lorde

• That Funny Feeling, Bo Burnham

• That Funny Feeling, Cover by Phoebe Bridgers

• Funeral, Phoebe Bridgers

I’ve been curious, very curious,
and questioned the way of life:
how the doors get locked,
at what temperature ice cream melts,
and why can’t I touch the art?

These are questions of science,
of politics, of advertising, marketing,
of human behaviour,
and the ever-expanding tired universe,
and I will leave these to the experts now.
Solve the mystery,
the puzzle, evolution,
the beginning and the end of it all,
put that mathematics into good use,
profile individuals,
groups, cultures, find faults,
inadequacies, the dream life,
and tell us the answers.
Give us the solutions
to be a better person,
and build a better world.

Because that’s the purpose of life, right?

That is why you and I are born,
that is why you had amazing parents
and I grew apart from mine.
That is why you were shunned
while growing up
and I had many friends around.
That is why you chose theatre,
running, reading,
video games, journalism,
and I chose cheating, lying,
stealing, crying, and shouting.

That is why you broke your phone,
and I broke the bathroom window.
That is why you graduated,
you got a job, and you got married,
and I read poetry,
I listened to a thousand songs
and I threw stones in the lake.
I ran on a road bordered
with trees on both sides
with three other friends in a village
I couldn’t remember the name of.

So you donated blood,
and you donated to charity,
you bought a new phone,
you treated most people well,
you went to see the Parliament
and bought a souvenir
for your new room.
You celebrated your 22nd birthday
like no other,
you visited London, Prague, Rome
and you wish to see the world.

And I fainted.
I bought stickers,
found a new courtroom podcast,
lost an umbrella,
and took a rickshaw, ferry, metro, bus,
and taxi all on the same day.
I forgot birthdays,
of mine and yours,
I skipped Wednesday and Thursday once
and travelled for three days continuously.
I went to parks to breathe more oxygen
and make up for the loss thereof
during panic attacks.
I read a somewhat autobiography
of Laurel and Hardy,
drew an outline map of Mumbai,
and changed therapists.

I answered the questions
in poetry, in prose,
in a short story, in an assignment,
on text, on call,
in person, in dreams.
You wrote journals,
published research papers,
got interviewed on a podcast,
newspaper, magazine.

Now I’m silent.
I rarely speak and when I do
there are no questions left for me, and
there are no answers I have for you.

So I still skip New Years’,
I wear a plain t-shirt,
a plain shirt, plain cotton pants,
white shoes,
and I open an umbrella in the rain
just to close it again.

Are you happy?
Did you live fully?
What are you afraid of?

Sometimes. I used to confine my thoughts to only happy moments and answer the first question always as ‘yes’ and it would make sense. Now it needs more, now I let my memory replay anything it wants to, any feeling that it can think of, and this feels better.

Yes. I have lived every moment with my whole heart. Whether it was good for me, it hurt someone, things became tough, or I needed help. When I’m drinking water, sleeping, listening to the wind, taking in the shade, and eating chips, I do it with my body and mind.

Nothing. Even when I first answered this question, it was simple. Now and then, I get scared, when a car drives by at speed while crossing the road, when a movie or book captures a thrilling scene. These momentary feelings pass with nothing left behind and so the answer remains.

Whenever I think of these questions, I ask and I answer. There is a way to say ‘it’s complicated or it depends’, to say ‘maybe or I don’t know’, to deflect. For as long as I remember, I have accepted the end of life, and I’m glad for that. And yes, I lived.