Everything Feels Like It’s Unraveling
Holy wow. It feels like we are living through a complete unraveling as a country.
And while we are weathering a political assassination, the dismantling of vaccine access, massive immigration raids, and another tragic school shooting that barely made the news cycle, we all kept trying to live as if it were normal. We all ate our breakfasts, walked the dogs, and went to work – conditioned (by capitalism) to the absolute fallacy that this is all normal — that this is just another week here on earth in America.
But let me just say this loud and clear:
This is not normal.
Of course, our jobs still have deadlines. The kids still have school. (And the influencers are still posting outrageous get-ready-with-me videos with seven or more affiliate links.)
But even though all of that is the case and society keeps us marching through our lives as if it’s just another day on this planet, I refuse to gaslight you and myself in the same vein.
So, let me say it again – loud and clear:
This is NOT normal.
It also should not FEEL normal.
So, if you don’t feel normal – please just know this – not feeling normal is the only normal thing happening right now.
Of course, that truth can only offer so much comfort. And for me personally, it’s not feeling sufficient whatsoever. So this week I’m going to lean on the only permanent north star I’ve ever had:
The practice of sharing my story first.
Over the past twelve years of sharing myself unabashedly on the internet, I’ve learned that whenever I go first and tell the messy truth of my experience, it opens up space for others to share and do the same. And even though there’s no immediate way to fix my heartache, distress, or terror, just as there is no panacea I can offer you as you share your hard truths alongside mine—just listening to your stories and knowing that you are here with me in your own varied trenches—that’s the work that saves me time and time again.
Yes, knowing we are in the absolute mess of it together—that always gets me through.
So today, after this hellish week, instead of sharing another essay and experiment that was ready to go, that’s what I want to hold space for right now. And, if you are up to it, as always, I invite you to join me.
What really happened to me this week
A fugue state, unfortunately.
It had been a tricky few days filled with tangled tasks that didn’t go as I had hoped. And flashbacks. All the flashbacks. On top of that, it had been a while since my last fugue – since early August, in fact, so I was particularly caught off guard.
I was just sitting at my desk, curled into my massive, cushy chair that I’d pulled over in the hope that it would keep me calm while doing creator evaluations. The chair helped, but only a little as I did them like I always do them for Harvard:
Login to my burner account. Scroll. Click. Watch. Re-watch. Add to the spreadsheet if enough of the creator’s videos meet the criteria.
Yesterday, I was trying to find creators who focus on addiction, but unfortunately, TikTok had other plans for me. For some unknown algorithmic reason, I kept getting served content about how many people we will lose if RFK Jr.’s proposed vaccine access gets locked in. The data were staggering. And as I watched the third video about it, my squishy chair absolutely stopped helping. And then, with a flick of my mouse, I saw it. Slow motion. In excruciating detail. I saw the video that has been ricocheting around the internet since Wednesday afternoon (Please do not watch it.)
It was horrific, of course. But I didn’t think that at the time. I didn’t think anything, actually – not even how the horrific murder was exactly like my past visual hallucinations, or how heartbreaking it was that a school shooting occurred and murdered multiple children without hardly a mention online.
No, I didn’t think about any of that.
I just disappeared, like I always do. And some time passed, like it always does.
The next thing I remember, I was outside, on the road above our hill, a neighbor tightly gripping me by the arm. She was speaking loudly—very loudly—and asking over and over why I didn’t have either of my dogs with me.
I couldn’t make sense of it either. Where were they? Why was I here? Who was I anyway? And who was this holding me so darn tightly? When my arm began to ache at her fearful grip, that’s when it hit me. I’d had another fugue state. And this time, (because Tugboat was visiting Dave’s students and Waffle was feeling under the weather), I was alone, without my dogs.
Well, alone, but for her.
That lost hour or so—that’s what dissociative fugue is for me, just time and self, entirely gone. Lots of people ask if it’s like blacking out, but I’ve never blacked out, so I don’t know. All I know is that I am gone, and time is gone. All I know is that I come to not knowing who I am, where I am, or how I even got there. I simply return to myself and the world in a state of panic as my mind screams: What the absolute fuck just happened?
Usually, when I return earthside, I’m alone except for Tug or Waffle. And more often than not, I am literally lost in the woods.
But this time was different.
This time, my neighbor saw me and noticed that I was walking without either of my dogs (which never happens). Seeing me solo, she knew something was off and came out to check on me. According to her, she gave me a massive, deep-pressure hug. She said she was trying to emulate Waffy, or the way I’d explained the deep pressure therapy process to her. And incredibly, it worked. Yes, this time, instead of being lost in the woods, another human brought me back. Or rather, this time, another human was with me in it—as we brought me back together.
It goes without saying. It felt like a complete and total miracle. The gift of someone being there with me—loving me and even knowing me before I could know myself. And sure, I soiled my pants like I always do and overwhelmed us both beyond comprehension. But today, I can undoubtedly say that it was the best fugue state I’ve ever had (lol) and though I sure don’t want to have another one, I am so glad we went through that one—in it—together.
This Week’s Experiment: You Go First
So this week, since things undoubtedly are awful and we’re all in it—let’s be in it together.
As always, I don’t have the answers. But this week, I’d also like to believe that at least some of them are between us—in the stories we share, the kind space we hold, and the connections we make. Yes, this week, I’d like to believe that our healing lies in the fight of weathering this broken world by being messy, honest, and in it together.
And so, this week’s experiment is for you to go first.
Yes, this week, the experiment is for you to share a raw, honest story with a person in your life—to bravely open up that door I so desperately try to keep open for us all. And, if you care to, I’d love for you to share that story with us as well, so that we can begin honoring the many voices of this community and not solely my own.
To share your story with the community, please do so here.
To note: stories shared are entirely anonymous, and only if you offer consent will they be shared for the project.
And with that—and a massive hug from me in my comfy chair—I offer some puppy photos as a brightener while I am off to rest because this week sure took it out of me.
Hoping you can tread lightly on yourself this weekend, whatever that means for you.
Kindly,
Kate
