Sometimes it feels like I'm gone.

Sometimes I don't know who I am, who I am becoming, or even who I was. This state usually lasts for a while, it can extend and last for days during which I exist without being the owner of my body. I eat, read, draw, but I don't feel like it's me. I do these things so automatically that sometimes I think my instinct is the only thing keeping me alive. 

It's strange because after these days I sometimes wake up fully aware of my body, feeling like myself again, even though I was never anyone else. I usually panic then, curling up into a ball, not wanting to go through it again even though I know derealization will take me with it again. I am powerless, sad, angry that I'm in a life I don't want to have. The bad news is that the life in which I am scares me so much, that all I can think about is that I regret that I exist.

I haven't felt safe for so long. I had long since given up the thought of finding a place that I could call home. Eventually, there will be uncertainty and danger everywhere around. I'll never find a place where I feel safe. I'm constantly changing, I go to therapy, but what does it matter if in the end I'm at the same point anyway?

At the point where I wonder how much pain I can hold on to and not fall apart.