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aefd973
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Selden and Lily stood still, accepting the unreality of the scene as a part of their own dream-like sensations. It would not have surprised them to feel a summer breeze on their faces, or to see the lights among the boughs reduplicated in the arch of a starry sky. The strange solitude about them was no stranger than the sweetness of being alone in it together.
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solitude
unreality
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Edith Wharton |
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aac8a24
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I had a bizarre rapport with this mirror and spent a lot of time gazing into the glass to see who was there. Sometimes it looked like me. At other times, I could see someone similar but different in the reflection. A few times, I caught the switch in mid-stare, my expression re-forming like melting rubber, the creases and features of my face softening or hardening until the mutation was complete. Jekyll to Hyde, or Hyde to Jekyll. I felt my inner core change at the same time. I would feel more confident or less confident; mature or childlike; freezing cold or sticky hot, a state that would drive Mum mad as I escaped to the bathroom where I would remain for two hours scrubbing my skin until it was raw. The change was triggered by different emotions: on hearing a particular piece of music; the sight of my father, the smell of his brand of aftershave. I would pick up a book with the certainty that I had not read it before and hear the words as I read them like an echo inside my head. Like Alice in the Lewis Carroll story, I slipped into the depths of the looking glass and couldn't be sure if it was me standing there or an impostor, a lookalike. I felt fully awake most of the time, but sometimes while I was awake it felt as if I were dreaming. In this dream state I didn't feel like me, the real me. I felt numb. My fingers prickled. My eyes in the mirror's reflection were glazed like the eyes of a mannequin in a shop window, my colour, my shape, but without light or focus. These changes were described by Dr Purvis as mood swings and by Mother as floods, but I knew better. All teenagers are moody when it suits them. My Switches could take place when I was alone, transforming me from a bright sixteen-year-old doing her homework into a sobbing child curled on the bed staring at the wall. The weeping fit would pass and I would drag myself back to the mirror expecting to see a child version of myself. 'Who are you?' I'd ask. I could hear the words; it sounded like me but it wasn't me. I'd watch my lips moving and say it again, 'Who are you?
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emotion
identity
change
amnesia
dissociated-state
emotionals
identity-alternation
identity-switch
lookalike
personality-switch
trigger
triggered
impostor
identity-confusion
dissociative
split-personality
identity-crisis
unreal
survivor
unreality
dream-like
dissociation
dreaming
child
mirror
memory-loss
incest
sexual-abuse
dissociative-identity-disorder
multiple-personality-disorder
trauma
mental-health
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Alice Jamieson |
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020b854
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There will be a future. We believe in our unreality too strongly to give it up.
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reality
unreality
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Jeanette Winterson |
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35655b4
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There is always an element of unreality, perhaps even of slight absurdity, about someone you love.
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love
unreality
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Anthony Powell |
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c6fa9ce
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"It was a fairy tale, no fooling. It was unreality becoming real. This frightened her. Because people don't care for unreality becoming real. It pricks their well-fed minds, you see, with something like a hunger pang. They prefer the logical stuffiness of expectancy. It is only at certain times that they weaken, letting imagination in. That's the time to get them. ("The Disinheritors")"
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reality
imagination
unreality
rationality
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Richard Matheson |
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f7174c3
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She lived in the dream world of unreality, or else she would not admit reality; he did not know. In any case, he loved her as she was. It might never be used, but it would give her pleasure to have it.
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coping
love
doom
last-days
unreality
post-apocalyptic
delusion
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Nevil Shute |
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924beae
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The dead dwell in the conditional, tense of the unreal. But there is also the extraordinary sense that you have become omniscient, that nothing we do or think or feel can be kept from you. The extraordinary sense that you are reading these words, that you know what they'll say even before I write them.
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grief
loss
omniscience
unreality
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Sigrid Nunez |
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f91586a
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"They have a long life, dreams. I have dreams now which I had as a young girl. They have an odd durability for something not quite real." "Do you think they mean anything?" She looked surprised. "Oh yes," she said. "Dont you?" "Well. I dont know. They're in your head." She smiled again. "I suppose I dont consider that to be the condemnation you do."
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unreality
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Cormac McCarthy |