AN: There are mentions of Dissociative Identity Disorder and Depersonalization ahead. I chose to describe these with a mix of online research and personal experience (I have mildly dissociated at times). However, it won't be completely accurate, and artistic license is in full throttle!
It stole up sometimes, like a gush of chilling water sprung from a freshly tapped spring in his mind. It rose up and muffled his senses, submerging him in cool apathy. One moment he was there, and the next he just...wasn't.
Logically, he knew that nothing had changed. This was still his body. His brain. He was still processing all these stimuli from all over. Everything remained untouched and unchanged. But at the same time it just wasn't the same. He felt disconnected, a tiny thing floating just outside his usual consciousness, watching events from a third-person perspective. He could respond only slowly, with delays, and the environment around him became dimmer, as if several aspects of it had simply been...switched off. He lived in a dreamlike reality, and only he could tell when it was happening. It was a frustrating and occasionally terrifying experience.
Akihito could tell by the time he was eighteen precisely what brought on these sudden bouts of disorientation. Stress, for one. Either long term (cramming for exams was a troubling task) or short term stress could plunge him back into the detached calm and dream world. But sensory overload could do just as much damage. It had only taken one trip to New York to make that clear. After just an hour he had blanked out and barely made it back to his hotel by blindly following his classmates, who hadn't had a clue what was going on with him.
But that was the funny thing about these events. Nobody knew about it. Nobody really had to know. It was nearly impossible for most to tell what was actually happening. To them, it was little more than a pause in the conversation and a little less animation in his eyes. And since it affected no one, he told no one. And that was that.
But this time was different.
He stumbled into the bathroom of the noisy nightclub, head spinning. The loud bass pulsing through the ground rattled his senses, and he could already feel the unfamiliar mindset settling in, the normal link between "him" and "self" unraveling a bit. Dimly, a corner of his mind informed him that perhaps such a loud place was not a good venue for him. But really the noise was the last thing on his mind.
It was over. They were over. That was what he had said. He knelt, heedless of the filthy floor, tucking his head between his knees as he gasped for air, trying to force the fresh words away. They echoed, hurt him, gashed at his psyche. No, he didn't want this. No more. It hurt. Fuck, why did everything always hurt?
Frantically, he tried to fix it, to mend it. No, the link was unraveling too fast, too much. This was not the shallow detachment he had felt, a mere dip into a shallow pool. This was deeper. The burbling spring had become an oppressive ocean, the crystal waters murky depths of green. And he was sinking, sinking, sinking without stop down into a place he had never been.
With a snap, he heard the last thread give way.
AN: Reviews always appreciated!