My Journey with DPDR
Here, I describe my journey with Depersonalization-Derealization Disorder (DPDR), which was the most challenging and life-changing experience I’ve ever faced. I’ll share what DPDR is for me, how it shaped my life, and the steps I took to find healing and regain control. If you’re experiencing DPDR or supporting someone who is, my story is here to provide understanding, comfort, and hope. You’re not alone, and recovery is possible — this is a space to explore what that journey can look like. The following content is based on my personal experience and reflections. It is not intended to constitute medical advice.
Overcoming a Lifetime of Anxiety, Depression, and DPDR
Since childhood, I’ve faced the challenges of anxiety (Social Phobia, Agoraphobia, Panic Disorder), depression and OCD, and later developed DPDR. Anxiety kept me constantly on edge, depression left me feeling numb, and DPDR brought a sense of detachment from myself and the world around me. These experiences were overwhelming and isolating, often leaving me to wonder if things would ever improve.
Over time, with the help of therapy, mindfulness, and medication, I’ve learned to navigate these struggles. The journey hasn’t been straightforward, but I’ve discovered that even small progress is worth celebrating. Today, I’m in a much better place, and I’ve come to appreciate the value of patience, reaching out for support, and holding onto hope.
Through my personal experiences and the countless hours I’ve spent researching DPDR, I’ve gained a deep understanding of these challenges — not just from an academic perspective, but as someone who has lived through them. I’ve consulted with professionals, connected with support groups, and studied evidence-based approaches to healing. This blend of lived experience and acquired knowledge allows me to provide insights and strategies that are both practical and empathetic.
Struggling with DPDR? You’re not alone. Seeking professional help is a powerful step toward healing.
My Experience with DPDR
and How It Began
It was a Wednesday on a train in Berlin, a seemingly simple day to find a new home with my girlfriend. But what should have been an ordinary trip quickly turned into an unsettling experience that would change my life forever. The train lights flickered, distorting into strange, unreal colors. The faces around me blurred into masks I couldn’t recognize, and the train’s walls rippled like water. I felt disconnected, as if floating outside my body, unable to tell where I ended and the world began.
What began as a terrifying shock quickly became a constant battle with DPDR. Everyday life felt unreal, like I was observing myself from the outside. Familiar faces, places, and even my own reflection became unrecognizable. Fear consumed me as I searched online, hoping to find answers. The more I read, the more terrified I became, realizing many others had been trapped in this condition for years. Panic attacks started, making me feel like I was dying, and the world around me continued to feel increasingly overwhelming.
As DPDR intensified, the world seemed hyper-real but unbearably distorted. Everything felt flat and fake, and I couldn’t keep up with racing thoughts. The fear and disconnection worsened, and I was convinced I’d never feel normal again. I had always been fighting with anxiety and depression, battles that felt like they had become a part of who I was. But this time, it was different. The disconnection, the panic, the overwhelming sense that reality itself was slipping away — it was too much to face alone. Once again, I found myself needing help, knowing that I couldn’t pull myself out of this on my own.
Therapy helped me reframe my experience, giving me the strength to push through even on the hardest days.
My Recovery
At the time, recovery from DPDR felt impossible. I was caught in a state of constant disconnection, like a spectator in my own life. The world around me looked distorted and unreal — colors were dull, sounds seemed far away, and my own reflection felt foreign. I wasn’t “in” my body. I was floating somewhere outside it, a ghost observing my life through glass.
But recovery is possible, and I want to share how I found my way back:
1. Finding the Right Medication
The first step toward healing was medication. After I was diagnosed with DPDR, along with rumination OCD, agoraphobia, and depression, my doctors prescribed a combination of medications that targeted both the cognitive and emotional aspects of my detachment.
Paxil (Paroxetine): Paxil was the first turning point. Before I started it, everything around me felt unreal — like I was trapped in a movie set where the colors, shapes, and even people looked slightly off. Slowly but steadily, Paxil began to lift that fog. The sharp edges of unreality softened, and the world started to look like itself again.
Abilify (Aripiprazole): While Paxil addressed the visual unreality, Abilify took away the feeling of detachment — the emotional and existential disconnection that was perhaps even more devastating. Even as the world began to look real again, I still felt like I wasn’t truly in it. It was like I was a ghost floating just outside of my own body, unable to bridge the gap. Aripiprazole changed that. Bit by bit, it brought me back into myself. Paxil made the world look real again; aripiprazole made it feel real.
2. Therapy: Understanding and Facing DPDR
Medication set the foundation, but therapy gave me the tools to rebuild my life. I worked closely with a therapist who specialized in anxiety and depression-related disorders.
Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT): DPDR feeds off anxiety and negative thought loops. CBT taught me how to identify and challenge those thoughts — ruminations like “What if I’m stuck like this forever?” or “What if none of this is real?” Instead of spiraling into panic, I learned to pause, observe the thought, and let it pass without attaching fear to it.
Exposure Therapy for Agoraphobia: My agoraphobia made me fear leaving the house, which worsened the dissociation. Exposure therapy gradually pushed me to face those fears, step by step. Over time, I rebuilt trust in myself and the world outside.
Grounding Techniques: My therapist introduced me to grounding exercises to reconnect with the present moment. Simple things — like holding ice, focusing on the texture of an object, or describing my surroundings out loud — helped me anchor myself back in reality.
3. Reconnecting with My Body and Mind
DPDR disconnects you from yourself, so part of my recovery was about rebuilding that mind-body connection.
Creative Expression: I wrote, painted, and journaled my experiences. Expressing my thoughts gave me a sense of control and allowed me to process the emotions I had buried.
Mindfulness and Meditation: I practiced mindfulness every day — simple meditations where I focused on my breath, bodily sensations, or the sounds around me. At first, it was hard to stay present, but over time, mindfulness helped me calm my mind and reduce the sense of disconnection.
Exercise and Physical Activity: Movement became a powerful tool in my recovery. Whether it was walking, yoga, or heavy workouts, physical activity reminded me that I had a body — that I existed in the here and now.
4. Time and Patience
Recovery wasn’t linear. There were setbacks and days when I doubted if I would ever feel real again. But I held onto the small victories — moments of clarity, flashes of connection, and days where I felt realer. I learned to stop obsessing over feeling normal and instead focused on living — taking each moment as it came, without judgment.
The Result: I Got My Life Back
With the combination of the right medication, therapy, grounding techniques, and self-care, I gradually emerged from the fog of DPDR. The detachment faded. The world no longer felt distant or unreal — I could see it, feel it, and experience it fully. The racing thoughts quieted, my anxiety and depression eased, and I reconnected with myself, my loved ones, and the life I thought I had lost.
I’m living proof that recovery is possible. DPDR may feel all-consuming, but it doesn’t have to define you forever. It’s a process — sometimes slow, sometimes frustrating — but with the right help, patience, and determination, you can find your way back to reality.