My story of living with Depersonalisation and Derealisation Disorder (DPDR)
Writing this feels a little surreal (no pun intended), but also incredibly important. For so long, I kept my story to myself. Not because I didn’t want to share it, but because I didn’t have the words, or the confidence, to explain something that felt so strange and impossible to describe.
If you’re reading this, chances are you’ve felt that too. Like something is off – with you, with the world, or maybe both. Maybe you’re feeling scared or confused. Maybe you’ve tried to talk about it and been met with blank stares. Or maybe you’ve never told a soul because you’re terrified of not being taken seriously.
I get it. I’ve been there. And this is me finally telling my story in the hope that it helps you feel less alone.
I’ve lived with Depersonalisation and Derealisation Disorder (DPDR) for as long as I can remember, long before I even knew what it was.
I was born with various health complications, which meant I spent a lot of my early childhood in and out of hospital. The procedures were often invasive, and although I was too young to process it at the time, therapy later helped me realise just how traumatic those experiences were. And I believe that’s where my DPDR stems from.
I likely first developed depersonalisation around the age of three. My parents remember me saying things like, “I don’t know who I am,” when I was as young as four. I always felt unsettled by mirrors and photos – I didn’t recognise the person looking back at me. Still, I continued on with life, not knowing that these strange, disconnected feelings weren’t something everyone else experienced too.
Then came secondary school, where, like so many young people, I faced bullying, complicated friendships, and the emotional messiness of early relationships. That’s when derealisation began. I remember the exact moment it switched on, like my brain flipped into another mode, a new layer of defence to help me survive what felt too overwhelming.
Suddenly, it wasn’t just me that felt unreal, it was everything around me too. Life looked and felt like a dream or a video game. Nothing made sense. It was terrifying.
But I kept it to myself. I was scared of being dismissed, misunderstood, or called “crazy” or “attention-seeking.” Meanwhile, it was ruining my life. I couldn’t enjoy anything. I started to wonder what the point of living was if nothing felt real.
Then, at the start of 2022, I decided I’d had enough and found the courage to go to therapy. That’s where I first heard the term Depersonalisation-Derealisation Disorder. Even then, my therapist knew very little about it, like many mental health professionals, so we learnt about it together.
In the summer of 2023, I contacted Dr. Elaine Hunter at the Depersonalisation Clinic in London to explore a diagnosis and potential treatment. After hours of consultations and assessments, I was officially diagnosed with DPDR and depression.
Unfortunately, therapy through the clinic wasn’t financially possible for me at the time – the fees were high due to how niche and specialised the support is. So, I continued working with my therapist at home to unpack everything I was feeling.
But once I had the diagnosis, I became obsessed with fixing it. I spent hours researching treatment methods and recovery stories. I constantly analysed every symptom, every thought. It consumed me. And ironically, the more attention I gave it, the worse it got.
So, at the start of 2024, I made a decision: to stop trying to fix it, and start trying to live with it.
I ended therapy, took a step back from obsessing, and decided to reclaim my life, even if it didn’t always feel “real.” I went travelling for three months and discovered my love for travel and adventure. I kept working in a job I love, now able to appreciate it for what it was. I found joy in everyday things again, even if there was still a layer of disconnect.
And now, I finally feel ready to share my story.
My DPDR doesn’t control me anymore – I have the upper hand. I still experience it, those symptoms have not gone away, but it no longer defines me. Speaking up about it feels like the final piece in taking that power back.
My family and friends have been amazing through all of this. They’ve supported me in every way they could, and I love them deeply. I’m so grateful I wasn’t truly alone, but I know that living with DPDR can feel impossibly lonely.
That’s why I’m sharing this now.
To anyone out there who’s feeling like they’re drifting, disconnected, or terrified they’ll never feel “real” again: you are not broken. You are not alone. And it does get better.
Doing it alone sucks. So let’s do it together.
With all my heart,
Kate x
Written by Kaitlin Gale
Writer
Hi! I’m Kate :))
For as long as I can remember, I’ve been living with something called Depersonalisation-Derealisation Disorder (DPDR).
I created – Mostly Kate – as a way to tell my story, raise awareness, and hopefully help someone out there feel a little less alone. This is my space to write through the fog. To capture small, honest moments. To find pieces of myself again — one post at a time.
I don’t have all the answers (not even close), but I’m here, figuring things out. I’ll be sharing what’s helped, what hasn’t, and everything in between — the weird, the hopeful, the difficult, and the real.