Romans & histoires Derealization Stories

Forty-two days since I saw a man tear out of his skin like he was tired of being smaller than what was underneath. I told myself it was a hallucination. Everyone did. Detox nurses. The guy at the clinic with the kind eyes and the terrible coffee. The pamphlet that said meth psychosis can persist. They all had bullet points. Visual distortions. Delusions. Paranoia. Auditory hallucinations. Fur and fangs weren’t on the handout but they may as well have been.

I always have to spoil the fun. “That can wait. I have more pressing matters to deal with right now.” My dad narrowed his eyes and waited patiently as I said, “I need your help. It seems like I'm seeing things. The series of events began after I met with a patient in Our Lady of Piety's psychiatric hospital. He is a killer and a very scary one. The interview allowed me to determine the pathologies. In addition to schizophrenia, he suffers from neurotic episodes. But that is all. The strange thing is that he was speaking as if he was from another planet.”

Rumors called Clive Hartley many things—brujo, shaman, zombie, the walking dead, even—but Derek had never believed them, always figuring they were bullshit stories and nothing else. Now, however? He desperately hoped the stories were true, because if not . . . he was fucked. “People say you know about this kinda shit. Ya gotta help me.” Clive Hartley leaned into hissing lantern light, bright green eyes narrowed, deep lines creasing his thick skin. “Somethin’s growin inside ya. Ken see it in yer eyes.” “Please.” A pause. Hartley folded his hands on the wooden table. “Tell me how.” Derek shuddered as pieces of himself fell away inside.

The Aurora in front of me was not real, a mere mirage crafted by the turmoil within my mind. A manifestation of schizophrenia, that cruel architect of distorted realities. As these thoughts lingered, the abrupt ring of my phone shattered the silence. The caller ID displayed a familiar name: the doctor from the monastery. I hesitated for a moment before answering, my voice tinged with weariness. "Yes, Doctor?" "Mr. Xander, I'm concerned about you," the doctor's voice came through, tinged with worry. "The staff mentioned you've been experiencing hallucinations. Are you feeling alright?"

He said absolutely nothing, he just waited for my crying to decrease. I was suffering from what they called post-traumatic stress. And with all the anxiety, hopelessness and night terror, I was gaining a sense of unreality as a toast. I had to focus on my best friend's choppy breathing, the roughness of his chubby fingers on my burning skin, just to make sure it was real. Real... I wasn't stuck in that alley with Gary Swan. That was not the delirium of a disturbed mind, it was real... Real... Real... until the next nightmare reached me, and all those years of futility confronted me once again.

"He's a distant relative, and life was hard on him, so we gave him a job. We thought we'd give him a chance to raise his family, but greed got to him, and he tried to break Charlie and Sophia up. "He knows Charlie and Sophia have no kids, but they're too deep in love, so a homewrecker wouldn't work. He made up a story about Charlie's illegitimate daughter and subjected her to cosmetic surgery since she was barely a toddler. They made sure she ended up looking like Charlie." I couldn't believe that was the truth. All it took was some distant relative's deception and an outsider's lies, and our relationship crumbled. Sophia and I bought the story like some dumb damsels.

The man's mouth parted slightly as he watched her touch herself. She pinched her nipples between her fingers, gasping at the sensation. The stranger's free hand drifted down to palm himself through his boxers. The sight of him touching himself while watching her sent another flood of wetness to her already soaked panties. She let one hand slide down her stomach, over the lace of her underwear. Her fingers pressed against her clit through the fabric, making her hips jerk slightly. "Fuck," she whispered to the empty room. Her legs trembled as she continued touching herself, circling her clit through her panties.

A rare moment of peace in my otherwise demanding life. Suddenly, a blinding flash of white light erupted in my mind, jarring me from my tranquil moment. It was a vision, stark and vivid. I suddenly saw a group of strange, unfamiliar figures, their faces hidden in shadows, infiltrating the Red Den. Their movements were swift and calculated, their purpose clear - to break someone out of his strict custody. The vision was fleeting, gone as quickly as it had arrived, leaving me with a gnawing sense of unease.

So your story, save it for the readers! - If it is simply paranoia after trauma, how can in a few days in the hospital create such a clear, clear, vivid life? Tell me, how can our brains be so delusional? I looked up, reaching out to push the books on the table: - Stop talking nonsense, get up and eat, I'm hungry! - Go now and always! Going to eat grilled buffet, I know this place is delicious! Please invite me! - The guy... - Do you have a small music box in your house?

On the other hand the incidents where I came across the different stories in delusional world was also connected to my real world which consisted of multiple events whenever I came across different fantasy stories in my life and hence all these stories were pasted in my mind with the alterations in it as I was huge fan of fantasy books And that's how I finally got everything cleared that all the incidents which I came across in my delusional world was all and totally connected to my real life and most probably it was kind of carbon copy of my real life with some alterations in it which seemed me like an experiment where I was kept in the center whereas rest of the incidents were changed