If memory serves me correctly, I would’ve been around 10 when I first experienced dissociation. I was at a relatives house, people were talking, and the most bizarre thing started to happen. The voices started to become louder and the words repetitive . This continued until the words were repeating in an echo that was deafening. Just as I thought I might scream, the sound faded off, the room faded out, and I was no longer present.
I don’t know where I went even to this day. But I wasn’t there anymore.
At some point I was aware that I was back. The sound was normal, the room looked normal, but I felt tired.
These episodes continued for years.
I never told a single human being. I never asked for help. Children of trauma can find it difficult to ask for or even accept help, especially when primary caregivers are a source of abuse. Now I look back and I understand that my experience was likely a direct result of my trauma, my brain had decided that dissociation was a good strategy.
Luckily for me it didn’t last into my adulthood, but there were some really dodgy moments I can tell you.
I simply thought I was going mad.