Where’d I go?

Dissociation is a mental state where you feel disconnected from your thoughts, feelings, and your sense of self—like watching your life happen as an outside observer.

Sometimes my mind splits away from itself, usually in those moments when there is no clear path forward. It’s a specific kind of shutdown that happens in the face of uncertainty—when I’m unsure what I’m supposed to do, when I feel stupid, or when I should think or feel something obvious, but don’t.

My brain and soul seem to float away, watching my life unfold from somewhere above, like a movie I’m both starring in and observing from the back row.

The hardest part isn’t the floating away; it’s the paralysis that comes with it.

I’m often given advice: “Just follow your feelings,” but how can you follow feelings when you’ve grew up learning how to tune them out—when survival depended on scanning faces, matching energies, and shapeshifting to meet the moment?

When your real feelings get lost in the static of constantly reading others and becoming what each situation demands?

This artwork explores that fracturing of self—the way we can be simultaneously present and absent, both the observer and the observed.

The split face mirrors that split experience. One side remains grounded in the world; the other floats away.

The eyes look in two directions—outward, trying to make sense of the chaos, and inward, searching for the self that’s harder to hold onto.

The clashing colors reflect the intensity of the emotions that swirl beneath the surface, unseen but alive.

Dissociation doesn’t erase you—it splits you.

You can feel alive and numb at the same time. You’re there, but you’re also not. It’s survival, a way of protecting yourself when being fully present feels too overwhelming to bear.

But in protecting us, it also traps us, making it harder to reconnect with that authentic core of feeling and intuition that might actually guide us forward.

I’m learning to find my way back—listening to my body more, staying present in small moments, and tuning into my real feelings instead of pushing them aside. It’s slow, but I’m starting to notice the difference—feeling a little more connected, a little more whole.

This rug is a reflection of that journey: fragmented yet whole, disconnected yet alive, a reminder that even in the fracture, there’s hope for repair.