In Defence of De-Persons by Johanna Hedva

I can’t write about the prefix “de–”
without also writing about the prefix
“dis–.” “De–” and “dis–” are twinned,
convex and concave, like depersonalization
and derealization. “Dis–”
comes directly from Old French and
Latin and means “apart, in a different
direction, between,” as well as
“lack of, not… do the opposite of…
apart, away.” Almost the same as
“de–”—but for its Proto-Indo-European
root, “dwis,” meaning “twice.”
So, a two-ness, a split-off.
wealth, race, power, and, primarily,
ability. Wellness in this context is
paradoxically both an innate moral
virtue and an individual’s own
responsibility to maintain—and is
soaked in ableism.
Depersonalization disorder falls under
the DSM-V category of “Dissociative
Disorders,” and the name for
the bit of time when I am “detached”
from “myself” is called dissociation.
Again, I quote the DSM-V so as to
reveal the conceptual framework
upon which such diagnoses rely:
Mia Mingus puts it perfectly:
Ableism cuts across all
of our movements because
ableism dictates
how bodies should function
against a
mythical
norm—an
able-bodied
standard
of white supremacy, heterosexism,
sexism, economic exploitation,
moral/religious beliefs, age, and
ability.
Boyer writes: “Wellness,
like gender, was so constructed,
on a good d-
ay I could fabricate its
appearance in
eighteen
minutes.”
Dissociative symptoms are
experienced as unbidden intrusions
into awareness and
behavior, with accompanying
losses of
con
tin
uity
in subjective experience…
and/or inability to access
information or to control mental
functions that normally
are readily amenable to
access or control…
The dissociative disorders
are frequently found in the
aftermath of trauma, and
many of the symptoms,
including embarrassment
and confusion about the
symptoms or a desire to hide
them, are influenced by the
proximity to trauma.
Two weeks is the longest continuous
period of time during which I’ve
been dissociated.