crimsonwalker80 said:I am going to attempt to articulate this with as much precision as possible, though, quite frankly, even I struggle to pin down a definition for this sensation.
I’m twenty-two years old, and looking back, I can recall these episodes occurring since I was just a child. It always follows the exact same trajectory; I recognize the onset instantly, knowing full well that I am about to embark on this experience again within the next few minutes. It typically strikes when I am exhausted—perhaps during a mid-afternoon nap or just as I’m drifting off to sleep. Suddenly, my perception of the objects surrounding me undergoes a radical shift. Objects seem to gain this immense mass, yet simultaneously, I harbor this bizarre impression that they have shrunk in scale and are hovering right within arm's reach; for instance, if I’m lying in bed, I get this overwhelming sense that I could simply reach out and grab the doorknob across the room.
Inside my mind, things become even more surreal. These aren't hallucinations in the traditional sense, but rather an intense internal sensation—a constant, paradoxical tug-of-war between thoughts of something being gargantuan and something being microscopic. There is this quiet voice that manages to be piercingly loud at the same time, almost as if it’s shouting at me, all underscored by a mounting sense of dread. Then, I experience this sensation of hurtling through something perfectly smooth and level, only to plunge headlong into a chaotic nightmare of jagged edges and sharp protrusions, moving through it all at breakneck speed. None of this manifests physically; it is purely a phenomenon existing within my consciousness. The moment I attempt to focus on one specific sensation, it slips from my grasp, only to reappear in some other part of my periphery that I wasn't attending to. I am perpetually submerged in this medium, unable to truly grasp its nature. It feels as though I am constantly on the precipice of understanding exactly what is happening, but the truth always eludes me by a hair's breadth.
The entire episode lasts about five minutes before vanishing entirely without any lingering physical aftereffects. What infuriates me most is this absolute inability to comprehend the mechanics of it. Once the event concludes, the memory begins to fade immediately, making it incredibly difficult to describe the sheer intensity of those few minutes. It is as if my brain switched into an entirely different operating mode. This doesn't happen often—maybe just a couple of times a year.
In the past, I kept this to myself because the sheer strangeness of it was frightening, but I was stunned last year when, during a conversation with my college roommate, I realized he experiences the exact same thing. He tried to explain his version, but he too found himself stumbling for the right words. However, we are both certain that we are navigating the same type of "disorder"—this strange duality of something being tiny, quiet, and yet massive and deafening, combined with that feeling of passing through a specific medium. He described it somewhat like traveling through a tube that isn't hollow, but is instead completely solid.
I would be immensely grateful if anyone else who experiences such phenomena would share their accounts. Does anyone know what this might be? Is it a recognized condition? Is there any literature or research on this topic? Most importantly, is this something serious, and should I be seeking out a psychiatrist to discuss it?
This reminded me of a specific video—
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UyyjU8fzEYU
The video is 20 minutes long, so I’m posting it here primarily to warn those of you watching on a monthly data cap. 🙂
A woman (a brain doctor, no less!!) suffered a stroke. Her description of the experience was fascinating. During the stroke, her left hemisphere essentially shut down, and she experienced what she calls "nirvana." The human brain is split, after all—the right and left hemispheres.
The right side acts like a parallel processor; it's what anchors us to the present moment. In that state, you are pure energy interfacing with the energy around you. There are no dimensions, no measurements, no concept of time—just a beautiful collage of the present and an intertwining of energies.
The left side, however, functions like a serial processor. It manages history and the future; it analyzes that collage of the moment by taking details, categorizing them, and linking them to past knowledge or future plans. It’s the voice that says, "I am," effectively separating us from the surrounding energy. It’s also the voice that tells you, "I need to hit the restroom immediately or things are going to get messy."😁 Essentially: facts, logic, math, and minutiae.
Now, I might be wrong 😁 but it seems to me that when you're truly exhausted, you simply—switch off the left hemisphere. It's only logical.