The complaint he made all along was that he could not become a "person". He had "no self". "I am only a response to other people. I have no identity of my own." (…) He felt he was becoming more and more "a mythical person". He felt he had no weight, no substance of his own. "I am only a cork floating on the ocean."
*
One of her patients said: "I forgot myself at the Ice Carnival the other night. I was so absorbed in looking at it that I forgot what time it was and who and where I was. When I suddenly realized I hadn't been thinking about myself I was frightened to death. The unreality feeling came. I must never forget myself for a single minute. I watch the clock and keep busy, or else I won't know who I am."
*
"Whereas people are commonly found to say that they come from this or that place, or work at this or that job, or know such and such a person, I try as far as possible not to let it be known where I'm from, what I do, or who I know…"
*
She described various techniques which either intentionally or unintentionally she now practiced in order "to recapture reality". For instance, if anyone said anything to her which she classified as "real", she would say to herself, "I'll think like that"; and she would keep repeating the word or phrase over and over again to herself in the hope that some of the realness of the expression would rub off on her. She felt doctors were real so she tried to keep the name of a doctor in her mind all the time. She tried to produce effects on other people such as saying something which she hoped would embarrass them. She found this quite easy to do since she felt quite detached from what feelings they might have. If then, looking at the other person, she saw signs of embarrassment she told herself that she must be real because she could produce a real effect in a real other person. As soon as anyone "came into her mind", she would tell herself that she was that person. She now felt that in so far as she could like a person, to that extent she would be like that person. She followed behind people, imitated their walk, copied their phrases, and mimicked their gestures. In a way that was frequently infuriating to others, she agreed with absolutely everything that was said. All this time, however, she kept saying that she was getting farther and farther away from her real self.
*
Marie, aged twenty, had been a college student for one year without passing any of her examinations. She arrived to sit an exam either several days too early or too late. If she ever turned up on time or while the exam was still in progress, it seemed more or less by accident, and she could not be bothered to answer the questions. In her second year, she stopped attending classes altogether, and appeared to be doing nothing at all. It was extraordinarily difficult to find out any concrete facts of this girl's life. She came to me at the suggestion of someone else. I set a regular time for her to see me twice a week. It was never possible to predict when she might arrive. To say she was unpunctual would be a vast understatement. The definitive time for the interview was a point in time which served only vaguely to orientate her. She would turn up on a Saturday morning for an interview on Thursday afternoon or she would phone at 5 p.m. to say that she had just awakened and so could not manage her interview at four o'clock but would it be suitable if she came along in an hour or so. She missed five consecutive sessions without giving notice, and arrived punctually for the sixth without comment and continued where she had left off before this break.
She was a pale, thin, wan creature with unkempt straight hair. She dressed in an indeterminately vague and odd way. She was extraordinarily elusive and secretive about herself. As far as I could gather, not a single one among the many people with whom she came into fleeting contact ever knew how she spent her life. Her home was outside London but since going to college she had taken digs in town and changed her digs frequently. Her parents never knew where she was staying; she would call on them at odd moments and pass the time of day as though she was a casual acquaintance of the family. She was in fact the only child. She walked swiftly and silently, almost on tiptoe. Her speech was soft and distinct, but listless, far-away, still and stilted without any animation. She preferred not to speak about herself but of topics such as politics and economics. She treated me with apparent indifference.
Ronald D. Laing, The Divided Self