For Nathan Dunne, a 45-year-old art historian, it’s been a long, difficult journey through illness and self realization. Born in Brisbane, Australia, Dunne spent his childhood years in Bengaluru, India, where his parents were Protestant missionaries. He now lives in Sydney with his wife, who is a professor of philosophy. Together they have fostered 1 of the most beautiful journeys through 11 special years. In 2008, everything changed with a single phone call. He became sick while continuing to follow a dream of completing a PhD in art history in London.
In 2008, Dunne’s life took a sharp right turn. He was diagnosed with depersonalisation – a condition that led him to feel like he was “locked outside” his own body. He felt an unbearable sense of alienation. It was like he was watching himself from the outside while doing things, getting up in the morning, taking a shower, putting on clothes, making breakfast. The condition not only affected his perception of reality but complicated his ability to communicate his feelings without resorting to hyperbole and abstraction.
Dunne’s fight with depersonalisation wasn’t an easy one. He was put through a barrage of diagnostic testing, including MRIs, chest X-rays and tests on his eyesight, blood and stool samples. Through this avalanche of diagnostics and medical intervention, hope was just a word. They can’t put their finger on what was really making him sick. To further aid in symptom management, he received an exposure and response prevention (ERP) kit. The kit included a bottle of water, beach towel and hessian grocery bag.
Dunne combined the ERP technique with a treatment called repetitive transcranial magnetic stimulation. He drew particular attention to the parietal lobe, a brain region known to shape self-perception, at the private First Hospital of China. While his avant garde course of treatment brought him welcome relief, it didn’t wipe out his symptoms completely.
“Truth be told, I still have ‘second body symptoms’” said Dunne in reflection of his ongoing battle with the condition. He admits uncertainty about their permanence: “I don’t know if they will ever leave.”
Despite all these challenges, Dunne has experienced other aspects that have helped him deal with it. He most frequently contemplates the notion of “surrender.” Not one’s pain game. This idea puts him to the test as he struggles with debilitating symptoms. Secondly, to surrender means this thing is going to do whatever it wants to you. In the midst of such severe symptoms, I imagine myself being steamrolled. In a shocking twist, I actually support that move,” he said.
Dunne’s perspective on acceptance is an uncommon insight into what it means to live with a terminal condition. He remarked that while radical acceptance is often discussed in therapeutic contexts, it does not resonate with him: “Ideas of radical acceptance – I’ve tried all of those things; I can’t relate to that language. Maybe ‘surrender’ is a good one, since this is the last thing I ever want to do.
Eleven years later, Dunne stood at the same lectern in Russia to deliver his first-hand experiences – raising further awareness and support for those affected by depersonalisation. His insights culminated in a poignant book titled “When Nothing Feels Real: A Journey Into the Mystery Illness of Depersonalisation,” where he chronicles his journey through this perplexing condition.
Reflecting on the essence of love amid his struggles, he stated, “It is… both a memory of our love and an acknowledgment of our efforts to sustain it.” This statement encapsulates the resilience required not only to endure personal challenges but to maintain meaningful relationships.
The voyage has not just been about coping with depersonalisation but in discovering optimism in the midst of distress. “You think of this thing you have as forever. I’ve lived long enough to know that there are just bad seasons in life. Then, one day … The world is new again,” shared a woman Dunne met at a Rodin lecture who offered him perspective during difficult times.
Dunne’s experience motivates and energizes us all. It’s a beautiful reminder that even in the wake of the most profound challenges, we, too, can find opportunities for renewal and understanding. He continues to confront each day with courage and insight, allowing himself to feel deeply despite the barriers presented by his condition.
“The other word that really helped me over the years is ‘float,’” he noted. The only thing I don’t want to do is drift along with the second body symptoms. The lexicon, the feeling – it just opens you up to really lean into it by leaning into it.