Beneath the Ice

It is difficult to explain what a functional freeze feels like to someone who has never experienced it, mostly because it doesn't feel like much of anything. That is precisely the point.

When the body pulls the emergency brake and drops into a dorsal vagal shutdown, the goal isn't to process the world; the goal is to survive it by becoming numb to it. For over 50 years, this was my baseline.

I wasn't bedridden or catatonic. I got up. I did what was required. I moved through the daily motions of a life. But I was doing it from behind a thick pane of frosted glass. I was there, but I wasn't present. I was functioning, but I wasn't living.

Operating on Autopilot

Living in a shadowed life means you become incredibly adept at mimicking normalcy. You learn the scripts, you learn where to stand, and you learn what is expected of you. You operate like a very efficient machine, expending the exact amount of energy required to complete a task and not a drop more.

But inside, there is a profound emptiness as I couldn't recognize the emotions I knew I was having. There was no joy, no spark, no love, and no spontaneous desire. Even pain is muted—turned down to a low, heavy hum rather than a sharp ache. I became a ghost, haunting my own existence.

When you are frozen, connection feels dangerous. It requires energy you don't have and vulnerability your nervous system refuses to allow. So, you remain mostly alone. You observe the world rather than participate in it, assuming that the vibrant, messy, satisfying lives other people seem to be living are simply not meant for you.

The Medical Fallout

And then, there's the medical and personal fallout. I haven't been able to properly care for myself since last century. Unable to feed myself, or secure shelter, I also lacked the mental capacity to seek help. Luckily, I found one person came along, and after 2009, I was being cared-for in that I was being fed and sheltered in a relatively safe place.

Now, 15 years on, I am having problems with atrophying muscles on top of the frozen body manifestations and a dozen other connected medical and neurological issues. I'm now looking at years of occupational therapy, physical therapy, talk therapy, and physical rehabilitation. I am hoping to get rid of the body pain, and make things a little more comfortable for myself as I am tired of struggling. Really, I want to live a life with a little more security and normalcy.

The Realization

Perhaps the most tragic part of being frozen for so long is that you forget you are cold. The numbness becomes so familiar that it stops feeling like a symptom and starts feeling like your personality.

For decades, I didn't even know that life was *supposed* to be satisfying or enjoyable. I thought life was just a series of endurance tests. I thought everyone felt this disconnected, and they were just better at hiding it.

Realizing that you are in a functional freeze is disorienting. It requires looking back at decades of your life and acknowledging the sheer volume of time spent merely surviving. It is a heavy grief to process.

My nervous system kept me safe the only way it knew how. I don't resent it for that. But I am no longer in that danger, and I no longer need that defense.