Misunderstood to Death

A little background information: I'm 23 years old, my first experience with depersonalization was a decade ago, the past three years have been chronic. In high school, I became obsessed with curing myself and fell into psychology (thinking I was curing depression). Doctor after doctor, no luck. Three years ago I realized that it was Depersonalization. Certain events, too much stress, I believe, made me admit myself to a psychiatric hospital. There, I received an official diagnosis, after having given them the name and the research material that I acquired. I tried cocktail after cocktail of medicines, and decided that there was no hope in curing this, for me, with medicine. I moved in with three roommates. The story begins here: I e-mailed "Feeling Unreal," a book about DPD that some of you may have heard of (Stranger To My Self is the most recent research that I know of). Anyways, I e-mailed the book to my family and told them that this is what is wrong with me, and that I needed them to read it to understand because I could not possibly find the words to explain what is going on, and unless they had experienced it, they most likely would think that I am bat $#%^. Nevertheless, no one in my family read it. Back to the house with the roommates---I fell into a spell of isolation and would stay in my room. I'm private, for obvious reasons, but eventually they would knock and I'd come out and hang out with them (I was reading philosophy and working on spirituality thinking that this would help). So, I began to join them in the living room. I wanted nothing more than to be understood, and any time that I spoke, it seemed they did not understand. A crippling silence fell over me, for a year, I literally only spoke a few sentences a day, and eventually, nothing at all. No one would listen or try to understand. Eventually, the silence was mistaken for arrogance, god-complexity, and even psychopathy. They forgot about the way things were before I fell silent, and then turned my silence against me. I could explain why I think this happened, but that is irrelevant. I'm a good guy, and never speak ill of anyone. I'm helpful when needed. And, there really was no reason for it. So, I've lost my friends, my family thinks I'm nuts, and I have been so socially isolated I forgot how to have conversations. I am alone, in the truest since. I have my mind, and I decided that I am going to write. That's all I have, my thoughts, no one, and nothing. Sad. I hope that you find someone that understands. And if you find yourself in the same situation, you're likely to become suicidal, and all I can say is, hang in there. Somehow I managed to. Take care you guys. I don't know you, but I love you.

I totally understand you brother and feel you. I suffered 8 years and still suffering. and I've just known that other people on the planet feel what I feel . also what about the book you mentioned ' feeling unreal'? what this book is actually discussing? and If possible can you email it to me?