How can one even begin to describe the existential loneliness that originates in living with an experience that the majority of the population could never begin to imagine experiencing?

When I'm in that electrical moment there is no world, and when I lay there, unable to move afterward, all there exists for me is stoic, silent observation. There is no communicating, there is no expression, there is no connection to anything outside my own body. And I like it that way. I am in my own world, and I like it in there. It is quiet, and there is no one demanding anything of me. I am free to spend as much time as I wish focusing on what I am seeing, hearing, feeling, thinking. It truly is like meditation, and I think it is the therapeutic value of this exploration, both internal and external, that keeps me from being terrified of this sudden and complete loss of control over my body.

It seems to manifest in a way that provides me with some perverse kind of psychological release from any responsibility for what happens.

None of this is captured in the wikipedia article, or textbook definition of this, mostly because those are written by people who observe them form the outside, and have never actually experienced it. Also, it protects those who would idiotically attempt to reproduce the experience form this feeling.

This must be why there are support groups for this type of thing.

I don't know if I can really even connect with the people I used to revel in conversation with.