
The strangest part about losing your mind is that you don’t feel like you’ve lost anything. If anything, you feel like you’ve finally found the thread that has been tugging at the back of your consciousness your entire life. When psychosis comes for me, it doesn’t announce itself with some dramatic cinematic collapse. It arrives quietly—like a shift in the weather. A small off-ness in the air. A sense that something is “different,” that symbols mean more than they should, that strangers are glancing at me because they know. For a few days, I can still tell something is wrong. I’ll even say it out loud sometimes: “Something feels off. Something is happening.” But the people around me can’t see the machinery turning inside my head yet. It’s all internal at first.
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