Hello! I might delete this post because now I may call them "hallucinations", later I may hate myself for saying that.

I am not schizophrenic. I was [mostly] depressed for several years, so in 2021, I went to a psychiatrist. I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder, and I was prescribed antipsychotics for the first time in my life. Prior to this, I had never experienced any hallucination of any kind.

I started taking the medication, and then I experienced the worst month of my life. I will not say it here because I might trigger somebody.

For a really long time, I refused to call them "hallucinations", because I believed they had been real. It was frustrating talking to family, friends, counselours, and psychiatrists about my experiences because they always referred to them as "voices in my head". After a while, I just became so sick of hearing that phrase so I stopped opening up about it.

The things I were seeing and hearing (and feeling even) subsided after a few months. Still, I was so shaken by those things. It wasn't like a nightmare, because a nightmare ends when you wake up. However, this was still real to me even when it stopped happening. For a really long time, I was scared and angry. I lived as though there were always people watching me and invading my privacy. I felt violated all the time.

Anyway, the medication did its job naman and I was no longer depressed. Finally, I found I could make myself happy, which had been impossible to do when I had been depressed. I found enjoyment in playing video games, playing instruments, and listening to music.

Still, I felt scared and angry because of the things I had seen and heard. I just tried to run away from it as much as I could. I would avoid going outside, unless it was night time. I covered all cameras on my devices. I turned off the lights whenever I could, to lessen the chances of being seen and watched.

Last year, I stopped taking my meds because talking to psychiatrists angered me so much, and I thought, 'I feel happy and okay anyway.'

Haha. Sorry I laughed. Well, it turned out mania and depression were more expensive than my medication. I became addicted to [redacted] and I found less and less enjoyment in my hobbies. In fact, I could see I was slipping down back to depression. Don't forget I was still so fucking bothered by the events in 2021. I refused to talk about it, except for when it became too much and I would rant about it to random people who would 99.99% of the time tell me, 'Dude, that wasn't real. Nobody is watching you.' So, I was becoming depressed, traumatised, and terribly, terribly annoyed by everyone.

One terrible night, I wanted to k--- m-s---. I was on the bus, intending to do it in a certain place. I was listening to music on shuffle, and then a certain song came on, and the lyrics convinced me not to do it.

I decided to go somewhere else nearby. I'm really glad I did, because I accidentally met a woman. I did not know her, but she knew me - she had heard stories about me (we belong to the same online community).

She told me a story about her past, and it rang a bell.

She had experienced something almost exactly the same as what had happened to me.

Never had I thought I would meet someone who would understand.

Whatever she would say, I would believe, because she understood me.

She told me it was all in my head.

It was the only time someone convinced me of the possibility that it had been in my head. She also advised me to go back to a psychiatrist.

So, I've been back to a psychiatrist once since that encounter. I'm taking meds again (a different type of antipsychotics). I'm enjoying my hobbies again and I am going out a lot with my friends and new people. I never thought I'd enjoy life like this!

The best improvement is, I am now capable of harbouring multiple emotions at the same time. My pre-medication self had usually just been either depressed or (this is an exclusive or) high. Now, I can feel negative emotions and positive emotions at the same time. It's like notes in a chord!

This might sound like a happy ending. Actually, wait, yes, it might be, because I might end myself soon.

Yes, I'm happy.

However, last week, I was in class and I remembered it again, and for some reason, it hurt more than usual. I no longer heard voices, but I imagined what they would be saying if I (hypothetically) still heard them.

Then, I just remembered more and more. I would remember not just the traumatic incident itself but also other things, such as events from my childhood.

Last Thursday, I started breaking down.

(I forgot to mention, three weeks ago, it was already coming back to me and it was hurting more than usual. I cried in private but I held back from crying a lot because I was on vacation with my family.)

Man, sometimes, I think nobody can understand this, not even the woman I accidentally met last year. Maybe some of it were real talaga.