[TW: Psychosis, Hospitalization] I survived Psychosis and so can you

About a year ago, I had what began as a beautiful, calm, and introspective trip: psilocybin (~2.5g), THC (50mg), and CBD (50mg). As the visuals wore off, I smoked more weed and crossed paths with my roommate in an awkward moment. I went back to my room, and that’s when it began—I heard his voice, clearly, as if speaking through the wall. It was as if he was trying to influence my trip in my impressionable state. I wasn’t scared at first. Just confused.

Then it spiraled.

The tone of the voices shifted. I thought my roommate was tracking my heart rate and breathing through my smartwatch, using it to read and then influence my emotional state. The only seemingly possible explanation was that he was broadcasting messages via Bluetooth or Wi-Fi that only I could hear, trying to reprogram my subconscious. It didn’t feel like psychosis—it felt like espionage. I kept “reality testing” rather than accepting the more likely answer: that the voices were hallucinations.

Within a week, I called my roommate around 2 AM, convinced he was going to kill me. I vaguely remember saying something threatening—not because I wanted to hurt him, but to test the delusion and see how he responded. His confusion cracked the delusion. I realized something was wrong with -me-. About 36 hours later, I self-admitted to the ER and was transferred to a Crisis Stabilization Unit before going to a mental hospital.

Despite being put on Olanzapine, and later Abilify, the voices stuck around for 6–7 months. They were persistent and distracting. I had trouble doing basic two-digit math while playing cards. They commented on everything I did and thought. Sometimes I followed their delusional narratives just for the distraction. I even used the narrative the voices gave me verbatim as my actual defense in the restraining order case my roommate filed against me WHILE I was hospitalized.

That restraining order destroyed my life: I lost my job, my home, my friends, my entire sense of community. I wasn’t dangerous, I was sick—but there was no room for forgiveness or understanding. Most people in my life didn’t ask questions. They just cut me off.

This spring, the weight of that isolation crushed me. I checked myself back into a hospital, this time because I was suicidal. I had nothing left—not the job I loved or the historical work we accomplished, not the home I built a life in, and not the people I thought were my friends. The second hospitalization was shorter, but it saved my life again. I’ve been on the long road back ever since.

The voices are gone now. I don’t remember the exact day they left, just the emptiness that came with silence. I’m still on medication (Rexulti). I still grieve. I still replay the collapse of that old life and wonder what might’ve gone differently.

But I survived. And I understand now: psychosis doesn’t always look like chaos. Sometimes it looks like logic turned on its head. And recovery isn’t a light switch—it’s a long, slow return to yourself.

If you’re in it right now: hang on. You're not alone, and it does get better. The hardest part is not knowing what's real. When in doubt, trust your doctors. We got this.