In this way I have become, and have remained, delusional for months at a time, which feels like breaking through a thin barrier to another world that sways and bucks and won’t throw me back through again, no matter how many pills I swallow or how much I struggle to return. What’s true is whatever I believe, although I know enough to parrot back what I know is supposed to be true:these are real people and not robots; I am alive, not dead. The idea of “believing” something turns porous as I repeat the tenets of reality like a good girl. When hallucinating, the idea of “seeing” or “hearing”
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