I don't know if this'll make much sense, but much of the ""delusions"" I experience during ""psychosis"" (I apologize for the usage of psychological rapist terminology) almost never "reach the surface," i.e., I'll respond in dramatic ways in response to delusions but never truly believe in them. It makes discerning an episode from genuine belief almost insurmountably difficult because, at times, I'll tie these delusions, feelings, etc. to a "rational" ideology in order to justify and make sense of them.
To be more precise, how I interact with the world during these ""episodes"" is through perceived potentiality rather than actuality. While I know rationally that the spooks likely don't have me under surveillance, I still resort to extreme preemptive measures to assure dignity and potential escape in the instance of it happening. At my worst, I felt obliged to ritually clean my household, wipe out my PC (no, there's nothing incriminating on it), stay up at night to take note of the seemingly abandoned, tarnished cars across the street (I still don't know what the fuck they're doing there or why keep moving to different sides of the street; none of them have license plates, might I add), and check the windows whenever I hear cars passing by.
It's as though my emotional responses exist in a world of their own. I know the emotions are there, but I'm never fully synchronized with them. I am unable to rationalize them or fully make sense of why they are responding to certain things in the first place, but I never feel them intensely enough to act on them on my own right. That world just does.. whatever) while I'm left to observe and reflect on it, never knowing truly why I do it in the first place.
To be more precise, how I interact with the world during these ""episodes"" is through perceived potentiality rather than actuality. While I know rationally that the spooks likely don't have me under surveillance, I still resort to extreme preemptive measures to assure dignity and potential escape in the instance of it happening. At my worst, I felt obliged to ritually clean my household, wipe out my PC (no, there's nothing incriminating on it), stay up at night to take note of the seemingly abandoned, tarnished cars across the street (I still don't know what the fuck they're doing there or why keep moving to different sides of the street; none of them have license plates, might I add), and check the windows whenever I hear cars passing by.
It's as though my emotional responses exist in a world of their own. I know the emotions are there, but I'm never fully synchronized with them. I am unable to rationalize them or fully make sense of why they are responding to certain things in the first place, but I never feel them intensely enough to act on them on my own right. That world just does.. whatever) while I'm left to observe and reflect on it, never knowing truly why I do it in the first place.
