Here’s how things looked for me at the start; I’m copying this from an old thread on the Health forum 😁
Back in 1996, I started receiving psychiatric treatment for PTSD. I was plagued by restless dreams and couldn't catch any sleep. The doctor diagnosed me with PTSD, which led to a two-month hospital stay where I was prescribed Lexapro three times a day at 1 mg. After I was discharged, I actually felt fantastic, so I stopped taking the pills altogether. I honestly thought I was cured. I went to the local YMCA every single day to swim, doing hour-long sessions without stopping. I could have gone longer, but I just didn't know what else to think about while swimming; everything felt perfect. Then, one day at the pool, my godmother's best friend showed up. We swam together every day, chatted, and relaxed in the jacuzzi—it was great. Then, I stumbled upon that ancient internet forum and started posting. At the time, there were no moderators, so people were posting all sorts of intense stuff about the war; some guy named Uzdanica kept posting various combat photos, and it really messed with my head. The atmosphere on the forum started feeling exactly like the tension right before the war broke out back in '91. I felt like I was reliving 1991 all over again. I actually felt like someone could see me through the computer monitor. Everything got blurred—the internet, the TV, reality itself—I couldn't tell what was actually happening. I had this overwhelming sensation that I was being watched and wiretapped. Suddenly, even the woman at the pool became suspicious; I felt like she had been intentionally sent to tail me. One day, I was watching a football game, and something felt off. I noticed a player had a large "G" on his chest, which signaled to me that I needed to check the goalie. When I looked at the goalie, he was wearing a black jersey with the General Motors logo on it. Since the woman from the pool drove a General Motors car, it clicked in my mind: someone had killed her to protect me because the goalie was wearing black. I felt terrible for her, but I figured it was just one of those things that has to happen—even if it means murder. She stopped showing up at the pool, but since I didn't know she had actually flown to Germany to visit her mother, I genuinely believed she was dead. While driving, I started interpreting every license plate in my own special way. For example, "BJ" meant *Bail, Jump*, "CJ" meant *Check, Just wait*, and "BO" meant *Be Okay*. It was fine, though, given my username was Al Bundy. I spent my time driving aimlessly around the outskirts of cities like Indianapolis or Columbus. I would shadow cars that seemed suspicious to me. I was having hallucinations; for instance, in a small town near Springfield, I saw a billboard for a massive shark I had seen online, even though such an advertisement doesn't exist in real life. At night, I’d drive everywhere—from suburban neighborhoods to downtown Chicago and beyond. When I drove into a major city like Chicago, I had this gut feeling the police would be waiting for me. But when I reached the city limits, the entire road was covered in strange black hieroglyphs. In some spots, there were dead chickens on the street; I swerved my car to avoid them because I feared hitting them would bring some kind of curse upon me. I drove through hilly residential areas outside the city and then descended into the urban center. I pulled up to a wall, got out, walked the whole perimeter reading names written on it, and suddenly a lightbulb went off in my head telling me I had to go home. I got back in the car, but I couldn't find a way out of the city. I tried pulling into hospital entrances three different times, wondering why I was even there, before turning around and leaving. Eventually, the police pulled me over. They were checking something over their walkie-talkies, but then they just let me go. I asked them for directions back toward Indianapolis, and they helped me out, so I headed home. I was tailing a specific car, and as they sped up, I sped up too. Suddenly, a foul smell filled my car. The faster I hit the gas, the worse it smelled; when I slowed down, the smell lessened. To me, that was a sign that following that car was wrong. As soon as that car disappeared from the road, the smell vanished too. I made it back to my area around 6 AM. I slept for a bit and then headed to the pool. While swimming, I found myself singing: *"Fly, golden-winged bird... my homeland calls me and for it I shall die..."* Suddenly, the pool felt like a spy nest; I felt like my life was in danger. I went home, grabbed my handgun, loaded a round in the chamber and 15 in the magazine, and headed to the pool in the middle of the night. I was hunting spies. The pool was so crowded that I realized if I started firing, I’d definitely kill someone. But since nobody looked suspicious, I just went home. For a few days, I walked around town carrying the gun. I felt like someone was watching me through a sniper scope, ready to take the shot at any second, but I didn't care. My phone and washing machine were being repaired at home, and I was convinced someone had installed bugging devices in them. I threw the phone in the trash and loaded the washing machine onto a trailer to dump it at a landfill. There was an empty tractor trailer parked there, and I thought it was specifically placed there for dumping trash. I tossed the washer in and headed home. On the way, I saw a tractor missing a front wheel. Thinking about how I wouldn't need a spare tire in my brand-new car, I turned back and tossed my spare tire into the trailer. I figured if I ever got a flat, I could just grab a tire off the road and hijack someone else's car. Suddenly, it hit me: I am invincible. I can't even die, so why do I need a gun? I left it at home and stopped carrying it. I also felt like I could control the weather; even in November, it felt like spring to me. I'd drive around in short sleeves. I felt like I was Jesus—that I could raise people from the dead and that I had to die to save humanity, knowing I would just come back to life anyway. One morning, while driving, things took a turn. The parking lots were completely empty. The light was red at a signal, I let off the gas for a split second, and then I floored it, slamming straight into oncoming traffic. After crashing into two cars, I climbed out of my vehicle and started shouting at the intersection. I felt like I had died, yet here I was, alive. I tried to get into someone else's car, but the driver locked the doors. A police officer approached me and demanded to know why I was making a scene. Right then, I ripped the hat off his head and told him, "You don't work for the police department anymore. You're fired." The officer actually started shaking with fear, so I just handed him his hat back. Then, a civilian rushed up and punched me square in the head (I later found out he was SWAT). A fight broke out with the police, though honestly, they mostly just beat me up. I ended up in a psychiatric ward, strapped to a bed for a month. From the moment I arrived, I was suspicious of one patient because he looked like a cop; I thought they had planted him in my ward to watch me. Once I was released, everything bothered me—the sound of the streetcar, the fear of logging onto forums, etc. I was on various meds: Lexapro, then later Moditen, Aketon, and Amyzol. I couldn't sleep, my heart was racing uncontrollably, and I felt like I had brain tremors. Eventually, things stabilized.
It’s been seven years since then, and honestly? I’m doing fantastic now. 😁
