I’m psychotic. This means that I have certain hard-to-shake delusional ideas about the world and that, if unmedicated, I rapidly descend into weird paranoid fantasies.
It also means that I’m probably more creative, innovative, and imaginative than most people.
Being psychotic means struggling to become – and to succeed at being – a person. It means watching my own thoughts & feelings for signs of slipping. It doesn’t mean that I am less than others or something that should be feared.
I always felt that other people were distinct elements of my universe. They weren’t distinct from me, they were distinct because of me. Treating other people as being distinct from me was a matter of learned habit, not conviction – of course you’re part of me, you’re just too bone-headed to realise it. I think I’ve always believed that other people saw the world as I do, but that it just wasn’t socially acceptable to talk about it.
I don’t ‘need’ other people; rather, I desire them. The most impressive result of medication has been experiencing other people as distinct, non-dependent subjects. Interacting with someone as an independent subject is an almost magical experience.
It’s like drugs but far, far better.