Prior to being diagnosed in March 2021, I had been heavily indulging in sativa strains of marijuana for months and had been doing a lot of audio-booking about healing childhood trauma and started experimenting with music production. Somehow I had convinced myself that after listening to 2 books on 1.5 speed and making 10 shitty beats, I had overcome all of my trauma and reached enlightenment, which in my mind meant that I was the literal second coming of Jesus and that the music I had planned to release would trigger the apocalypse. The housing market was supposed to crash, EA, Gamestop, and Dogecoin were supposed to make me a trillionaire, and I would live happily ever after in a mansion overlooking the ocean, healing the world with my music.

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This realization came on a Tuesday. I had a friend over on Friday, where I confessed all of this to him while we were high watching Kong Vs Godzilla. Dude went along with it. 

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The next morning, I drove a few hours away to Santa Cruz to visit a childhood friend, and my dad. The plan was to hang out for a bit with the friend, go over and have a drink with my dad, then either stay the night at the friend's house or drive on home.

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I got to my friend's house, played him the music, and shared my revelation. Dude went along with it. My dad was free now so we make plans to meet up after I visit with dad. 

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I hung out with dad, we laughed and caught up, and talked about how much the audiobooks had helped me, then I shared my truth. Dude went along with it. I called my friend, but he wasn't ready for me to come back over yet, so I decided to drive around, thinking that there must be something else that I had to do in my quest to save the world before I could see my friend again. So I start driving around. 

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In my mind, Teslas were the horsemen of the apocalypse, so I could follow them. I followed one until it pulled into a residential neighborhood, but another was a few cars ahead so I started following that one. Then I saw an Amazon truck that seemed to be guiding my path. Then there was a car with one of those 'coexist' bumper stickers with all of the different religious symbols as the letters - so I followed that one until it led me past a few homeless dudes in a shelter. I stopped and got out to talk to them, and the owner of the establishment asked if I was okay. I told her 'Get back, Satan' and she asked me to leave, so I did.

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By this time, it's dark out and most businesses are closed. The road signs led me to a tire shop that was next to a mattress store. In my brain, tires were a closed loop, AKA a sign of completing the trauma loop and therefore someplace I should go. The door to the mattress store was open and the lights were on, so I went inside. On top of one of the mattresses was a really small box spring, that looked like a good substitute for a prayer mat, so I grabbed it. 

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From there, I walked maybe half a block to a tattoo shop where I saw someone getting tattooed. So I walked in and both the artist and the customer looked at me. I said "Hi, I think I'm supposed to show you how to pray", so I got down on all fours, with my hands on the box spring and started rotating in little circles, all the while explaining what I was doing. They both just were like "okay", and then I left.

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More street signs guided me deeper into this neighborhood, and a few houses stood out, so I knocked on the front doors. I told the people inside, if they answered, that if they didn't know me now, they would soon. 

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By this point, I was lost. I had no idea where my car was, and my phone was inside of the car, so I was pretty much stranded. I was wandering around the streets of Santa Cruz, and the only place I knew to go was my dad's house. Some nice strangers smoking on their porch pointed me in the right direction when I shared the address, and I was on my way. All the while, imagining that I was having actual conversations with friends and family telepathically, and someone told me I didn't need my shoes any more, so I threw them in the road along with my socks.

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When I arrived at my dad's house at around 3:30AM, I used the garage door code to get in the house. The dogs started barking, so I assumed that both my dad and step-mom had woken up. I went upstairs and apologized to their bedroom door for waking them up on my way to the spare bedroom where I would sleep until 6:15AM. 

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After waking up, I went downstairs to make coffee and I turned on the TV. The volume was crazy loud from the night before, and there are speakers in the living room ceiling just below the master bedroom. After some screaming from the bedroom, my dad came down to me convulsing on the couch and apologizing profusely for waking them up. This was especially triggering since I was verbally and emotionally abused by my step-mom all my life, so I was freaking out, going right back to feeling like a helpless child. 

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I turned the TV off, and my dad went upstairs to try and console my stepmom. I followed to try and apologize but she was having none of it and started screaming. I was convinced she was Satan, so I yelled at her to be gone. She stormed past me, downstairs and out into the backyard to smoke, and my dad was asking me what the hell happened. I explained that I had lost my car and that we needed to go find it. We tried using FindMyiPhone but for some reason it wasn't working, so we got in his car and started to drive around. Again, the road signs were supposed to be guiding me.

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After driving around for a good 20 minutes, my dad pulled over and was asking me a bunch of questions. I was convinced that I would find it on my own and that he should just leave me there, but he was adamant that I not exit the vehicle. After screaming back and forth for a minute or so, I got out of the car and started walking, believing that the police would end up stopping me and arresting me, only to find that I was the son of God and be forced to release me.

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Along the way, I crossed the street in a busy intersection with oncoming traffic as I was 'vibing to the beat of the universe'. Apparently it looked like I was punching at cars in traffic, according to the police when they stopped me a few minutes later. after some questions, an ambulance showed up to take me to the hospital, and somehow my dad had found me because I saw him talking to the police as I was getting loaded into the ambulance.

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Once I was at the hospital, I was convinced that most of the staff were there to protect me, but also that Satan had agents operating in the hospital trying to kill me. It was like a game in my head that I had to play if I wanted to get out of there. Make it seem like I was mentally ill to avoid being found out as Jesus. 

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The police officer came in and explained that I was on a psychiatric hold. I was thinking he was playing the game, that he was doing so for appearances. Over the next, I don't even know how long, I proceeded to respond to non-existent signs and signals, often with outbursts of laughter, or speaking very loudly, and crude sexual humor.

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At some point, another ambulance came to take me to another hospital, and they asked if I wanted to notify anyone. By this time, I was thinking that this was my big escape and would be home free. Plus, I'd convinced myself that my dad had abandoned me and therefore didn't need to know.

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Little did I know that I was being transferred to a mental hospital. Another game in my head once I got there. Same story, most of the staff were allies, but some were agents of the Devil. The pills that kept coming were placebos and I was there to show the mentally ill how to overcome their afflictions or something - most of my time at the mental hospital is fuzzy. After a day or two, and a few foiled escape attempts, and one very offended Hispanic patient that I mistook as the mother of Jesus, it became clear that I had failed on my quest and would be stuck indefinitely. 

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So I tried to call my dad. But every time I was on the phone, I could barely hear or understand anything. A couple of other friends somehow found out and tried to contact me at the hospital, but same thing - couldn't make out what was being said. 

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Eventually, I was released and my dad picked me up, brought me to my car and we went our separate ways. I had appointments se up with a therapist and psychiatrist, but I was still manic, so again, I thought that everything they were saying was part of the game to make it seem like I was mentally ill. 

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It was another month until I stopped seeing signs and hidden meanings, and even longer to really accept the diagnosis. Things are looking up now, but it was rough for a long time.