In 2018, I found myself on a path of recovery – a journey familiar to many, yet uniquely my own. (An aside: As of October 5, 2021, I’d been off medication since early 2017. I’m also resisting the urge to meticulously edit this, preferring to let the raw thoughts stand rather than risk over-polishing them into oblivion.)

This recovery encompasses numerous aspects, far too many to detail without writing a book, a task I’m not yet ready to undertake. Thankfully, most of my destructive habits are behind me, save for a persistent ten-cigarette-a-day habit that I stubbornly neglect.

Interestingly, I’m also recovering from a series of positive experiences in recent years. While I won’t delve into specifics, I strongly believe these experiences would have been far easier to integrate had I not been forcibly medicated during a hospital stay.

Perhaps my cannabis use triggered a sudden and dramatic shift in my thoughts and beliefs in late 2016. The crux of the issue, as I see it, is that cannabis seemed to impair something fundamental within me, something that defies explanation from myself, you, a doctor, or anyone else. I desperately wish I could articulate what’s in my mind.

It still astonishes me that, despite being aware something was amiss and communicating this clearly to at least three psychiatrists, including my cannabis use, they readily prescribed a cocktail of drugs with potentially severe side effects. I received no explanation regarding the combined risks of these medications, nor did I undergo any pre- or during-treatment testing (ECG, organ function checks).

Adding insult to injury, I was instructed to avoid grapefruit, a task I’d managed with ease for most of my life. However, when I inquired about the consequences of a “grapefruit binge,” the “pill-pushing medical experts” simply smiled and admitted they didn’t know.

This isn’t the first time this has happened. Years ago, when diagnosed with slightly high blood pressure, a GP prescribed statins (I think that’s what they were called), also advising me to avoid grapefruit. Then, later, when I sought help for unhappiness, a rushed, young psychiatrist prescribed something that could raise my blood pressure. When I asked if it was safe to take with my blood pressure medication, he suggested I consult my GP. My GP, seemingly unsure, consulted “medi-google” and deemed it “fine.” And, of course, the Quetiapine leaflet also warned against grapefruit.

My “grapefruit fixation” aside, this raises a crucial point: what other common foods and drinks might interact with these commonly prescribed drugs, often dispensed with little regard for our long-term well-being?

When my behavior became strange and challenging, especially for those closest to me, I entrusted my care to the NHS. I specifically requested mild sedatives to aid sleep and pleaded to avoid medication, particularly during my hospital stay.

My only regret is not refusing the medication outright. I realize this would have likely resulted in forced injections, but I’m frustrated by my own lack of courage to resist.

I’ve digressed from my initial intention, which was to explore the experience of being “insane,” or at least my fragmented memories of that time. I lack the vocabulary and basic skills to articulate this without sounding completely mad myself.

When I am ready to address these experiences, I suspect they will be disguised as fiction.

What appeared “crazy” to others, what some psychiatrists labeled as acute mania and others as psychosis, felt only marginally insane on the inside.

However, I am relieved that I lacked a “good education” (as defined by modern educators), and I am glad I wasn’t more confident in applying for jobs or pursuing university applications.

And I am so relieved that I didn’t own a passport until 2017 and that I had never learned to drive.

Perhaps, one day, I’ll explain why. But today is not that day.