Delusions are Thieves.

They sneak in slowly, dressed like hope or wrapped in truth. At first, they feel like insight. Like clarity. Like God is whispering something special to you and you alone.

And if you’ve never been psychotic, that might sound strange. But if you know, you know.

See, I’ve lived with schizophrenia. I’ve walked the long hallways of delusion—barefoot, bruised, and wide-eyed. I’ve believed I was chosen. That I had secret knowledge. That the songs on the radio were messages just for me. That strangers were watching me. That I had a mission too big for this world to understand.

And here’s the messed-up part: some of those delusions felt holy.

They wrapped themselves in spiritual language, Scripture, synchronicities—like heaven was decoding a mystery just for me. It felt divine. Until it wasn’t.

Because eventually, delusion takes. It always does.

It takes sleep. It takes peace. It takes trust in the people who love you. It takes your sense of groundedness, your ability to look someone in the eye and know what’s real.

And then it turns on you.

The very voice that once told you you were special now tells you you’re cursed. Paranoia kicks in. You question everyone. Every motive. Every glance. Every silence. And soon, you’re drowning in a world only you can see—a world that feels more real than reality.

I’ve had episodes where I swore I was in a divine simulation. That the hospital was a test. That the doctors were actors. That I was on trial in some spiritual war no one else could see. And it felt so real. My heart was racing like I was being hunted. My thoughts were lightning. My fear was divine.

You don’t “snap out” of that kind of thing. You come down slowly. You take your meds. You sleep. You cry. You get clarity in pieces.

And eventually, the fog lifts.

That’s when the shame hits.

You start to remember what you said, what you did. You remember the texts you sent, the calls you made, the things you believed that make no sense now. And you wonder: Was any of it real?

But let me say this—

I’m not ashamed anymore.

Schizophrenia isn’t who I am. It’s a part of my story, not the whole story. The delusions were loud, but they weren’t the final voice. God’s grace is louder. And I’ve learned to live with the scars, not hide them.

So if you’ve walked through delusion, I see you. If you’ve questioned your reality, I understand. If your mind has betrayed you, you’re not alone.

You are not crazy.

You are not broken.

You are not beyond repair.

You are a soul with battle wounds—and I’m right here with you.

—Barnaby