The People Who Remembered Who I Was When I Couldn't

After my first hospitalisation for psychosis in 2020, I was scared that I had lost myself.

I didn’t trust my own mind in the same way anymore. Even months later, when I went back to work part-time, I struggled to concentrate. I knew I couldn’t go back to living exactly as I had before, but I was frightened that something essential in me had disappeared.

What helped was that other people seemed to remember who I was even when I couldn’t.

Because of lockdown, nobody could visit me on the ward during my first admission. But when I came home, close friends came to see me almost immediately.

During my second admission in 2023, friends visited me in hospital. They brought activities, socks, jelly and celery sticks.

I still have no idea why I asked for celery sticks.

That detail makes me laugh now, but I think it says something important.

Mental health crises are huge. Psychosis is huge. Being sectioned is huge.

But love often shows up in very ordinary ways.

After I was discharged, people did puzzles with me, drew with me and painted with me. One friend asked me for help with an essay. Others let me stay in their home for two weeks while I was looking for somewhere to live.

At a time when I was questioning my competence and independence, the people around me were still treating me as capable.

They cooked with me, shopped with me, came to appointments, helped with life admin, sat with me, invited me out, made me laugh and kept showing up.

About a year after my first episode, one of my close friends made a joke at a party about me not knowing what reality was.

It was brave.

But it landed.

We all laughed.

And I needed that laugh.

For so long, psychosis had felt frightening and serious. In that moment, it was allowed to sit alongside humour, friendship and ordinary life.

I also understand now that those periods were hard for the people around me too.

People missed work. They travelled long distances. They cycled to hospital. They walked alone in the dark. They were frightened of what they might find when they saw me in hospital.

I didn’t fully appreciate that at the time.

Most of those relationships are more honest now.

My family and close friends know my early warning signs and crisis plans. I’m learning to reach out when I feel wobbly — and also when I feel a little too good.

I can’t hide as easily anymore.

And maybe that’s part of recovery too.

There were times when other people believed in me more than I believed in myself. They still saw my creativity, humour, competence and independence when I couldn’t quite access those things myself.

For a while, I borrowed their belief.

Until my own came back.

Recovery has not meant becoming exactly who I was before.

I don’t want my old life back exactly as it was.

Some things needed to change.

But the people around me helped me understand that change is not the same as disappearance.

I was still there.

You are not going to get your old life back exactly as it was. And eventually, maybe you won’t even want to. But you will get yourself back.