I’m 23, and earlier this year after almost two decades of hallucinations, I was diagnosed with schizophrenia.

I know I probably shouldn’t be as terrified as I am. I’ve made it this far without medication or mental health support. I’ve built a life. I function. But getting an official diagnosis feels like being forced to finally name and face something I’ve been living alongside my entire life.

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I’ve had hallucinations for as long as I can remember. Around age six, I started seeing things that weren’t there. Vivid scenes of relatives dying, animals moving through my bedroom, the feeling of being watched at night, fires, creatures that didn’t make sense. Some were common fears, some were just strange. As a kid, I was constantly scared and confused, and no one around me understood why. My parents didn’t believe in mental health care, so I was never evaluated or helped. I just learned to live with it.

When I was a teenager, the hallucinations became less frequent. Maybe a few major ones a year. They also changed. Distorted reflections, imagined accidents, strange figures, things appearing in my home that weren’t real. Around that time, the paranoia started too. I became convinced people were watching me, that something was following me, that my pets weren’t safe to trust. Even now, admitting that feels embarrassing, but those thoughts still linger.

In my early twenties, things calmed down for a while. Nearly two years without anything intense. I still had paranoid thoughts, but I honestly believed everyone experienced things like that sometimes.

Then about five months ago, everything came back. Hard. Multiple hallucinations a day. I still have them. I can’t turn my back in my kitchen without feeling like someone is behind me. I can’t look out my windows at night without seeing something there. After finally telling someone what was happening, they urged me to get help while I still knew it wasn’t real.

So I saw a psychiatrist.

And the diagnosis was schizophrenia.

I didn’t believe it at first. I still want a second opinion. It doesn’t match what people think schizophrenia looks like. I’m in med school. I have a job. I take care of my pets. I’m not violent. Outside of episodes, I function. But apparently that doesn’t mean the diagnosis doesn’t fit.

I’ve started medication, and I think it’s helping. Tonight, I let my cats sleep in my bed again without being scared of them. I’m in therapy. I have a treatment plan. Things are moving in the right direction.

What I’m struggling with now is telling anyone.

I don’t want people in my personal life to know. It feels humiliating. Like I’d be giving up control over my own life. Professionals keep telling me it’s important for my safety, and I know they’re probably right, but I can’t bring myself to do it yet. People have noticed I’m jumpy or paranoid, and I just brush it off.

I don’t know how to explain to someone what it’s like to have full conversations with people that never actually happened. To replay phone calls in your head that no one else remembers. To question your own reality while still trying to live a normal life.

I didn’t know where else to put this. I just needed to say it somewhere.

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