Introduction
I used to think the mind was the safest place I had, quiet, private, dependable, and safe. A space where thoughts made sense and the world outside could be processed, understood, and stored away. I never imagined that the very place I trusted the most would one day become unfamiliar, unpredictable, and frightening.
Schizophrenia did not arrive loudly in my life. It crept in quietly, through small changes I could not explain, thoughts that felt slightly out of place, and moments where reality did not feel as solid as it once did. At first, I brushed it off as stress, exhaustion, or simply a phase. But slowly, the lines between what was real and what my mind was creating began to blur.
This illness is grueling, not because it is always visible, but because of how invisible it can be to everyone else. On the outside, I could appear calm, functional, and present. On the inside, my thoughts could be chaotic, confusing, and overwhelming. Simple tasks became battles. Conversations required immense effort. Trusting my own perceptions became a daily challenge.
Schizophrenia is not what it seems in mainstream media. It is not all loud, blaring noises and voices you cannot ignore. It presents itself in a more sinister way, creeping up when you are not looking, when you are not paying attention.
The illness does not only exist in the mind, the body tells its story as well, through eating habits and self-harm tendencies. The body reflects how the internal experience begins to shape reality when living with this condition.
Social circles become daunting when surrounded by the uncertainties the mind creates every day. Walls begin to tell tales that transcend what can be considered normal. Friends become more distant, like a hand stretched out in the darkness, always seeming so near, yet never close enough.
The Struggles in the Mirror
The mirror became a place of quiet confrontation. I would stand before it and search for familiarity in my own reflection, hoping to recognize the person looking back at me. Some days, the face in the mirror felt like mine. Other days, it felt distant, as if I were observing a stranger wearing my features. This unsettling disconnect made me question not only how I looked, but who I was becoming.
Schizophrenia distorted more than my thoughts, it distorted my sense of identity. I began to doubt my expressions, my emotions, and even the authenticity of my reactions. I would study my reflection, wondering whether my eyes revealed the chaos I felt inside or hid it too well. There was a constant fear that others could see something I could not, that they could detect the disorder behind my composed exterior.
Simple routines like grooming, dressing, or preparing for the day became emotionally heavy. I was not just getting ready to face the world, I was trying to assemble a version of myself that felt stable enough to be seen. The mirror forced me to confront the gap between how I felt internally and how I appeared externally. Maintaining that balance was exhausting.
Sometimes, I avoided the mirror altogether. It was easier not to face the questions it raised. However, even in avoidance, the struggle remained, because the real battle was not with my reflection, but with the shifting perception of myself that schizophrenia created, where certainty about who I was could change from one moment to the next.
The Stillness in My Eyes
People often commented that I looked calm, quiet, and composed. They saw stillness in my eyes and mistook it for peace. What they could not see was that this stillness was not serenity, it was survival. It was the effort of holding everything inside, of keeping the storm in my mind from spilling into the world around me.
There were moments when my thoughts moved too quickly, too loudly, crowding my head with noise I could not silence. In response, my body learned to become very still. My expressions softened, my gaze steadied, and I appeared distant. That distance was not indifference, it was a shield, a way of coping when my inner world became overwhelming.
The stillness in my eyes was also a sign of disconnection. I would find myself staring, not because I had nothing to say, but because I was trying to process what was real and what was not. Conversations would continue around me while I struggled to anchor myself to the present moment. My eyes seemed fixed, but my mind was searching for clarity.
Sounds of Colours
There were moments when my senses no longer stayed in their proper places. Colours did not remain silent, and sounds did not remain invisible. A passing noise could feel bright, almost blinding, while certain colours seemed to hum with an intensity I could not ignore. The world around me became layered with sensations that overlapped and tangled together, making it difficult to separate what I was seeing from what I was hearing.
A simple environment could become overwhelming. The faint buzz of a light might feel loud and sharp, as if it carried a colour of its own. The rustle of leaves could seem vivid and intrusive, demanding my attention in ways I could not explain. It was as though my mind translated ordinary stimuli into something far more complex, far more intense than it should have been.
How do you explain that a sound feels bright, or that a colour seems to echo?
The words never felt adequate, and the fear of sounding irrational often kept me silent. So I carried these sensations quietly, navigating a world that felt distorted in ways only I could perceive.
Living with schizophrenia has been a journey through confusion, fear, and deep introspection. It has altered how I see myself, how I experience the world, and how I understand reality. From the uneasy reflection in the mirror, to the quiet stillness in my eyes, to the overwhelming blending of my senses, this illness has touched every part of my daily life in ways that are often invisible to others.
Yet within these struggles, I have come to know a different kind of strength. I have learned to be patient with myself on days when my mind feels uncertain. I have learned resilience when reality feels distorted. Most importantly, I have learned that even in the midst of this grueling illness, I am still present, still aware, and still capable of finding moments of clarity and meaning.
Conclusion
Schizophrenia does not define who I am, but it has shaped my journey in profound ways. My story is not only about the weight of the illness, but about endurance, understanding, and the quiet determination to keep moving forward despite it.
I have lived experience with this topic. It was only a few years ago that I was diagnosed with schizophrenia and began taking medication to manage it. I am currently 25 years old and have experienced a great deal in relation to this condition.
References
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Feyaerts, J., & Sass, L. (2024). Self-disorder in schizophrenia: A revised view, 1, comprehensive review, dualities of self and world experience. Schizophrenia Bulletin, 50(2), 460–471. https://doi.org/10.1093/schbul/sbad169
Peralta, V., & Cuesta, M. J. (1994). Subjective experiences in schizophrenia: A critical review. Comprehensive Psychiatry, 35(3), 198–204. https://doi.org/10.1016/0010-440x(94)90192-9
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Author Bio
Aishath Layaan Shahid is a 25-year-old undergraduate student studying at UCSI University in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. She studies Forensic Science and has acquired many skills through this program, including leadership and people skills. She has lived experience in multiple mental health struggles and wishes to openly talk about them and raise awareness about the topics that come from them. Regardless, she has many hobbies such as reading and artistic expression, along with watching movies with her friends and eating new foods. She has learned that in life, many different situations can bring you down underneath the splashing waves, but it can never truly make you broken, even though you may feel that way from time to time.
Published under the Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International (CC BY 4.0) license for mental health awareness with editorial review.