A Journey Through Psychosis

I did not learn this from a textbook. I lived it. I know what it is to feel the mind reorganize itself, to watch reality sharpen into impossible clarity, to become utterly convinced of something that no one else can see. And I know what it is to come back—to question every thought, every certainty, and to realize that the mind is not a fixed thing, but a system in constant balance, capable of both brilliance and delusion. That balance is what defines sanity, and its loss is what defines psychosis.

What I have come to understand is that psychosis is not the failure of a single mechanism—it is the failure of an entire system. The mind maintains stability through three interdependent domains: biological vulnerability, chemical regulation, and cognitive interpretation. Each of these systems adjusts and compensates for the others. But when they align in dysfunction, the mind does not simply break—it locks into a new stability, one that is closed off from external correction.

This triadic structure is not unique to psychosis—it is the underlying architecture of the brain itself. From the most basic neuron, which balances dendritic input, cell body integration, and axonal output, to large-scale cognitive systems like the salience, default mode, and executive networks, the brain is built on triads—self-regulating units that hold stability through the interaction of three distinct but interdependent functions. At every level, health is balance—and imbalance is dysfunction.

The first layer of this balance is biological vulnerability—the foundation we inherit. Genetics shape neurodevelopment, determining how resilient or sensitive our circuits will be. Early experiences calibrate our stress response, leaving some minds highly reactive, others more adaptable. These factors alone do not cause psychosis, but they define how easily the system can be pushed past its threshold.

The second layer is chemical regulation—the system that determines how reality is processed. Dopamine highlights significance, glutamate drives connections, and GABA restrains excess activation. When this balance is intact, perception is fluid and self-correcting. But when it destabilizes—whether through stimulants, chronic stress, or underlying neurochemical shifts—the filtering system falters. Meaning floods in, and everything feels connected.

The final layer is cognitive interpretation—the system that turns perception into belief. The salience network determines what matters, the default mode network integrates it into a personal narrative, and the executive system filters distortion. Under normal conditions, these systems engage in constant revision. But when all three align under stress, certainty replaces doubt, and the mind locks into a closed loop of self-confirming belief.

This is why psychosis is not disorder—it is homeostasis at a new equilibrium. The mind does not shatter. It reorganizes into a state where every thought reinforces itself, where reality-testing collapses because the system no longer allows it. To the outside world, it looks like madness. To the person experiencing it, it is the highest form of clarity.

And yet, this is not just a model for psychosis—it is a model for all human perception. These same triads govern every mind, constantly adjusting to maintain balance. In a world of relentless cognitive stress, algorithmic reinforcement, and chemically altered attention, entire societies are beginning to display the same patterns—certainty replacing doubt, perception locking into rigid belief. The mechanisms of psychosis are not foreign—they are simply an extreme case of what happens when the mind is pushed too far.

To understand psychosis is to understand perception itself. And to do so is not just to improve diagnosis or treatment—it is to develop a new way of thinking about mental health, cognition, and reality itself. The path forward is not found in erasing uncertainty but in learning to live within it—holding the balance, not through rigid belief, but through adaptation. This is what the triadic model ultimately offers: a way to see the system, to navigate it, and perhaps, to heal it—both individually and collectively.