Ren-induced Psychosis
Hello; suppressed, yearning, infatuated, and idealistic ladies begging for a savior. And those who choose to channel all their energy into a single human being for the sake of an ideal.
I was like that too, and a part of me still is.
Since my native language is Turkish, I am translating this text using AI. I apologize in advance for any lifelessness or monotony in the translation.
I have spent my life in violence; from the media, from family, from society, from my lovers, from the desires for destruction and consumption that people mistake for mere imagination... And I had become someone who could no longer see themselves. Indecisive, inconsistent, reluctant, angry, destructive.
My existence, my body, never went beyond being an object—a consumer good. Every dream I ever had was undermined, belittled, and deemed "too big for me." Even though I tried to resist the learned helplessness I witnessed in people, I couldn't stop it; I internalized it.
At a time when nothing was left but a body, suppressed rage, and tons of disappointment, I discovered Ren’s music. For the past two years, he has been an artist I listened to in the top one percent.
In this wreckage of a world we live in, who wouldn't admire a man so open, so angry, so scrutinizing, and so brave?
Finally, I was being understood; my anger was surfacing. I was looking for Ren in the men I met, I was looking for Ren in myself. This desperate and impossible search turned into an obsession.
What I felt the most—emotions like shame, guilt, numbness, grief, and fear—could only be relieved by his voice. He would drown me in rage; I felt like I was going mad with desire. Even that was better than feeling the worst. I was trapped in such a way that for every emotion I couldn't express, I pinned my hopes on his voice, on his next song.
Ren had to be the only person who could take me to the world of my dreams. As a neurodivergent person, you know how limitless and deep our imagination can be, and the effects that come with the medications we can use.
And at the end of a psychosis* or an initiation*, without sleeping for three days, sharing instant stories on Instagram, I spoke non-stop. I recounted my whole life, analyzing, questioning, reflecting, vomiting hatred, and satirizing the attitudes of all the people I had ever met with wit, anger, and mockery. I shared all the dreams I built for a new world, and all the knowledge I possessed, which I believed was interconnected. I was only posting the satire and rage aimed at the state and the religious beliefs of Islam. I received hundreds of comments and messages from hundreds of people—death threats, belittlement, messages of desire. This triggered a massive reaction in our country.
I experienced every single emotion. With minute-by-minute shifts, I entered psychosis repeatedly, found my mistake, came back, searched for the truth, and continued in cycles... A 24-hour purification lasting three days.
In the end, I fell in love. I believed. Finally, I believed in something, because that was what I was truly missing... the possibility of believing in a dream.
But it wasn't the right kind of love. Attributing the meaning of my life to a human being had already killed me before.
The effects of the medication (Atominex) or whatever it was* began to wear off, and I started coming down. Then, all of a sudden, I crashed. Not even to the ground—I was at the absolute bottom of hell.
I was now the most immoral, the worst person on earth. There was no tomorrow for me, there never would be. I had transformed from an egoistic, arrogant, power-tripping object of violence into a violence-inflicting terrorist... I had shared my entire life with thousands of strangers, and who knows what else could be out there beyond that?
There wasn't even a single memory left in my brain prior to those last three days. I began to experience the emotions I had been running away from for thirty years, one by one, at the highest pitch: shame, guilt, paranoia, or the truths I discovered but couldn't accept... Then my mind went quiet. Nothing. Nothingness. I have never experienced such apathy in my life.
I died there that night—a few times, and then once more. My brother came to my side. It really is a blessing to have people you can trust. He taught me, reminded me how to breathe. There were moments I drifted off to sleep and stopped breathing... I went into the void, I know it. I must have found life in that void, because then I returned here with deep breaths and fearful screams.
Only at the end of the fourth day, with an IV at the hospital, was I able to sleep. When I woke up, I decided to transform this into something. I couldn't be alone for the first two days; my family was with me. And I couldn't internalize my process... I was still uncertain and indecisive, still waiting in expectation, still unable to make sense of it.
To overcome the shame and the fear, despite all the threats that came my way, despite the terror, I needed to be able to step out onto the street alone now.
I needed to listen to music that would allow me to hear my own soul, no longer Ren's forced purges.
I needed to remind myself that I have nothing left to be ashamed of, and that I am strong enough not to be the perpetrator, the broadcaster, or the inflictor of violence.
I needed to break free from this vicious cycle, this yoke of the male world.
Because today, the only possible rebellions are personal rebellions. And the only thing they destroy is our old self.
Isn't the first way to exit this system—which they have poisoned with anger, desire, ambition, and pride—to first cleanse ourselves of their emotions anyway?
Now, I am listening to Ludovico Einaudi, who was Ren's inspiration. And I will continue with similar artists. Because this is not the frequency I need to be in to ground my ideas on solid foundation...
You can keep consuming until you allow the media and the music to destroy you... I hope what I've been through inspires one of you.
And if you would like to share anything about your own experiences, I am here to listen.