What it is really like to be paranoid:
I follow orders from distant galaxies, from the President, from my dead mother. The orders come from a barking dog. The TV. Email
That’s the low-grade stuff. I’m probably somewhat paranoid, a little on guard and on edge, at all times. Perhaps once a week (the tea invitation and the cocktail party) I experience paranoia severe enough that I make a note of it in my journal.
Then there’s the big stuff.