The Unreality of the Epstein Files

Friday 13th February 2026

When I told my Community Psychiatric Nurse that I ws struggling with the Epstein Files furore, he tilted his head and asked me if it was because of trauma. Partially, I suppose it is. I’ve experienced some of the things that are coming to light, and I feel sickly and yet validated that proof is here: this really happens, and it happens a lot, do you believe me now, etc. But no, that’s not what’s sending me west, at the moment.

”It’s like an episode”, I said. “It’s like I no longer know what’s real and what’s not”.
We spent an hour and a half unpacking this.

When you suffer from any psychotic disorder, you have to learn reality testing; that is, being capable and able to ask people if something you are currently experiencing is real, or if it’s part of your illness. Asking if that voice in the distance calling your name was really there, or if that shadow behind you is still behind you, asking if it’s true that there’s a network of powerful billionaires collecting children like currency, if they’re using weird code-words to describe heinous acts, if you are the one who can decipher this code, if we are experiencing a global reckoning.

I asked the nurse if schizophrenia is real. If any of this is real. In the 60s, psychotics were obsessed with the CIA, and these days we become obsessed with satanic cults, and delusions of fame. Delusions and psychosis tend to take on the flavour of the zeitgeist, the cultural millieu. But what happens when they’re proven to be true? Do we stop medicating the schizophrenics, release them from their locked up chambers? And me, watching video after video on YouTube as a sort of delusional self-harm — how far down this rabbit hole can I go, and what’s that voice, that real voice, that disembodied narrative fucking voice that follows me around, telling me to go down the rabbit hole?

I told him if feels like the earth is cracking open and we’re all desperately peering inside. Fuck it, what if we find Agartha? What if the billionaires are hiding in bunkers where we once thought magma existed? Would anything surprise us, any more? And it swarms even the non-psychotic, it clouds you and mists you with theories and conspiracies, inside all of the panicked monologues to camera and think-pieces and essays full of wild speculation, little truths exist, and we do not know how to extract them. This is all part of it, I said.

My nurse explained to me that mental illness is measured on distress. If the schizophrenic patient, for example (it’s me, hi, I’m the problem, it’s me) runs into the doctor’s office yelling about Epstein whilst taking their clothes off because they’ve been fitted with a wire actually and they simply must get rid of it, bleeding, naked, sobbing, delirious — then that patient is unwell. That is a patient, not a person (and that’s a whole other discussion). If the schizophrenic is taking their antipsychotics like they’re supposed to, and walks into the doctor’s office calmly and says, “I think I’m doing okay, but I’ve been diving into the Epstein files quite a bit, and I’m just worried that maybe cannibalism is a kind of normalised practice amongst a very real elite”, then that patient is a person again, with reasonable concerns.

So what is this reality? We are experiencing a paradigm shift, and nobody knows how to behave. Maybe that’s the point; to scramble us. We mustn’t think too hard about it. We might become like them, the Mad ones, the locked-up ones, the ones you see shuffling down the street, eyes barely open, carrier bag full of sweets and crisps.

I once experienced a “Truman Show Delusion”; I beleived my life was being watched by millions, perhaps billions. If I’d behaved normally, this would make sense — our lives could be being watched by millions at all times, in fact we aspire to that when we post pictures of our matcha lattes and make our Get Ready With Me Videos — the only differene between me and them is I didn’t feel the need to feed an algorithm, I believed the work was done. Had I not committed a crime during this time because of the delusion, it would have been normal, philosophical, even.

So my advice with the Epstein files is to think, but don’t do. Do not follow the desire to scream, to collapse, to combust, to protest. Just think, cry quietly, pray, and love your family and community. Antipsychotics will make you fat and sleepy.

I told the nurse I’d like to come off the meds some day. He liked that joke.