One day, I arrived home late and noticed my roommate swiftly enter her room, wrapped in a damp towel. I greeted hello, but she ignored me and avoided eye contact. I shook it off, thinking she hadn’t noticed me. Five minutes later, I heard her return home from outside. Confused, I inquired, “Weren’t you just inside in your bedroom?” She grew pale and instructed me to rush to the car, lock it, and dial 911.

That day, I was frightened to learn that my roommate is schizophrenia. She sometimes skips her prescription, which causes her to detach and become paranoid. In her disconnected state, she had left the house without recognizing it and then returned, convinced she was dealing with an intruder.

This explained her peculiar conduct of initially ignoring me and then requesting me to go to the car, as if there was a stranger in our house when it was actually her.
I’d been living with her for two months and had no idea about this. I still love her and consider her a friend, but I had to leave immediately since I no longer felt secure living there.