For some people, the medication does more than just wreck their body, it takes away their identity or removes all of the color from their world.

I had to learn to be a different person. (Discussed in another comment.)

This is an extreme example, but imagine smashing into an artist’s home, breaking their tools, and telling them they’ll be working in a warehouse for the rest of their life.

Maybe they’ll be happier working in a warehouse, but they don’t know that. Change is hard.

It’s not as simple as they didn’t like the drugs.

I’m fortunate to have kept my creativity. If I had lost that, I’d prefer being crazy, even knowing it would end badly.