Since the ceasefire came into effect, the skies in Gaza have changed. There is an unusual stillness. We no longer heard Israeli fighter planes or helicopters. The quadcopters also disappeared, but the drones – the “zanana” – remained.

The buzz of Israeli drones is unmistakable. It was a constant companion of ours in Gaza for many years as Israel developed drone technology using us as test subjects.

During the genocide, the proximity and volume of the buzz intensified, sending a clear message: drones are hungry for the lives of Gazans. For 15 months, these flying machines have controlled where we go, what we do, and who lives or dies. I felt as if the occupation had placed a surveillance camera over every living soul in Gaza. It felt like there were more drones than birds in the skies of Gaza.

For 15 months, the tinnitus never stopped, day or night. It will embed itself in the heads of the people of Gaza, young and old alike, and torture them. It will devour our sanity and our optimism that the war will ever stop.

Under the swarm of drones in the sky, even the simplest activities were a challenge. While you are cooking a meal, the sound will create a dark background, disrupting your concentration. You’ll lose your temper and burn what little food you have.

Drones can wreak havoc on your nerves, disturb you and other family members, cause tension and escalate arguments.

“The drone is eating my brain,” an older woman at the camp we stayed at once told me. I considered the constant tinnitus to be a chronic and incurable headache. It gets worse at night, hacking into her brain and depriving her of sleep. When she sleeps, she has nightmares about bombing and destruction.

Drones were terrifying not only through their buzzing and surveillance, but also through their wanton mass killing. Being outside after dark means you risk becoming a target. So, just before dark, the Palestinians would rush back to their tents and take cover. Children, who usually play outside, will also stay put.

At night, if you feel the need to go to the toilet, you have two options: wet yourself or risk your life to relieve yourself. Panic and fear will take over your mind as you squeeze your bladder, trying to hold it down.

I knew many families who used buckets at night to relieve themselves and emptied them in the morning.

Bathing has also become dangerous in displacement camps. One cannot risk starting a fire in the evening to warm the water as it may attract drones. So, you’ll have to rush through the process during the day, pouring water over your body and rinsing off the soap as quickly as you can, as your imagination plays games: What if a drone shoots? You quickly got dressed because the prospect of dying naked was unbearable.

The genocide saw a new feature introduced to these drones: tricking the Palestinians they are harboring into venturing out.

Imagine, during a sleepless night, you hear the meow of a hungry cat. Moved by your human compassion, you go out to give him something to eat. You are also hungry, but deep down you are saying to yourself: “I can manage, but the cat can’t find food on its own.” You go out to throw a piece of food and suddenly a gunshot ends your act of mercy.

Drones and quadcopters have used different recorded sounds to trick their victims: a baby crying, a baby screaming for help. They exploited Palestinian sympathy and solidarity, which has endured despite the unbearable suffering of war.

We have become so accustomed to the suffering of drones that in the rare moments when their buzzing stops, we sense that something is wrong.

My colleague Wissal told me that she noticed one night that she couldn’t hear any drones. She was terrified. She woke her family and urged them to pack their bags. I thought the quiet was ominous.

She remembered what happened in Rafah one night when the drones fell silent: a horrific attack was launched that destroyed their neighborhood. Her family managed to escape.

Wessal was right. It turns out once again that the drones’ silence was a sign of an impending attack. When the Israeli army began bombing the “safe zone” where she and her family had sought refuge, they again fled for their lives.

Today, with the ceasefire taking effect, the immediate danger of being killed by an Israeli raid may have temporarily disappeared, but the surveillance and buzzing of drones continues. Drones continue to rob us of a sense of security and independence.

The prospect of drone-free skies remains a distant dream, one closely linked to the broader struggle for justice, self-determination and peace. Only with the true end of the occupation can this vision of a burden-free sky become a reality. Until that happens, drones will continue to eat our minds.

The opinions expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the editorial position of Al Jazeera.