Gaza's skies have changed since the ceasefire came into effect. There was an unusual silence. We no longer hear the sound of Israeli fighter jets or helicopters. The quadcopter has also disappeared, but the drone - the "zanana" - remains.

The drone of Israeli drones is unmistakable. Over the years, it has been our constant companion in Gaza as Israel developed drone technology using us as test subjects.

The buzz grew in distance and volume during the genocide, sending a clear message: the drones were eager to claim the souls of Gaza's residents. For 15 months, these craft controlled where we went, what we did, and who lived and who died. It feels like the occupation has installed a surveillance camera on every living soul in Gaza. It feels like there are more drones than birds in Gaza’s skies.

For 15 months, the buzz never stopped, day or night. It will be seared into the minds of Gaza's people, young and old, and torture them. It will eat away at our sanity and our optimism that the war will stop forever.

With a swarm of drones in the sky, even the simplest activities can be a challenge. When you cook, the sound creates a dark background that disrupts your concentration. You'll lose your cool and burn what little food you have.

Drones can wreak havoc on your nerves, irritate you and other family members, and cause tensions and arguments to escalate.

An elderly woman at the camp we stayed at once told me, “The drones are eating my mind.” She thought the constant buzzing was a chronic, incurable headache. It gets worse at night, piercing her brain and depriving her of sleep. If she fell asleep, she would have nightmares about bombings and destruction.

Drones intimidate not just by buzzing and surveilling, but also by indiscriminate mass killing. Being out after dark means you risk becoming a target. As a result, before night falls, Palestinians rush back to their tents to take shelter. Children who usually play outside also stay put.

At night, if you feel you need to use the bathroom, you have two options: wet yourself or risk your life by going to the bathroom. Panic and fear take over your thoughts as you press on your bladder to try and get it under control.

I know several families who use buckets to defecate at night and empty the water in the morning.

Bathing has also become dangerous in displacement camps. People cannot risk lighting fires to stay warm in the evening as this will attract drones. So you have to rush through the process during the day, pouring water over yourself and rinsing the soap off as fast as possible, as your imagination plays a game: What if the drone fires? You quickly get dressed because the prospect of dying naked is unbearable.

During the genocide, these drones introduced a new function: tricking sheltered Palestinians into venturing out.

Imagine that during a sleepless night you hear the meow of a hungry cat. Driven by human compassion, you go out and give it something to eat. You're hungry too, but deep down, you tell yourself, "I can do this, but the cat can't find food on its own." You step out and try to throw it a piece of food, but suddenly a gunshot ends your act of compassion. .

Drones and quadcopters use a variety of recorded sounds to deceive their victims: crying babies, children screaming for help. They tap into the Palestinian spirit of compassion and solidarity that persists despite the unbearable suffering of war.

We've become accustomed to the torture of drones, and on the rare occasions when their drone stops, we sense something is wrong.

My colleague Visal told me that one night she noticed that she couldn't hear any drones. She was scared. She woke her family and urged them to pack their belongings. The silence was ominous, she thought.

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

Vissar was right. The silence of the drones was yet another sign that an attack was imminent. When Israeli forces began bombarding the "safe zone" where she and her family had taken refuge, they again fled for their lives.

Now, with the ceasefire in effect, the immediate danger of being killed by an Israeli attack may have temporarily disappeared, but the surveillance and buzzing of drones continues. Drones continue to rob us of our sense of security and autonomy.

The prospect of drone-free skies remains a distant dream that is intrinsically linked to broader struggles for justice, self-determination and peace. Only by truly ending the occupation can this vision of unburdened skies truly become a reality. Until then, drones will continue to eat our minds.

The views expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect the editorial position of Al Jazeera.