As I have freely admitted around these parts, I am bipolar. It's not a medical diagnosis, and I'm aware of the dangers in self-diagnosing such things,
but my confidence is unshakeable about it. (I familiarized myself with enough of psychiatry to figure it out. And worse, actually, because the
disorders of those around me became obvious.) And without making any official statements, the various community clinic psychiatrists I've tried to see
about it have confirmed my suspicions by informing me after an eval that they will not touch bipolar with a ten foot pole, and I'd need a referral and
a lot more money to get treatment.
With that caveat aside, that was a bit over a year and two episodes ago. I quit caring even before my manic episode came to a crashing, destructive
stop, but before that I had decided to put all my eggs in the crazy basket and attribute to Bipolar my "awakening" and general vicious distaste for
the direction the world was going. And this is almost beyond the point, though not quite. This is kind of a post about me, about the world reflected
through me. But it's also about the inherent madness of the world we live in each and every day, and the ramifications of being mentally “healthy”
in that world. This post, I don't know how it will go, but those are the points I'm trying to convey. Bear with me please. This is a very organic
Mania. I get the kind with prodomal symptoms usually, but I've found that partaking of certain unmentionable plants can be quite enough to cause the
coin to flip on the spot if I'm in my prodrome. Or it can drive me to a peak in my mania if I'm already there. Or, in large quantity over a few weeks,
it can force me to the lower end of euthymia. If I go a month at it, I fall into depression. And, in a way, that's how I prefer it, because it's the
closest thing to real control over this thing in me that I have, to be able to metaphorically push a button and decide by that action how I will feel
for the next six months or year or more. If I need to get things done and take some chances, mania is convenient. If I need to plod along in one
direction without stopping to care how bad my feet hurt or that my job really, really sucks, then a sort-of-mixed somewhat euthymic depression is a
useful mental state to be in. But when it comes to the highest highs of mania-- and I always remember them-- I use them for the progress of my soul,
because amongst the furious, delirious euphoria, there is clarity.
In the most recent incidence of that forest-through-the-trees clarity, at a peak in my last manic episode, several colliding thoughts produced a
realization that has festered in my mind for too long. That realization is pretty damned simple. The world we live in is insane.
I had read
several articles about whatever deplorable acts of obvious class warfare the upper echelons of the US's economic machine had been getting up to, brown
people getting blown up by white men's bombs on the other side of the world for ambiguous but hardly justifiable reasons, and other large, disgusting,
and entirely unnecessary problems of the world, and about how most of the Republican party were still on about Obama's birth certificate... The most
commentary on the world I could round up from the internet at large pertained to the lavish money-down-the-crapper affair of the royal wedding.
It seemed so incongruous, so improbable, so wrong. People were out there dying, starving, suffering, being killed; the global economy was in utter
turmoil because a few white men decided they should be richer than god and couldn't be arsed to care about the ramifications; we had just witnessed a
nuclear meltdown in almost realtime on Youtube in March and it was already forgotten... All while the movers and shakers in a full half of the US
political spectrum chased after a widely discredited conspiracy in what is somehow still the most influential country in the world, and the general
public drooled over the price of Kate Middleton's wedding dress, and mooned over what Pippa had worn.
And it all came together in my head that the world is run and regulated by raving lunatics with obvious psychiatric disorders and no ethics
whatsoever, and that they have conspired either by accident or by design to convince almost everyone that this is how it should be, and that
everything is fine.
And worse, that those amongst us who cannot bear living in that world are infirm of mind.
Let me put it simpler, and larger.
You Aren't Okay With This
Because You Are Insane.
It was at that moment that I rejected the idea of sanity as a desirable state in the world we live in. What value does such an attribution have when
it requires acceptance of all of that and worse as the norm, as desirable states of being, as how things should be, when we could easily live in a
complete utopia on this rock without too much effort? Why, in the name of all things good and real, would I or anyone else want to be “SANE” by
a f***ed up world's standard?
By all definitions, a person is mentally healthy when they are free from any mental disorder. No PTSD, no depression, no inexplicable feelings of
anxiety, and so on. And that is truly disgusting if this is the world we live in. And, to my horror, it really is the world we live in.
To be happy and free from mental disturbance, you would have to be unmoved and unempathetic to the obvious suffering of those around you, unoutraged
by the blatant injustices all around us, unbothered by the rape of the human condition perpetrated by people with paper authority and bats in the
How does that sound healthy in any conceivable way? How could a person legitimately watch the world ripping itself to shreds around them and
have it snatch their heart out of their chest or give them recurring nightmares or make them feel seemingly inexplicable feelings of dread?
How could an entire nation watch on a live broadcast as three thousand people were burned and crushed to death on a Tuesday morning in September, and
not be permanently scarred by it? How could a generation of soldiers go to Iraq and kill people virtually indiscriminately, and not feel horrified at
the direction their hands were forced? How can we read about the death of an elderly black man in his home at the hands of the police for no reason,
and not be sickened by it? How, a million things, and more, of the horrors this world callously inflicts upon each and every one of us, how could it
leave us anything but headsick and outraged?
So, the System and the Man can label me crazy, can label me broken, can label me Bipolar I with Psychotic Features, can write off my malcontentedness
to my illness, can use all the force and words within it to marginalize me and those like me who see the game they are playing at and happen to
deviate from “normal”. And I will wear it like a badge of honor, because it means that I am not like them. Because I do not want to be like them.
Because their kind of crazy is dangerous and actively harmful, and I give enough damns to speak up and do something and feel things about it heavily
enough that they affect me. Because their definition of normal is frightening.
I have no real clencher to this post. I said it would be organic, and it was. There is no more.
The rest is silence.
edit on 11-4-2012 by nithaiah because: (no reason given)
edit on 11-4-2012 by nithaiah because: formatting