madness, they call it madness

you hear it and read it, ubiquitously expressed in every language:  crazy.  nuts.  a couple fries short of a happy meal.  loony.  psycho.  delusional.  demented.

sometimes you’re in the part of your cycle where you can be moved to write reasoned yet impassioned pleas for sensitivity toward one of the largest and most stigmatized minority groups in america – one whose civil rights are repeatedly violated on a casual basis, to the general approval and even merriment and “sucks to be you” attitudes of those privileged enough to escape the labels ascribed to that minority – sometimes, you apply everything you have learned from your brothers and sisters from other oppressed minority groups regarding the processes of othering, knowledge of self, resistance, etc.

other times you just go along with the joke.  after all, it sucks to be crazy, so bad that we in the “crazy community” basically created comedy, much less every Art form known to human civilization, as a response to it.  maybe it’s better to just laugh at ourselves instead of playing the underdog or even simply asking for understanding.  buddhist thought refuses to see any human being with a functioning brain as NOT crazy to some degree or other – rather, it’s the universal condition of human suffering that is entirely generated by the mind.  still, those of us with observable symptoms are treated as third class citizens – if we’re lucky.

sometimes, you’re diminished to the point of responding to the epithets and name calling by saying “look over there!  he/she is even crazier than i am!”  this is a pretty safe dodge for those of us in the MI community who can “pass”.  until, of course, the day comes when you decompensate, and then all bets are off.

in this regard, britney’s saga isn’t a farce, it’s a tragedy.  no amount of money in the world, no amount of fame, no square footage of mansion, no material privilege on earth can alleviate or diminish the bitterness of that level of suffering.  particularly when it is the shared suffering of a deeply dysfunctional family; particularly when it is suffering shared by the young children of that family.

yet “different mentation”, if you want to call MI by a funny half-joking politically correct name, is one of those things that people are asked to “rise above”, just like deaf people are expected to get surgery or a hearing aid or in general behave as if they are hearing; just like differently abled people are expected to stop whining, get out of their wheelchairs and crawl up the stairs; just like the descendants of owned people are told to get over it and stop complaining that they are still being treated as if they are property by the descendants of the people who owned their ancestors.

“you should come down to my level/i wanna talk to you,” purrs scott mccloud of girls against boys ["in like flynn", venus luxure no. 1 baby].  why is it up to me to meet you where you are?  why are you normal?  why is “coping” so fucking enshrined in this culture?  why is “productivity” treated as so fucking holy?  when what we are at last capable of producing as a society only seems to be war, misery, and death.

today – maybe just today – i don’t want to be well.  at least, not the way you think of as well.  i want to define myself as myself, not by something that you call a sickness based on your models.  sure, i’ll take your pills.  i’ll take your god damned motherfucking pills.  because i have to survive in this stupid, stupid place.  the pills are the cards i’m holding so i can stay in the game.  but you best believe if i see a way out of this game i am going to throw those cards in your face the second i have a chance.