I've Got Something on My Mind

Quite literally. The man working the controls of the Murk Machine has long battled mental illness with varying degrees of success. I'm just a mouthpiece of his for some of the absurd or quite serious ideas that have no other proper sphere in which to be expressed. I'm not a seperate personality, a figment or a fiction, but I am a piece of a larger whole. My origins are shrouded in mystery, but I am certain that the illness of my controller is in part responsible for my being.

When you throw around the words mental illness, you combine the idea of the mind and a sickness, an implication that the mind is ill. This is not the case at all. The person is ill. The mind works the same as everyone else. That's part of the difficulty. I can think just as well as the next guy, probably better. I'm as rational as most people. But, despite rational knowledge, I can't reason with this illness. It does what it does. Sometimes I get a measure of control, sometimes I get none.

The whole idea of mental illness seems to be in the mind. It's not. The term is a misnomer. It's a full, whole and consuming condition. It manifests in physical sensations, in sleep patterns, in eating, drinking, substance abuse, communication, emotion, thought and in my existential core. It's an illness that is not of mind, but of person.

Hell, I could deal with a broken mind. That's fun. I can watch mental nonsense like it's television. I find humor in the absurdity of disordered thought, chaotic swings of logic, etc. It's the damn rest of it that makes it tough.

The worst part is the nagging feeling that almost everyone around me thinks I could 'get better' if I did something, took some medicine or just 'dealt with it'. You don't reason with it, drug it, excercise it and you sure as hell don't cure it. You cope. Whatever you're in at the moment, you cope with. Sometimes, coping is enough. Sometimes it's not. People don't understand this. They want cause and effect. They want reasons. They want a consistent go or no go. Most of all, they want you to stop 'hurting'.

It's a nice sentiment, but a lot of pressure. Trust me. I've been at this a long time and I know what the day in and out of it entails. That's how it is.

If you're reading this, and you know me and are concerned, good. Do something with that concern... keep it. I don't want it. It's a heavy heavy heavy burden that, when I'm in a rough spot, makes it much more difficult to cope.

If someone gets a cut, and you keep asking them if they're okay, and reacting like it's hurting you that they got a cut, you make the injured person's state of mind turn in towards the injury and the distress the injury is causing everyone. I understand the concern, but it's not nice.

On the other hand, throwing up the old stopsign and saying, "Hey. Screw that prick. I've got enough shit to deal with. I don't need him making it worse," that's kinda crappy too.

So, for all of you experts and amateurs and concerned citizens out there, here's an idea. Recognize that there is a very real illness and pain. Don't freak out, don't look for reasons, don't try to fix and don't toss up a middle finger. Just accept what it is, be yourself, do a nice thing, make a joke or something. In short, act normal for crying out loud.

Like I said, I know better than anyone I ain't normal. That doesn't mean I'm any different. (And yes, I know I just said that)