What's It Like, To Be Mad?
The question that wasn't asked yesterday, but I know was on your lips. We were talking about something rather innocently, and you just casually remarked "yes, but you don't react to things like other people." To which I replied, defensively, "Yes, well, other people can't just sit down at a weekend and write four songs. I'm *not* normal. Not better, not worse, just different."
The obvious answer is "I've no idea; what's it like, to be sane?" but that's not true. I see normal people all around me, read about them in books. And I'm well aware that I'm not entirely like them, I've been aware of the difference since I was quite young, around the first onset of puberty, really.
What's it like? I suppose it's a bit like having a broken leg, in a way. (Though the worst thing I've ever broken is only my ankle.) Yes, that's exactly what it's like. You can't always expect to be able to put any "weight" on your emotions. They behave in unexpected ways, you can feel your mind just slip out from underneath you when you expect it to hold you up and get you through. You can't always count on your emotions - and therefore your mind - to behave.
It's like your brain is lacking a thermostat that keeps your thoughts and emotions in the "everything's basically OK" range. Have you ever been in a shower with a faulty thermostat? One minute it's so cold you can't bare to stand in it, the next it's scalding. That's what my brain is like, it just can't regulate or control the serotonin, the "everything's OK" neurotransmitter. One day, I feel bleak and bereft like there is no hope, the utter blackness of the Deep Field between the galaxies. The next day, the world is hundreds, thousands of endless possibilities, glittering and beautiful and perfect, but so endless that it can become terrifying when it just doesn't stop.
Emotions can surge up like a spring tide, utterly out of control, sweeping you with them. Thoughts which seem innocent can circle round and round in your head until they destroy your ability to even function.
You have to learn, by hideous trial and error, which types of situations you can and can't handle. Like if your ankle is broken, you just have to accept that you can't "do stairs". And you may do yourself damage if you try to force yourself.
Medication helps, it cuts the highs and lows off, but anything that completely eliminates all moodswings will eliminate *all* emotions, and you cannot live as a zombie. CBT is helpful, it's almost like you construct some kind of tripod out of reason and logic, in order to hold your mind up, when your emotions go slipping out from under you. I know people often find it strange, when I go all super-logical and cold, but it's a defense against biochemistry that I can't control.
I suppose, it's a good thing that I've accepted it. In fact, it was almost a relief when I was diagnosed, because it meant that I wasn't wilfully being a horrible brat, (like my family and friends sometimes accused), it wasn't my imagination, it really was some kind of brain chemistry thing. And once you've accepted it, you can learn to live with it, a slow process of constant learning and adjustments.
So next time you stand up, and you put your weight on your leg, and remember the twinge that means it doesn't quite do what it used to, before it was broken - think about what it would mean to you, think about how it would feel if it was your mind instead that had been broken.
The obvious answer is "I've no idea; what's it like, to be sane?" but that's not true. I see normal people all around me, read about them in books. And I'm well aware that I'm not entirely like them, I've been aware of the difference since I was quite young, around the first onset of puberty, really.
What's it like? I suppose it's a bit like having a broken leg, in a way. (Though the worst thing I've ever broken is only my ankle.) Yes, that's exactly what it's like. You can't always expect to be able to put any "weight" on your emotions. They behave in unexpected ways, you can feel your mind just slip out from underneath you when you expect it to hold you up and get you through. You can't always count on your emotions - and therefore your mind - to behave.
It's like your brain is lacking a thermostat that keeps your thoughts and emotions in the "everything's basically OK" range. Have you ever been in a shower with a faulty thermostat? One minute it's so cold you can't bare to stand in it, the next it's scalding. That's what my brain is like, it just can't regulate or control the serotonin, the "everything's OK" neurotransmitter. One day, I feel bleak and bereft like there is no hope, the utter blackness of the Deep Field between the galaxies. The next day, the world is hundreds, thousands of endless possibilities, glittering and beautiful and perfect, but so endless that it can become terrifying when it just doesn't stop.
Emotions can surge up like a spring tide, utterly out of control, sweeping you with them. Thoughts which seem innocent can circle round and round in your head until they destroy your ability to even function.
You have to learn, by hideous trial and error, which types of situations you can and can't handle. Like if your ankle is broken, you just have to accept that you can't "do stairs". And you may do yourself damage if you try to force yourself.
Medication helps, it cuts the highs and lows off, but anything that completely eliminates all moodswings will eliminate *all* emotions, and you cannot live as a zombie. CBT is helpful, it's almost like you construct some kind of tripod out of reason and logic, in order to hold your mind up, when your emotions go slipping out from under you. I know people often find it strange, when I go all super-logical and cold, but it's a defense against biochemistry that I can't control.
I suppose, it's a good thing that I've accepted it. In fact, it was almost a relief when I was diagnosed, because it meant that I wasn't wilfully being a horrible brat, (like my family and friends sometimes accused), it wasn't my imagination, it really was some kind of brain chemistry thing. And once you've accepted it, you can learn to live with it, a slow process of constant learning and adjustments.
So next time you stand up, and you put your weight on your leg, and remember the twinge that means it doesn't quite do what it used to, before it was broken - think about what it would mean to you, think about how it would feel if it was your mind instead that had been broken.
posted by Masonic Boom | 11:16 am
6 Comments:
This is very good, very thoughtmaking. Thank you!
It's a lot better than that irritating 'spoons' theory of illness that was recently linked on ilx.
My, the things one finds on the Blogosphere...
Life is too short. Exceptional people are too few and too far between.
Reading your last post, I think we may have more to speak about than ever.
You can contact me via my website (www.poweredbysatan.com)
Congratulations on your well-earned musical success.
If you are on the fence about replying, this link should sway you strongly in one direction or another.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sYd4ICtujL0
If I don't hear from you, then all the best!
J3ff
Doesn't much of the arguement rest on how you define "normal"? Who is "normal"?
In my experience, everyone wishes they were normal in one way or another.
Did that look like an argument? I didn't see and argument. Anyways, 'normal' might be an imaginary average no one quite is and everybody thinks about, but most of us can fake it pretty happily, which is maybe the difference.
This is not an argument. This is an expression of how *I* feel about and cope with my illness. End of story.
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