Call Me Crazy

"Mental Illness"

crazy mad insane depressed psycho bonkers schizo unbalanced unstable sick loony funny bizarre cooky loosing it not all there confused discombobulated special retarded weird whacko spaz freak mental spacey

There's a stigma.

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Is it preventable? Is it curable? How would we know; we never talk about it. Except to disassociate ourselves from it: "My great-uncle was crazy. He killed himself in the 80's. I'm glad I'm not weird like him!"

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Alright. I'll go first. I am crazy. More than a little crazy, in fact. I was once diagnosed with "Severe Chronic Major Depression." That sounds a tad melodramatic, but I suppose it's a fitting description.

The first time I had thoughts of killing myself was as young as 5 years old. I was a kindergartener contemplating suicide. I am now a well-adjusted young adult realizing that it's okay to be crazy.


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I am not on medication (although doctors would say I should be). I manage my illness in different ways, such as observing my thoughts and adjusting them toward the positive, practicing yoga and other physical activities, keeping a journal, surrounding myself with loving, positive people, and participating in fulfilling activities I enjoy. If I start to feel really out of control, I use herbal suppliments as a "brain cushion" until I regain my strength.


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I still get really down sometimes. It's not environmental.



It's as though a scary monster lives inside my head and I have to keep an eye on him or else he'll try to take over my thoughts. I know he's there and he knows I know, but that doesn't stop him from thirsting for control. The only thing keeping him from gaining it is ME.


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For many years I practiced hiding my emotions from people. I was great at it! People often remarked that I was "always happy," even though I was secretly dying inside. Those were benchmarks of my perceived success. If no one else could tell I was sick, then I must be doing a good job of getting better!



What I would like is for more people to own their insanity. If I had known as a child that some of the adults I admired were also dealing with demons in their heads, I might have been more hopeful for my own survival.


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By sharing my crazy, I am helping other crazies.



People look up to me. I am happy! I smile all the time (and it's real these days). When people find out that I struggle with mental illness, they are shocked.



Then they ask how I deal with it.



Then they tell me about their own insanity, or the insanity of someone they love.



We then share the burden of insanity.



And that makes it a much lighter burden to carry.