Don’t Call Me Crazy

I really don’t like to be called crazy.  It’s kind of like Forrest Gump not liking to be called stupid.  How would you like to have a label like “crazy” hanging around your neck all the time?  I think about how I started my blog off with an idea like having a chemical imbalance in my brain, and I wonder whether it was a wise thing to do or not.  Well, if you have to take medicine, you just have to, that’s all.  It’s not such a wild idea.  I think people who love things, like money for instance, and don’t love people, are crazy.  I think people who enjoy hurting other people are crazy.

I think people who are unstable enough to need to take medications are just sick people.  We’re not the crazy ones.  I’m not crazy.  We’re just sick a little bit.  I can’t get along without my meds, anymore than a diabetic can.  Most people who know me are nice enough to me, and most people seem to like me well enough.  There doesn’t seem to be any major problem keeping me from functioning, ever since I stopped drinking alcohol.  I live in assisted living, to help me get my meds correctly everyday, but other than that I’m living a pretty normal life.  The Police are not interested in anything I do, because I’m a law-abiding citizen, and they know it.

I’m not a psychotic killer or anything like it.  I’ve had many psychotic episodes in my lifetime, but none of them made me want to hurt anyone but myself.  I learned a long time ago that when a person is thinking of hurting themselves, it’s time for that person to go to the ER and tell the nurse and the doctor what kind of plans they’ve been making in their mind, which brought them to the ER in the first place.  Be specific.  You feel like that, go tell on yourself.  It’s not worth dying over.  Suicide is a permanent solution for a temporary problem, and it doesn’t ever get the victim anything he wants.

I’ve had friends who are suicide victims, and you know what?  They’re still dead.  I haven’t ever seen them since they died, like every other person I’ve known who died, and I think I’ll never see them again, here or in the life which is to come.  And I do believe in the life which is to come.  I’m working my salvation out with utilizing my talents, in an effort to find God’s reason for putting me on this earth in the first place.

Psychosis is an interesting phenomenon.  I’ve thought many odd things, and believed many odd things.  I’m quite certain I’ve had a lot of delusions and hallucinations in my lifetime.  I’m just not certain which ones of my thoughts and experiences to trust or believe, and which ones to discard.  That’s what makes going to church so difficult for me to do.  The thing about church is that they have their dogma, and their creeds, but I rely on my inner voice to guide me.  Yes, I hear a voice sometimes.  The one that I listen to is something that comes to me in my quiet moments, when I’m the most relaxed.  Being in public gatherings doesn’t help me draw closer to God.  Being with Nature or in solitude draws me closer to God.

It’s amazing how many distractions the world has for all of us these days.  There’s always something and someone else to steal our joy.  If I want to believe something fantastic, I don’t take it out on someone else, at least not until I’ve written it down.  The media have gotten my diagnosis all misrepresented.  That’s why I’m writing like this.  I’m talking back to the concept that I’m not in my right mind.  I don’t think that notion is very funny.


About geostan51

I'm a wordsmith and a craftsman. I've been known to hand crochet just about anything escept granny squares. I've got about twenty titles in my name on the Kindle Store at
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