NEWS MEDIA: YOUR STUPIDITY AND BIAS AGAINST MENTALLY ILL PEOPLE ARE SHOWING! AGAIN! STFU!

First, let me apologize for taking this harsh a position because I don’t know the actual facts of the situation.

But second, FUCK ALL YOU STUPID IGNORANT ASININE NEWS MEDIA OUTLETS! 

And third, FUCKING STOP IT!  YOU ARE IGNORANT of ALL ASPECTS OF MENTAL HEALTH, so FUCKING STOP MISREPORTING AND SUGGESTING BULLSHIT when you DON’T FUCKING KNOW WHAT THE FUCK YOU ARE BLABBERING ON ABOUT because all you want to do is fill your pages and your news reports with horrid news wherein you malign people with labels that are fucking “possibly” true (and equally “possibly” complete fucking BULLSHIT), and give the mainstream audience an explanation that in some supposed-to-be-comforting-to-mainstream-audiences way, says it’s WE vs THEY, and THEY are mentally ill people.

The truth is that the late accused shooter is dead and can’t be properly diagnosed, the family has no clue what the fuck went down, and conspiracy theorists are already saying he wasn’t alone in the room and someone else was probably shooting from the other window that was broken, and eye-witnesses described two people walking calmly down the hall away from his room before the police had control of the room, who may have shot the guy themselves after shooting down at the concert-goers.  The authorities did not find and detain these two for questioning or a gunshot residue test, so THEY DON’T KNOW!

And, as I have already expressed, from my experience and all the genuine hearsay evidence and personal testimonials I have ever evereverever ever seen, bipolar people are not the enemy.  When we’re up, we’re up and we love life and people and have the ability, most of the time, to ignore a great deal of stupidity and bullshit circling in our orbit.  When we’re down, we doubt ourselves, we’re anxious and prone to panic attacks, the bullshit piles up around us until we feel hopelessly and helplessly buried and someone hid the fucking shovel and all we want to do is stay home in bed and be left the fuck alone.  And there’s the rage, sure, but it’s not something I’ve ever heard being used against people except in words (see also… this fucking article), maybe occasional screaming or throwing plates, cell phones, and other relatively harmless and avoidable objects.  And then there’s the hypersexuality, but I don’t hear MY victim bitching about THAT.  For the record, I don’t throw things, except piles of assorted clutter, and I don’t throw them AT PEOPLE.  I’ve never thrown a knife (but I think I’d like to learn and practice that).

Criminals are the enemy if you want to play it like that, and I haven’t heard any plausible reports that mental illness in general, nor bipolar disorder, are undeniably proven as causal of criminal behavior.  “Mentally ill” in any given news report, is bullshit.  It is a pall to put over any given dead criminal, such as a bomber, mass shooter, bank or gas station robber, or whomever the news wants to protect, portraying them as helpless fucking idiot lame-brains who seem to have had no choice but to turn to the dark side and go somewhere to kill people until the police come to shoot back and then scrape their eyes and what’s left of their heart off the walls and their brains and liver off the floor for the autopsy, and hose the blood out of the carpets.  And the fucking mysterious and poorly represented and totally not understood people with bipolar read or hear the reports and we collectively know it’s utter BULLSHIT.  Even at my worst rage I still know I have choices of whether and what to throw and in what direction, and if there were any, the people I might actually want to throw shit at aren’t anywhere close enough for it to serve me any real benefit.

Mrs M (bless her heart) turned on her choice of news channel today, looking for the temperature after sending me to take the dog for a walk, and then I endured the reports of two fires in a neighboring city’s low-rent downtown-ish area (here, if you dare, read “shithole”), with “THOUSANDS OF GALLONS OF WATER FLOODING THE STREETS!!” like it’s the beginning of the end of the fucking world because the firemen PUT OUT THE DAMNED FIRE, and USED WATER TO DO IT!!  That’s the idiotic sensationalism I CAN’T STAND!  I honestly don’t think the fucking weather ever came on before we left the house this morning.

All that and I had already told her it’s not raining, and the temperature is in the mid 40s or low 50s.  FFS.

Oooh, (if we’re to believe it) the Vegas shooter was a germophobe!  I’m fucking terrified, because Howie Mandel is too, and he hasn’t been locked up yet.  And oooh, (if we’re to believe it) he was bipolar too.  Well, if that’s true, then when will the authorities send the fucking rubber truck over, give me one of those NICE fucking robes that let me hug myself because no one else will, and feed me and do all my chores and give me a nice warm bed to sleep in, and don’t hold me responsible for MY actions (or inaction)?  I loved Howie Mandel from back in the day- the adorable “Bobby’s World” cute little fucker, the actually funny, not forced-funny, guy with the rubber glove on his head, before all of this damnable “reality TV” gameshow formatted so-called “talent” shit started overtaking anything that might have actually been a tolerable alternative to the news.

I shut off the damned TV and my son took it over to play his time-wasting video games for a while.  It’s off again, but now on my computer the news feed is shoveling out this shit.  And “normal” “mentally healthy” people are comforted with the “possible” explanation for the alleged criminal’s alleged behavior so they can ignore the conspiracy theorists theories and eye witness accounts of the other things that might have happened.  If the conspiracy theorists are right, the gun control advocates who engineer (YES, I FUCKING SAID IT!), and/or manipulate, reporting of such events have won again, the “normal” people still have their shallow opinions and misconceptions about mental illnesses in general and bipolar in specific, the criminal or criminals in the hallway get away with it again, and live to do it all over again somewhere else, and people with mental illness in general and bipolar in specific, lose yet again, in a battle they didn’t pick to fight, and they’re relegated to the “special-needs” room.  And the news media ass holes get away with reporting bullshit-as-fact AGAIN, give a smarmy smile through their straight, bleached, capped, perfect teeth, and tell us all to “have a nice day.”

I dread Monday morning already, because I know the news will be on (I love you, Mrs. M., but your choice of morning programming is awful!), and we’ll all be served thick, “gravy” covered slices of creamed bullshit on toast, to go with our coffee.  Fuck.  If it’s all the same, can I skip breakfast and just have my damned coffee?

How Are You Feeling?

How are you feeling?  Isn’t that a loaded question?  But if we care, I believe we should ask. If someone asks, “how are you?” I’m willing to bet the reader evaluates the sincerity of the question before answering.  And in most “relationships,”the level of sincerity leads us to answer “fine,” or some say “great,” or some say  “ok,” or some no longer will even bother to answer the question.  And if the answer isn’t “fine,” or “great,” or “ok,” I wonder how many people I know would actually pay attention to someone who answers honestly.

I want to write about pain and health today.  Because life isn’t always the perfection of baked Thanksgiving turkey or honey-glazed Easter Ham or social media or the damned braggadocious Christmas letters I still get in the mail from some people.  Johnny got straight As and he’s already been accepted at Insert Prestigious Medical School on a full scholarship.  Husband has systematized  and simplified our lives, because he’s making so much money at his Insert Prestigious Professional Field and High Profile Company Name that we have a chef, a house keeper, and a personal assistant for each of us.  And he’s also hired private tutors, a nanny and a chauffeur for each of our two perfect children.  They’ve taken up Insert Musical Instrument because their stellar activities in school and Insert Sports and Insert Extracurricular Activities were going so well they wanted to try something just for fun.  Wife is hotter than ever and completely successful as Insert Professional Career and leading her Insert Social and Charitable Group, with her Insert Athletic or Exercise Activity and as a wife and mother.  This year we upgraded to a new Insert Expensive Thing No One Else Has An Old One Of to Cause Envy.  For our vacation this year we all spent a month in Insert Location and we all Insert Envy Inducing Activities.

Sometimes dinner is cheap mac and cheese and sometimes lunch is ramen noodles.  Sometimes we feel anxiety, sometimes we’re late, sometimes the boss gives us grief when we try hard and then underpays us because of their unrealistic and impossible “standards,” and then blames the company policy for the way they’re maltreating us.  Sometimes the car is rusty and needs new tires and you worry if it’s going to start.  And sometimes, life is pain.  Even in our modern fairy tales, the truth isn’t utopic.  Just like in this blog, where I tried to start this clip at 13 seconds, and then tried to play it before posting and it didn’t work and started at 0 seconds because sometimes it isn’t perfect, sometimes it’s a bitch and you fight and it still doesn’t turn out how you wanted.

When we’re hungry, “normal” people eat.  Some, though, eat too much, and others don’t, or can’t, listen to their bodies and ignore their need.  When we’re tired, “normal” people rest, or sleep.  Some, though, suffer insomnia.  When life gives us a stimulus, “normal” people give a “normal” response, but some don’t, or they can’t.  Pain is the same as any other stimulus.  “Normal” people do something to alleviate their pain, but some people can’t.

Some pain is obvious.  My back hurts because I have a developmental thing where the way I walk and move “naturally,” causes my lower back to misalign.  When that happens, I either go to the chiropractor if I’m rich or I wait for it to go back how it should be, or I have my family twist my hip until I feel that bone move back to where I don’t hurt any more.  My teeth, thank God, don’t hurt like they probably should, though.  Two of them have broken but they don’t hurt at all, even though they need to be extracted.  Eventually the damage may cause me some pain if I don’t go get them pulled out.  But for some reason I’m either able to suppress it or it just isn’t there.

Sometimes our troubles are simple but related to our emotional tides due to circumstances in life, and they can be treated with counseling.  A guilty conscience can literally kill you, unless you make it right.  If it doesn’t kill you, it can cause any number of stress-induced symptoms.  The medical community is diagnosing and looking into PTSD, Seasonal Affect Disorder, Chronic Anxiety, and so on, all of which cause very real physical symptoms including very real body pain. If it IS a medical and not a mental or spiritual or emotional issue, sometimes a harmless medicine  can be used, like an antibiotic or antiviral.  Sometimes there’s a surgical treatment, like extracting a tooth or a tumor or skin lesion, or replacing a knee or a hip or repairing a torn meniscus.  Sometimes there’s a stress-related cause and the symptoms go away if we have enough money or free time to treat ourselves a little nicer.  Among other things I have stress-induced asthma and wonder what other consequences and symptoms I have that might be cured if I didn’t feel like a helpless, worthless, stressed-out slave who can’t escape because there’s not enough freedom, not enough respect, not enough money, not enough time.

We now understand most inflammations, back pains, nerve pains like sciatica, foot pains like plantar faciitis, and tooth pain from decay or sensitivity.  But some pain has become mysterious to doctors. We’ve learned some things about some pains.  Nerve endings can become damaged from stroke or disease.  For literally thousands of years we’ve known how Hansen’s disease can affect the nerves, but the cause wasn’t discovered until 1873 and an effective treatment without divine intervention wasn’t found until the 1940s.  For some reason humanity hasn’t eradicated the disease and doesn’t have a standard, affordable, global treatment plan to cure anyone who picks this disease up.  Same with polio and other cureables, but that’s another annoyance for me.  We’ve learned about inflammations and minor aches, and some kinds of headaches too.  We’ve learned about diabetic neuropathy and how that makes diabetics have to be more careful about their feet or other extremities.  We’ve seen how arthritis causes pain and sometimes deformity, and we keep learning how to treat some of these diseases and cure others.

Many pains are actually good, like the stimuli that remind us to drink water, eat, move (for example, away from the stove)  But some don’t seem that good.  We still don’t know about Crohn’s, or Fibromyalgia, or Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, or Irritable Bowel Syndrome, or any of a number of various Medically Unexplained Physical Symptoms including various pains.  But I’m wondering if these have a negative cause that should point us to a positive resolution, and maybe we haven’t figured out what the cause is, so we can’t know what the cure is.

We’ve learned about certain vitamins and minerals and how deficiencies can cause or exacerbate various medical problems.  We’ve learned how certain excesses cause problems.  We’ve learned about things that are toxic, like lead, mercury, and other minerals, and lithium (there’s a separate rant about this, but suffice it to say that this is a poison that is routinely prescribed to treat bipolar disorder, and sometimes schizophrenia and major depression with suicidal ideation.  For fuck’s sake, why do people have to take poison to make them not want to kill themselves?)   We’ve learned how and why good exercise is good for us.

I have food cravings.  I’ve talked about them before, so loyal readers may know about them.  I used to just feel thirsty and drink some water, or I’d feel hungry and I’d have to think about what sounded good and cook and eat that, or I’d just eat whatever we had in the house and the hunger went away but the craving didn’t.  Then I became aware that my brain was telling me specifically what it was craving.  A few were obvious.  Caffeine.  Chocolate.  Salsa.  Salt (very rarely).  Sugar (even more rare).  But then the specificity got to a level I can only describe as weird. Biscuits.  Steak.  Eggs.  Toast.  (Maybe I shouldn’t have had coffee and a banana muffin for breakfast today?)  Pizza.  Seasoned croutons. Mint, ginger, garlic, basil, tomato.    Popcorn.  Grits.  An apple.  A few prunes, without being aware of any digestive reason.  Italian sausage, or an Italian beef sandwich.  Caramels.  Soup.  Cheese.  Fried Chicken.  Oatmeal or granola.  Broccoli.  Green beans.  Tortillas.  Butter.  Fish.  A specific kind of potato  or corn chip.  A specific kind of drink, like tea, a type of wine, a vodka tonic and lime, apple cider, orange juice, egg nog.  Fettuccine Alfredo.  A specific flavor of ice cream.

The more my craving for very specific foods has become specified, the more I’ve started to think that maybe these unexplained pains some of us feel are telling us we need something, but nobody knows what that something is.  What if depression is just a craving that’s curable by giving our body what it needs when it feels sadness?  What if bipolar could be treated by being aware of what phase our emotions are in, or will be in, and by giving our bodies what they need to stabilize our minds, rather than poisoning with lithium formulations or other drugs?  What if fibromyalgia is nothing more than a craving for something our body desperately needs?  I wonder whether fibromyalgia is a form of depression that turns the pain into sensations we’re aware of rather than emotion.  My point is that maybe things doctors once thought, or still think, are “all in our heads,” aren’t.  Maybe they’re in our bodies and we need them out, or they aren’t and we need them.

I’ll readily say, and you’ll agree, that medical treatments have come a long way from leeches and trepanning.  But it upsets me that the treatments for things like bipolar and cancer and some other maladies are poisonous.  Why does the patient have to die, or get sicker, before they are cured?  Modern pharma is a business more than something necessarily good for a patient.  How many modern medicines have interaction complications?  I resist the idea of taking certain medications because of all the potential side effects.  How many of you suffer side effects?  The list includes such wonderful things as sweating, nausea, vomiting, low blood pressure, high blood pressure, increased cholesterol, weight gain, weight loss, hair loss, gas, constipation, water retention, dehydration, urinary tract or intestinal problems, dry mouth, thin blood (slowness to clot), D.V.T., stroke, irritability, episodes of rage, nervousness, panic attacks, hallucinations, nightmares, sleepwalking, sleep driving (for fuck’s sake!), acid reflux, acidic esophageal damage, liver damage, kidney damage,  nerve damage such as causing Parkinson’s-like symptoms which “may become permanent,” toxicity, heart damage, paranoia, delusions, psychoses, brain damage, suicidal tendencies, death.

Big pharma pushes the newest drugs with full awareness of certain effects and at least a statistical possibility of others.  Why aren’t we offered nutritional counselling as a primary option, advocating natural substances that might help, before the doctor prescribes costly and poisonous treatments that might help us, but along the way might kill us.

We’ve learned that the sun provides natural vitamins absorbed through the skin.  Light can be successful in treating some skin issues including psoriasis.  Light therapies are being used by some to even treat cancer and other medical issues.  We’re barely scratching the surface of the potential.  And doctors know damn well that light helps certain kinds of depression.  Why aren’t we patients being told this?  Because, my inner cynic screams, there’s more money in potentially toxic, or lethal, chemicals.  Ancient medicine men treated patients with herbs and other natural substances.  Penicillin was derived from a fungus, not a poison.  We’ve learned fish oils provide essential vitamins. Even in the Bible, they described or offered successful treatments that were completely natural, not even miraculous, just wisdom.  We use mineral salts to treat minor skin infections, garlic as an anti-viral, honey is anti-bacterial, and chicken soup has been called both Polish cold medicine and Chinese cold medicine for a reason.  Whiskey and other strong alcohol can help chronic coughs and insomnia and depression and pain.  Morphine and codeine are from flowers.  Marijuana is now more widely recognized as useful for medicinal purposes.

What if there are natural cures for things the drug companies and doctors are currently only able to treat with poisons? What if what’s eating us is eating us because we’re not looking in the right direction for the cure?  What if the cure is social, like if we need our own group of friends who speak honestly with each other to vent frustrations and celebrate successes.  What if we just need someone to listen to us?  What if the cure is spiritual in nature?  Jesus touched the lepers and they were cured.  Jesus had a certain set of abilities that we ordinary people aren’t gifted with, but I do believe there are miracles still today.  If I didn’t, I would quit praying, and I have no plans to quit.   What if the cure is even simpler, something light-based, natural, or nutritional?

How are you feeling?  What does that mean?  What is it telling you?  Are you listening?

Image Obsession

Good heavens, Deon, there’s an AVATAR where that weird design thingy used to be!  You’re welcome, internet!

There, now you have a baseline, understanding of course, that I look better in real life than as a cartoon avatar.  Or worse.  Whatever.  If I were image-obsessed, would I hide all this beauty in a bunker as much as possible?  For a while there I was kind of nervous about displaying anything close to the real me, probably put off a few friends who asked when I sent the pictures of Mr Rogers flipping the bird right at the camera.  Sorry, Blah-grrl, I guess I’m coming out of my shell a little, maybe.  I reserve the right to go back to the geometric design and go back to hiding.  I’m a shy guy who likes his normal hiding-in-his-bunker existence.  Go on, follow Blahpolar, she rocks.  Plus, she has a dragon named Toaster (my dragon is named Buttercup – FIRST mention on this blog!  Another out-of bunker disclosure.  My bravery knows no limits (That’s a total LIE!).)

Gotta love that.  His image so squeaky clean and yet there are these images to haunt him for all eternity, but the song is still squeaky clean and without any connotation.  I LIKED Mr. Rogers, for the simplicity and love and innocence of his message, which is why in my blog, unless you’re a complete ass, I’m simple and loving and try to be encouraging.

So there you have it, I’ve courageously created an avatar image I suppose not far from what I would look like if I were cartoon-ed.  It’s squeaky clean and without any connotation and yet there are people (thanks, Mrs. M. You and your damned honesty.)  who will tell me my hair has more brown in it, my beard is longer, scruffier, and more white than that, my hair needs cutting, I should shave, I look older in real life, blah, blah, blah.  And I’m too fat.  They can tell just from the cartoon.  Not really.  They can tell because I said I was.  If I were image obsessed I might try harder to look more like, or better than, the un-cartooned likeness.  Cleaner.  But no.  And honestly, I’m not all THAT fat, I’ve got the standard-issue happily married extra 20…or 30 lbs I’d need to to lose to be completely ripped.

I liked the colors.  Purples are my favorite.  And black.  And my eyes are smoldering blue, I did the best I could to capture it but in real life they’re much more penetrating.  Staring. Straight. Into.  Your. Very. Soul…  I know you better than I know me, because I’m a sympathetic empath and, unless you’re a complete ass, I care about you.  Don’t tell anyone, I’ll probably deny it.

If I were image obsessed I’d have been more honest about it and just gone with this, it’s not far off:

There you have it.

I was discussing doppelgangers on another blogger’s comments and confessed that I’ve never met my doppelganger, but I’m certain he looks just as hot as I do.  You’re welcome, internet.  Go on, follow Jill.  You know you want to.  You won’t regret it.  She’s awesome.

My image is squeaky clean, because I’m always running it through the washing machine.  But in real life, I’ve got all the connotations of a dirty-minded man except I only want Mrs. M.  I wish my brain was squeaky clean but no one has invented real-life mental floss.  But I noticed you, you sexy thing, which is probably a bad thing for me to have done.  Plus, it’s hard to get the filth out from between the little cracks in the cranium.  I’d need a mental technician to irrigate all the shit out of there.  And then there are the cavities.  What the hell do you use to fill the cavities and depravities?

I await the judgemental commentary of the trolls and the dubious admiration of any mistaken people who think if I look like the avatar it’s not that bad.  If I were image obsessed I might care about the constructive criticisms enough to do something about it.  But no.  I DO need a haircut.  I DO need to trim up the scruff.  I DO need to lose 30 lbs for a better wardrobe to actually fit my fat ass.  It IS probably more gray in real life(, but it used to be more brown).  I DO look older in real life.  Yes. It’s all true Mrs. M, and I get the last laugh because YOU MARRIED ME, you hot, amazing, adorable, hottie.  (GOD! I love that woman.  In spite of that truth I have to look at in the mirror so she won’t give me the up-and-down and eye roll look so I’ll clean up and dress better before she will go out with me.  That’s right, and that hasn’t changed since college so she knew what she was getting into when she married me.)

I think my image needs a hot shower.  Pass the mental floss?  Wait, what are you doing in the shower?  Get out!  You’re NOT helping me.  Noooooooo!!!!

Ranty

I’ve got my ranties all in a bunch today.  Somebody stop me.  Or not.

I’m also about to slag and mercilessly delete half my inbound emails without reading them.  Sorry, everyone who cares if I read them.

I’m just feeling rage and hopelessness and general irritation depending on which second you approach.  Don’t worry, it’s not about you.

I’m irritated the politicians try to oversimplify and the news media are trying to sell their favorite candidates.  I’m worried some idiot (here read “no Muslims, Mexicans, or fat ugly chicks”) or worse, someone who’s had nothing but conspiracy and cover-up her whole life (and a husband who couldn’t keep it covered up) is going to get into the presidency.

The politicians, both Democratic and Republican, all seem to want to lump “people with mental illness” into a group of “people who should not be allowed to have guns.”  This is offensive and very upsetting.  They want a fucking REGISTRY, for fucks sake, of “people with mental illness,” so they can deprive us of our civil rights.  I’ve said before, not all people with mental illnesses are lunatics bent on shooting their neighbors, friends, families, employers, places of business or random victims.

Criminals don’t have mental illnesses, they just like to commit crime.  Therefore, if you’re a potential criminal, you may very well find it easier to get a license for a gun than someone with a registered mental illness.  This means, if legislation is passed upon them, “people with mental illnesses” are sitting targets not allowed to defend themselves against “criminals with guns.”

I’m irritated there wasn’t more of a fuss when Obama pointed fingers at anyone but his fair home city of Chicago because they have an illegal gun problem there.  Indiana is not the problem.  Law-abiding citizens in Indiana are not giving crooks from Illinois their guns, nor even selling them, so restricting law abiding citizens isn’t going to have any positive effect; I expect the opposite.  The problem is criminals in Chicago are able to obtain illegal guns by criminal means.  Further, the problem includes the law-abiding citizens aren’t allowed to have guns to shoot back when a gang-banger is aiming to shoot someone’s little baby dead while driving by.  Because officially, they can’t have guns.  They have to wait for Chicago PD to come by, with a hearse to pick up the body.

I’m further ranty because today’s a holiday and I have to work.  Is it a holiday or isn’t it?  My company says “it’s a holiday, but just not for you or people in your department.”  So I know there are at least 2 other people in another office working.  And they labor hard and long to not pay extra whenever they can put a legal spin on it and tell me it’s overtime but not “qualified overtime” so they don’t have to pay me extra for dragging my ass out of my warm bed and into my frozen car and driving in to the office.  On a holiday.

They say “money talks, B.S. walks.”  Wish I’d won the lottery so I could call myself B.S.  God knows no one else would own up to it.  But in truth, I think, whoever “they” are, they got it back assward.  Or not mixed right.  On the one candidate’s side, she’s got the BS and it’s talking.  And on the other candidate’s side, he’s got the BS AND the money and they’re both talking.  And I wish they’d both shut the hell up.

Back in the day, I’d like to daydream that the village idiot was labelled and not allowed to talk too long or handle important things.  I’d like to daydream that the secretly crafty person was exposed as a cheating traitorous liar and thrown in jail but I don’t think that ever happens.  But today, they throw the idiot money and hand the idiot the master key and the microphone.  I’m not sure which is worse:  an openly stupid person, an openly crafty person, or a secretly crafty person, and we get all of these kinds in political office somehow.

My pastor, bless his heart, says I feel the way I feel because I’m not spiritually centered.  Oh really, is it that simple?  Then, oh wise and wonderful one, how shall I center myself?  On my reading program that I don’t have time or motivation to complete, on a random spiritual epiphany you’ll swear is coming but hasn’t in, oh, a decade or two or maybe three, on prayer that I do all the time and don’t feel I’m getting the answers I want because I’m spiritually off-center?  Oh there’s a grand circle of spiritual shit to be stuck in, isn’t it?  And if it’s a circle that explains my emotional and mental sine wave, and periodic dips into the black holes of fuck-everything-everybody-and-everywhere-including-me,” doesn’t it?  It’s unfortunate that it’s a lie that what you don’t know can’t hurt you.  Because what others don’t know can definitely hurt me- ignorance of my mental capacity (highly intelligent, very kindhearted, tries to get along with others, not a lunatic, only a little bit batshit) can cause powerful people to make unfavorable decisions about me over which I have no control, and what I don’t know (how to get rich and escape the general infestation quickly, how to succeed at one set of goals while feeling chained to another set of oars and oar-locks, how to help myself well and then help others, how to convince powerful people who wouldn’t give me the time of day that I’m right about everything)…definitely hurts

I wonder if I only think I’m batshit because I’m stuck here and the rest of the world IS…

I’m also ranty because I’m aware that I’m not making any progress toward any personal goals.  I’m distracted half the time, and the rest I don’t have the energy to make it.  Back in the ages of history, people who were creative were not just tolerated, they were celebrated, enjoyed, patronized, enabled to pursue their craft.

What I need is a patron.  But I’m not well-known enough to attract that kind of money.  Or a jail cell, but I’m not secretly crafty enough for that to ever happen.  Plus, I have a conscience.

Stealer’s Wheel got it right, there’s “Clowns to the left of me, jokers to the right, here I am stuck in the middle with you.”  But at least my misery loves your company.