I had a realization the other day: I am a functioning crazy person. I borrow the term from the idea of a “functioning alcoholic” – you know, when it is clear that someone struggles with what should be debilitating, but is still (for the moment) able to get through the day-to-day. My form of crazy is that my mind is never silent. I am forever running through my plans and lists for the day, the week, the rest of my life. Words, sentences are constant in my brain. If this sounds frustrating, anxiety-producing, or annoying, it is.
I find myself walking down the street completely entranced by my worries for the future, introspection, and what I should be doing, should have done, should do tomorrow… I get lost in all of this and find it hard to appreciate where I am right now.
(I really need to learn to stop talking to myself when I’m alone – I confess that I have complete, often two-sided conversations with myself, sometimes aloud. If anyone ever observed me, they would certainly determine that there was some sort of psychological disorder.)
What is crazy? Am I crazy? I could very easily be. There’s a line at the end of Girl, Interrupted exploring the what-is-crazy question: “Crazy isn’t being broken, or swallowing a dark secret. It’s you or me, amplified.”
I would take this definition a step further. It’s not an amplified version of a person. It’s an amplification of one very specific part of a personality. It’s when your life becomes defined by an inability to be your whole self. It’s when your struggles, your tendency toward some behavior, your emotional disposition control all of the rest of who you are. Your multifaceted self becomes secondary to this one trait.
(The voice that won’t shut up in my head keeps telling me things like this.)
Cooking. This is what I have found allows me to focus on something external and brings me into the moment. Thank God for that.
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