Quote:
Originally Posted by ElsaMars
I enjoy your untamed thought train. I hope these truths you have found provide you comfort. I don't mean to be insulting but I wonder if you are a bit on the manic side perhaps?
I can understand much of what you are trying to say and other parts not so much. I think it's tempting to judge how others view or treat their illness. How much comfort they receive from diagnosis or listing their meds and symptoms. It's human to feel we have it figured out while the rest of the poor souls are out there doing it ALL wrong. Recently I'm understanding how far from objective the truth can be......how my version of it and how the world makes sense to me personally is very different from the next person. I'm always looking for people who have all the answers.....I'd love to find them and be guided.......I've met lots of people who acted like they knew it all or thought they did but once I dug deeper I was disappointed because my truths are personal and nobody seems to have this crap figured out. My mental illness is not all I am but it is a big part. That might be wrong to some but until the creator of the universe comes down and shines a light on a messiah, I just see opinions, not universal truths.
|
No, no mania, no. No sure answers; nothing’s certain ‘cept death, gurlee. I am god-damned sure, though, that truth flip-flops ‘cross these multi-verses and we’re all a Merry Gang of Pilates asking, “what is truth?”
Why does it feel manic? Because I’m wiggling myself at conventional convictions - giving my c-finger Louis to grave notions. Haberdashery.
No, no mania, no. Teasing. Playful. Opaque. Wordplay, foreplay. Four play.
Yer either on the bus or off the bus. On the road or off-road. Either/Or, Sören.
I became so absorbed in myself-as-illness that I forgot that I was funny and smart and kind (not my words). Eighteen (18) years of grief. Nine (9) or eleven (11) - depending on the method used to count - years of institutionalization.
What I want to say I dare not say. Not in this crowded theatre.
But, I will say that if my response to physical symptoms was on par with my response to my mental symptoms I would have died 23-years-ago.
I’m quite keen on life. Grab me nutter-butters and Call Me A Soldier.