"We're all mad here."
When I was a kid, I didn't know the various meanings of the word "mad." I thought Wonderland was just full of a bunch of angry people. I mean, in the Disney movie (which tends to be the version a lot of kids--if not a lot of adults--associate with Carroll's surrealist story full of math and mania), the rabbit was rude, the Walrus and Carpenter were jerks, the Tweedles seemed sinister, and that queen had a "shoot-up-my-anger-management-class" type of temper.
|Some queens prefer a much subtler method of sending you to hell. Source|
It took a while for me to figure out that "mad" also meant bat-shit insane.
|Guano is steadily gaining popularity as an organic alternative to spray paint. Source|
While the English nerd in me would love to jet on over to the Oxford English Dictionary and look up the semantic shift in "mad" (when we started using it more to mean "angry" as opposed to "FETCH THE STRAITJACKET"), the lazy person in me beat the English major into submission about an hour ago. Go find your lexical knowledge yourself, you leeches.
(I did happen to wikipedia straitjacket and found out a french dude invented them and the original name is a "camisole de force," which was of course shortened to "camisole," so think about THAT the next time you're struggling your way into a cute little cami--you're two words away from a Victorian loony bin (which, trust me, are the worst kind). Also, I called you all leeches on purpose, BECAUSE I AM THAT ALLUSIVELY BRILLIANT.)
So yes, madness.
|I'm not entirely sure how people who liked to take pictures of asylum inmates |
didn't end up there themselves, but whatevs Source.
According to the National Institute for Mental Health, a little over a quarter of us are some degree of mad. That means if you're in a room with three other people, one of you is probably damaged goods. (I'm speaking here as a damaged good, so extract your bunched panties from your ass-crack or go back to politically correct, nice-nice land.)
In my world, that number seems way too small. I know far more bruised apples than shiny red ones.
And of course, those NIMH numbers only include the people who realize and admit they have an illness. (In case you didn't know, yes, that is the NIMH in The Secret of NIMH. Who knew that the predecessors of antidepressants and xanex could make rodents brilliant?) Think about the people you know who you've thought "goddamn, someone needs some THERAPY" about. Me thinks the numbers are skewed
So what does all this mean? Fuck if I know. Seems to me like Wonderland is becoming the norm.
|Goddamn red pill. Source.|
Yet affected people, including myself, still seem to have the hardest time actually accepting their illnesses. We waste so much unnecessary time coming to terms with our sickness, that we make it worse. I can't TELL you the number of people I know who kept trying to will themselves well, over and over again (many for YEARS), while they just got worse and worse until they hit some sort of terrible rock bottom. Maybe they stopped eating, or started planning how they'd off themselves, or they started listening to the voices, or they decided that gut feeling they had to drag all their clothes out onto the lawn and set them ablaze was a super awesome idea.
|Sooo much easier than dragging that shit to Salvation Army. Source.|
And if you ask these people why they didn't try to do anything before hitting rock bottom, they almost all say it's because they didn't want to admit something was wrong with them [that they couldn't fix].
In a society that stills seems to expect our men to be manly at almost all costs (only pussies cry), that doesn't seem to know WHAT the hell it wants from its women (feminist? earth mother? miraculous multi-tasker who has it all including a nervous breakdown?), and that is constantly finding new ways for us to screw up our children (where do I staaaaaaaaaaart), I'm not surprised that people still see mental illness as "wrong."
|Be more like Japan and not give a shit about wrong. Source|
How many times have you heard "you just need to get over it," or "just suck it up," or "it's all in your head"? FUCKING DUH IT'S IN MY HEAD; THAT'S WHERE MY IMBALANCED CHEMICALS CURRENTLY RESIDE, YOU DOUCHEBAG. (I'm sorry, you "dush" bag.)
I'm not sitting here saying everybody just needs to recognize (as in, "girl, you'd betta RECOGNIZE) and then subscribe to the "pills for everybody; swallow your way to good mental health!" mentality. I don't know what the answer is as far as "cures" go (or why normal-person land seems to be what's on the other side of the looking glass now--English nerds, yes I know I'm referencing two different books; EAT ME). I don't know why more and more people seem to be "coming out" as crazy. (Though goodness knows there are enough theories.) I just think we (as in humanity) should stop treating mental illness like an STD (or STI, or whatever in the hell you call them nowadays . . . it's still all crotch-rot to me)
|You don't want to see any of the pictures "crotch-rot" brought up. Here, have a puppy. Source|
Stop treating it like it's something you should be ashamed to have or even admit to having. Not wanting help after you've realized you're a tomato with some serious soft spots? Now THAT is something to be ashamed of. (That's right, I just got all judgmental on your ass . . . or your brain.)
|Order in the mutha-fuckin' brain court, bitches. Source|
Have I been directly dealing with this sort of stigma-induced behavior in others lately? No. Am I personally experiencing issues with labeling my mental shenanigans as "wrong"? Not so much. Am I just on my soap box for no apparent reason? DING, DING, DING.
Write about what you know. I know madness.
"But I don't want to go among mad people."
Well that's just tough fuckin' titties, Alice.
|You haven't really shown the soundest judgment yourself, sweetheart. Source|