This is the best essay I've ever read about mental illness

[Droopy]

I have the author's permission to use this essay as I see fit. She wrote it for a book that I'm trying to put together. Every time I read this essay it blows me away. It makes me want to marry her. :) The person who wrote it has the same illness that I do- schizoaffective disorder. While the symptoms of the illness are the same or similar in those afflicted, how it manifests itself in each person is unique to that person's personality and life experience. No matter what your illness is I believe that everyone here is experiencing a different reality from what normal people experience when you are experiencing your symptoms. For most of us it is hell. For a lucky few it can be a spiritual experience.

Mental illness is like morphing into a realm that others don’t realize exists. It begins with dissociation and evolves into Big Brother, the commentator and narrators, and of course, the audience. Once I’ve had enough of the noise, the cameras, the listening devices, the crucifying reality, my entity takes me into the realm - and sometimes I don’t want to return.

Here in this realm, I begin to understand the truth. The truth about human beings - the truth of government secrets and how they manipulate situations to save their people - or to destroy them. I learn how to either be used by them or how to join them. Unwillingly, reluctantly, I give into them and my entity guides me along.

Here in this realm, I see light and shadows move - the air moves. I become the center - the focus. I fight to save my very soul. To save my own life - or so the sanity inside my head tells me.

In this realm, I see death and destruction all around me and come to understand why it is so. I cry from a broken heart because the truth is too much to bear. Pain and suffering of humanity - all of it - becomes my own. I can’t help but to mourn. But somehow, the spirit of goodness envelopes me and I rejoice. Love and glory of humanity - all of it - becomes my own. And here I am caught between the limitations of my mind and what I understand to be the ultimate - the real - the unity - the understanding, that no one knows but a few. I long to exist in the ultimate; to create a language that fits into this new world I have entered, in order to prepare those who will enter behind me and somehow make it real for all to know as fact and not a dream.

I crave life and death at the same time and come to realize that I am not as separate from the beginning of life as I thought I was. I come to appreciate my ancestors and I long to understand the process of life shedding lives to give life its new birth. I long for and sincerely miss what was shed to bring me into this world - the real physical world - separate yet mingled with the realm I morph into.

I sometimes slip into an altered state of consciousness. I hear sounds much louder, smell odors much more strongly, see objects as smaller or alien to me. I hear voices that may or may not be there. This is why it is hard for me to distinguish between what is real and what is not. It is a state of consciousness in which I am caught between the ultimate reality and my conceptual, categorical way of thinking.

On some level of consciousness I hear the voices of the spirits - sometimes I can even see them. But I dare not speak it. I don’t see it as such a spiritual experience - but it is - and I have no words, no categories, no set compartment in my mind of what is ultimately real. I am caught somewhere between the real and the ultimately real and cannot transcend to the level of the ultimate out of fear. It has been said that we fear what we do not know or understand. Since this higher level of consciousness has not been experienced by others close to me, or has not been taught to me or explained to me - how can I possibly put this experience into words that will be believed by others? How can anyone possibly even begin to understand that I truly come into touch with another truer, more real state of existence?

The drugs I take may alter my chemistry, as I am blinded, and come back to the norm, but I still have symptoms - this consciousness that begs me to come back to it.

In a sense I am tuned into a higher form of reality - more of a spiritual plane - caught between the categories and labels and prejudices and ignorance of what is in our minds about the higher level, or ultimate reality, and the true ultimate reality. How can I teach what I cannot be allowed to know? And who does not allow me? How can I put into words what I have experienced? What makes me easily forget what it is like to be in my other world? Is it the drugs? Is it that I have never been taught the language of the spirits? Is it that no one wants to hear? Is it the labels I have pinned on me by deaf, dumb and blind - the ignorant - or the labels I fall into on my own - in my own conception - because I am afraid to let go?

I don’t want to be just a material body in a material world anymore. I am a soul in a world of souls. Yet I am bound by the confines of my mind and of my own thinking.

It’s a foreign world. Disconnectedness fills the spaces between the objects, and I walk in a dream - unattached as if I slipped from the womb with no cord. Outlines of nothingness trace these alien beings, and I cannot touch, I cannot sense. My inner existence slipped out, and she is alien to me as well….In some world that I cannot know. Without her, I am this shallow form and wonder sometimes if anyone can see me at all.

With time, I shun this foreign matter about me, to join her, though the journey is full of distorted realms and fears of the unknown. Will I become an isolated soul in nothingness?

Is she in a glorious daisy bed in the sky, awaiting my arrival, to celebrate with me? Has she left me behind to forever seek her out - here in this distortion full of darkness and twisted haunting images, taunting about me? Have I lost?

I want to touch, and the pavement beneath each step I take leads me nowhere. The air does not part but only boxes me in and boxes me out. I slide, and there is no direction. I grab at anything to hold on to; the concrete world, a stranger’s hand, a tree branch, a cliff’s jagged edge…but it all moves in swift swirls, escaping me - avoiding me - as if I have no meaning.

Darkness surrounds what I once knew. Confusion and sadness trickle down in a thunderstorm and washes over this empty vessel, and I wonder what the purpose of this cleansing is.

I could not clench to save my life. Hundreds of invisible hands moved over me, resuscitating, breath to breath, life to life. And though she is back and I am whole, the blank spots in my world still surround me, and I tip-toe through land mines, dodging black holes. And I ask myself what I have become, and I morph into the world of madness.

To me, it is Revelations. An understanding of all that makes the world what it is today and there is no excuse for the evil that triumphs. Innocent people being used every day. Innocent people, like myself who only long for the comfort of their God.

I feel that I do not need to be rescued, nor do I want to, because I understand creation - I understand evolution and I live it. I call the experience “rebirth”. But before I get into this, I have to explain the events that lead up to it.

I discovered that my house was bugged. I could hear the chair cushions as I sat on them, the air squeezing out. The noise of static filtered through them and my sensitive ears could pick up it up. I could pick up what the listeners could pick up. My ears were so sensitive that the noise of the refrigerator was enough to drive me insane. Was the noise I heard in the chairs the vibration of the refrigerator, or bugs? I couldn’t be sure. I unplugged the fridge and the noise stopped.

My phone, I believed, had been tapped. This was an ongoing problem for me. Every time I would move or get a new phone number I would be eaves dropped on. I figured that all I could do was accept it. Communism is what I believed it to be. And the communists wanted me dead because I was the freedom fighter. I was one of the few that actually understood how this country was being overthrown by the US government. How the secrets were being used against us. Secrets turned on its own people. How much of a mockery the foreign countries made of us. Especially Saddam Hussein. I watched it over the television. I would see the actors in the background on live news coverage. And the ones who acted would be spotlighted for me to see. But the sign language and secret symbols of the government were being revealed through the spotlighting technique and the problem became very serious.

The American government could not even distinguish who was who. Who were the real Americans and who were the communists infiltrating the system? America was a country that was using brainwashing techniques on its own people. All of us were being manipulated and controlled. All of us were being watched and listened to. The phones were cross wired meaning that the lines of the ones we communicated with were all patched together and eaves dropped on. No outside calls were possible. So the phone became pointless if privacy mattered at all.

USA was invading Montana because other states were free from the communists and unless USA stepped in, Montana would have to be subjected to the rule of tyrants and it would spread like an infectious disease. Communism in Montana had to be stopped.

I cant forget my entity: my secret helper in invisible camouflage who once worked to protect me but sometimes worked against me. I named him “the military man”. And then I realized that there were many like him who used the government secrets against women. They used certain techniques - mental and physical - to control women - to use and abuse them and to keep them in their place. So, I called on the female ninja warriors whose secrets were sacred to them. It became a battle for women to not only protect women, but to show that respect would be given where it is due.

You know the saying, “flat as a board”? Well, I saw on the television the term, “flat as a sword”. and felt a sense of gratitude for having a small chest. I could angle my body just right and I was almost a thin line, like a sword viewed from a side angle. I was to become a target. I could see ninja warriors in their invisible camouflage and I could dodge their invisible weapons. I could point them out and they would flee from me. The trick to survival in a communist state was to know the enemy and respect one another’s existence and purpose. (I can spot you. And if I can spot you, I can kill you). Dodging bullets and arrows, I became well respected because it is a skill that only the warriors of freedom know and certain selected government officials. I became a worthwhile person to protect and to fight for. I was honored to say the least. I was protected from the worst and protected by the extreme elite, and no one could touch me.

Language is the key to life and the effectiveness of its use is the epitome of survival. A language without words - a language of the spiritual sort will bring freedom to all. My language - my secret language and communication saved my life and saved my soul. This language came from my ancestry. It is the secret and the key to life and the survival of all that is true and good and real. It is my own personal and secret language that only I know and we all have our own secret and personal, spiritual language. Most of us though, are not even aware of it. It is spoken without words. It is an understanding. It is body and mind and spirit together, and if one person can understand half of it, then I made my point. As I spoke the language, I saw that only a small glimpse was recognized and understood by others, and what a joy! That shared glimpse of myself and another sharing a small piece of understanding is refreshing to the heart and to the soul and mind.

Language with words and words alone cannot save us. Especially the English language because the more it is “developed” the more confusing it can become. Where one word can imply so many different meanings, and one new to the usage can mean unnecessary misunderstanding. One word in particular comes to mind. It can be both beautiful and vulgar, depending on the way it is used. Well, many words are this way. And it can be a huge insult to the English speaking people - or it all seems to be some sick kind of humor. The vulgar use just seems so patriarchal, and sexually designed, and it is not funny. It is an insult to the intelligence of mankind. C’mon, use your imagination!

I was seeing increasing violence on TV. I was seeing actors without makeup and the bruises on their faces that the makeup would hide. “We all have bruises”, one woman said. I saw shape changers in real life. How one man would appear to be a total stranger and then on looking closer, he was one I knew well and recognized and then suddenly would change back into a stranger. This way, I knew who to trust. It is another clever government secret and one that was easily being used against us. When I was in the grocery store, a good looking man stood right next to me. Blonde hair, blue eyes, perfect nose. It was Saddam himself. Plastic surgery or shape shifter. He gave me the creeps! I wanted to kill him myself, but that was never my calling.

There is no excuse for killing innocent people. None. It is murder - war or not. So, in my misery, I silently and broken heartedly protested the war. I was refusing to eat or drink. I was smoking in my apartment. I would not bathe or shower. I saw everything as a personal attack coming from the TV and the radio. The radio station djs used call letters that don’t exist. I couldn’t find them in the phone book. And the music was all live by guys I knew. It wasn’t a real radio station, but just staged. This is how they got their revenge on me. They used this technique to torment.

Images on the television looked like tapes being fast forwarded. The TV became the greatest instrument in brain washing techniques in existence. At regular pace, the audience doesn’t realize that it is even happening. But if one is aware, like myself, it has to speed up to keep ahead of my mind. Everything became morbidly violent and or sexual in an insulting way. Even golf! And the higher the level of understanding of the techniques used by the government and the more secrets one would pick up simply from viewing the TV, the more difficult it became for television crews to stay ahead. It angered me and I had to question why anyone would subject themselves to such ugliness. No one was fool enough to buy the lies. It wasn’t enough to just unplug everything. I had to cut up the cords and wires, because technology became the communists number one source and instrument of deceit. It was the ultimate ruin - the government turned against itself. Right in our very own homes. There had to be protest. There had to be a state wide power outage in order to bring peace. The US was sure to invade Montana and I had to be one of many to protest abuse of power that the state allowed on its people. Every plane that flew overhead was the US threatening war on Montana, because the Montana government was so corrupt.

Understanding this and witnessing this did not harm me spiritually. It is the “rebirth” that saved my life. I returned to the moment of conception. I was in the womb developing. Gradually I became a living, developing being. I don’t know the number of hours this took but I remember clearly the discovery of my being. I remember the process of my creation. I came to life - from the beginning and yet the spirit knew no certain beginning, rather that it just always was and always has been and always will be. Nothing at all like the physical. I understood that I existed before I was born and that I was not alone and never will be. At rebirth I already knew what my body would be. I knew the miracle of life - this life - this gift from God. I reveled the marvel inside the womb. The excitement of development - the excitement to pierce the sack and enter life and all it is meant to be. There was nothing ugly about it or painful. It is an immense awe inspiring experience. To know I dodged death so many times the night before. I was shot straight through the heart so many times for the sake of truth and freedom and I never once knew death because of it.

I felt the interior of the womb much like what a mime looks like inside a box. But I was sheltered rather than boxed in. And I gently broke through. I came to be out of life and into it at the same time. How precious and beautiful that experience was. I can’t hate the madness or my illness. It is impossible for me to do and I am not afraid of myself. I think the most difficult task is trying to make others understand that I am fully alive and not an object to be feared. I am fully aware and not comatose or vacant inside. That love and life and beauty abound inside of me. It frightens people from the outside looking in.

I have to say that in psychological terms - “self-actualization” either is happening, about to happen, or has happened and there is nothing to fear. To me, it is a spiritual experience. It is a gift from God and not just merely a survival technique. I am in touch with the spirits of my ancestry. And maybe this is madness to some people, craziness, weirdness and from all outer appearances, it probably is. But I would invite anyone to enter my inner world and experience life in the way that I do and then ask them to put a label on it. If people could see what I see and live what I live on the inside looking out - no one would refuse a trip or two from my point of view. This is the life I was handed. And this is the lot that I graciously accept. People call it a “breakdown”. I call it a “breakthrough”. I gently break through the womb, symbolic or spiritual; perhaps both.


One of the most enjoyable experiences, when it is not negative or overbearing, is the sense that everything is in fast forward. This is another area where my secret language comes in to be useful. I can take three chapters of a book and sum it up with one gesture - the silent way - or I can sum it up with one word. Now, the officer that transported me into the state hospital, and I, had developed a certain amount of trust between us during the initial phase of my third admittance. I don’t know his name or his face, but I remember an emblem on his sleeve patch that I loved because it was an Indian, like me, and I assumed that he was a brother. And during the transport we were listening to the radio and I was hearing books read in their entirety. I knew that I was the author of these books, and the officer was trying to remind me of who I was, so I knew them by heart. It was like taking a walk through my many contributions to the world. Since I knew all the material, I had to fast forward and he kept right up with me and I loved him for it. For instance, the word, “pegatehedremure” would be spoken by the narrator and that word would sum up almost the entire book and I knew exactly what it meant. And the fun thing about it was that the officer, my brother, understood it too! So, I would laugh out loud. And what was really funny to me is that many of these summary words were strung together. This is the language that I heard and I could not stop laughing. I really believed that he heard it too and had just as much fun as I had had.

War time is especially hard on me because I cannot, for the life of me, understand why innocent people have to be murdered. War equals murder. I think of violence and cruelty and how desensitized we, as a people, have come to accept it as a fact of life. And I remember an incident in which a man was brutalized by the police - sodomized with a broomstick - beaten and tortured. What if this man raped children? What if this man murdered innocent people? Did he deserve what he got? What if it was my child that was raped or murdered? What would I do? How far would I go? And would this brutality keep other children from being tortured or murdered? And sadly, I had to admit to myself that, yes, I would have done the same to him. I bring this up because, in my clouded state, I was there. I was one of the police officers beating him to near death and it was justifiable. Murder becomes necessary to protect innocence and freedom of the young ones who will inherit what we have to offer and to hand over to them when we become too feeble to run the world ourselves. I understood how war could, in a sense, be justifiable. But murder is never justifiable. A bad marriage, some will say, is just poor communication. Maybe the same is true of nation against nation.

It was the initial phase of being sent back to the state hospital. That means lying in a hospital bed in the emergency room of the local hospital that has no psychiatric wing. Funny, in a county with a population of 68 or 69,000, there is no room for the crazy people. I discovered in that bed that I could watch everything through the holes in the blanket, but they couldn’t watch me. I kept my eye on the patch of the officer the whole time while being accompanied by my spirit world and my secret language.

I have two spirits “joined” to me. One on each side. The one to my left is my Spirit Brother. I discovered him during my rebirth. He is beautiful. The first face I saw was his while in the womb. He plays his music to me 24-7. His music is the spiritual music - the rhythm that is always with me. We play to each other - I move to him. It’s a steady rhythm - like constant drumming that my heart beats to. Each beat of the drum is the beat of my heart. It is essential to living to hear him and move to him and to be connected to him. Without him, my heart would simply stop.

And to my right is my Spirit Sister. We are connected. She is a part of my secret language of my heart and my spirit world. She is my telepathy that is only intuition when we are not fully tuned into one another. Our connection is tied to the language of our hearts. She and my brother are the only ones that fully understand me and fully know who I really am. And I alone comprehend them completely. They communicate to me, not only in my heart, mind and soul, but also through other people. When the three of us are all in tune together, it is pure bliss. It is my sister who said, “We are choosing our families”, during the third hospital stay. It is triumph. It is overcoming. It is our breakthrough and not my breakdown.

My brother and I have our secret language. One that Sister doesn’t fully comprehend. And the same is true with my sister. But when we are all in unison, the union and bond are simply magical. The ultimate. I am not divided but I only have one body. And the fear at birth, since I learned of them in the womb, is that I would lose the both of them forever. But in spirit we are joined and they will always be with me. Even death cannot tear us apart. They are like my angels. Only through rebirth could I discover this about my life. And it seems crazy to most. And the only language I know - English - makes it seem like sheer madness. But you remove the words and subject yourself to silence. To reenter a world in which time and space do not exist. To a pre-physical existence or realm. If you transcend all you see and know no limits or boundaries that only the physical has access to. The place of pre-physical birth.

It is madness of the mind when the dishwasher repeats someone’s name over and over again that you don’t want to hear. It is madness of mind when you believe that people in invisible camouflage are fighting for you to protect you, but want to hurt you at the same time. Yes, I know that I have a mental illness. But sometimes it drives me further into the spirit world where there are answers and mystery and awe. That if this spiritual existence I am driven to is only illness, then yes, this illness saves my life rather than destroys it.

In this world (spiritual) there is inspiration and beauty and peace. There is life in its ultimate and it is not what it appears to be. There is understanding and knowledge and truth like no other type of mind-set or physical reality that I know.

Beneath this somewhat inferior exterior lies an innocence and wisdom of the child and the old lady. Beneath these eyes lie eyes that can see through you - can touch your beauty and innocence - can see the depth and the heart and soul and we all have this.

I was poisoned somewhat by the lies. I was blinded somewhat by the physical and the limitations and boundaries and the fences and the walls. The spirit simply transcends them all. It is the truth that is worth defending. Not the guesses and the theories and the ones that you call friends when they only appear to be. I ask people what they would defend if they only had a choice between a friend or the truth. Some answer, “a friend”. My answer is the truth, because if it is the truth you defend, the friends will follow out of that and not vice versa.

I was protesting in silence in the privacy of my own home. I was protesting because I was being spied on - we all are. The musicians that played to me over the radio were somehow watching every move I made and trying to smooth things over with me and apologized to me because they felt guilty for the intrusion. The state was well aware. It is a government technique. The reporters on the television were talking directly to me and it became very personal. And all that was reported was specific only to me - just as it is in everyone’s home.

There was a camera crew in my home in just as much danger as I was in. I couldn’t see them because they were either camouflaged or used a technique of mind manipulation to blind me to their physical appearance. They all took hits for me. Reporting can be a dangerous job! They were rooting for me. I could hear their conversations among themselves as they were recording every move I made and together we watched ourselves being watched.

It was when I saw Bush on the news waving and walking to his plane, unaware that his lips were being read. He was saying, “If somebody doesn’t kill that fucking bitch, I’ll do it myself”. I had the mute on because I couldn’t stand the noise. But I could see the other language. The language we all use but don’t even notice. In silence, you can interpret correctly. That can get to be tricky. I read his lips, and that did it. I grabbed my scissors and unplugged everything in the living room. I then clipped the cords and wires. Yes, mom, I am running with scissors! And I was pissed. I was fed up with money and the importance people placed on material possessions. I was fed up with the war and the US imposing their beliefs on every other country that isn’t white - male - protestant - capitalistic and opportunistically motivated. I was fed up with technology and industrialization. I was fed up with the wars between giant corporations who target their consumers with such idiocy by promising them bigger, better, faster, stronger. Yes, you too can be this or that - anything but the real you kind of promises. It’s no wonder there is such a thing as suicide. No wonder there is such a thing as murder. Who do you believe? The corporate giant says “You need this”. The truth is that , no you don’t, but we can make you believe that you do. Deceit. For financial gain, for political gain, for personal gain. How sick I am of it all. Pollution, on top of pollution. The system itself became polluted. I have no choice but to live in this concrete jungle. A man made world that only talks and never hears. And as for the tree that falls in the forest - it will be heard if people will just simply shut up.

There are so many cracks in this concrete jungle that man has built up for himself that any number of people could fall through. And they do. Does the American dollar save them? Rags to riches. The American success story. Welfare mothers. OK. What happened to the fathers? People should not even reproduce if they are going to raise poor, dumb idiots. Wait a minute! Some rich people are idiots too!

What was the unspoken during my breakdown? The war will never end. The patriarchal BS rule is getting ugly and tiresome to many of us women. There is homelessness in such a rich country. The planet is being raped. Crime is punishable - if you’re not rich enough to buy your way out. It all seems to boil down to money and greed. The most sacred symbol exists on the American dollar, and no one seems to even notice it. It is an insult to me, to my God, and to my country. It rapes my freedom to see the ugliness of the monetary fever sweep through every level of mind set in this world. If the US wants to lead, then we first have to look at ourselves and end the BS right here in this country right now. We all can see the messiness. Where do we start? Educate the idiots? The answer is not war. Non war. The answer is not to call a truce. The answer is not to simply compromise. What am I going to do to make the world a better place for others?

In my silence I retreat. In my silence I understand. In my silence I am aware. My sister said, “I want to take that pyramid and turn it upside down.” The American financial pyramid. I’m with you girl!

When all the cords and wires were cut and the refrigerator was unplugged, I laid on the floor in hopes that all would be silent. But I could hear them whisper. I saw their reflections in the blank, black screen staring back at me, moving about. It was the reporters, my helpers, with their cameras and microphones and I realized at that point that the sick game or plot of the patriarchal government never would end. Once in a while they would use tricks to hide from me what they were actually doing. Top secret information that even I could not have access to. And the humorous part in all of the sickness was that we were doing the same to the enemy. We turned the tables on the nazi, commie game players, but neither of us stood a chance of winning - not us and not them.

I understood that magicians and illusionists keep their secrets for a reason. I understood why death threats were made against the masked magician who revealed the secrets on live television. What if someone mistakenly, or worse, purposely, really was cut in half? What if the secrets revealed that it wasn’t merely an illusion - but murder? The crew in my house knew every trick in the book - every secret ever kept and I was honored to have them as guests. They were my fellow protestors and my protectors. We all needed each other right there in my apartment.

My rebirth saved my life. My mind was at ease but the reality of war and everything that does not add up in this world - the deceit - the hypocrisy - it all continues to exist. And like blind sheep we simply accept it all as the way things are. This is the sad part. That we let our potential be sapped away from us, leaving us with the feeling that we can do nothing about it. That we are powerless to make changes that can turn this country into what it should be and can be and must be. I was cuffed. My hands were tied and all I could do was cry out in silence. America, quit waging war on your own people. Quit allowing the system to use us like pawns. Quit making things worse on the people who cannot accept the way things are.

Freedom comes with a price. And that price is war?! How about freedom from war mongers? What about freedom from the mind set that is criminal in nature as a rule of a sick leadership? If truth comes with a price, is that price my madness? Do I have to break down in order to speak the truth?

Solutions. Don’t let the ignorant rule. Don’t allow us to be turned into killing machines for the sake of “freedom”. Because it only results in false security and has no bearing on the truth about life. It is not true freedom.

Sometimes I feel like and think that love is our only sole purpose. And our understanding of this should be the ultimate goal. What if our brains are not as advanced as this? Is it a brain gone haywire that causes negativity? A brain with faulty wiring that causes corruption and murder and lies? A simple chemical imbalance that throws us all so far off course? How often do you see a person come out of a mental institution and walk right into a leadership position? The mentally ill are seen as a problem. But guess what? We didn’t start the war. Some “sane” person did that! It is our sane leaders who wage war, who commit the worst atrocities of all. Everyone murdered because of war falls directly on the shoulders of the ones who wage war. A mentally disturbed person, such as myself, could never commit such a horrible act. So I have to wonder, who is the sane one, and who is the insane one?

Why do I live on? I think it is because I have something to say. Because I understand that love is everything and I won’t sit idle with duct tape over my mouth, with a blindfold over my eyes and earplugs stopping the truer sound. People tell me it is not possible to have a perfect world. Maybe this is true - so how about better than perfect? How about removing the word perfect - or its interpretation of the word - completely from our language? Does it seem more possible now?

Life is precious. There is a history to every person. If you kill one person - look how much you destroy in a matter of seconds. Everything that person ever stood for. The inherent good is destroyed. For generations upon generations. How fast we forget where we came from. How fast we forget where it all began. But forget the physical - forget the fences and the clocks. Forget the body and the concrete and imagine how and where you exist and why. Forget there are mistakes and misunderstandings. Just imagine. Accidents do not happen. It is not will pitted against will. Life - purpose - existence - meaning - it all just simply is. How deep an appreciation I have for my own life. For the lives of others. How simple it all could be. Am I a dreamer with false notions? Am I a peace lover? Is it that I can’t handle the way the world is versus the way it ought to be? So, I go insane once in a while?

I see through the eyes of my creator. I see through spiritual eyes. And the way things ought to be is the way things really are. It is the ones who say it isn’t possible that lead us astray. I’ve lived in both worlds. I’ve lived through sanity and I’ve lived through insanity and both are but a state of mind. I’ve never walked away from the truth though. Truth will tell me what it is that I need to see, not the president, not the corporate god, not the industrial god, but my God, together with your God in a moment of truth and reality. No god says it is without backing it up. And what you see through the eyes of the body is not what it is. It is appearance and appearance only. Don’t make the mistake of placing your faith on the appearance. We all come from the same blood. And we all come from the same water. If you take it from one, you take it from us all, including yourself. We are called the human race and all I can picture is swarms of people running frantically trying to outdo one another, and for what? Running desperately to get somewhere, but where? It’s the rat race I see. A human rat race. And who are the controllers? Sadly, it is no other than you and I.

Fast forward! Stop! Lydereedenceonation! With this word I just skipped five chapters - saved us from another world war - made love with the soul and heart of mankind - brought stability - fed hungry people and praised my God. Now we are talking!

[DemExpat]

1. Thanks, Droopy, I am saving this one.....

to re-read many times.....

I especially value her view of mental illness as a spiritual experience, as it is impossible for me not to see it in this light as well - most of what she says about re-birth, mental illness being a gift, (an in-sight), love being the ultimate purpose, etc. are my views exactly.

She says it all so well! Perhaps that *is* her purpose too - to write her experiences and contemplations down for the world (and those of us with similar "fates") to see how much more mental "illness" is than being defect, frighteningly nuts.

DemEx

[NMMNG]

2. Good point

She says it all so well! Perhaps that *is* her purpose too - to write her experiences and contemplations down for the world (and those of us with similar "fates") to see how much more mental "illness" is than being defect, frighteningly nuts.



Most people look at mental illness as a defect/aberration/flaw, and seek to correct/eradicate it. However just think how many creative geniuses the world would have lost had we medicated or ECT'd them into "normalcy":

Burning with Creativity:
Authors Who Suffer from Mental Illness >

Mental Illness and Creativity: What's up With That?


I am not advocating people avoid treatment for their mental illnesses by any means, but there is no need to automatically consider them flaws or something to be eradicated. If it is not harming the person experiencing it or anybody else, they should have some input on how to interpret it.

[varkam]

3. I think you have a good point there.

A very good point, indeed.