Confusion Delusion

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Religion and Spirituality  |  House: Booksie Classic
What we think shapes what we view.

Submitted: July 21, 2013

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Submitted: July 21, 2013

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Confusion Delusion

As I walk through my life, every little thing seems to matter. Every word they speak, every action I take, every brush of the comb and shove on the dance floor. I must be mad.

I stress and worry about the littlest details, I boil over with emotion like a pot of water flamed by the fires of abnormality, I find anger in so much and happiness so fleeting. I must be so very... insane.

Every day seems to go differently, especially depending upon my mood. The down days are grey, the good days are yellow, the angry ones are red, the boring ones are a faint shade of purple. I feel so not normal.

I cannot be normal, this must not be normal. Nobody else's experience seems to be like this, I must have a unique... wrongness. I must be broken in some way like nobody before me, I must find a cure! I must! I must!

I've taken all the drugs under the sun, hoping to speak with something greater than myself or to unlock my mind. I've drunken all the alcohol I could afford or obtain. I've lost myself in every man and woman's eyes, looking for love and comfort. I WANT MY CURE! I WANT MY CURE!

I haven't found that magical shot yet. I've run around, high on life. My madness seems almost like a superpower sometimes, a lovely energy that propels me in ways nobody else seems to understand.

Other days it is a horrible looming shadow, a thousand cutting, burning memories telling me to die, to disappear forever, to stop tarnishing the surface of this world, this green and blue rock.

The one day I realised... perhaps my unique madness is thinking that no matter what anyone says... I am mad? Nobody has ever been able to convince me I'm normal, I'm just another human being. But... we're all unique, we're all different and that really is the only thing drawing us all together.

Normality is such an odd idea, when you think about it. It's at odds with the patterns observable in nature, of variation, of uniqueness, of difference and change.

The idea that there is such a thing as a normal being is quite odd... the idea of an unacceptable one is a more socially defined thing. Rapists, murderers, thiefs, they don't intergrate well with others, yes, that's why socially they are rejected.

But why does normality reject abnormality? If, say, I could only understand the world in binary or viewed everything in the style of a Picasso artwork... I am no less functional, moral, loving or intelligent. I'm just different.

So perhaps the problem is thinking you have a problem... getting carried away with a theory, an idea, looking at something and seeing "that problem" and then looking "for that one solution".

For so long I believed I was mad for feeling joy, loss, sorrow, obsession in such strong ways as to drive me to act out... then I noticed so many others did the same, but slightly differently and they just "got on with it", it was their "normality".

Then you realise... madness is what you make it and if you make everything you do madness by your own definitions, you just make yourself unhappy.

My confusion, my madness, was thinking I was mad. I'm wonderfully normal, to me.


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