Dec 9, 20222 min read

I’m Crazy; I’m Not Human

So, it’s understandable that I feel like an alien. At times, I even think I look like an alien. The big, glaring, in-your-face secret, though, is that I don’t act like an alien. Somehow, I manage to keep my insanity on a leash the vast majority of the time. I am not the person that goes incoherently screaming, naked down the street. I am not the person who starts fights over the last hotdog at 7-Eleven, so the police have to get called. I am not even the person that lashes out irrationally at the driver who drops off my Amazon packages. I am not that person. I am the person trying to keep my molecules from flinging off into space by wrapping her arms around herself and sitting very, very still. If you were to walk into my apartment, I would smile and say hello. “Move along. Nothing crazy to see here, folks.”

Somehow I can do this. Somehow I can manage it. But it doesn’t make the spikes any less pointy, and it doesn’t make me any less crazy. It just means I’m much better at disguises than the average person. And, to be clear, I’m not alone. Crazy people are all around you, trying desperately not to let their masks slip while at work, picking up the kids from daycare, or grocery shopping for melons. It is hideously painful and cements a divide between us and the human race.

t’s days like today when I’d like to punch anyone in the face who says I’m not crazy. I’m crazy. I’m CRAY-ZEE. I know you can’t see it, but if you were in my brain right now, it would be crystal clear to you. I’m feeling so crazy, in fact, that I suspect another person would think they were psychotic if they had to deal with the brain I currently have. I know this is not psychosis, though. I know this is a brutal, unfair, horrific bipolar mixed mood.