1:37 pm | 19 February 2003 | crazy for feelin' so blue

I think it's funny when people say "Oh, i think you're suffering from depression" or "She suffers from an anxiety disorder." I think this kind of phrasing paves the way for those of us with psychological difficulties to not only subconsciously think of themselves as suffering all the time, but to blame it on a trick of brain chemistry (if we are to believe the reductive logic of psychopharmacology).

Humans suffer. It's got nothing to do with serotonin. Remember the story of King Midas, who finally caught the satyr Silenus and asked him what was the best of all things for man? His answer: "Oh, wretched ephemeral race, children of chance and misery, why do ye compel me to tell you what it were most expedient for you not to hear? What is best of all is beyond your reach forever: not to be born, not to be, to be nothing. But the second best for you--is to die as quickly as possible" (Dude check out Nietzsche's Birth of Tragedy, �3). I think that pointing out reasons for human suffering is an exercise in futility. We each live; we each suffer; we each kick our own special bucket. 'Nough said.

In this spirit, i encourage all my "differently-mentalitied*" fellows to join me in enjoying--indeed, luxuriating in--their various so-called "infirmities." I am bipolar II but i'm not lettin' it get me down. When i am up, all the better--i exploit those brief moments of feeling okay! I wear the booty pants, and/or dangerously-tailored blouses! I rock some crazy Tokyo-style fashion! and then, when i sink back down into my cozy, snuggly hole, i take comfort in it. Dude, I am one of the only people who really understands what Morrissey is saying, i tell myself as i move the needle-arm back to the beginning of "Rubber Ring" and moan along melodramatically: "when you lay in awe on your bedroom floor and said oh well smother me mother!" Woe is me, motherfucker.

I also enjoy both the freedom of mocking myself, and the subtle rein afforded to my slightly-less-than-stable self by the "normal" world. I am not prone to dramatic affectation, but a chance moodswing uppercut me earlier this week when a polite request to a rude coworker to NOT BE MY PERSONAL FUCKING DIETICIAN** ended in tears [my own]. Since then, people are keeping a postal-worker-wide berth--She could blow at any time, you know--giving me the chance to take care of pressing matters at hand, such as the reading of a short story entitled "The Butthole," photocopied and given to me by a cohort.

I guess i don't really know where i'm going with this essay. I'm just saying that not everyone has to "suffer" because they're deviating from "the norm." I'm saying that suffering is the norm, and we should totally flaunt it. Even if, like me, speaking on the telephone is a scary challenge for you. Have fun--use fake accents, or wear an eyepatch, or think about things to make to help you deal. It works for me. clm.

* I totally made that phrase up. Can you tell?
**As so:
Her: "Oooh, i can't believe you ate a donut. You better skip lunch."
Me: "Fuck you, donut Nazi."
Her (fake-concernedly): "Hey, i'm just trying to help. You're gonna get really fat."
Me: "No, seriously, fuck you." [Weeping]

Hey, fight the good fight against Bush and Nike! Two separate evils...