Spock has seen this world’s true face, and he’s afraid of it.
Let’s just admit it: we’re all, in our own little ways, mad. Some of us more completely than others, and some of us more functionally than others. As much as we’d like to live life according to the way of rationality, we don’t. We’re not so smart. We have emotional buttons that are, at times, simply far too easy to push.
We’re all invariably, irrevocably, incurably insane on the inside.
(would you take a look at that alliteration!)
A friend of mine posted a link to my facebook profile earlier today. The article it linked to had this title:
“The Neurological Similarities between Successful Writers and the Mentally Ill”
(with friends like these…)
The article proves – with science! – that great writers are, on one or several degree, mentally unstable. After reading through, I was rather relieved to find out that I don’t show any of the signs of insanity that were present in the likes of Mr. Fitzgerald or Mr. Hemingway; but that was also when I realized I’m not a successful writer.
So I curled up in a corner and cried.
(well, figuratively. I’m at the office, and I’d rather attract less than more attention)
I once took a test to see if I exhibited signs of psychopathy. I knew that I’m mentally sound, free from the common types of mental illness that so plagues our society – OCD, ADD, manic-depressive, borderline, and the like – but I just wanted to find out. Because, you know, I was curious.
And desperate to be special. But that’s a story for another day.
It turns out that more than anything else, I’m highly inclined to be narcissistic. Which is exactly how the article described writers: tends to be narcissistic and depressive most of the time. Heck, even Forbes listed writers as Number 6 in the top 10 professions most likely to have narcissists!
(I imagine in top place would be politicians. It’s the only way we can explain some of their behavior)
I excitedly told this to a couple of friends, most of whom returned a look of pity and disgust. Only one friend said that she found it pretty cool, but then again, she was also quite the narcissist herself, when she took the test. It appears that psychopathy, alongside misery, loves company.
But borderline psychos are my favorite type of people. They’re just immensely entertaining to watch. I tell whoever would listen that I like my writers how I like my villains: charming, intelligent, and would-kill-you-for-sneezing insane.
(I like my heroes how I like my women: good-looking, resourceful, and completely screwed)
Can you imagine a world without psychos? A world where the weirdest one can get is to have little quirks like dipping their fries into soft drinks, or to be a fan of My Little Pony? I can’t. I need my entertainment from airplane-spotting shamans, from nonsense-spouting celebrities, from people who question if fried chicken come from fried eggs. It gives the world a certain zest. It makes the world a better place, dammit!
So embrace not just who you are. Embrace not just your weirdness. But also embrace that little part of you that’s completely bonkers. Logic, like words, are a useful tool to get things done, but it’s not as good as it’d like you to think it is. When the pressure kicks in and you can’t bring yourself to care anymore, toss logic out the window!
After all, madness is like gravity. It’s just so much easier to be insane.