Why Do People Like Us Even Exist?

I am a strong believer in evolution and, as such, I have always wondered why some of the deadlier mental illnesses have survived the weeding out process. I read one article that proposed a possible answer that also incorporates the link between creativity and madness (documented in very good studies, by the way).

I wish I could find the original article (it is probably one of Redfield-Jamison’s) because I’m going to give a 2nd grader version of the original thoughts. Oh well, better to get the idea out than to wait until I get organized! Just think of this as the trailer for an article you’ll want to find yourself. So, here goes:

Since mentally ill people are generally less concerned with staying “in the box,”* at least when they are most ill, they are more likely to see solutions to problems that others think are unsolvable. I’m thinking here of mania and hallucinations — I have no idea what benefits depression brings; maybe better designs for mattresses. What seems possible, even obvious, to a sick person is way out of bounds for normal people.

Regular Joe: “No, silly, we can’t get across this gorge. It’s impossible. Let’s just go around.”

Sick Joe: “Yeah, but what if there were two massive columns holding up enormously thick ropes that held other ropes, which held up long planks of wood … You’re right; that is stupid. I’m stupid. I have nothing to live for…” Sick Joe’s idea, later credited to Regular Joe.

Therefore, even though a very high percentage of these people end up killing themselves, their usefulness to society could have already been substantial. Maybe that’s also why chicks dig even the ugliest artists — to keep their creative qualities in the gene pool.

I find it interesting that sick people generally kill themselves after reaching sexual maturity, giving them just enough time to make some sort of contribution to society. A moment’s thought will yield the obvious biological explanation for this. I just think it is interesting how elegant evolution solves the problem of species optimization.

*In America, managers are always telling people to “think outside the box.” When we do, though, they quickly admonish you for not being realistic. “It’s all that book knowledge you depend on. You would have learned more if you spent that time working in the real world.” Days later, “Yes, sir. That was MY idea. My trusty employees checked out the numbers to make sure MY idea was workable…”

Still Crazy After All These Years

Well, I’m going to check myself in today.  The last couple of days have been pretty rough and I don’t know if I can make it through another lonely night.  I will talk to my doctor about doing only the partial program instead of the full day.  If you don’t hear from me for a while, you’ll know it was the latter.  And, if you don’t ever hear from me again, you’ll know I took the third option.

It’s funny, I started this blog with the handle “Suicidal No More” — optimism springs eternal, or was it just sardonic word play?  Either way, I can no longer continue the masquerade.  I’m still sick.  I guess I’ll always be sick.   That points to a question always in the back of my mind: who would want to live like this for the rest of their life?  I sure as hell don’t.  Is that the disease talking? Or simply the voice of reason?  I know what my doctor would say; what would you say — you who have been in the bog?

Thank you all for reading my silly little blog.  It really has meant a lot to me.

-Ashley

Your Turn

WHEREAS, I would like to make this blog as close to a daily as possible; and

WHEREAS, Many of you have much experience with suicide, suicidal ideation, suicidality (both acute and chronic); and

WHEREAS, I am in a bit of a funk and am not inclined to get out of bed, let alone write something pithy and profound;

I propose that one or more of you SP (sick people) or FnF (Friends and family) or even one of TDHP (those damn healthy people) write today’s entry. Just enter it as a comment below.  And, thanks in advance for helping me keep this project going through my little “crisis of the week.”

Keeping Up Appearances

Someone asked me why I chose such a depressing blog layout.  To be a good friend, I picked a brighter, more cheerful layout.  Are you happy now?  So am I.  Everybody is happy.  Happy, happy, happy … and above average.

Oh, the Things We Have Heard, or Things NOT to say to suicidal people

NOTE: Not all of these were told to me.  These were told to some suicidal person though as I have collected these from hospitals I have visited.

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What do you have to be depressed about?

I know how you feel.

Why can’t you [be stronger and] pull yourself out of this?

Why can’t your doctor get your medications right?  (I.e., you don’t have issues, it’s just a matter of getting those pesky little chemicals right.)

It was just a cry for help.

How dare you try to abandon your two kids like that!

You ought to be ashamed of yourself.

You exhaust me.

If you needed attention, there are better ways of getting it. You don’t have to do this.

If I had known you would turn out this way, I never would have had you.  (No, I’m not making this up.  The speaker has actually won the “Dumbest Thing a Mother Could Say” award.  (OK, I made up that last bit, but I’m sure if there were such an award, this lady would have won it.))

Would you mind if I don’t come to see you in the hospital? I will definitely come to see you next time. (I know that’s not what they meant, but still … think, then speak. Not the other way around.)

I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner, but I couldn’t find a cheap flight earlier than today.

I thought you said you’d never do this again.

So, how about them Bears? (I.e., acting like it never happened.)

You weren’t depressed as a child. You just can’t remember how happy you were. (Interpretation: If you had been depressed, we would have noticed. We weren’t too caught up in our own pursuit of hedonic escapism to notice you. You’re the one who’s sick, not us; so you must be mistaken about how YOU FELT as a child; we could not have been mistaken about how YOU FELT. You are fucked in the head because of your biological father’s genes, not because of my parenting, you fucking ungrateful little … )

(Editor’s note: And these were just from the parents!!!)