Go a Little Mad

This is a little piece that I wrote for the Penumbra mental health support group.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


Let's see.... How does one describe the process of going from being mental to not quite so mental?

Oh yes, I don't deny being a bit mental before all of this. I own a copy of Anton Lavey's "Satanic Bible" because I find it hilarious. I once attempted to shut a co-worker in an alley with two ceramic clown dolls. I own around six copies of George Romero's "Night of the Living Dead", and I don't know why. They just seem to keep appearing. It's starting to scare me, and it should scare you too for some strange reason that I can't articulate.

Yeah, I am that kind of "mental". I am the kind of mental that people enjoy. I'm the guy you tag in posts on Facebook with memes that state "We all know that one guy who likes to chew on weasels and spit them at passing cars, am I right!?". Followed by floods of comments agreeing that "that is so u lol", despite the fact that I've long since moved on to chewing otters. I'm the kind of mental that's great for visiting friends who turn to their friends and say "Oh, you'll love (insert person here; no not an actual person you lunatic), he's a total nutter!" before you show up on a unicycle wearing foam antlers.

I'm the kind of mental that people like.

But there's another kind. A kind of mental that's altogether darker and lonelier. A kind of mental that people don't like to talk about or deal with because it's not particularly entertaining. The kind of mental that some people don't like to refer to as "mental" because they think changing words and terms will somehow act as a magic wand to make it all better.

Now don't get me wrong; this part is not here to make you feel guilty, or anyone for that matter. I completely understand it. I personally would rather watch a worryingly angry person yelling at a terrible videogame on YouTube than check to see if the woman who shouts at the walls next door has access to sharp objects. I'd rather sit and watch a film where annoying teenagers are torn to bits by tank-like human beings in masks than go see my brother and find out why he's crying into his pillow. It's not a happy world. It's not an entertaining world. So it's perfectly understandable as to why most people wouldn't want to enter it, let alone talk about it.

The stuff that I spoke about in the opening paragraphs are true. In my group I'm kind of considered the loveable nutter. I'm generally considered cheerful, with a warped sense of humour and some misanthropic tendencies. I'm mostly liked by the people I know; loved by some.

I've also been depressed since around late 2013. It crippled me for a long time. It was exacerbated by the fact that I am on the Autism Spectrum, so my ability to interact with others on a relatable level was already somewhat impaired. It was not a case of "pulling myself together" as some might say. Some nights I wish I were a robot that could magnetically repair itself by pulling the broken parts together and tightening the loose screws (And also have flamethrowers. Flamethrowers would be nice). Unfortunately human beings are a little more complicated than that. They don't come off assembly lines, all wired in the exact same way. We all have different problems, different life situations and different brains, and sometimes a combination of those things can send you on the clichéd "downward spiral".

So what do you do? Maybe you suffer from anxiety; maybe you're obsessive compulsive; maybe you have a monumental git of a friend who locked you in an alley with two ceramic clown dolls and you haven't been the same since. Well, you get help of course. But some people are afraid to get help. They don't want to be seen as a burden, or a pathetic scrounger sponging off the state. People with mental health problems tend to think that others would be better off if they weren't even around. Others think that people just don't care so they don't bother to say anything for fear of being laughed at or ignored. "PULL YOURSELF TOGETHER" they'd say as little devil children sprout from their stomachs and blow raspberries at you. Nobody wants that.

But the little voices in your head are wrong. Always wrong. Never listen to the voices in your head. They make you go internet shopping and then you make all kinds of mistakes. NEVER listen to them. Because there are people who are there to help.

A good while after I began on anti-depressants and started having meetings with a community therapist I was turned on to Penumbra, and since then every fortnight I've been forced to brave the outside world and go for a drink and a chat with the amiable dude that they assigned to me. I used the term "assigned" for lack of a better term since it makes it sound less social and more bureaucratic. Trust me, these are not Job Centre meetings. You're not directed to an ominous old building where you sit down in front of a frowning corpse of a person in a tweed suit who attempts to beat the sane back into you with a bamboo cane he got when Britain was still in control of India. That's not what this is about. These people will do anything they can to make you feel comfortable.

But they will ALWAYS get you to leave the house. It's about getting OUT of your comfort zone as much as being in it.

The feeling of being isolated and ignored is something that will never fully leave you. It's always there lingering at the back of your mind. But the idea is to keep it there. People like those at Penumbra are there to help keep it at bay (I suggested their employees carry a whip and a chair to every meeting but they weren't quite up for it). You don't have to feel like a burden, and you don't have to be that kind of mental for people to care.

As everyone's favourite role model Norman Bates once said: "We all go a little mad sometimes." So don't feel you have to keep silent. There are people who will listen.

Just try not to stab anyone in the shower. It's rude and extremely messy.