If I’m neurotic, it’s bad for me. If I’m psychotic, it’s bad for you! Both cases reflect a state of mind which is over interrogated, overrated and exaggerated.
The more I delve into the complexities and machinations of the cerebrum, the more inclined I am to marvel at those of us who appear to present even a modicum of normality. Of course, “normality” is both abstract and relative. On the latter, relative to what, and on the former, well, abstract is ethereal, right?
There is no rule of thumb or a template for normalcy. “Sanity” is a relative term, and may I say, elusive to most of humankind. On the subject of psychosis, the options available are a smorgasbord of choice.
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We are conditioned to fear psychotic behaviour mainly because Hollywood glorified, in the darkest of ways, psychopaths. Horror movies portray people with that condition spending their leisure time sharpening chain saws and collecting scary face masks. I will never, as a result, buy a home on a road with the name of “Elm Street”.
On doing some research on this subject, admittedly in fear of discovering my alter ego cowering somewhere in the myriad of scientific data, I found that psychosis is neatly arranged in three organised parcels. The first covers paranoia and schizoid. The latter sounded vulgar.
I discovered it means personality disorder. The second deals with anti-social behaviour, borderline (not “total”) histrionics and narcissism. The final parcel refers to those who suffer avoidance (from what I don’t know), and those who are dependent on something (weed?) as well as the obsessive-compulsive types.
I respectfully submit that most of us would comfortably find a cosy niche in one of those compartments. I, for example, am a compulsive hoarder of what my wife affectionately (I think) refers to as, ‘my $#!%’! Therefore I’m proudly psychotic!
If my submission is true, then the patronising “beardy” man with a couch, a pad and a wise and knowing look, has an endless supply of business. I recall a psychologist talking about a patient who had “a tedious case of common or garden depression”. My sacred aunt, we all have that to a greater or lesser degree.
Sorry about the “tedious” bit! In fact, to me, an occasional dash of depression can be a good thing, for when I snap out of it, perhaps with a little help from fermented grape juice, preferably decanted from a Vergelegen bottle, the happy side, so to speak, takes on a new and vibrant hue, till the last drop!
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