Mental illness is for other people.
I've been thinking about Liz Spikol and Mad Pride and my buddy Andrew (K.H) who took his own life (to be with the angels or so says his mum) and his mental illness and the mental illness we are diagnosed with. I doubt anybody who interviewed ME (ie. ME, "TRouble") would ever diagnose me with a mental illness. Well, they might but it would be their problem. My mental health has always robust. It's my system mates who have "issues".
We used to be called "Jody" and it suited me seeing as I am kinda half boy half girl. It's a name I feel strange about, glad about, nostalgic. See You Next Wednesday's dad still calls us (me when I'm there) by it and it makes me happy. I am not ashamed of that boy. S/he was a good boy-girl. I consider that past mine. And then came dungeon. And then the mountain, twenty years on.
All three entwined and overlapping.
I am not subtle. I am like my mother. I am trustworthy, strong and brave.
I am not delicate. I am not artistic. I am good with my hands and good with machines.
I know you must have trouble (hah!) recognising me if you know me through us, through Just Jo or Thea or Francis or Angelata or Mannie or Shell (Lowena) or any of them... or just the mix. You could know Viola. My liberator, my queen, the girl soldier I will forever gladly give my life for because she is the one who set me free and I love her forever.
I guess it does get complicated.
My natural tendancy is to be glad to be ordinary, clear, plain, dull, smart but not quick, tidy, strong, calm, tax paying, rubber stamping. I'm organised, methodical. I love money and jam and sweeping and planting and reaping and sowing and the stuff of life. I am materialistic in the way potters are materialistic. I am me. I would so love to be known.
We all would. Being so different and sharing a body and a life and often a name, our reputation and image and personality projected by others is so false and empty and lost to us.
It's only by accident, a stranger might see one of us (alone perhaps in the body) and truly see us and make a remark or pass the time in such a way that makes us remember that we are real.
Perhaps that's the reason we do the job we do. So many strangers to see us.
goodnight.
We used to be called "Jody" and it suited me seeing as I am kinda half boy half girl. It's a name I feel strange about, glad about, nostalgic. See You Next Wednesday's dad still calls us (me when I'm there) by it and it makes me happy. I am not ashamed of that boy. S/he was a good boy-girl. I consider that past mine. And then came dungeon. And then the mountain, twenty years on.
All three entwined and overlapping.
I am not subtle. I am like my mother. I am trustworthy, strong and brave.
I am not delicate. I am not artistic. I am good with my hands and good with machines.
I know you must have trouble (hah!) recognising me if you know me through us, through Just Jo or Thea or Francis or Angelata or Mannie or Shell (Lowena) or any of them... or just the mix. You could know Viola. My liberator, my queen, the girl soldier I will forever gladly give my life for because she is the one who set me free and I love her forever.
I guess it does get complicated.
My natural tendancy is to be glad to be ordinary, clear, plain, dull, smart but not quick, tidy, strong, calm, tax paying, rubber stamping. I'm organised, methodical. I love money and jam and sweeping and planting and reaping and sowing and the stuff of life. I am materialistic in the way potters are materialistic. I am me. I would so love to be known.
We all would. Being so different and sharing a body and a life and often a name, our reputation and image and personality projected by others is so false and empty and lost to us.
It's only by accident, a stranger might see one of us (alone perhaps in the body) and truly see us and make a remark or pass the time in such a way that makes us remember that we are real.
Perhaps that's the reason we do the job we do. So many strangers to see us.
goodnight.
posted by Polysemous at 7:45 PM
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