On Being Mentally Ill

Ever notice how it's the crazy ones who are smart?

Or is it the smart ones who are crazy?

Life as a mentally ill member of society doesn't seem much different from life as a normal member of society. A label doesn't generally have much effect on reality, save for the self-fulfilling prophecy.

Don't have much motivation to do much, though. You just kind of sit there and exist, wondering about life. Your mind kind of preoccupies itself with the problem of how you got to where you are, and how to get out.

I mean, duh, if you're mental, the way to fix yourself is to think your way out, because obviously your mind is the healthiest organ you've got. Or perhaps... it's the only one. And that's the problem. Or is it?

Doesn't it make sense now? Just sitting still and asking questions. It worked for Thomas Aquinas.

It's pretty easy to get lost in all the questions. How does one act without questions? You don't. You ask questions every moment of every day. When you get up, when you decide what to eat for breakfast, when you decide whether to go to work...

So many questions. When does anyone ever have any time to do anything, when there are so many important questions to answer?

Questions about existence, for instance. Why am I here? Why am I asking questions? Is this post sarcastic or serious? Do I even know?

I'm done writing. I have to go think about questions some more.