On My Illnesses and Their Irony
Updated: Aug 14
"Mental illness" is a very, very broad term that is taken very, very stereotypically. When the "average" person thinks of that term, they think of someone who cannot think straight; of someone who is too irrational, or even psychotic, to ever be desired amongst society. They see the mentally ill as someone too abnormal, too dangerous, even, to ever want to be in their vicinity.
I was once rejected from a group simply because I mentioned I was mentally ill; the truth is, I only have anxiety and as my mental illness, and yet, because of this infliction, some people see it as a legitimate thing to cast me aside. How sad; how foolish.
This illness, I believe, came from the fact that I led a life of constant stress that did not get any release. Even with therapy, even with psychological treatment, the stress remained throughout the last 20 years or so of my life, all because I was a perfectionist who wanted to do good and be good.
How ironic it is for something as condemnable as mental illness, to originate from the intention to be good and do good, to be in line, and to obey with the least resistance.
Eventually, all the stress broke me and made me an anxious, fatigued individual who is highly reactive. It has come to this: I must isolate myself from the world, like a prisoner, in order to have a chance at serenity. I can no longer read long-winded things, and I can no longer be put under stressful conditions.
Both facts prevented me from continuing the path I was hoping to advance through -- the academic life. If it weren't for this illness and the fatigue, I could've been a greater person instead of being confined to my apartment, all alone with my cat, and having to be with headphones 24/7 since my sensitivity to sound triggers my anxiety.
In a way, I feel like a tragic person. A person who could've been greater than he currently is. Perhaps if I were a successful academic, she would've seen me as relevant enough to keep me in her company instead of abandoning me after giving me a second chance.
I don't know who's to blame: society for pressuring me or myself for being too stressed over trivial things such as a primary education diploma and the next grade in a university course. When in formal education, each day felt like you were being observed, judged, and evaluated. For listening and remembering the right answers to the given questions. I was a coward who didn't want to be yelled at like the rest of the students. So I strived to excel instead, which I did.
Each course in university was very expensive, too, so I was basically gambling on whether or not I'd have a good grade. All for a degree I didn't even need to survive.
Eventually, all of this was too much. The loud noises of the city, the monotonous work at National Service, the desire to get a good grade so I'll get these cursed points for the prestigious degree. Slowly but gradually, I came to a breaking point, until I reached the realization that I could not be a full member of this stressful society.
I am an example of a mentally ill person who has no psychotic traits whatsoever, and yet the world might condemn me for being mentally ill, because of their overgeneralizing vision, of mentally ill people being psychotic and/or dangerous.
Some of you may condemn people for their mental illness. Some cancers can, in fact, increase the risk for a mental health problem. Would you condemn someone just because he's mentally ill? Unfortunately, some of you may. Even if it is caused by cancer. How unfortunate. This society is ill itself in its moral judgement...
In the end, it is life that makes you either a successful individual or a mentally ill outcast. If I was more able to cope with stress and not be fatigued so easily, perhaps I too could've enjoyed the fruits of greater success: Being seen by her, hopefully, as relevant and by others who have rejected me for who I am.
How ironic it is, indeed, that society rejects the very people that it makes. The very people that they do not consider in their grand scheme of surviving and thriving, within it. I do not see myself as a failure, and that is all because I taught myself English and can write well with it.
It is my only redemption. However, my retribution will come when she realizes that outcasts such as myself are also competent, are also beneficial, and are also... relevant.
She, my former love, is but a representation of a larger "group". The "group" of people who reject the abnormal, for whatever reason, without realizing that they too might have great potential within them. When I visited places that offered jobs for the disabled, I felt ashamed of myself; ashamed because the occupations provided were far, far beneath my skills, as was the pay, which was just symbolic.
I realized that I am between two worlds, neither of which I can be in. Neither the academic world nor the world of the neurologically divergent, despite having characteristics of both. It was then that I realized that I'm special, and that's not necessarily a good thing nor something to boast about. I see no reason to boast about the fact that I'm fatigued and using a cane in my 20s.
My retribution will be my success, when I will contribute to the many who might appreciate my work as someone who is a hybrid of both said worlds. It will be then that the likes of HER will realize that even the mentally ill can contribute and be good people, and thus be important enough to not be disposed of like a faceless goon in a Kung-Fu movie.
Somehow, I hope, I will triumph despite my shortcomings, and to do that, I must firstly achieve retribution within this lifetime. The vengeance that will come through disillusionment. It was foolish of her to call me irrelevant so easily. I can at least hope to try and make a change to that mistake; to redeem it.
It's not about love anymore; I gave up on love a long time ago. It is now my mission to correct someone else's error. It is the purpose of philosophy to shed light on the darkness of ignorance. To accept and tolerate the abnormality of what is seen as a stereotype and not the truth.
From the solitude of my hermitage, I will unleash my plot against the world, which might've caused me illness, because its norms did not match my inherited nature. The yelling, the rejections, the alienations, and the wrongful hating -- I believe I have the power to convert them into a potential for relentlessness.
Convert them to good, in the form of Philosocom.
Join me, and together we can build this Article Empire.