I am brilliant, though I don’t shine too bright these days.
I’d been thinking about writing down my thoughts to help me reorientate myself after a prolonged period of personal crisis. Try saying that three times fast.
Prolonged period of personal crisis.
Prolonged period of personal crisis.
Prolonged period of personal crisis.
There’s a famous quote from the original stoic bro Marcus Aurelius that goes along the lines of ‘our minds are dyed by the colour of our thoughts’. This is actually something that surprised me while trying to find a rhythm or set a tone for this blog. The first couple of drafts were downright depressing. I hadn’t realised how dark my mental canvas had become. I hope this outlet allows me to add some colour and discover a bit of catharsis.
When I was younger, I was considered ‘gifted.’ I’m not sure that epithet has stayed with me an adult. Most people are smarter than when they were children and I guess I am too. I kept learning, pushing myself, expanding my knowledge, developing new skills. I’m that really obnoxious flavour of clever that I can turn my hand to just about anything. Humble too. I also make excellent fajitas with homemade seasoning.
There’s a trope that high intelligence comes with a dose of deep mental pain, sadness or madness. The other side of the intellectually blessed coin – the price of admission to the realm of perspicacity. Unfortunately, I’m a big old cliché on that ‘tortured genius’ front. The myriad of mental maladies has made life very trying and finding affective treatment has proven difficult. Nothing has really touched the sides.
At my very lowest, I was a patient with home treatment. For the unaware, this is when you’re really quite poorly and very kind mental health professionals visit you every day for weeks as an alternative to a psychiatric hospital ward. Sidenote, abject despair smells like wet biscuits. At least it does for me.
Oof, what a bleak start! Actually, less so than it may appear. There were years when I couldn’t talk about any of this without feeling crippling shame and embarrassment. What was the use of being able to do wonderful things with my mind if I could barely make it through the day, let alone forge a meaningful life for myself? What’s the point of knowing pi to 1000 places if I sometimes hear voices and struggle to brush my teeth every morning?
I still don’t have the answers but I intend to use these short articles as a means to maybe stumble across a few. A way to reflect, process the past, set some healthy goals while holding myself accountable and look towards the future. My own sort of celestial navigation. If it strikes a chord with anyone else reading about my existential odyssey, consider it a happy accident.
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