The Emperor’s New Thong

I have been thinking a lot and posting very little.  Sometimes, even I can exercise a bit of prudence.

I have left the house twice this month, and that is a lot for me. I’ve been feeling pretty overwhelmed by stuff happening outside my house. Ultimately, it does not matter how overwhelmed I feel, or how dismayed. ┬áMass delusion is unappealing. It is challenging enough to live with a condition where there is a very blurry line between what is and is not real, but when the people you count on to be sane people start playing around that line of real vs. unreal, it is time for some assessment.

So, I have been assessing.

And now I know some stuff.

Over the past 12 years or so, Pittsburgh has been good to me. A lot of what I needed, I found here. But my time here is winding down. Sitting alone, late at night, I can hear the clock winding down. I won’t be leaving mad, and I won’t be leaving super soon, but I will be leaving. I grew up near the ocean, and I think I want to be closer to it again.

Mr. Sweetie and I are calling it quits. This has happened 5 times previously (maybe 6) but this is going to be the final break. We are taking our time, gently untangling things with infinite patience. It will probably take a year or more to untangle this. Fine, I suppose neither of us can make any better plans until we find our separate ways.

Parts of me would like to yell, to blame, to accuse him. To hold him accountable for the hurts he has done me. I’m sure he feels the same. I’m sure there are many people who would encourage us to ‘clear the air’ and say what clearly needs said.

I suppose that would be the mentally healthy thing to do. Or so I would be told. But my one woman war about what we call mental health in this country wages on. Will either of us be un-hurt if we said all of this? No. We would only get to add the other’s hurtful words, wounded pride, and sense of loss to the wounds we already have. There is no need to fight. There is no need for harshness now. I am grateful that he is a deeply peaceful soul. I’m certain that most of the blame for the failure of the relationship is my fault, and that is enough without an itemized bill.

We know how hard we have tried.

The relationship is only one of the cherished unrealities currently being unveiled. And, ironically, it is the easiest. Because this man and I are fighting for gentleness and compassion.

Elsewhere, friends are fighting, severing ties, speaking harsh words. Friends-the very same friends are crying, hurting, wounded. Some of these rifts seem beyond repair, are, in fact, beyond repair.

Efforts to communicate between the groups have only worsened the situation.

Illusion is stripped away. And real pain, real suffering is illuminated.

The Emperor’s new panties are all stuffed in his heineybumps and he is miserable. Perhaps the Emperor should not have donned a thong.

In the eyes of one crazy person, it becomes clear that too much closeness with too large a group is ultimately going to end like this.

Schizophrenia has its own form of wisdom, too. It whispers for distance. It is miserable and withdrawn in large groups. Schizophrenia fights the tender embrace; it distrusts the friendly hand.

I have far too much of it. That is why I’m supposed to be sick, and others are presumed to be healthy. I’m sad to see our most beautiful illusions shattered by our all too real humanity. Like everyone else, I thought we were golden, special; that these friendships would weather any storm. But, here I sit, at low tide. I think of the process of sifting through the wreckage, to see what can be salvaged. But, still I sit, either frozen in shock, or prudently contemplating, depends on who you ask.

Schizophrenia croons Robert Frost into my ear, “Good fences make good neighbors…”