Happy Monday! I know it’s been awhile here on the good ol’ Clumsy blog. And for that I am not all that sorry. I temporarily had a desk job ::vomits:: and realized I needed to get back to what I truly love: writing (and making self-deprecating jokes/stories).
Which is what led me to this new weekly series ‘Monday Musings.’ Ranging from my hobbies, recent excursions, funny moments or thoughts, this is the “diary-style” portion of my blog.
So now I can finally ask the question:
How does one measure the amount of genius found from insanity? Is it a ratio? Are there portions involved? Is it two servings of insanity for every serving of genius?
I’m asking for a friend. That friend being the imaginary one I’m looking at across from me.
You see, I fear that I myself am going insane. It’s 4:30 am and I’ve just discovered that not only has my generalized anxiety disorder triggered some sort of obsessive compulsive tendencies and a new exciting venture into the world of agoraphobia (where my legs have atrophied and I’ve become a real Postmates regular here at Chateau du Elms–see? I’ve even shared a coupon code like a good blogger!), but it appears that my fear of fainting I’ve recently picked up is in fact a fear of dissociating.
Don’t ask me how I finally figured it out. My therapist has only been inferring to my “not disorder” for the last three months. I’ve also gone through bouts of depression (like here and here) and would constantly think “meh, it’s just a phase, it’ll pass.” But like most anxious spirals that turn into nervous breakdowns, MY self-diagnosis hit me on my 10th consecutive episode of the Marvelous Mrs. Maisel while simultaneously scrolling Reddit when a painfully accurate meme popped up and laughed at my pain.
And what a laugh it had. I’m giving the meme sentience because if I (or my internet trolls) can’t laugh at myself, who can you laugh at? And because I’m insane, of course.
After an hour of crying at my own illness–no doutedly caused by childhood trauma or the fact that I’ve been objectified by the patriarchy to the point that I feel like I’m a walking vagina and my self-worth stems entirely from others validation–I started to google “insane geniuses.” And it turns out, I’m in pretty good company (supposing the genius part decides to show up).
Did you know Charles Darwin also suffered from agoraphobia? Or Winston Churchill supposedly suffered from bipolar disorder? Or that Edvard Munch had trouble with severe anxiety (as if The Scream didn’t give it away)?
As the not-so-great Carrie Bradshaw would say, “I couldn’t help but wonder…” when this godforsaken ‘genius’ part starts kicking in. For the last few weeks, I’ve been up all hours of the night, sleeping all day, wondering when my mind would let me fraternize and cocktail with society once again. I find my humor increases when I’m feeling a little sorry for myself and Mrs. Maisel was inspiring my charm that’s been persona non grata. And while I was so humbly thinking about how funny I was, I thought ‘ instead of watching TV for 18 hours straight with my 4-day old oily hair, perhaps I can channel this self-deprecation into some relatable content for the blog?’
Oh wait. You don’t see a purple people eater sitting next to you that’s also watching Mrs. Maisel. Damn, guess I’m not so relatable after all.
But as I watch the sunrise after another sleepless night (something that once scared the shit out of me–not sleeping that is), I can’t help but feel liberated. Sure I may not know the stability of my own mind. But there’s almost a kind of freedom in it. Suddenly being released from the shackles of mediocrity and not conforming to societal norms.
Maybe I’ll work by night and not be crippled by the dread of my inbox that manages to grow exponentially each Monday. Maybe I’ll channel Steve Jobs’ wardrobe, start dressing simply and spend my time expanding my mind instead of worrying about what others think of me. Maybe I’ll take 2-hour naps all day long, a la DaVinci, so that I can work on my next, ground-breaking project.
Ahhh there’s that genius kicking in. Or is it just the rationalization of a girl who can’t fall asleep?
