Writings from circa 2004, or A Peek Inside The Mind of Someone Labelled “Mentally Ill”

(circa 1997, blood on canvas)
(circa 1997, blood on canvas)

Under Medical Supervision

It’s all about pills you see (methadone is soo last year…) I have a condition personal rendition story so sad what are we going to do with the boy? His minds broken ya know ever since the heroin he takes no comfort or pleasure in life having achieved the highest high which takes ya to the line between life and death but it was too much dreamland intoxicating morpheus morphine glorious annihilation with a needle trance his chance at feeling finally comfortable and free of pesky existential questions taken seriously while people just 9 to 5 and don’t bother well he fucked himself up good clinically speaking and everything after dope became mere shadows without color or texture so it’s pills now and psychotherapy but isn’t smack the perfect commodity and therefore the holiest thing produced by capitalism isn’t it the ultimate consumable in a world of consumption?

Negative Creep

I hate myself most of the time not exactly sure why but I do know I can’t stand or abide weakness and hypocrisy and I often guilty of both just recoil from my acts and words and inaction and silence – so here it is then – genuine self-contempt with a cigarette and a beer when I should be asleep like most people but sleep evades me and a good night of natural rest is some sort of holy grail I quest for even knowing I’m made for the night alive with darkness weak from the sun because at night only the crazies do anything other than have sex watch tv or work a third shift residue remnant of my days with crystal meth which opened up the hours of the day I had written off to sleep so then later I worked night shift with other odd folk and ate dinner at dawn feeling good to sleep while day wore on outside so yeah I tend to hate myself so weak and compromising bought off and toyed with by white-coat men like a rat being fed chemicals uncertain effects but certain to distort distorted thoughts

The above writings are drenched in shame and self-loathing because those who think and feel differently are labelled mentally ill because they do not fit societal norms. They reflect the already intense inner emotional struggles of someone like me plus the pressure to be like everyone else, or “get better”- all predicated on the assumption that difference is an illness to be treated and arrived at after being confronted with the judgemental, ignorant, and downright cruel treatment I had to deal

with from other people who still stigmatize those whose minds operate differently than theirs and have been officially diagnosed and labelled as ill by so-called experts.


For an alternative view of mental “illness” check out The Icarus Project at http://www.theicarusproject.net/about-us


The Icarus Project envisions a new culture and language that resonates with our actual experiences of ‘mental illness’ rather than trying to fit our lives into a conventional framework. We are a network of people living with and/or affected by experiences that are commonly diagnosed and labeled as psychiatric conditions. We believe these experiences are mad gifts needing cultivation and care, rather than diseases or disorders. By joining together as individuals and as a community, the intertwined threads of madness, creativity, and collaboration can inspire hope and transformation in an oppressive and damaged world. Participation in The Icarus Project helps us overcome alienation and tap into the true potential that lies between brilliance and madness. The Icarus Project is a collaborative, participatory adventure fueled by inspiration and mutual aid. We bring the Icarus vision to reality through an Icarus national staff collective and a grassroots network of autonomous local support groups and Campus Icarus groups across the US and beyond.

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