When I was a teenager, I went through some times that felt difficult. I recall during one particular fit of confusion, thinking “if it gets so much that I just can’t take it anymore, I can always go crazy.” Whenever suicide came into my thoughts, I never considered it seriously because I had this idea that I could just go crazy instead.
What did I mean by going crazy? I don’t know if I really knew then, or if I do for sure now. Some things that I saw others around me doing, like “running away” for a week or so to be alone, or at least self-reliant while being among others, seemed like going crazy. Purposefully not living up to the
expectations of others seemed like going crazy. Just letting go of what I believed was reality into what felt like reality, deep down, was crazy.
Nowadays I believe that my old notion of going crazy is not so crazy at all, in fact it’s just another name for being happy. So I work to go crazy every day, and I like to think I’m getting crazier all the time. It’s challenging work, letting go, because it takes time, courage, and this wierd kind of effort
that is sort of the opposite of effort. It’s easy to get wrapped up in trying to go crazy, when by it’s very nature going crazy can not be accomplished through trying, only by letting me be what I am.
Conclusions are for sane people.