They Didn’t Break The Mold With Me

“The biggest gift of being unambiguously mentally ill is the time I’ve saved myself trying to be normal.”

– Mark Vonnegut

In our modern day and age it can be easy to get wrapped up in oneself under even the most “typical” or “normal” circumstances. But when graced with a mental illness, any mental illness, those of us afflicted can sometimes really get lost in our own slanted egos.

I know I’m just as guilty as the next person in this department. It’s not a conscious decision, though. Honestly, it’s like being the last person to know something about yourself when you should really be the first.

I’ve been trying to stay as reflective as possible lately, hoping against hope I remember my own lessons in self-introspection the next time some unpredictable phase begins to take the wheel. Never the case, but I can only do what I can do.

Many people who know me consider me a “pessimist”, and I no longer argue or adopt the “realist” angle; I find it’s too time consuming and usually scoffed at. I, more or less, consider myself to be a true cynic. And when I say “cynic” I mean it in a strictly philosophical sense.

“Cynic” may not even be strong enough of a word. The approach and viewpoints I have towards all things is more nihilistic in nature. I suppose the ideas could be considered interchangeable to some degree, but I’m not trying to mince words or argue behind semantics.

I guess my point is no matter what, my mental illness always defines me to some extent. Just not always in the same way. I’m either the elite outcast to a fault, or I stay crouched in the shadows, hoping no one will even know I’m there.

I’ll always be different because I technically am in a certain way. But so is everyone. Sometimes we just have to accept that in order to let go of what can at times be an overwhelming sense of delusional entitlement.

I don’t want to keep playing in extremes if it means I lose sight of reality. But my reality exists in extremes. There is no denying that. All I can do is try to be aware of what I can be and use that awareness to my advantage. And in the times that I lack a personal self-awareness I have to just manage. There is no cure or recovery from what ails me, only management. That’s depressing enough as it is, but I’m not the first nor will I be the last person to know that sense of lonely desperation.

One thing is for sure, though. I’m no better than anyone, even on my best/worst of days. Though perhaps unique in my own personal way, they most definitely did not break the mold with me.

2 thoughts on “They Didn’t Break The Mold With Me

  1. I use to desperately wanted to be special when I was younger and I knew from a young age my brain was wired different then just depression I knew it was more insidious then that but it took years to realize… anyway I’ve realized we are all special which in turn makes us all ordinary.

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