I have an inner genius that drives me insane. It pushes me to question social standards and historical claims. It motivates me to pursue the difficult, the challenging, the impossible. I’ll fail, but it makes me more human. It makes me real. My insanity makes me real. Because, really, we all endure a certain degree of insanity. There is no “normal”.
I don’t really understand psychology. Why do we attempt to label the mental conditions of people? I understand the treatment aspect, but every individual is complexly different. In my opinion, it’s almost degrading to the complexity of mental genius to label it, whether it be “sane” or “insane”. And here again I reveal my “insanity”, because according to societal standards, I should not question the structure of identifying the “others” or the nomenclature of their conditions.
And I write and I love to write because my insanity has overwhelmed me. My insanity has driven me to seek knowledge and ask questions, quite uncharacteristic of a contemporary adolescent. So I’ll say that my insanity has overwhelmed me. And my curiosity has been stimulated and I can no longer control it. So my insanity has overwhelmed me. And my body cannot bear to rest, to sleep, and I tirelessly act. So my insanity has overwhelmed me. And my mind continues to ponder, to object, to synthesize ideas contrary to what’s mainstream. So my insanity has overwhelmed me.
And the most vulgar thing about my insanity-I have embraced it.