Meth: a Ticking Timebomb Gone Viral

The First Sign of Madness

For many years now, I've been talking to myself...or muttering incoherently might be closer to the truth. Of course, I know what I'm saying, and why I'm saying it. First of all, I doubt anyone else is interested...and more to the point, there is rarely anyone around to listen to my ramblings anyway.

My Mom used to say talking to oneself is the first sign of madness, and she may have been onto something, considering my present state of mind. Let's face it, there are way too many culprits to nail any one suspect in the case of my lack of mental stability, and the funny part is, I've never felt better. I'm making rational decisions and conducting myself in a reasonable manner. My bills are paid, and in general, I'm getting along OK with people (at least, those that don't piss me off). I don't believe everyone is out to get me...on the contrary. I'm guessing that the cloak of invisibility I used to use to avoid the notice of my criminally insane associates has stuck to me like shit to a blanket...and barring the heavy stench of faeces, hardly anyone around here knows I exist.

I'm sure a psyche could describe what is going on with me as a condition worth treating (and at $200 an hour, who wouldn't?), but I've found blogging to be a much cheaper and better way to get down to the nitty-gritty of why I am so weird (as opposed to wired, which I think we can all agree is the most likely cause of my 'mental issues').

Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining. On the surface, I might appear to be alone/lonely, but there are times when it's as busy as Waterloo Station in my head.

Not being seen by the majority (who don't see much beyond their own noses anyway) is a blessing I am thankful for. I've pretty much always considered the majority of people to be shit (present company excepted), and that's putting it nicely. I would describe myself as being a cross between a pleasant (ish) sociopath and a Gemutlich misanthropic (I know...and there's no need to thank me. Oxymorons turn me on too).

I'm not walking around having in-depth conversations with myself in plain view (I'm not that crazy), mainly because I have an imaginary friend who fills that role perfectly. The discussions I have with Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumb (the two knuckleheads in my brain) are mostly internal conflict resolution. For example, one will suggest I go for a walk, and the other, more lazy one says "Fuck that...let's stay home and eat that coconut ice cream WE bought at the supermarket yesterday." And it can't be left up to them to work out, so I always have to be the third and deciding vote. Even my imaginary friend refuses to get involved, and when I ask her what I should do, she rolls her eyes, indicating that she doesn't give a fuck what I do...a typical female ploy so that no one can blame her when things go wrong.

Looking at the bright side, I'm a thinner winner if I walk and a no-way known Spelunker (dust off your German dictionaries kids, that's two today, dunke) if I eat the ice cream.

My imaginary friend doesn't require me to vocalise my words for her to know what I'm thinking. In fact, she knows what's on my mind seconds before I do. Not that she is any help (unless it affects her, and then she's happy to give her opinion). You might think I'm being funny here, but I'm serious folks. Lucky for me she's the quiet type and hasn't said a word to me in over two years (isn't she perfect?). And the two antagonists living upstairs in my head are easily segregated, and if need be, grounded to their own hemispheres. And that leaves me, the lone voice I can rely on to make the right choices. History hasn't been kind in that regard, but I sense things are on the up.

I'm interested (but not hopeful) can anyone tell me if they have inner conflicts going on in their heads? A bit like an old Goofy cartoon where he had a small Goofy on each shoulder telling him what he should do...is that normal? Oh, I know I'm not normal, but why would anyone want to be normal anyway?