aumsworld

Aum's Soul Asylum

All famous manic-depressive geniuses of the past have gone on to become either one of three things.

The most renowned ones lived to their full potential and became brilliant scientists or businessmen: take Einstein, for example, or Bill Gates. These lived happy, normal lives, got married, had children, made big bucks. To read their biographies would really convince one that to be a genius is, well, the life. But these guys are - alas, alas - such a lucky few!

More became tormented poets, writing things that were beautiful, and yet dark and twisted, things that in their universal appeal reached out to everyone and yet were seldom fully understood. These poets lived hidden and tortured lives, and often suicided, directly or indirectly. Plath gassed herself into her own kitchen oven. Poe became an alcoholic. Nelligan turned mad and was locked away in a mental institution.

And then some more went to school, got harassed, slammed into lockers, followed home, called names, and as they grew up told themselves, "fuck the world," and turned themselves into serial killers.

I have such a rosy future, don't I? Let's see now, what am I gonna be? A famous scientist? I don't think so. Remains the other two options...

I discovered I was a genius five years ago, I think. And IQs are supposed to grow along with the reading of Sartre, Jung, Freud, and the rest... I wondered what mine is now? It explained lots of stuff back then, though: the writing contests I kept on winning, the grades, the fact I was such a distracted weirdo who didn't get along very well with other people.

Manic-depression was something more recent. I learned about it last year. It basically means I have mood swings. VERY strong mood swings. My teachers suspected it: I tended to act strangely then, going from the ultra-hyper-duper wacko one minute to the dark, gloomy vampire the next. I'd also blab about demons, dead people, glass towers collapsing (that was BEFORE September 11, btw), suns settings, pilgrims walking, unexisting guys stealing yo-yos, and other nonsense. Some of the kids thought I was crazy. Can't say I blame them. I'm more careful now, though. I still have mood swings, but I can hide them, and I don't talk about anything supernatural to anyone but myself (although I do talk to myself. A LOT.)

And yet I can't help but wonder. What am I going to become later on?

I have to admit I'm worried. This year, I devised a new behavioural tactic: act silly. I bat my eyelashes, grin that wide blank grin of mine, act stupid questions in class, fuss over my blackboard handwriting ("but it HAS to be pretty!") and in general act like your stereotypical blonde. I remember today's business administration class:

(Teacher): "Managers will hire the people that will maximize their production while costing them the least effort and expense possible. They will also encourage employees to do their very best. If Linda here, for example, can walk across the room in ten steps, then a manager will probably ask her to do only five steps to save time. If she can't, he may fire her..."
(Me): "But doesn't that discriminate against people with short legs?"
(Class): *gives blondie on front row an indulgent smile*
(Teacher): "It does. But that's just the way it is. Business is about maximizing production and making money, not being nice."
(Me): "But that's not fair! I have short legs! Does that mean I'll never get hired by a manager?"
(Guy at the back): "Yes, darling."
Me: "I'm going to sue them!"
(Class):*laughs*

You get the idea. I'm being silly. It's actually fun, but I feel a bit fake. No one seems to believe in the act anyway. And then there are the consequences: can acting dumb compromise my grades? My future? I know I'm not going to become a big scientist or businesswoman - I abhorr sciences and business more than anything else in the entire world - but if I ever want to amount to anything, I have to let people know I'm smart. But if I let people know I'm smart, won't I become a crazy outcast once again?

I often actually feel like my brain is leading me onto my highway to hell.

So what will it be for me? The straitjacket and the padded cell, a lifetime of seclusion in the mental asylum? An uneasy fame as a tormented soul? A brilliant but boring life as a scientist? A tortured fate as a serial killer? Oh, I hope not.

This blondie here will never fall this low.

Aum