Are you Nuts?
As a matter of fact I am, nuts that is. Insanity is a strange thing, not what many of us think it is either. I can remember the first time I was certified. Ah, the good old days. I was in the military at the time, back in seventy-eight. I distinctly remember thinking that Joseph Heller was much too accurate with his portrayal of the military in "Catch-22." I was an angry young man back then, much more accepted than the angry old man that I am today. Our country had finished up with 'Nam three years earlier; moved immediately into Cambodia and Laos (two of my all time favorite places); and our brother in arms (Mother Russia) had just invaded Afghanistan. I had joined the service as a ROTC graduate and had a real John Wayne complex. Mom, apple pie, my country love it or leave it. I still love my country, Mom, and apple pie. I still support the military. I am just real slow about wanting to kick any commie ass anymore. It is amazing how little reality is mirrored in the movies. The military was on full alert due to the invasion. My leave to see my son born, was cancelled. I was sitting on a rock in the middle of the Pacific with nothing to do but wait. I was pissed off, scared, and most of the time, drunk. We had been trained to fight, so I did. I decked my commanding officer because he was a jerk, and because I had enough alcohol in my system to override my usual reluctance to do something which I knew would get me into trouble. I don't make any excuses, I was wrong. I took an administrative punishment which I never questioned. Part of the deal was that I had to be evaluated by a military shrink. In retrospect, that is the part I objected to. Picture a combination Colonel Klink and Colonel Henry Blake. When you have that picture in your mind, try imagining answering questions like: do you love your mother, are you happy here, is your sex life satisfying? I really should have forgotten those psychology courses I had taken, but sometimes, when you are faced with the ridiculous, you just have to be a smartass in the most subtle manner possible. Boy, was that a major boo-boo. The tactic I decided to use to express my dissatisfaction: the truth. Please, allow my experience to aid any of you facing interview or interrogation by a bureaucrat. Scream at them, curse them, exaggerate, defend yourself with any excuse no matter how lame, bold face lie. They are used to this. Under no circumstances, no matter how tempting, no matter how well adjusted the interrogator seems, never, NEVER calmly tell the truth. I was diagnosed as a manic-depressive, episodic excessive with homocidal tendencies. I know, sounds like just the type of clean cut all American boy you would want your sister to date right? Oddly, he did manage to diagnose the manic-depressive correctly. It might have had something to do with the fact that I told him that one outright. I have been since I was just a cub, although they used to call it hyperactivity. I was supposedly homocidal because I was mad about maybe having to get into a nuclear war with Russia. A possibility I was well aware of since my job required that I know such things. I was especially angry when I returned home to discover that nuclear war was not as much a horror as the cost of gasoline going over a dollar. That happened about six months after Russia had first invaded Afghanistan and the situation had stablized to the point of the military deciding the public could know about it. In fairness to those whom I at the time considered ignorant fools, we grew up with the threat of nuclear war always hanging over us and none of us had ever seen one. We had seen rising gas prices. I guess the effect is similiar to hurricanes here in Florida. Folks in Florida (Homesteaders excepted) don't usually panic when a storm threatens our coast, we have seen too many just hang around for a few days then leave to destroy other states. I asked Col. Freud to define episodic excessive and was told that when I drank, I had occasional episodes of excessive consumption. "So you are saying that I am an alcoholic or problem drinker?" "No. We don't label soldiers like that anymore." "Excuse me sir? Isn't "episodic excessive" a label?" "No, the stigmatism is not there. We use that only as a catagorizing tool to help us know which slot to put you into to ensure we can deal with your situation properly." "Yes sir, I understand sir." I had no idea what he had been rattling off about. It sounded like labeling to me, but I had less insignia on my sleeve, so I obviously knew less. They began (and ended) treatment by sending me to AA; the homocidal part was not that big a deal, it just needed to be redirected; the manic depression was no big deal either. According to the brass, that only meant that I got sad sometimes. In fact, the drinking was not that big a deal either. I attended my three required AA meetings then returned to business as usual. Our military does a great job of keeping our shores and peoples free, but let's face it, nurturing and personal growth are not well known subjects there. I have been labeled insane by so many people, on so many occasions, that I started to think I might actually be. In another era, I might even have been committed. In my own time, it was tried, but eccentric was the worst anyone could ever pin on me. The last time I was called nuts was by my daughter a couple weeks ago, she said it with a certain pride. She has a slightly different way of thinking also and enjoys the fact that her old man is slightly off kilter. What is it that makes me so odd? Well, that is the part I find funny. I have a firm belief in a forgiving god; things like loyalty, compassion, freedom, trust, and truth, are not simply words; I expect politicians, preachers, and salesmen to be honest; I expect doctors and teachers to be competent; and I don't think my own convenience should come before your safety. I demand the same in return. I also have this weird desire for people to take responsibility for their actions. This last desire will come about, two years after politicians, preachers, and salesmen start telling the truth. It is just too easy today to blame a bad childhood for all our ills. John hits Lorena because that is how he was brought up, it is not his fault. Lorena cuts off John's penis because he had hit her, it is not her fault. So, we do the only thing our society permits us to do. We punish his inability to coexist with one woman by making him a porn star. We pay him to have sex with many many women. When will this man be allowed some peace, hasn't he suffered enough? Lorena is again married. During the three weeks it took to cure her lifetime anxiety which culminated in the "decapitation" of her ex, she received hundreds of marriage proposals by mail. Apparently, we American men have a strong desire to become involved with women who might maim us.....oh, excuse me...was getting excited for a moment there. And the depression which started this whole thing to begin with? Well, no one understands that at all anyway. It causes me to sleep sometimes for several days straight or sob for hours for no reasons at all. Chalk it up to laziness and over-sensitivity, everyone else does. Those are definitions I have gotten used to. There are millions of us who suffer clinical depression, it is a frustrating condition, but it not insanity. If you must term it insane, it is alright though, we are in good company. Van Gogh and Edgar Allan Poe suffered from this type of insanity; Ted Bundy, Timothy McVeigh, and O.J. never even tried to argue they were insane, knowing they would be deemed normal. And therein lies the heart of my argument why I don't mind being insane in this day and age. In a time when mass murders are common, asking for a date is harrassment, the use of armies is not war but police action, workers in an abortion clinic are murdered because of a right to life, beating your dog will get you a jail term and beating your wife is a small fine: I don't mind the label©MichaelWest