Crazy talk. So, I find myself wondering as my dear friend gets diagnosed with schizophrenia, what is the big difference between the two of us? I'm pretty crazy myself, we both have long-established masks and coping methods. Have his fallen away? Sometimes mine do. Does he have no control? Sometimes I don't either. In one way, I long for the freedom of madness. I've always wanted to live more intensely, to never settle, to experience the extremes. That is the only reason I have ever taken any psycho-active drugs, to get to that place, THAT PLACE, where the universe reveals itself and life is suddenly so beautiful you can barely stand it. I've always wanted to take so much that I would never come down, or take it so consistently that my neurons would begin to fire that way naturally. I am an addict for that big picture.



But maybe he doesn't see it that way. I know he is desperately unhappy, and so am I a lot of the time, but I also have those moments of pure bliss. I don't think he has those. I know he's had a lot of terrible things go down, but so have I, and I still can find room for joy in my heart, even as I'm crying my eyes out. Is there no balance? No movement? Is he stuck, like I can be, but without the benefit of eventually, one way or another, being able to move out of that state of mind? I don't know.



It is difficult. And more so because I am isolated from him, by his own choice. So I wonder here in cyberspace, sending out my missives and receiving only heresay back. That's okay. Because this past year or so I have realized something else I've gained from these bad, hard times. I have become patient. And if I can become patient, then there is still hope for the rest of the world to be saved to their heart's content.