Because the whole idea of avoiding showers, while novel, seems to imply that we all would smell. The more I’ve thought about it, the more I’ve disliked the name and what it may imply.
This might sound like I gave this a lot of thought. I didn’t. Like most decisions I make (and many people with Borderline do), the amount of time from conception to realization was about 15 minutes, tops.
But why this?
I tried writing another piece for ‘The Mighty’ and it was rejected. I have another piece that’s been sitting in the queue for months that will never see the light of day. Over at TM, which will be my shorthand for the place, they seem to be more rigidly following the orthodoxy of mental health sites that one should always offer hope and practical advice.
They also seem to be leaning less on submitted stories and more on a ‘Facebook’ type of interface that will generate more hits and conversation and less actual time spent reading.
Well, who the Hell reads anymore, right?
From now on, I’m not writing to please the publishers. I’m writing to please me. Writing is hard enough for me as it is.
Aside from TM, every single site I’ve ever joined has featured an inordinate amount of opinion policing as to what should be done by people in terms of therapy, medication, meditation and positive outlook.
And you know what? I’ve been through it all and in every case it seems to me that the object is not one of helping the person with the condition but controlling the person for the benefit of society, book sellers or drug peddlers.
I’ve been on sites, in groups, joining organizations and in therapy for over 35 years and I’m here to tell you – I’m done. I’m tired of being preached to, guilt-tripped and judged by everyone. I didn’t ask for it, don’t need it and have grown absolutely rage-y over being expected to police my thoughts, words and actions so as to make people comfortable around me.
Fuck that. From now on, I’m in the only self-help group I’ve ever needed or wanted – me.
What should you do to be a good little afflicted boy or girl, eh? Take your meds, go to therapy, practice meditation, don’t be a bother to others, and more importantly, never give up.
And if you do give up, for God’s sake’s don’t tell anyone! You’ll be accused of all kinds of crimes including allowing people with conditions to stop apologizing for wanting to be left alone and respected as human beings. How the Hell is NAMI supposed to justify it’s executive salaries if people find they don’t need all the crutches so helpfully supplied to us?
My idea is, if you need a crutch, find one comfortable for you and to Hell with what anyone else thinks.
That’s why I changed the name. I am a firm believer in the ‘whatever works for you’ school of self-help. For me, it’s avoiding people, good booze, cigars and cynicism. And Sinatra, who was probably Borderline himself judging by the public record.
In the end, being self-indulgent has been, literally, the only medication that I’ve ever found is an effective way of beating, at least for awhile, the monsters that took up residence in my head during late childhood.
Let me put out a few reasons I’m now preaching the gospel of self-indulgence:
- The list of things that will kill you is long and detailed. In essence, we all generally pick some kind of poison in the form of a vice. We’re all only human after all. And no one gets out of this world alive.
- Judgmentalism keeps us in line. Trying to conform to someone else’s idea of advocacy, treatment or lifestyle is a sure path to self-hatred.
- Looking at the latest climate assessments and the state of the world in general, we’re doomed anyway. I have no real desire to be fit, clean and sober to help rule over a wrecked world. You can have that shit. I’ve seen the future and it blows chunks, quite frankly. I always hated people who ‘lived for the day.’ Now I get it.
- Nobody is ever going to give a shit about you quite as much as yourself.
- Living well really is the best revenge.
So however you get over in this mad world, neither I nor this blog will judge you. If it feels good (and doesn’t fuck over the innocent), do it.
Now if you’ll pardon me, I’m off to dye my hair purple.