Resilience to the inner maelstrom and being strange

I have an internal experience which can shift and sway. It is a lonely internal world I fill with whatever mad topic captures my imagination.

It is not always good. I've learned to deal with high levels of distorted and different realities. I can have a hateful or a happy inner voice. The hateful one was evil and would make me crash. The happy one would tell me how amazing I am. These would be the same inner thought, I.e. they're not different persons or personalities. Just part of the entitiy or entities in my consciousness.

How do I survive? Like many. I create an external facade. A swan on water.

Two themes this week have been my being a hero and being a freak. The birds in the park have ushered both these names. Literally. They shrieks had an overtone of these two words only and sometimes.

I am neither but more the freak. And it has made me strange dealing with all this.

I rarely take credit for my work because I must give credit to the rest. Read what we means at the bottom. In this I have failed often of late.

I often tell people bad things about mysekf because that's what is being honest and true. I tell the good things too but take no internal joy from them other than the dopamine reward of winning or feeling like I'm winning in my mad struggle.

My obsession is mental health and it drives me mad. I am stranger than I have ever been. This social deviance to an extreme is still fundamentally disparaged. I am once again in the park with a bottle of wine typing on my phone. I have showered today at least. First time in a week.

To accept my inner maelstrom I had to think those internal ideas weren't true. The thoughts weren't true. They were observations and judgements but offered little insight into the complete truth.

I have become resilient but also to external ideas and valuations. Please understand that I am neither perfect or constant in this. I continually feel like a failure on many measures including my own. How could one live with such an enduring sense of failure and still keep going without becoming a little mad, or strange.

Because I wonder if that's all this madness stuff is about. Those who are a bit strange. Their punishment in life, the social disability, is harsh. For being a bit strange.

Success in this life and in this time requires being normal and malleable. The social constructs have changed to value those who are automoton. These parishoners in the church of mass production and most modernist success, a success which I admit I long for, are advantaged in life far beyond those who are a bit strange.

Fuck. Can't be arsed with this ramble. Does anyone care?