I think of myself as sane. For real. No matter how much the psychiatrist is convinced there’s a schizophrenic elf messing up with the circuits of my brain, I find myself to be pretty reasonable.
Yes, sometimes I react strongly to life-threatening situations, whether the situation is a benign mole that could -in about 20 years- turn evil on me or the tiny black lines I found on my children’s poop, (that actually turned out to be banana fibers, in case you mothers are wondering)… but the only reason I do that, is because I wanna make SURE I know what’s going on and fix it. Quickly.
I mean, that’s reasonable, correct?
Fine, there WAS that day when I checked my temperature 40 times, including in the middle of the night and first thing in the morning…
I guess reassuring myself that my body temperature was normal just made me feel less nervous about the disease I never had.
Ok, fine, that’s one point to schizophrenia.
But I’ve got some good, reasonable, sane moments.
Like, the other day, when the psychiatrist asked me if I believed in the devil.
Well, like any sane person, I do not. Not 100%, anyway. But the idea is pretty scary, right? I mean… it’s the freaking devil. So, there is, I guess that 1% chance that the devil could be real and for that reason I try NOT to read much about it or join any satanic cults ’cause I figured that if there’s something there… I wouldn’t really wanna get involved.
Isn’t that what a sane person would answer? I think I was being very, very plausible.
Fine. At one point I also told her I believed in ghosts.
Well, not ghosts per-say, like… Do I believe people have a soul? Yes! That’s still allowed, right? And I also told her I believed that eventually these souls could try to communicate with us, specially the people who were close to us when they were alive, ’cause Stella (our nanny) had talked to me during a dream once. I also told her that I did not feel prepared to interact with those souls and that, again, I was not 100% sure it was real, because that kind or certainty could only come from a real contact.
I swear to God I thought I was being sane, but apparently I very much wasn’t, because based on those answers she popped up the following question:
What else do you believe in? Do you believe in Smurfs?
Yes, you read it correctly! Smurfs! Smurfs:
At that point, I absolutely thought about answering YES ’cause my sarcastic vein was pulsing SO HARD I had a hard time controlling my mouth.
But instead, I just said: “No, I am not quite at the level yet, but check back in a few months.”
You would think that the person prescribing medication for your brain would know by now, based on your previous answers, that there it’s a long, long road between believing in souls and believing in smurfs.
I guess not.
I wish I believed in smurfs rather than obsessed about rare diseases, though. It sounds like a hell whole lot more fun!
Plus, they are super cute.