I find the idea that there's a such thing as 'neurotypical' kind of laughable. I was talking to my Tacoma chat-buddy Nybe last night and the subject turned towards mental illness.
And I kept thinking - what the fuck does it mean to be normal in that context? Our minds are the product of a chaotic stew of brain chemistry and meat. Never mind mental illness...I'm amazed our minds function at all.
The idea that mental illness is seen as a weakness or flaw is almost laughable to me. Hell - the idea of being normal is laughable to me. When I see someone who appears to be perfect on the outside, or who projects an image of perfection, the first thing that enters my mind is FUCKING LIAR.
We all wear masks. All of us. There's a weird social contract, something unspoken, which tells us to all pretend to a certain baseline of 'normalcy' so that when we all enter a public space we're all scrubbed clean of our idiosyncracies and rough edges. And when you get to know someone, maybe....MAYBE...behind closed doors you can reveal your damage, show them who you are. And maybe over time you can let them in in small doses. And if you're lucky they'll accept you for who you are, and vice versa.
How is this a healthy way to live? In any way? It creates such fear and uncertainty and creates an entire society of liars. Like I said, when I met Nybe it was kind of amazing to just be able to unload my trashbag full of issues and say 'We cool?'
Society expects us to be mathematically perfect spheres and any deviation from that makes you into one kind of pariah or another. Not pretty enough, not smart enough, not enough money in your account, not happy enough, not...whatever. The list goes on, and on, and on. And despite a metric fuckton of media which deftly portrays the human condition, all our foibles and failures, our sadness and suffering....we still expect perfection from each other.
I just don't get it. I don't. I told her - give me a mutant. Give me the weird. The fucked up. I want to know about your damage. Your pain, Your sadness. The things that give you hope when you have none, and the things that take it away. Because that's where poetry comes from. That's where music comes from. Literature. ART.
There's a place for mathematical perfection - for expecting repeatable, testable, reliable outcomes. That's Science.
People aren't science. Oh, sure Science can explain why our cells do what they do - why we die, why our hair falls out, or why eating Draino is a bad idea. But that's not what people are. People are messy bags of meat and fluid which somehow give rise to something emergent and wonderful. I'm not saying there's anything particularly mystical about this...but I do think we do ourselves a disservice as a society for expecting Science where we should be expecting Art.
People are Art - fucked up and beautiful in all their myriad diversity. From the highest to the lowest among us. There are no rules except the bullshit that keeps being fed to us by the shallowest among us.