Following the media’s take on the “Would-be Shooter” story and other stories that deal with the mental illnesses of individuals who commit violent crimes I wrote a bit of a essay to myself about the state of affairs in the midst of mental illness and how everyone can see hope in the mentally ill. The struggles of the mentally ill are unique to themselves, and often times few people can relate to them, certainly, that has been my case with schizophrenia.
Statistics show that only 4% of violent crimes can be attributed to individuals with mental illness. The National Institute of Mental Health did a study and found that 16% of people with serious mental illnesses such as schizophrenia and bipolar disorder have a prevalence of violence in their history. The statistics on mental illness and violence actually show that violent crimes are relatively small and nearly on par with the so-called normal populace.
The essay I’ve written is based on the experiences I’ve had with the worst of worst of mental illnesses. The one that is more stigmatized than other illnesses, schizophrenia. It strikes me often that an illness which 1 in 100 people have has been manipulated into this big boogey man that no one can recover from. It’s true, schizophrenia is never something you can fully recover from, but it’s also not something that people should be afraid of because you can live a successful life with the caveat of taking medication for life.
Here is my personal essay on the subject:
Sadness, madness, that’s the name of the game. A dialogue between yourself and your former self is always cognizant. When you try to bleed out the words of sane to insane it’s a unfocused diatribe of useless and irrelevant facts, moments, and conjecture of what you were thinking at the time. It starts dry ends dry. The only relevance I can find is in the company of myself because too few of even the insane could relate, let alone the sane. This sphere we’re revolving on is becoming so innately smaller day by day, but in many ways the kaleidoscope is larger than this due to the inherent benediction of human experience. The ineptitude one faces when trying to explain what they don’t even understand is a metaphorical assemblage of vernacular uselessness.The only healthy retreat from the chaos inside the mind of a madman is to take it out on the world or go inside self to find peace. The result of one is a cacophony of ungraciousness in the face of metaphysical defeat, the latter is grace personified in humbleness and humility. Thankfully, my southern background lends itself to humble humility in the face of defeat, therefore, I chose the latter path thanks to guides and sages (mental health professionals).
To face defeat in the prime of youth was a mind crushing blow to the psyche that resulted in less confidence, undirected anger, and narrow sightedness in the short-term. Long-term it inspired, transformed, motivated, and endued the narrow sightedness into virtuous patience.
Mentally ill or not everyone could use some virtuous patience in the de facto world as it is. Harmony, semblance of harmony, medication, and meditation can go a long way to upsurge the transmuted disharmonies of the de facto world. Short-term and long-term the goal should be patience, humility, humanity, and humbleness.