My hands on the wall without smearing paint

See, there are games that the Crazy plays. Like a kid that likes hide-n-seek, it'll dart in and out of my vision. I'm here!, it'll say. Let's play!, it'll say.

Not out of maliciousness. Not out of despair or a need to expunge the diseased within. It's playful. It's flirtatious. It's joyous. It's sometimes....innocent. As if trailing my bloody fingers across the walls is the work of a child who just got his first set of fingerpaints, raking it across the walls, the floor, himself.

Or as if it'd be fun. Something shocking to do, make the normals gasp and clutch their perfectly white pearls. Pearls that I am ever so curious as to how they'd look slathered in red when I rip out their throats.

A hell of a time, smiling all the while I break my bones. A hobby that peels the skin off of my face, showing the world that these pretty words do not come without a price.

A price that I am willing to live with, so long as the fun stays in my head. This is the truce: I'm crazy and I can think as crazy as I want to. The crazy gets to go as far as my thoughts and that's the size of the room it has to play in.

This is what Not Crazy people don't get it - we have to befriend it on some level, or risk lopping off entire limbs of ourselves just to exist. Personify it so that we can chat with it, to tell it how close it can get before we have to dash away.

(Because you can't run away from your Crazy forever. Brain twists don't work like that. So you play a game of tug-n-pull, and learn what your limits are.)

Everyone thinks any Crazy at all burns a person. Not true. Sometimes the Crazy is a small fire that warms the colder winters of the soul. You can be Crazy, in love with your Crazy, and not let it hurt you if know how to talk to it.

That's what I'm working on. I've been in love with my Crazy for decades now, very rarely feeling that I'd trade it all away to be normal, because this is part of what makes me...makes my words what they are.

And goddamnit, if nothing else is me, my words and what drives them are.

"I'm nuts, baby, I'm mad,
The craziest friend that you've ever had
You think I'm psycho, you think I'm gone
Tell the psychiatrist something is wrong

Over the bend, entirely bonkers
You like me best when I'm off my rocker
Tell you a secret, I'm not alarmed
So what if I'm crazy? The best people are.
" - Melanie Martinez, Mad Hatter

So thank you, Michael, for getting me the money for the hair dye. I won't be having a blast painting the walls with my blood today. I'll play today seeing how well the black hair dye bleaches out and how the purple hair dye bleeds in.

This is how you heal while playing with the Crazy. You find a distraction that paints something without letting out blood.

This entry was originally posted at
Best thing for your own personal crazy is - if you happen to experience someone whose crazy is about the same as yours.
Then you know, you're not alone, you're not the only one. And by not being the only one, what can be so wrong with it?