Gaslit By A Madman!

If someone says ‘I am the Queen Of England”, and happens to be wearing the right regalia and be at the right place at the right time: Does that make them the Queen of England – even when they are really just an ordinary back-ally whore in a pretty suit? Probably not. But would the latter necessarily then mean they are mad, to act so above themselves? No. They could, after all, just be enjoying themselves, or maybe be making a genuine and very rationally-self-interested bid at the throne! Even if it fails and others think they are mad, might they then not be impersonating that part — of madness – lets say they just want get out of work or like scorning the opinions of others– too – and maybe they do this half-unconsciously? If not, doesn’t that mean ‘mental illness’ is nothing but an appearance, with no essential reality behind it ? Two options: either accept that “mental illness” is indeed mental, & cannot be distinguished purely or easily by appearances, OR accept that the concept is merely the enforcement of a certain social style and taste, rather than a psychological reality and genuine ‘illness’ — in other words — basically a scurrilous lie intended to defame show-boating, light-heartedly courageous or eccentric individuals . Individuals who maybe in fact attempting to relieve the most deadly social malady of all times — unthinking social conformity and cowardice in the face of other people’s opinions, one of the root causes of the The Inquisition, Holocaust, Soviet Russia, war itself, and countless other tragedies. Furthermore, must we not then say, since mental illness understood in such a manner is merely an appearance, that those who believe in it as if it were an important reality, actually locking ppl up and ‘treating’ them for it in one big further charade, are THEMSELVES highly delusional — and highly dangerous? I.e., that they themselves are the ones who are in fact most genuinely, ghastly and sincerely mentally ill — unless, of course, they too are just acting. ;)(But, of course, surely, that would just make them MUCH more dangerous and even more socially pernicious… wouldn’t it? Since they are literally kidnapping, ruining the reputation of and chemically lobotomizing millions of ppl over their stunts…just like their Nazi forebears…#gaslitbyamadman

My book:

Cogito Ergo Amens: “I think, therefore I’m mad”

Begun to doubt. As I reached my latter teens, I had begun to question, to doubt. I was a Cartesian monstrosity, a veritable solipsist, nihilist, and anything else you wouldn’t want to meet in either a bookshop or blind alley. I was all spleen and no heart, and my black bile ran deep. So many years… So many wasted years. Years when I was being such a good boy, and for my reward? Left to sigh, left to cry. So much potential, locked away by ‘average everydayness’, by the ‘They’. Oh, everybody is obsessed with themselves, especially the adults; they have their own issues. Repressions and avoidances, which have become second nature, plus regrets which a bright young sprout like me only begets. They can’t put themselves in the mind of an intelligent adolescent. Confront them on their negligence and they’ll turn phosphorescent. They’ll grow as pale and paralysed as the moon, if you dare in epiphany to swoon. Everything must remain under control, sanitized, predictable, the same as it always has been. They say we’re becoming less traditional; but the less parents have to pass on, the more frantically they cling to the status quo. I had such untapped energy, and nowhere to row.

Cogito Ergo Amens. I think, therefore I’m mad.

Or at least I’ll be called it.

About this blog

GASLITBYAMADMAN: The CertifiablyTRUERavingsOfASectionedPhilosopher is a droller take on the subjects of mental health, political issues and Nietzschean, Christian, Jungian, existentialist and post-modern philosophy. Don’t be afraid to question your world view, don’t be afraid to think you might be a bit ‘mad’. Who isn’t?

It is based on the author, Max J. Lewy’s, own experience as an oh-so-patient patient in the N.H.S. Mental Health System. Veritably knocked off his horse by two out-of-control, gaslighting shrinks at the tender age of 23, his writings trace his recovery from this life-changing, iatrogenic incident over the next 12 or so years, exploring the ‘mad’ identity that was placed upon him and the truly insane, or certainly very flawed and eye-brow raising System which so unfortunately often does such things to quite healthy and relatively rational people. It contains beautiful visually-enhanced poems from the author’s book “Madness: a form of love”, written to aid the recovery process during some of the author’s lowest moments so far, a long with many barbed and incisive aphorisms accompanying longer pieces of text providing great philosophical and humane insight. Please do check it out.

More about me & this blog : As I explain below, I have no taste for polite codes of speech. Please don’t use that as an excuse to invade my personal space like the Mad Doctors did.

St. Mike McDonah ( poem about a kind community nurse)

St. Michael has grown wise and kind in his dotage.

He now takes pity on other fallen angels,

Nursing them back to a semblance

Of their former splendour.

God has grown merciful on him, too,

Relaxing and allaying some of his former Hells,

To which he was once sentenced for Eternity,

Merely for the crime of being himself.

Thus, he too is more merciful upon others —

As are they.

Is this a test? Is there tribulation still to come?

Or is he truly forgiven ?

Because now there is love again,

With no further need for correction:

Let us all be forgiven.

“It feels like rape”

It doesn’t just ‘feel like it’. It IS constant rape, constant invasion, violation and destruction — not merely of one’s body, but of one’s innermost sanctum, one’s own mind — over months and years, rather than minutes. Every fucking second their chemicals are in your blood stream you feel like you’re being held down on the floor on your tummy with Satan’s big fat veiny purple dick up your backside, with your forehead smashing against the tiles. Its like the difference between having your city receive an unexpected and rude, over-lavish gift one morning from a ‘madman’ who you suspect to be wielding a knife but doesn’t actually use it to inflict any real harm, or even have one — although the experience is obviously still quite disturbing — or having it blockaded, the population starved to death over bitter months and years and the buildings eventually burnt down by a trained, legion and ruthless, psychotic army. Then in the afterlife, your ghost drooling forever like a dog, YOU are forced to make amends and supplicate, constantly bowing your head to the feelings and opinions of your evil oppressors and slaughterers!