Revisiting the Normal vs Crazy Thing

Last night, I had a nightmare that I danced like a white man. This was way worse than my recurring dream where I’m married to Sarah Palin. Naturally, it was a huge relief to wake up and - oh crap! - well, at least I’m bipolar.

Most of you know what I’m talking about. We have a different way of perceiving reality, which of course affects our behavior. Too often, the result is outsider status. No one wants that. On the other hand, I bet no one ever told you this: “You’ll really love So-and-So! He’s so normal!”

Funny thing about our doctors. They may inform us that they will have us back to normal in no time, but they never actually say, “We’ll have you normal again.”

“Normal” is a reference to the status quo, how things are going “out there.” This is the world we need to learn to function in. But we don’t necessarily have to be “normal” to function in “normal.” This is hardly a condition we would aspire to. I always sort of knew this, but the light bulb went off last year when I read Nassir Ghaemi’s 2011 “A First-Rate Madness.” Dr Ghaemi pointed out that normal merely represents a statistical average and hardly an ideal.

How about crazy, then? I love that 1997 Apple ad. “Here’s to the crazy ones,” it starts out. "The misfits. The rebels. The troublemakers. The round pegs in the square holes.”

We see short clips of Einstein, Edison, Amelia Earhart, and others. These are “the ones who see things differently. ... They change things. They push the human race forward. And while some may see them as the crazy ones, we see genius. Because the people who are crazy enough to think they can change the world, are the ones who do."

I keep coming back to crazy vs normal again and again. What prompted today’s piece is a comment from Liz in response to my recent repost on Darwin and evolutionary psychiatry:

I have been struggling for a long time to try and figure out how it is that bipolar disorder was somehow an evolutionary advantage. This comment of yours really hit home and brought tears to my eyes:

"I like to contend that it took a crazy person to run into a burning forest and enthusiastically bring a flaming souvenir back to the cave."

I know that as a bipolar person I am able to experience a different reality and range of emotions than people who have chemically "balanced" brains. It's helpful to hear an anecdote about how this difference in reality perception can actually make being bipolar useful rather than a burden.

Liz, I hear you. We are a minority surrounded by the chronically normal. It’s not easy living in a world where everyone dances like a white man. The only thing worse is actually dancing like a white man.

Further reading from mcmanweb

Normal - Highly Over-Rated
Creativity
Intuition
Psychic Perception
You See Four; I See 28

Normal: It Ain't What It's Cracked Up to Be

This is my second installment in our conversation on Nassir Ghaemi’s “A First-Rate Madness: Uncovering the Links Between Leadership and Mental Illness.” (See The Normal Paradox.) Dr Ghaemi is by no means the first to comment on the positive association between manic-depressive tendencies and outstanding achievement, but he goes much farther by calling “normal” into question.

Basically, Dr Ghaemi is asking: If the right kind of crazy is optimal in times of crisis, what does that say for normal? Can’t we at least regard normal as serviceable in a pinch? No, is his unequivocal conclusion.

The basic fallacy about normal, if I am interpreting Dr Ghaemi correctly, is that this condition (yes, let’s call it a condition) leaves a lot to be desired, in the first place. Dr Ghaemi’s starting point is a study from about 50 years ago by one of Freud’s last disciples, Roy Grinker.

Dr Grinker screened a group of 343 college-age men, out of which he selected 65 he deemed to be in the middle of the mentally healthy range. Based on subsequent interviews, Grinker came up with a detailed list of mental health attributes for these “upright young men.”

There was, however, a major catch. These paragons of mental health suffered a severe case of “average-itis.” They had slightly above average IQs, their grades were average, and they were not leaders on the team sports they had played in high school.

In effect, their main positive attribute was they played well with others. Dr Grinker came up with the term “homoclite” to describe these drearily normal individuals - “those who follow a common rule.” Their goals were to fit in, do good, and be liked. Apparently they would grow up to become part of the “great silent majority” that Nixon infamously pandered to.

As Dr Ghaemi points out in his book, Dr Grinker’s homoclites represented the norm (a statistical average) and normal (an absence of illness), but hardly an ideal.

Which brings us to the $64,000 question ($523,412.54, adjusting for inflation): When the chips are down, would you truly want one of Grinker’s homoclites as your President or Prime Minister?

Or would you would feel more comfortable with someone who had been temporarily expelled from school, such as JFK?

Basically, Dr Ghaemi is validating what many of us have felt all our lives, namely: those of us who are not normal have no desire to become normal. True, we don’t want to be severely depressed or manic, either, or for that matter overly anxious or cognitively impaired or just plain feel miserable inside our own skins. We want to be better, to be ourselves.

But normal? No way, normal sucks.

I’ve related numerous times here on Knowledge is Necessity a knock-me-over-with-a-feather moment from a grand rounds I delivered three years ago to a psychiatric facility in Princeton, NJ, but it bears retelling and reinterpretation. Obviously, the individuals I was addressing were considerably smarter than your average homoclite. Nevertheless, we are living in a homoclite culture that apotheosizes normal. Just about everyone is in on the act. Just about everyone believes in the myth.

So here I was, trying to get through to a bunch of what I now know to be accomplished homoclites.

"Keep in mind," I said, "a lot of us view the world through the eyes of artists and poets and visionaries and mystics. Not to mention through the eyes of highly successful professionals and entrepreneurs. We don't want to be like you."

It was as if I had let rip a roof-rattler and everyone was too polite to laugh. Then I blurted out: “To me, you all have flat affect.”

Kelvin grade frozen stony cold silence.

Suffice to say, my talk was a disaster.

I naturally assumed that I had been wasting my time trying to get through to people heavily invested in the myth of normal. But, after reading Ghaemi’s book, maybe something else was going on, as well. Maybe these individuals suffered basic deficits in the empathy department.

There is a biological component to empathy, but a lot of it has to do with getting blindsided out of nowhere by whatever life has decided to throw at you. Picking up from Ghaemi’s account:

Franklin Roosevelt had a glorious future ahead as a homoclite golden boy. Mind you, FDR was no dullard. Quite the opposite. According to Ghaemi, FDR was an “omnivore and an innovator,” with certain manic tendencies consistent with a “hyperthymic” temperament. But, “until 1921, Franklin Roosevelt had led a charmed life.”

Everything changed at age 39, when he was felled with polio. He returned to public life three years later a different man. According to longtime friend and political associate, Frances Perkins, recounted by Ghaemi, “an untried flippant young man” underwent “a spiritual transformation,” emerging “with humility of spirit and with a deeper philosophy.”

Years later, Eleanor Roosevelt would remark: “He certainly would have been President, but a different President.”

So here I was, in Princeton, talking to a bunch of mental health professionals who couldn’t see the merit in even “a little bit” crazy, who could not even relate to the possibility that a good many of us do not want to be like them. That, to people like us, normal sucks.

Naturally, I could understand why they wouldn’t want to be like me. But could they not, at least, validate my creativity and other traits the way I value their stability? Could they not acknowledge that maybe they, too, could benefit from some of my strange gifts?

Introspection, enthusiasm ... empathy?

Rerun: My Zombie State is Other People's Normal

From Last October ...

On Saturday, I received an email from a friend:

"Two people have emailed me to see if you are alright. How would I know? Hypomania is rocket fuel for your work."

My blog was no busier than usual that past week, save for an animated comment thread. Okay, let's make that a really really animated comment thread. My immediate reaction was a defensive one. There they go again, I thought. Pathologize my behavior. Attribute every action of mine to my illness. Most of you have been on the receiving end of this - show the slightest sign of life, dare to crack a joke and actually look happy, and it must be hypomania. Bipolars are as bad as the general population - worse, far worse - in this regard.

I once emailed a friend with news that I had won a major international award, and, without offering her congratulations or even acknowledging my achievement, she replied that it sounded like I was hypomanic and I needed to be careful.

What the ... ?

Then I had to laugh. All the week before, I had been down for the count with flu symptoms. I had been sleeping 16 hours a day. I would emerge from the blankets only to walk about with the feeling of the inside of my head wrapped inside these very same blankets. I had no energy, I felt like someone three times my age, and my mood was in a slow glide south.

Trust me, had they been auditioning for a remake of Night of the Living Dead, I would have received a call-back for the lead zombie role. Yet, somehow, I had managed to crawl to the computer and crank out my standard quota of blog pieces (two involving the intricacies of diagnostic psychiatry), plus fire off a long round of zinger comments.

What gives? Yesterday, while out on a country walk (with a clear head!), I got thinking about my friend's email. It's easy, of course, to get a totally wrong impression when there is no face-to-face contact. But I could recollect no shortage of real life Twilight Zone experiences dating from way back.

For instance, in my college dorm room 40 years ago - again in a flu-induced zombie state - I responded to someone with a lame comment and the whole room cracked up. I got off a repeat rimshot-worthy one-liner, then another one. I was death warmed-over, but to the people in the room I was Don Rickles.

Twelve or thirteen years later - same state of zombie-hood - I was the steady hand who calmed down a room of anxious individuals. I could go on and on. Sometimes it's the flu. Sometimes it's depression. Sometimes, for no apparent reason, my head is not attached to the rest of my body. There are no guarantees. Often, when I feel out of it, I am really truly, totally utterly, out of it.

On the reverse side of the coin, when I am feeling on my game - that is when I need to watch myself. Frequently, I find myself looking at a sea of perplexed faces. And heaven help if I know I'm off my game and my anxiety takes over. You know those Southwest Airline ads: "Need to get away?"

Anyway, here I was, taking my walk, gazing out into the mountains, when it suddenly hit me in a flash:

My zombie state is the equivalent of other people's normal!

If I could only be a zombie, I could lead a normal life. Here's how it works:

Like a lot of you, I experience racing thoughts. Think of my brain as the UN General Assembly with an angry Khrushchev on every seat yelling wildly and banging his shoe on the table. But the flu or a depression or some kind of brain fog shuts down all those Khrushchevs in my head. There are no distractions. I can focus on the task at hand. I appear sharp and to the point. Of all the crazy things, I give the impression that I'm operating on rocket fuel.

All those Khrushchevs are the equivalent of too much stuff coming in - too much thought, too much emotion, too much sensory input. Since I happen to work in a field that places a high premium on creativity and intuition, I tend to regard this as a good thing. I need those Khrushchevs. They work for me, provided I can show them who's boss.

But too much of a good thing for me has a way of manifesting as bipolar or anxiety or panic or just plain weirdness. This is the downside of Khrushchev. Every once in a while, things get out of hand. For others, these Khrushchevs may show up as ADD, schizophrenia, some forms of depression, or just simply strange or inappropriate behavior.

These days, I am fairly confident in matching the right Khrushchev to the right occasion, so that what comes out of my mouth doesn't embarrass me. Far from it. These days, I actually get invited to places. Back in the old days, I could be counted on to pick the wrong Khrushchev, generally a strange weird specimen that had people backing slowly toward the exits.

What has changed over the years is that I have slowly learned to read subtle social cues and modify my behavior accordingly. I suspect this is true for most of you. These days, I feel fairly confident walking out the door. Back in the old days, I didn't risk it. I stayed indoors and isolated, which, of course, made me fair game for crushing depressions.

It's a strange world when showing up as a zombie shrouded in a protective depression is the state most likely to create the best impression for me. But when I'm feeling good, I often lack insight to know that I'm feeling too good for my own good. That's why I need to watch myself, and - more important - watch others.

"Knowing thyself" is central to "Knowledge is Necessity." Only through long introspection do we find answers and learn to ask the right questions. Consider this blog piece a long and involved question to all of you. I'm very interested in your answers. Please fire away by going to the comments below ...

My Zombie State is Other People's Normal

On Saturday, I received an email from a friend:

"Two people have emailed me to see if you are alright. How would I know? Hypomania is rocket fuel for your work."

My blog was no busier than usual that past week, save for an animated comment thread. Okay, let's make that a really really animated comment thread. My immediate reaction was a defensive one. There they go again, I thought. Pathologize my behavior. Attribute every action of mine to my illness. Most of you have been on the receiving end of this - show the slightest sign of life, dare to crack a joke and actually look happy, and it must be hypomania. Bipolars are as bad as the general population - worse, far worse - in this regard.

I once emailed a friend with news that I had won a major international award, and, without offering her congratulations or even acknowledging my achievement, she replied that it sounded like I was hypomanic and I needed to be careful.

What the ... ?

Then I had to laugh. All the week before, I had been down for the count with flu symptoms. I had been sleeping 16 hours a day. I would emerge from the blankets only to walk about with the feeling of the inside of my head wrapped inside these very same blankets. I had no energy, I felt like someone three times my age, and my mood was in a slow glide south.

Trust me, had they been auditioning for a remake of Night of the Living Dead, I would have received a call-back for the lead zombie role. Yet, somehow, I had managed to crawl to the computer and crank out my standard quota of blog pieces (two involving the intricacies of diagnostic psychiatry), plus fire off a long round of zinger comments.

What gives? Yesterday, while out on a country walk (with a clear head!), I got thinking about my friend's email. It's easy, of course, to get a totally wrong impression when there is no face-to-face contact. But I could recollect no shortage of real life Twilight Zone experiences dating from way back.

For instance, in my college dorm room 40 years ago - again in a flu-induced zombie state - I responded to someone with a lame comment and the whole room cracked up. I got off a repeat rimshot-worthy one-liner, then another one. I was death warmed-over, but to the people in the room I was Don Rickles.

Twelve or thirteen years later - same state of zombie-hood - I was the steady hand who calmed down a room of anxious individuals. I could go on and on. Sometimes it's the flu. Sometimes it's depression. Sometimes, for no apparent reason, my head is not attached to the rest of my body. There are no guarantees. Often, when I feel out of it, I am really truly, totally utterly, out of it.

On the reverse side of the coin, when I am feeling on my game - that is when I need to watch myself. Frequently, I find myself looking at a sea of perplexed faces. And heaven help if I know I'm off my game and my anxiety takes over. You know those Southwest Airline ads: "Need to get away?"

Anyway, here I was, taking my walk, gazing out into the mountains, when it suddenly hit me in a flash:

My zombie state is the equivalent of other people's normal!

If I could only be a zombie, I could lead a normal life. Here's how it works:

Like a lot of you, I experience racing thoughts. Think of my brain as the UN General Assembly with an angry Khrushchev on every seat yelling wildly and banging his shoe on the table. But the flu or a depression or some kind of brain fog shuts down all those Khrushchevs in my head. There are no distractions. I can focus on the task at hand. I appear sharp and to the point. Of all the crazy things, I give the impression that I'm operating on rocket fuel.

All those Khrushchevs are the equivalent of too much stuff coming in - too much thought, too much emotion, too much sensory input. Since I happen to work in a field that places a high premium on creativity and intuition, I tend to regard this as a good thing. I need those Khrushchevs. They work for me, provided I can show them who's boss.

But too much of a good thing for me has a way of manifesting as bipolar or anxiety or panic or just plain weirdness. This is the downside of Khrushchev. Every once in a while, things get out of hand. For others, these Khrushchevs may show up as ADD, schizophrenia, some forms of depression, or just simply strange or inappropriate behavior.

These days, I am fairly confident in matching the right Khrushchev to the right occasion, so that what comes out of my mouth doesn't embarrass me. Far from it. These days, I actually get invited to places. Back in the old days, I could be counted on to pick the wrong Khrushchev, generally a strange weird specimen that had people backing slowly toward the exits.

What has changed over the years is that I have slowly learned to read subtle social cues and modify my behavior accordingly. I suspect this is true for most of you. These days, I feel fairly confident walking out the door. Back in the old days, I didn't risk it. I stayed indoors and isolated, which, of course, made me fair game for crushing depressions.

It's a strange world when showing up as a zombie shrouded in a protective depression is the state most likely to create the best impression for me. But when I'm feeling good, I often lack insight to know that I'm feeling too good for my own good. That's why I need to watch myself, and - more important - watch others.

"Knowing thyself" is central to "Knowledge is Necessity." Only through long introspection do we find answers and learn to ask the right questions. Consider this blog piece a long and involved question to all of you. I'm very interested in your answers. Please fire away by going to the comments below ...