The C-Word

My wife can use the c-word. She’s put in her time. She’s got cred. Sometimes it can break the tension.

There are some friends of mine I’d probably let use the c-word, in the right context and if it was in service of a really funny joke. Because, come on. Damn political correctness amongst friends when there is laughter to be had.

But I don’t like how casually people are using it now in reference to Donald Trump. Everywhere I look, people are asking the same thing. Is he? Isn’t he? Who can know? Who can determine?

If Donald Trump is crazy. Literally, batshit crazy.

Now, I’m very open about my diagnoses. I’m open about my struggles. I’m kind of a weird guy; I’m really, really intense; and I have grandious thinking. I actually believe I can change the world and I have very little patience for people who tell me otherwise. But I appreciate the people who tell me that I don’t have to do it all at once. Those people I like. Those people can call me crazy because they are a big part of how I can be sane more often than not.

I bristle at the word being used so casually, so nonchalantly by people who mean it like this: People with mental illness are automatically ruled out of being president. Because that’s not cool. And if that’s your position, too bad so sad it is already well established that no fewer than seven presidents battled depression. Mental illness need not be a barrier to performing well in high-pressure, demanding jobs.

But the very first step is admitting that you need a diagnosis.

I learned this the hard way, with my second marriage slowly starting to show of the signs of wear that plagued my first one. I also missed work, skipped out on events with friends. I was not well mentally and finally my wife told me I had to get help. And I did. It hasn’t been easy, and I’d be lying if I said everything is fine. I have good days and bad days. I’m still trying to change the world, but I also let people around me know of my diagnosis. I empower them to point out behaviors that are uncomfortable or seemingly not rational. I hold myself accountable and I am dilligent about taking my meds and going to therapy.

I loathe Donald Trump as much as a loving Christian can loath another child of God. But I am starting to feel sorry for him. The people closest to him need to get him help. We as a nation need to realize that this is a person who is profoundly disconnected from reality. The truth is, he likely won’t accept help until he hits bottom. I fear that will take an event of such public humiliation that it might break him. I truly have never encountered a narcissist of this magnitude.

He might be crazy. He might. Be please be mindful of the way you use the word on social media and around your friends because they might have a mental illness. And they just might hear something you don’t intend.

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