09 Jan 2012
Gabriel’s problems are different than mine. We take the same drug for different reasons, and I would never presume to speak for him. I know only the most rudimentary version of his experience because he can’t talk about it, even now. That makes it sound exotic and exciting, like the baroque psychosexual furnace that might propel an international assassin. I doubt it’s that exciting in practice; in fact, it’s probably debilitating in some way. But that’s how this idea is generally presented: madness as a supernatural power source, as opposed to a seemingly inviting bowl of oatmeal interspersed with occasional hot glass.
Even I buy into this idea, and I should fucking know better. But if this chemical is mediating my responses - if it’s adjudicating stimuli in some way - is there something true about it? I don’t know, actually. You can spend a lot of time thinking about it, though.
Sometimes we speak with openness and honesty about that which pins us down, motivates our actions, or that which terrifies us. It is a reminder that we are, even our heroes, only human. There is bravery here and it is to be applauded.