Nurtured Nature and the Truth About Survival, Identity and Being Human
Written by Justin H. Briggs, Writer
Justin H. Briggs is the author of "Insanity Comes To Mind: A Memoir on Mental Health," which was published on May 1st, 2020. He is a good writer working at being great.
I am a predator. Any anthropological analysis of my cranium, perhaps hours or eons from now, would reveal a set of two eyes positioned to the forward-viewing, front of my head. Four canine-style incisors would prove my teeth are evolved to tear flesh for the consumption of nutrients. My rather enlarged brainpan would imply advanced critical thinking skills available from my grey matter-brain, and such a cranium size would anthropologically suggest reasoning abilities beyond a gopher.
In Uhmerica, as a person, I am taught to believe my humane, inalienable rights include “Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness.” Per my social security card, I am born into these God-given rights just as much, or perhaps even more so, than any supreme court-personified corporation, at least in my opinion. While John Grisham makes a literary career off of the notion of man vs. corporation, I pen words which I hope prove to be less sensational monetarily, or at least more humane in intention, than the legal jargon of a law degree may have allowed my life.
As a motivated person, I live my life as free from the limitations the world offers to my liberty as is possible in the pursuit of whatever I decide may result in feelings of “Happiness.” A permanent mental disability, trauma, and at least one life’s worth of experience have all been attained in my hot pursuit. Universal healthcare, that ever-elusive specter of Uhmericana, apparently falls outside the purview of inalienable options, you have no right to health care in The United States of America.
Was it in my DNA to be disabled, or did I just “lose control” of myself, as everyone says who knows better, though they do not have to bear any diagnoses themselves. I would argue a combination of the two. To deny our nature is to ignore or degrade our humanity. Ignorance to the effects upon me of my family, social structures, and environmental influences would have been blissful, I guess, whatever happiness is a lobotomy?
I never wanted to be a product of my environment. Even when I was thought to be behaving extremely, and this is said to me often, I did not care. You do not have to live this way, so leave me alone. And I sure as shit am sick of being a matrix of statistical probabilities, labels, diagnoses, or really anything more than a self-reliant, self-sustaining human being, if that is still possible. Would I then be able to produce my own creation, and in turn accrue financial enhancement of my livelihood, there would still be more “Happiness” to pursue. Pursuit is inherent to predatory behavior.
What a cycle, right? You are born alone, supposedly, and it has often been orated that I will die alone, but in the life in which I have thus far literally pursued stability at the minimum, to move from surviving to whatever the hell thriving could conceivably be, I have little concrete results beyond the aforementioned disability. But some folks think I write well too, so I got that going for me, which is necessary.
Think about it: work with your hands is proven to be inherently therapeutic and writing my thoughts on paper gets them out of my head and into yours! At least by writing a thing down, putting pen to paper, and getting a notion into a perceivable format more natural than a mathematical matrix and people have been telling me to “use my words” for decades. None of those people are in my life today. So writing this is therapeutic indeed, publishing this article will affect my writing career in one way or another, and, hey, you reading these words may help you as well.
It is also human nature to be curious, to ask questions, to be hesitant, whether in doubt or not, and to forget the past per our mental capacity in order to maintain our presence “in the now” while focusing ahead, as any predator, anthropologically analyzed cranially or biologically observed in nature. We probably learned to do this while we were foraging for our livelihoods, so pre-money.
My brain and body seem run through, however, and so my pursuits have resolved. Scars, mental and physical, mark milestones in my unique manner of L-I-V-I-N. I claim no trophies or heroism short of falling in the rabbit holes of doing what is necessary at the moment of action. Lawyers and judges then tend to ignore their role of passing judgement, but that could change at any moment. Such is the nature of judgement, regardless of any personal feelings I may have of accomplishments, guilt, or shame.
I am told one part of my persistent grief of really any disability is yearning for the life I thought I would have were I “fully functional”. I take that as psychological bullshit. You want me to feel guilty for surviving to 41 years of age, scars, trauma, experiences, and all? I did not think I would live past 25 until the day I turned 26 and went to an emergency room for the first time in my life for my “erratic and bizarre” mental faculties.
But I did turn 26, and now I am even older. Boom, Bitches. Winning. Call a Catholic priest and give him my new contact information. We can sit down and talk about how bad I feel and what I can do to attain the eternal sunshine of a spotless soul.
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Justin H. Briggs, Writer
Justin H. Briggs is a writer located in Manhattan, Kansas, USA. He is more than his diagnosis and less than his potential for success, in his opinion, but he is working on that. His diagnosis of schizoaffective bipolar disorder manifests symptoms of depression, mania, delusions, paranoia, and hallucinations. He is in no way medically certified beyond the occasional CPR certification, but he has been there and done that, so to speak.
