Through the Looking Glass: Bronzed

His hair was black, matted and wild and his overcoat, maybe once tan, was caked in dirt. He was having what appeared to be a spirited debate with the bronze statue of a man that sits on a bronze bench that lives in front of our city’s Rec department. The statue creeps me out every time I see it; I swear it moves. I catch myself thinking, “I KNOW that statue’s hand was in a different position last week. I KNOW he was seated on the other side of the bench.”

So there I am, sitting in my car across the street, traffic whizzing by. My blinker is blink-blinking and I’m hypnotized as I watch this dirty, seemingly crazy, guy sit down next to the creepy Statue Guy. Dirty Guy’s arms are gesturing dramatically and he appears to be upset, ticked off. I watch him lean in real close to the statue, like he’s trying to make a serious point, maybe even threatening the bronzed man. I wished I could hear him.

And while I sat there watching, wondering about the one-sided conversation, something about it seemed all too normal for me. I felt empathy for the “crazy” guy, He was clearly ill. And I thought, “wow, I relate to him.” And while it might not show as prominently on the outside on me as it does on him, I know what it’s like to feel a little different. I know how it feels to think that on most days I’ve been dropped into the wrong movie, like my life was really supposed to be like that . My thoughts are warped and my sense of humor so dark that much of the time I don’t verbalize any of it.

Our minds are tender, and I believe we’re all just a hiccup away from becoming out of touch with what most of the world deems normal. We’re just a sliver away from some circumstance that renders us unable to relate to the masses. In an instant we can be shifted from sanity to insanity, from soccer mom to streetwalker, from banker to bum. It happens every day.

For some, it might be addiction to drugs and alcohol; for others, depression or some other form of mental illness. Often times, the two go hand-in-hand. I wondered about the guy I’d been calling crazy. Chances are he didn’t always talk to statues. Did he grow up on a cul de sac in the suburbs? Did he play on a little league team? Does he have a family?

The traffic slowed and it was my turn to pull into the street and head for home. I was overcome with a sense of gratitude for my current state of mental health, my family and the gift of today, knowing that tomorrow something could happen to change it all… for any of us.

Mental illness impacts the lives of at least one in four adults and one in 10 children – or 60 million Americans, according to the National Alliance on Mental Illness. If you or someone you love is suffering, visit http://www.nami.org for help.