I am still inspired quite often by old and shitty ideas that I used to have about life when I was a little boy. Ideas that I never thought would be within my grasp as well, because I was either high or drunk. It is eye-opening when you realize that your mental illness is something that drives you.
I am lucky to live my passion and my dream. I live in foreign lands, sample new foods, and meet incredible people, all while doing what I love. It is far beyond what I ever dreamed of as a little boy. I do not have to work a 9 to 5 job, I am not someone who thrives in the typical academic structure, I am pursuing a different life.
This drives my son and my daughter crazy. This drives my brother crazy. My loving parents think I am crazy. My loving friends think I am crazy. They think that I never mean what I say. They think that I have not thought clearly about this. There were times when I thought that maybe everyone else was right.
But deep inside, there was this voice. When I was desperate, when I thought there was no way out, I could hear the voice. The voice told me to trust myself, to have faith, to never give up. Maybe it was God speaking to me. Maybe not. Maybe it was the Universe speaking to me. Maybe not. The most important thing was that I listened.
Crazy is what people call me when they do not understand me, when they do not believe me … and especially, when they are too afraid to hear what I am saying. And when people around me said I was crazy, I knew I did not need a psychiatrist or medication … I needed new people around me!
The more I listened and trusted my voice, the more people came into my life – doctors, healers, teachers, friends – who supported me, believed in me, loved me, and never thought I was crazy.