Fragments on Madness

The following excerpts were extracted from Jim Klein's article, “Out of Mere Words,” published in the James Joyce Quarterly, Spring, 1976.

This is a wall. That is a window. That is a light switch. I am leaning against a window ledge. This is a bed. I am lying down on the bed. I am going to be all right. I had “talked” to myself. I had saved myself with my own story about myself. At another time, I put into words to myself that I was eating a brownie, and the thought darted after, a sane thought, that no man ever died of eating a brownie, and another, that no man ever committed suicide laughing at himself.

My sickness had consisted in becoming so divorced from my life story that I had ceased to be myself, and even characters like my wife and child had begun to be fictional.

My body had been slowed to an ooze by valium and theorizing, but my mind was still spinning. It seemed as if my mind and body were becoming detached and I would float away.

When I was admitted, I feared the “mental patients” with whom I'd be forced to live. To guard against the great irony of being murdered by a crazy man just when I made a personal breakthrough, I introduced myself to my roommate, Dennis, and shared my happy story with him: we were sane and everyone else was crazy. “That's what I've been looking for,” Dennis answered ponderously and he proceeded to get well.

The radio became very important to me. Because I was unable to sleep, I attempted to find a substitute for sleep that would balance my senses. I blindfolded myself and lay for hours with a portable radio playing on my chest. While this was probably not very smart, it wasn't insane. Yet it looked insane. One of the difficulties with being mentally ill is that one is placed under pressures which are incomprehensible to those who are not ill.

I would pick each word carefully, articulating it fully, speaking in a modulated voice, and watching my auditors to see what effect I was having