Fear not.

Fear Not

Don't we all, as we relentlessly age,   worry just a little about maybe becoming demented?  

In fact, don't we all just see at least a few little signs it might be headed our way?

 No?
Well you are certainly different than most of us!

And  for those of us with crazies in our family tree, 
we are from time to time 
also terrified of going insane!

I  have actually been told I'm crazy.  But he ended up as my ex-husband, so who's the crazy one now!
I had an almost instant improvement in my mental health as he sped away in our only car with his new girlfriend.

Still and all, my mom once lambasted me with my genetic similarity to struggling brains on our family tree! 

But then, maybe she was nuts that day.

                                                         

In fact, in my family we spend a lot of time trying to sort the sane from the insane and it is not as easy as you might think!  

               

It's a slippery slope in my family.  
Looks can be deceiving.

So imagine my delight in finding this bit of wisdom from Charles Dickens when he, one sleepless night, found himself outside Bethlehem Hospital in London, a typical Victorian insane asylum more commonly known as Bedlam:

now-hear-this.timeout.com

Are not the sane and the insane equal at night as the sane lie a-dreaming?

Are not all of us outside this hospital, who dream, more or less in the condition of those inside it, every night of our lives?

Are we not with kings and queens, emperors and empresses, and notabilities of all sorts?  Do we not nightly jumble events and personages and times and places, as these do daily?  Are we not sometimes troubled by our own sleeping inconsistencies: and do we not vexedly try to account for them or excuse them, just as these do sometimes in respect of their waking delusions?

Said an afflicted man to me, when I was last in a hospital like this, "Sir, I can frequently fly."

I was half ashamed to reflect that so could I--by night.

Said a woman to me on the same occasion, "Queen Victoria frequently comes to dine with me, and her Majesty and I dine off peaches and macaroni in our night-gowns and his Royal Highness the Prince Consort does us the honour to make a third on horseback in a Field-Marshal's uniform." 

Could I refrain from reddening with consciousness when I remembered the amazing royal parties I myself had given (at night), the unaccountable viands I had put on table, and my extraordinary manner of conducting myself on those distinguished occasions?

I wonder that the great master who knew everything, when he called Sleep the death of each day's life, did not call Dreams the insanity of each day's sanity.

                                                                                Charles Dickens, "Night Walks"

As we age we should not over-worry about dementia or insanity stalking us. 
Should either or both catch us, we will find we are more practiced at dealing with them than is apparent at first blush.

 
                                                              







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