Earlier this week I finished watching Apple TV’s Constellation. I consider it quite good, but it’s not for everyone – it’s definitely slow. The plot revolves around the concept of quantum superposition, where a particle can exist in multiple states simultaneously. Another way to think of it, at least relating to the show, is the multiverse – multiple versions of every person across multiple universes.
In the show, an accident happens in space with a series of astronauts. Two astronauts specifically are affected: they switch universes and come home to slightly different worlds. Michael of Universe A now lives in the universe of Michael B and vice versa. Some examples: the main character’s car is blue instead of red, and her daughter doesn’t speak Swedish. The histories of the characters in the show can differ as well.
This leads to fears of mental illness in the affected parties. Everyone around the astronauts thinks they are crazy. The astronauts don’t believe they are the problem. To paraphrase one character talking to the main character, all psychopaths and schizophrenics think they are fine.
This made me think of my mother. Over the last five years, I believe her mental state has been transformed. She no longer recognizes her children – she knows she has children, but it isn’t us. We cannot get her diagnosed by a doctor. She refuses to go anywhere and is not hurting anyone so she can’t be forcibly treated. Ultimately, I have accepted that if she is OK in her own mind and if my dad can accept the responsibility of taking her, this is how things will be. If she can be happy, who am I to force a different reality upon her?
And this is a bit of what Constellation make me think about. As a society, we claim to we know what mental illness is, and how to treat it. We define something as mental illness because if we go too far along with the patient, our concept of reality becomes too unstable. Society forces us to share a commonly agreed reality, and anything that goes beyond that, we refuse to adhere to. Anyone living outside those lines must be ostracized.
Not to become paranoid, but what if my mom doesn’t suffer from mental illness? What if there is some (or all) truth to what she lives, in a way that I can’t understand. As I said, if she can live happily in her state of mind, that’s all that matters to me now. I have no wish to interfere, even if I would value a relationship with her and would value her relationship to my children.
However, in the future I may have the responsibility to take care of her. How does her happiness mix with my need to stay within the lines of “reality”, convenience, and finances? For those with mental illness who don’t have proper love or care in their lives, is there a way to help them have some sort of internal happiness without allowing them to hurt themselves or others?
The advanced development of knowledge around mental illness, its causes and solutions, is still very new. We were using leeches to suck blood just a few hundred years ago and applied massive electrical shock therapy to the brain less than one hundred years ago. We look back just a few generations and think of how barbaric we were then, and I can’t help to think of what I’ll think about my mother’s condition when I am her age. What regrets will I and greater society have with new knowledge then?
I Spit Hot Fire 