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I do not have a mental disorder.

Or, at least, I don't have anything diagnosed. I'm sure that, like most people, if I sat down with the right sort of professional, they could diagnose me with something and prescribe me some sort of treatment. Most people probably fit in that category.

And, of course, I do have friends and family and acquaintances who have varying degrees of different conditions, and I certainly don't want to trivialize their situation. Max may be the only character I draw with crazy eyes, but some amount of grey-matter irregularity is common - and not always being able to trust your own mind is universal.

So I'm trying to be sensitive and careful with this storyline. Leftover Soup is a funny comic and Max is a funny character, but neither she nor her condition are jokes in and of themselves.

(Tuesday morning, INT: elevator)

JH: I didn't know you'd tried to drown yourself.
MH: Well, I try not to think of it as me. I'm me when I'm medicated. It was the depression that tried to kill me.
JH: So... knowledge of krav maga turns off while you're crazy, right?
MH: Oh, don't worry, I've never been violent against other people, not really. Not intentionally. Strictly self-harm and babbling. And weeping. And lethargy.
JH: And that kicked in five... six minutes ago, did it?
MH: Well, it's not going to be exact. And I might be overselling it a bit, honestly. Haven't had an incident in over a year, who knows, I might be okay now.
MH: I mean, trust my stupid brain not to even be consistently insane. I can't even be crazy properly, somebody should take me out and shoot me.
JH: Ohhhhhhkay then.