There’s something to be said for getting in touch with yourself, taking some time to be alone and all that jazz which is mostly masturbation double talk. The problem with all that alone time is that sometimes your brain hates you so much it breaks and then you get stuck in a state of solitary madness. Like this!
The best named disorder of all time, Wendigo psychosis is what happens when your crazy ass turns into a Wendigo. If you’re not all up to date on your Native American mythology, the Wendigo is a monster that feasts on human flesh. Fun! He is also known for being the lame character who stunk up the issue of the Incredible Hulk in which Wolverine first appeared.
As you might expect, turning into a flesh eating monster in a real world setting isn’t all that common. Still, apparently when people are stranded in remote areas without access to supplies and all they have for company is a friend who looks tastier by the day, the desire to eat another person starts seeming more and more like an awesome plan until that day your friend wakes up without a leg and you’re in the corner smoking tasty ankle jerky with some teriyaki and peppercorns.
Every so often, Wendigo Psychosis afflicts someone not necessarily stranded and unable to get resources to survive, rather someone just too lazy to go out and get them. And really, why bother when you have such delicious family members near by. In 1878 a trapper named Swift Runner ate his entire family even though he was only 25 miles from an outpost that would have had supplies.
Wendigo psychosis has died out as native culture has become more amalgamated into the rest of North American society and ruralization has decreased, however it’s worth noting that one of the leading experts on the phenomenon feels that the incident in which a Greyhound bus passenger in Canada was beheaded by another passenger actually fits the bill for Wendigo Psychosis, meaning the modern world can really cramp the style of most monsters but they still need buses to travel from time to time.
In our never ending quest to make people say things like “Holy shit, is that for real?” it turns out the US government managed to find a way to jam a metaphorical egg beater into your brain and whip your insides into fluffy white peaks of drooling on yourself and rocking in a corner for hours on end.
After several years of being locked in a room with no light, no sound and no interaction with anyone except for the odd pitch-black beating from strangers, Jose Padilla managed to completely lose his mind. We’re talking somewhere beyond batshit. He was being held for some terrorist reason or other, that whole Guantanamo thing is kind of old and it probably doesn’t matter anymore since he doesn’t have a brain, and they sensory deprivationed him into oblivion. Along with an alleged cocktail of LSD and PCP on semi-regular intervals, Padilla was rendered scientifically f*cktarded and not particularly competent to stand trial. Or maybe not. At least one psychiatrist figured the cogs were working well enough and he was seen fit to stand trial, where he was sentenced to 17 years in a supermax prisoner. Presumably he’ll be an easy prisoner to monitor with the exception of diaper changes and the odd delousing.
Thanks to A&E, every week you can watch two insane shut ins try to muscle through their issues in a half hour while a crew of strangers shovel out loads of human excrement and new clothes. Hoarding is that awesome.
Hoarding seems to breed isolation moreso than isolation breeding hoarding, only insofar as once you start saving your own poop in jars, it tends to make people want to avoid you, leaving you a lot of time to climb your filth mountain and contemplate which rat you’re sharing your bed with tonight.
In order to appreciate how crazy your average hoarder is, it’s worth noting that in particularly bad cases, you can’t even bring in a normal cleaning crew, you need crime scene cleaners. People who have been trained by other professionals to remove the evidence of decapitations and blown upness. These people are so filthy it’s like another human blew the f*ck up in their house. But they didn’t. It’s just that filthy.
It’s not clear what causes compulsive hoarding, it’s a sub category of OC disorders, but it’s possible it has something to do with a love of piles of shit and three year old yogurt.
The original gangsta of social isolation disorders, agoraphobia is what happens when everything outside your house scares the living shit out of you. And not just regular scary stuff like hobos and Jehovah’s witnesses.
Wikipedia says there are over 3 million agoraphobics in the US who suffer varying degrees of anxiety when put into situations that are stressful. You know, like being in the out of doors. Or not being huddled in a corner. Some only experience panic attacks in big, wide open areas full of crowds like the mall or celebrity trials, while others can’t even handle the lawn.
The panic attacks experienced by agoraphobics trigger their fight or flight response, meaning at any moment when you’re at Hot Topic, someone could tackle you and run for the exit in a desperate attempt to find some stairs to hide under.
In the grand scheme of social disorders, few ever achieve the hilarious (and by hilarious we mean terrible, but still funny) heights of schizophrenia. It’s like the vanilla ice cream of mental disorders, it just partners well with everything. You can get multiple personalities, you can think there are bugs on you, you can lash out at authority, the fruit salad of insanity is as plentiful as it is unpredictable.
Some evidence suggests that extreme social isolation in your formative years can really pave the way for some hardcore schizophrenia later in life. So when your parents locked you in a closet with a statue of Jesus because the devil made you touch yourself, they weren’t actually making you brain work better. In fact, it was quite the opposite. Sweet irony!
While schizophrenia can manifest in a number of ways, as it relates to isolation a multiple personality disorder is probably the most hilarious one. After all, when you’re alone and still can’t be alone the comedy potential is neatly endless, which is why movies like Fight Club are so popular, because the possibility of having Brad Pitt with you all the time and occasionally banging scuzzy chicks is pretty awesome.