Why do I love Mr Rochester? Why do I think Jane Eyre should have fallen at his feet and worshiped him? Dear reader, it is for these few lines recorded below which he said to her after she found out that he kept his mad wife in a hidden upstairs chamber:
“You know nothing about me, and nothing about the sort of love of which I am capable. Every atom of your flesh is as dear to me as my own: in pain and sickness it would still be dear. Your mind is my treasure, and if it were broken, it would be my treasure still.”
Ah….the sort of love that makes novels what they are! A broken mind….yet there is still so much beauty in a broken mind….
Broken minds bring forth treasures:
in the world of art..Van Gogh…
in the world of literature…Edgar Allen Poe…
in the field of music….Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart...
What is madness? What is a mental illness? Why do we shrink from those who struggle with depression, with suicidal thoughts, with self-loathing, with an inability to receive and give love? Do they love being that way, or do they curse nature for getting their wiring twisted, their emotions warped, and their minds broken? Broken minds still have beauty that is waiting to be discovered…treasures waiting to be uncovered…love waiting to be won. How do I know? I have a broken mind, and yet...there is so much beauty inside me waiting to be released. People may not understand, or accept...they may shun and avoid, but I'm confident in who I am and what I can accomplish. I'm in good company.