Reading all the posts of Yidden here admitting to the exact nature of their sickness makes me feel like crying for the first time in a while on GYE. Not just because we are talking about sweet yidden here, but because of the pain in our sickness and the pain it causes the ones who love us.
It reminds me of a story Rav Twerski likes to tell:
A king was told by his trusted minister that there was ergot in the rye or wheat and that by the time half the fall would be over, all the kingdom would be crazy (this stuff really used to happen, BTW).
But the minister shared his plan: He saved a supply of clean wheat and rye for him and the king to last till the next year's crop, so they'd be sane.
The king refused, saying that if his kingdom was nuts, he must join them - and so must his minister. But agreed to a stipulation: They'd both paint marks on each others' foreheads so that whenever they would look at each other they'd be reminded that they and the whole world were actually crazy. Apparently, reality is more precious than anything. Even sanity. And there are two kinds of insanity: the really bad one in which you do not even know that you are crazy - and the other one in which we at least know that we are nuts. And there is a big difference.
How apropos for us goofballs.