I’d Rather Die than Go Out of my Mind

Summoning the Patron Saint of Bonkers

St. Dymphna, can you hear me?
Do you think you could call me back?
'Cause I think I’m gonna break down
Out of my mind

I learned that St. Dymphna was the patron saint of mental illness around the time that I really needed her.  They came up with drugs for it, but her name derives from an Irish word, “damh,” for poet, and I’ll be treated with an imperfect science while serving the muse.  Poetry, of course, often comes from those who need St Dymphna the most. “My mind’s not right,” diagnosed McLean alum Robert Lowell. “I am one acquainted with the night,” calculated Robert Frost. You don’t need to be named Robert to feel it, and you don’t need to be Catholic to summon St. Dymphna.  One only needs to be a poet in need of stability.  The mighty Nicole Atkins knows this. I recently saw her sing backup with Elvis Costello, and since then, her Italian Ice has been a constant companion. She’s powerful, she’s vulnerable, she’s witty, but most importantly, she knows what music should sound like.  She wrote a song, “St. Dymphna,” and it hits as hard as anything—this is Nicole Atkins at her most invincible, while also being her most vulnerable—but she needs that power to get through to a saint that would steady her.  Tom Waits said, when he stopped drinking, that you don’t need to be a murderer to write a murder mystery.  Do you need to be in need of St. Dymphna to deliver the song, or do you just need to be a bit bonkers?