I Relate to Nietzsche, But Not for his philosophy

I’ve been thinking a lot about Friedrich Nietzsche lately—not because I’m into his philosophy (though some of it is interesting), but because I relate to his life. Not in a deep intellectual way. More in a very human, very painful one.

I live with a bunch of mental health diagnoses: depression, bipolar disorder, autism, generalized anxiety, and paranoid thoughts. That’s already a lot to carry. On top of that, I deal with physical issues that I still don’t fully understand. My parents don’t talk much about it, honestly I don’t even know if i have a clear diagnosis, but the symptoms are always there—chronic fatigue, constant stomach problems, weak bones, migraines, and a general feeling that my body didn’t fully develop or keep up. Some days I feel like I’m falling apart without knowing why.

And that’s where Nietzsche comes in. He was constantly sick—mentally and physically. He had severe migraines, stomach problems, vision issues, breakdowns. He spent much of his life isolated and misunderstood. People still debate what exactly he was dealing with, but it’s clear that he was suffering, for a long time.

That part of his life speaks to me more than any of his actual writing.

It’s strange to admit that. I sometimes feel like I’m missing the point. Like maybe I should be drawn to him because of his ideas about morality or power or whatever. But instead, I just see someone who was also stuck in a body and brain that didn’t work the way it was supposed to. And I guess that makes me feel less alone.

Sometimes I worry that this way of relating to someone—based on shared pain, not shared thinking—makes me shallow or dumb. But honestly, it’s the part that feels real. I don’t always have the energy to debate philosophy. But I do have the energy to say, “Yeah, this guy went through it too.”

And that matters.

So no, I’m not drawn to Nietzsche because he was a genius. I’m drawn to him because he was sick, struggling, and still trying to make sense of it. Just like I am.