I found this via one of my LiveJournal friends. Go forth and read it. It is a fascinating, beautifully written post about how these young men's endurance was worn down to the breaking point by the bullies.
May the victims of bullying, publicized or not, rest in peace.
Showing posts with label mental health. Show all posts
Showing posts with label mental health. Show all posts
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
Thursday, September 30, 2010
A Note on Suicide
I'm not sure I really need to say this, but trigger warning for discussion of suicide.
I've got suicide on the brain because of the tragedies in the last few weeks of young men who've killed themselves because of bullying related to homophobia. My previous post was about the strength of character and the strength of will that it takes to live with mental illness. I stand by everything I said there.
I've attempted suicide on several occasions, and I know better than I'd like to know how it feels to think that life is not worth living. It sucks to struggle and struggle and feel like you're getting nowhere. It sucks to feel like nobody cares about you, nobody cares about your struggles, your worries, your life.
I never meant to imply or say that suicide is reflective of a lack of strength of character or will. Suicide happens when the seas of life swamp one's boat and one just can't take any more. Suicide is horribly tragic, because for many people who kill themselves, there were people in their lives who were willing to help if only they'd known how bad it was for the person who committed suicide.
There is help. There is hope. Suicidal despair is not a reflection of your character or strength of will. It is not weakness, it is an expression of being overwhelmed in the worst way.
And it is always, always a tragedy when someone commits suicide.
I've got suicide on the brain because of the tragedies in the last few weeks of young men who've killed themselves because of bullying related to homophobia. My previous post was about the strength of character and the strength of will that it takes to live with mental illness. I stand by everything I said there.
I've attempted suicide on several occasions, and I know better than I'd like to know how it feels to think that life is not worth living. It sucks to struggle and struggle and feel like you're getting nowhere. It sucks to feel like nobody cares about you, nobody cares about your struggles, your worries, your life.
I never meant to imply or say that suicide is reflective of a lack of strength of character or will. Suicide happens when the seas of life swamp one's boat and one just can't take any more. Suicide is horribly tragic, because for many people who kill themselves, there were people in their lives who were willing to help if only they'd known how bad it was for the person who committed suicide.
There is help. There is hope. Suicidal despair is not a reflection of your character or strength of will. It is not weakness, it is an expression of being overwhelmed in the worst way.
And it is always, always a tragedy when someone commits suicide.
Crazy Does Not Equal Of Poor Character
Part Four of Crazy Does Not Equal...
[Trigger warning for brief mention of rape, child sexual abuse, more detailed mention of self-injury, and brief allusion to suicide. Be safe.]
Full Disclosure: I have schizoaffective disorder and post-traumatic stress disorder. I have suffered from one form or another of mental illness for most of my life, mostly depression in one form or another, anxiety, and various manifestations of PTSD. I am 34 years old, a cis woman, white and Cherokee, divorced, mother of one completely awesome daughter, bisexual with polyamorous tendencies, a proud bleeding-heart liberal, an eclectic pagan, and completely out of my tree.
I've always been hesitant to be open with people about my mental condition. Mental illness is still hugely stigmatized, and I don't want to be treated as if I'm somehow less than other people because my brain and mind are funky. But I've come to the realization that mental illness will remain stigmatized unless people with mental illnesses are open about their conditions and show the world that we're not what society would have the world believe.
People with mental illnesses are often stereotyped as violent, or, in contrast, figures of fun, to be mocked for “abnormal” behaviors. And if we're not to be feared or made fun of, we're childish and incapable of making our own decisions. Failing that, we're weak-willed or of poor character, often therefore leading to the conclusion that we're responsible for our conditions and could be “normal” if we'd just decide to be. On top of all that, we're often considered lacking in intelligence, which can be part and parcel of the “childish and incapable of making our own decisions” or “weak-willed or of poor character” tropes.
Someone of truly poor character is someone who is deliberately cruel, who lacks compassion, who harms the weak. Poor character is lying, stealing, hurting people, basically living without ethics, and I'm sure there are in fact some people with mental illnesses who are of poor character, just as there are plenty of people who do not have mental illness who are of poor character. But poor character and/or a weak will do not go hand in hand with a psychiatric diagnosis.
People with depression often hear things like, “Cheer up” or “Look on the bright side” or “Why are you so negative?” or worse yet, “Count your blessings.” I don't know about anybody else who's struggled with depression, but all of the above drive me crazier than I already am. If, in a depressive episode, I could cheer up or be more positive, don't you bloody well think I would? Nobody chooses to be depressed. Nobody wants to feel like that. Depression feels like pure hell, and if we could just cheer the fuck up, we would. It's just not that fucking easy. People with PTSD hear similar things. “Why do you have to dwell on the past so much?” drives me right up a wall. [TW: child sexual abuse and rape] Do these people think I want to have flashbacks of being sexually abused (as a child) and raped (as an adult)? Do they think I want to relive terrible, horrific events in my life? Do they really think I'm going through all this for fun? For attention? I know how to get attention. It's called talking. I talk to my family. I talk to my friends. I talk to my therapist. They all pay attention to me when I'm talking. I blog. People read my blog (and my guest posts at Shakesville) and make comments. That's attention.
But some people think that people with mental illnesses (and I've just mentioned the two with which I have the most personal experience) are weak-willed and/or “doing it for attention,” neither of which says much for a person's character. If you really think that people with mental illnesses are weak-willed, go back and read Sometimes Mental Illness Really Just Bites, and maybe, just maybe you'll understand what strength of will it takes to get through life with a mental illness, how hard the day-to-day can be. And believe me, the attention you get when your mental illness symptoms are out of control is NOT the kind of attention people want. Nobody likes to be watched constantly, or committed to a psychiatric ward, or drugged or restrained, all of which have happened to me. Nobody would do that to themselves on purpose, not even someone who is seriously mentally ill.
To clarify, I have put myself in psychiatric wards before, because I could feel things getting out of control and I knew I needed help to regain control. But being involuntarily committed is a world of suck.
[TW: Self-injury]
I used to self-injure, which some people think that people with mental illnesses do for attention. It's not. Again, the attention you get when someone finds out you've been cutting or burning or whatever the hell is not the kind of attention anyone wants. I hid my cuts. I tended to make shallow, small, but painful cuts that could be passed off as cat scratches if anyone saw. I picked at them to keep them from healing too soon, but I never let on what I was doing. I did it because the physical pain made the emotional pain easier to bear. It was cathartic. I haven't cut in over a year, and I don't see myself cutting any time in the foreseeable future, but I remember the relief of physical pain and bleeding. It just made the emotions easier to manage.
I've known quite a fair few self-injurers, and I don't think any of them does/did it for attention. They did it for the same reasons I did, to make the emotional pain easier to take, for the catharsis. People who self-injure are trying to cope with phenomenal loads of pain, often burdens they've borne for their entire lives or close to it. These are not weak people. These are not attention hounds. These are people dealing with HUGE problems, and they're doing the best they can.
People with mental illnesses are not weak. They are dealing with the day-to-day bullshit we all deal with, and with a whole lot more on a day-to-day basis. They are dealing with what I like to call musical meds (when one's psychiatrists are trying everything under the sun and then some to find a medication cocktail that works). They are dealing with symptoms that, like some kind of monster out of Greek mythology, try to drag them down every time they pick themselves up. They are often dealing with loads of pain from childhood or adolescence that would break a weak person.
A weak will does not go hand in hand with a psychiatric diagnosis, nor does poor character. It takes strength and character to live with mental illness. It takes strength and character to get through a day with the symptoms. It takes strength and character to pick oneself up again after yet another episode. I am a person with mental illness, I am strong, and I am not alone.
[Trigger warning for brief mention of rape, child sexual abuse, more detailed mention of self-injury, and brief allusion to suicide. Be safe.]
Full Disclosure: I have schizoaffective disorder and post-traumatic stress disorder. I have suffered from one form or another of mental illness for most of my life, mostly depression in one form or another, anxiety, and various manifestations of PTSD. I am 34 years old, a cis woman, white and Cherokee, divorced, mother of one completely awesome daughter, bisexual with polyamorous tendencies, a proud bleeding-heart liberal, an eclectic pagan, and completely out of my tree.
I've always been hesitant to be open with people about my mental condition. Mental illness is still hugely stigmatized, and I don't want to be treated as if I'm somehow less than other people because my brain and mind are funky. But I've come to the realization that mental illness will remain stigmatized unless people with mental illnesses are open about their conditions and show the world that we're not what society would have the world believe.
People with mental illnesses are often stereotyped as violent, or, in contrast, figures of fun, to be mocked for “abnormal” behaviors. And if we're not to be feared or made fun of, we're childish and incapable of making our own decisions. Failing that, we're weak-willed or of poor character, often therefore leading to the conclusion that we're responsible for our conditions and could be “normal” if we'd just decide to be. On top of all that, we're often considered lacking in intelligence, which can be part and parcel of the “childish and incapable of making our own decisions” or “weak-willed or of poor character” tropes.
Someone of truly poor character is someone who is deliberately cruel, who lacks compassion, who harms the weak. Poor character is lying, stealing, hurting people, basically living without ethics, and I'm sure there are in fact some people with mental illnesses who are of poor character, just as there are plenty of people who do not have mental illness who are of poor character. But poor character and/or a weak will do not go hand in hand with a psychiatric diagnosis.
People with depression often hear things like, “Cheer up” or “Look on the bright side” or “Why are you so negative?” or worse yet, “Count your blessings.” I don't know about anybody else who's struggled with depression, but all of the above drive me crazier than I already am. If, in a depressive episode, I could cheer up or be more positive, don't you bloody well think I would? Nobody chooses to be depressed. Nobody wants to feel like that. Depression feels like pure hell, and if we could just cheer the fuck up, we would. It's just not that fucking easy. People with PTSD hear similar things. “Why do you have to dwell on the past so much?” drives me right up a wall. [TW: child sexual abuse and rape] Do these people think I want to have flashbacks of being sexually abused (as a child) and raped (as an adult)? Do they think I want to relive terrible, horrific events in my life? Do they really think I'm going through all this for fun? For attention? I know how to get attention. It's called talking. I talk to my family. I talk to my friends. I talk to my therapist. They all pay attention to me when I'm talking. I blog. People read my blog (and my guest posts at Shakesville) and make comments. That's attention.
But some people think that people with mental illnesses (and I've just mentioned the two with which I have the most personal experience) are weak-willed and/or “doing it for attention,” neither of which says much for a person's character. If you really think that people with mental illnesses are weak-willed, go back and read Sometimes Mental Illness Really Just Bites, and maybe, just maybe you'll understand what strength of will it takes to get through life with a mental illness, how hard the day-to-day can be. And believe me, the attention you get when your mental illness symptoms are out of control is NOT the kind of attention people want. Nobody likes to be watched constantly, or committed to a psychiatric ward, or drugged or restrained, all of which have happened to me. Nobody would do that to themselves on purpose, not even someone who is seriously mentally ill.
To clarify, I have put myself in psychiatric wards before, because I could feel things getting out of control and I knew I needed help to regain control. But being involuntarily committed is a world of suck.
[TW: Self-injury]
I used to self-injure, which some people think that people with mental illnesses do for attention. It's not. Again, the attention you get when someone finds out you've been cutting or burning or whatever the hell is not the kind of attention anyone wants. I hid my cuts. I tended to make shallow, small, but painful cuts that could be passed off as cat scratches if anyone saw. I picked at them to keep them from healing too soon, but I never let on what I was doing. I did it because the physical pain made the emotional pain easier to bear. It was cathartic. I haven't cut in over a year, and I don't see myself cutting any time in the foreseeable future, but I remember the relief of physical pain and bleeding. It just made the emotions easier to manage.
I've known quite a fair few self-injurers, and I don't think any of them does/did it for attention. They did it for the same reasons I did, to make the emotional pain easier to take, for the catharsis. People who self-injure are trying to cope with phenomenal loads of pain, often burdens they've borne for their entire lives or close to it. These are not weak people. These are not attention hounds. These are people dealing with HUGE problems, and they're doing the best they can.
People with mental illnesses are not weak. They are dealing with the day-to-day bullshit we all deal with, and with a whole lot more on a day-to-day basis. They are dealing with what I like to call musical meds (when one's psychiatrists are trying everything under the sun and then some to find a medication cocktail that works). They are dealing with symptoms that, like some kind of monster out of Greek mythology, try to drag them down every time they pick themselves up. They are often dealing with loads of pain from childhood or adolescence that would break a weak person.
A weak will does not go hand in hand with a psychiatric diagnosis, nor does poor character. It takes strength and character to live with mental illness. It takes strength and character to get through a day with the symptoms. It takes strength and character to pick oneself up again after yet another episode. I am a person with mental illness, I am strong, and I am not alone.
Monday, March 1, 2010
Crazy Does Not Equal A Joke
Part Three of Crazy Does Not Equal...
Full Disclosure: I have schizoaffective disorder and post-traumatic stress disorder. I have suffered from one form or another of mental illness for most of my life, mostly depression in one form or another, anxiety, and various manifestations of PTSD. I am 34 years old, a cis woman, white and Cherokee, divorced, mother of one completely awesome daughter, bisexual with polyamorous tendencies, a proud bleeding-heart liberal, an eclectic pagan, and completely out of my tree.
I've always been hesitant to be open with people about my mental condition. Mental illness is still hugely stigmatized, and I don't want to be treated as if I'm somehow less than other people because my brain and mind are funky. But I've come to the realization that mental illness will remain stigmatized unless people with mental illnesses are open about their conditions and show the world that we're not what society would have the world believe.
People with mental illnesses are often stereotyped as violent, or, in contrast, figures of fun, to be mocked for “abnormal” behaviors. And if we're not to be feared or made fun of, we're childish and incapable of making our own decisions. Failing that, we're weak-willed or of poor character, often therefore leading to the conclusion that we're responsible for our conditions and could be “normal” if we'd just decide to be. On top of all that, we're often considered lacking in intelligence, which can be part and parcel of the “childish and incapable of making our own decisions” or “weak-willed or of poor character” tropes.
My last post not in this series was about how much mental illness can make a person's life really miserable sometimes. And yet people laugh (sometimes nervously) when they see behaviors that originate in mental illness. How many times have we seen a person with mental illness but without a home turned into a joke because zie interacts with zir hallucinations? The homeless person talking to the street lamp, Joon (in the film "Benny and Joon") "directing traffic" with a ping-pong paddle, Carl Lee (in John Gresham's novel A Time To Kill) pretending to catch invisible butterflies before going for a psychiatric evaluation, all played for laughs.
Before I continue, I want to clarify something. People with mental illnesses often laugh at themselves amongst themselves. I once heard a story about a person in a manic episode doing something quite extreme which was pretty amusing and was even more so when the person who did it told the story because zie has a gift for droll, witty delivery. The important point here is that this person told the story, making zirself the butt of zir own joke; that's acceptable, and honestly, the entire room full of people broke up laughing at the story. What would not be acceptable would be for me to tell this story and make this person the butt of my joke, because it's not my illness, it's not my life, it's not my story, and it's therefore not for me to play it for laughs.
Another part of this "joke" concept is that anyone with a wild sense of humor or who often displays zir sense of humor is "crazy" or "insane." How many times have we heard someone called "crazy" when zie is really witty, daring, silly, or just plain humorous? (Martin Lawrence's "You So Crazy" comes right to mind.) This is the ablist side of this trope; people with wild senses of humor may or may not have a mental illness, but they get tagged with a label that might not fit, because people just don't think about what it really is to have a mental illness. Other things get the ablist "crazy" or "insane" label, too, such as the use of "insane" to mean "extreme," as in, "That test was insanely difficult." It's ablist as hell, and it's insulting.
The reality of mental illness can be terribly frightening. When I have hallucinations, some of them scare me half to death. Hearing a voice that threatens you or tells you to kill yourself is not fun. Not sleeping for days is not fun. People in manic episodes have often ruined themselves financially, spending every penny they had and maxing out their credit cards. Depression is not funny; having to force yourself out of bed just to use the bathroom is pure misery, although to be fair, depression is less often made a joke than other sorts of mental illness. Tardive dyskinesia is not funny either; it's a series of physical tics that can result from years of taking psychotropic medications, but people laugh at it anyway.
The plight of the homeless person with mental illness is desperately sad, but no one thinks of that when they make their jokes. Honestly, the idea of being homeless scares me to death, because my own financial situation is wrecked due to years of fighting to be recognized as legally disabled and only by the grace of my upper-middle-class parents am I not in a shelter or on the streets myself. I've lived unable to afford my medications, getting samples from a kind psychiatrist, and I cannot (not to mention will not) laugh at a person with mental illness on the streets. It's too close to home, and it's not fucking funny. I can far too easily see myself in that situation.
A lot of stories of mental illness are funny. Life is funny sometimes, and for people with mental illness, some of the things we do are just plain amusing. For us, making a joke of our own lives, our own stories, our own behaviors is a coping mechanism; it's a common enough coping mechanism, really. Almost everybody makes jokes about themselves. But that doesn't make us a big fucking joke. I am a person with mental illness, I am not a joke, and I am not the only one.
Full Disclosure: I have schizoaffective disorder and post-traumatic stress disorder. I have suffered from one form or another of mental illness for most of my life, mostly depression in one form or another, anxiety, and various manifestations of PTSD. I am 34 years old, a cis woman, white and Cherokee, divorced, mother of one completely awesome daughter, bisexual with polyamorous tendencies, a proud bleeding-heart liberal, an eclectic pagan, and completely out of my tree.
I've always been hesitant to be open with people about my mental condition. Mental illness is still hugely stigmatized, and I don't want to be treated as if I'm somehow less than other people because my brain and mind are funky. But I've come to the realization that mental illness will remain stigmatized unless people with mental illnesses are open about their conditions and show the world that we're not what society would have the world believe.
People with mental illnesses are often stereotyped as violent, or, in contrast, figures of fun, to be mocked for “abnormal” behaviors. And if we're not to be feared or made fun of, we're childish and incapable of making our own decisions. Failing that, we're weak-willed or of poor character, often therefore leading to the conclusion that we're responsible for our conditions and could be “normal” if we'd just decide to be. On top of all that, we're often considered lacking in intelligence, which can be part and parcel of the “childish and incapable of making our own decisions” or “weak-willed or of poor character” tropes.
My last post not in this series was about how much mental illness can make a person's life really miserable sometimes. And yet people laugh (sometimes nervously) when they see behaviors that originate in mental illness. How many times have we seen a person with mental illness but without a home turned into a joke because zie interacts with zir hallucinations? The homeless person talking to the street lamp, Joon (in the film "Benny and Joon") "directing traffic" with a ping-pong paddle, Carl Lee (in John Gresham's novel A Time To Kill) pretending to catch invisible butterflies before going for a psychiatric evaluation, all played for laughs.
Before I continue, I want to clarify something. People with mental illnesses often laugh at themselves amongst themselves. I once heard a story about a person in a manic episode doing something quite extreme which was pretty amusing and was even more so when the person who did it told the story because zie has a gift for droll, witty delivery. The important point here is that this person told the story, making zirself the butt of zir own joke; that's acceptable, and honestly, the entire room full of people broke up laughing at the story. What would not be acceptable would be for me to tell this story and make this person the butt of my joke, because it's not my illness, it's not my life, it's not my story, and it's therefore not for me to play it for laughs.
Another part of this "joke" concept is that anyone with a wild sense of humor or who often displays zir sense of humor is "crazy" or "insane." How many times have we heard someone called "crazy" when zie is really witty, daring, silly, or just plain humorous? (Martin Lawrence's "You So Crazy" comes right to mind.) This is the ablist side of this trope; people with wild senses of humor may or may not have a mental illness, but they get tagged with a label that might not fit, because people just don't think about what it really is to have a mental illness. Other things get the ablist "crazy" or "insane" label, too, such as the use of "insane" to mean "extreme," as in, "That test was insanely difficult." It's ablist as hell, and it's insulting.
The reality of mental illness can be terribly frightening. When I have hallucinations, some of them scare me half to death. Hearing a voice that threatens you or tells you to kill yourself is not fun. Not sleeping for days is not fun. People in manic episodes have often ruined themselves financially, spending every penny they had and maxing out their credit cards. Depression is not funny; having to force yourself out of bed just to use the bathroom is pure misery, although to be fair, depression is less often made a joke than other sorts of mental illness. Tardive dyskinesia is not funny either; it's a series of physical tics that can result from years of taking psychotropic medications, but people laugh at it anyway.
The plight of the homeless person with mental illness is desperately sad, but no one thinks of that when they make their jokes. Honestly, the idea of being homeless scares me to death, because my own financial situation is wrecked due to years of fighting to be recognized as legally disabled and only by the grace of my upper-middle-class parents am I not in a shelter or on the streets myself. I've lived unable to afford my medications, getting samples from a kind psychiatrist, and I cannot (not to mention will not) laugh at a person with mental illness on the streets. It's too close to home, and it's not fucking funny. I can far too easily see myself in that situation.
A lot of stories of mental illness are funny. Life is funny sometimes, and for people with mental illness, some of the things we do are just plain amusing. For us, making a joke of our own lives, our own stories, our own behaviors is a coping mechanism; it's a common enough coping mechanism, really. Almost everybody makes jokes about themselves. But that doesn't make us a big fucking joke. I am a person with mental illness, I am not a joke, and I am not the only one.
Friday, February 26, 2010
Sometimes Mental Illness Really Just Bites
So I've been rapid-cycling here lately, ranging from near-suicidally depressed to so manic I can't sleep for--fuck, I don't know, over a day and a half, anyway.
Most of my posts about mental illness so far have been about the stigma, but right now I feel the need to address my illness itself.
I have schizoaffective disorder (bipolar subtype, and apparently rapid-cycling now), which means that without medications I hallucinate and become delusional (usually paranoid), and that my moods are all over the gorram map. Even with medications my moods are all over the map, as I am taking my meds as prescribed and STILL rapid-cycling.
I'm sincerely hoping I don't have to be inpatient again, because it's a pain in the ass. You have to eat and sleep (and smoke--shame on me) on someone else's schedule, which bugs the crap out of me. I don't mind keeping a schedule, but let me set it and let me be in charge of it as if I were an intelligent adult, which, despite my illness, I like to think I am.
I've let myself get off my schedule at home because I got sick with what transpired to be the allergy attack from hell, and maybe that's why everything went all pear-shaped on me here lately.
But earlier this week, I was struggling with the desire to harm myself, feeling that I was worthless and useless and deserved to be punished. Earlier today in a burst of weird optimism, I was job-hunting, knowing full well that I can't work.
This bouncing back and forth all over the emotional continuum is tiring. I'm so tired right now I can hardly see straight. The only part of me that's not tired is my brain which simply will not SHUT UP and let me sleep.
This is what I live with. This is my life right now, and I know I'm not the only one who lives with mood swings, sleeplessness, depression, self-injury urges, suicidal thoughts, etc. People who live with mental illness(es) have to put up with a form of hell no one but the cruelest would wish upon zir worst enemy.
And then, on top of all that, there's the stigma. The labels. The way people treat you like you're stupid, or too fragile to handle [insert whatever here], or like you might snap at any moment and start hurting people. The friends who don't know what to say or do when you finally get the guts up to tell them about your illness. The family who think you might hurt them, when you know damn good and well that you'd never do such a thing.
The illness is enough to fight sometimes, but I feel called to fight the stigma too. I feel like I have to be open about my illness and be articulate enough to show the world that crazy does not equal stupid, or violent, or any of the other nine zillion things that the general public seems to think apply to people with mental illness(es).
Right now, all I can fight is the illness. But I'll promise you this. I'll be back when I can, to fight the stigma too. I have to. To paraphrase from Maud (a commenter at Shakesville), if I don't speak up, I may not change anyone, but if I let the world silence me, I've let the world change me. I'm willing to change, but I'm not willing to be silenced. I have a voice. I have been privileged enough to receive a liberal arts education and typing skills and internet access to create this little corner of the 'Web, and I am damn sure going to use it.
Most of my posts about mental illness so far have been about the stigma, but right now I feel the need to address my illness itself.
I have schizoaffective disorder (bipolar subtype, and apparently rapid-cycling now), which means that without medications I hallucinate and become delusional (usually paranoid), and that my moods are all over the gorram map. Even with medications my moods are all over the map, as I am taking my meds as prescribed and STILL rapid-cycling.
I'm sincerely hoping I don't have to be inpatient again, because it's a pain in the ass. You have to eat and sleep (and smoke--shame on me) on someone else's schedule, which bugs the crap out of me. I don't mind keeping a schedule, but let me set it and let me be in charge of it as if I were an intelligent adult, which, despite my illness, I like to think I am.
I've let myself get off my schedule at home because I got sick with what transpired to be the allergy attack from hell, and maybe that's why everything went all pear-shaped on me here lately.
But earlier this week, I was struggling with the desire to harm myself, feeling that I was worthless and useless and deserved to be punished. Earlier today in a burst of weird optimism, I was job-hunting, knowing full well that I can't work.
This bouncing back and forth all over the emotional continuum is tiring. I'm so tired right now I can hardly see straight. The only part of me that's not tired is my brain which simply will not SHUT UP and let me sleep.
This is what I live with. This is my life right now, and I know I'm not the only one who lives with mood swings, sleeplessness, depression, self-injury urges, suicidal thoughts, etc. People who live with mental illness(es) have to put up with a form of hell no one but the cruelest would wish upon zir worst enemy.
And then, on top of all that, there's the stigma. The labels. The way people treat you like you're stupid, or too fragile to handle [insert whatever here], or like you might snap at any moment and start hurting people. The friends who don't know what to say or do when you finally get the guts up to tell them about your illness. The family who think you might hurt them, when you know damn good and well that you'd never do such a thing.
The illness is enough to fight sometimes, but I feel called to fight the stigma too. I feel like I have to be open about my illness and be articulate enough to show the world that crazy does not equal stupid, or violent, or any of the other nine zillion things that the general public seems to think apply to people with mental illness(es).
Right now, all I can fight is the illness. But I'll promise you this. I'll be back when I can, to fight the stigma too. I have to. To paraphrase from Maud (a commenter at Shakesville), if I don't speak up, I may not change anyone, but if I let the world silence me, I've let the world change me. I'm willing to change, but I'm not willing to be silenced. I have a voice. I have been privileged enough to receive a liberal arts education and typing skills and internet access to create this little corner of the 'Web, and I am damn sure going to use it.
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Explanations and Such
Okay, it's early in October and I said I'd be back, so here I am.
However, I will probably not be posting much for at least the next month or so. Suffice it to say the house move is not completed yet, and life has gone a bit pear-shaped in a lot of ways.
I spent 21-30 September as an inpatient in a behavioral health center, because my anxiety and hallucinations had just gotten to be more than I could handle. I am now in intensive outpatient treatment, which will continue at least through the rest of October but could go longer than that, so I will not have much time to blog here.
In any case, I still care deeply about the issues of human equality that led me to start this blog in the first place; I just need to take some time to take care of myself before I can raise my pen (or tap my keyboard) in defense of others.
Bright blessing attend you!
However, I will probably not be posting much for at least the next month or so. Suffice it to say the house move is not completed yet, and life has gone a bit pear-shaped in a lot of ways.
I spent 21-30 September as an inpatient in a behavioral health center, because my anxiety and hallucinations had just gotten to be more than I could handle. I am now in intensive outpatient treatment, which will continue at least through the rest of October but could go longer than that, so I will not have much time to blog here.
In any case, I still care deeply about the issues of human equality that led me to start this blog in the first place; I just need to take some time to take care of myself before I can raise my pen (or tap my keyboard) in defense of others.
Bright blessing attend you!
Monday, September 7, 2009
How to React if Someone You Know Tells You Zie Has a Mental Illness
There is a website called What A Difference that has a lot of good information about this very topic. I’ve seen the advertisements on TV and the site says they’ve also made ads for radio, although I personally haven’t heard any. But a lot of people haven’t seen or heard the ads or discovered the website. So here, as concisely as I can, I’m going to enumerate, from the point of view of a person with mental illness, how to behave if someone you know tells you zie has a mental illness.
First off, because of the way society at large views people with mental illnesses, zie has probably spent a lot of time considering whether to tell you about zir diagnosis. Zie may be afraid that you will drop zie as a friend or, if zie is a family member, refuse to see zie or refuse to allow zie near the children or something like that. So remember that it takes a lot of courage and trust for a person with a mental illness (or several mental illnesses) to come to you in the first place and tell you about zir diagnosis. Chances are, you’ve known zie for a while now, or else zie wouldn’t trust you enough to tell you.
Secondly, given that you and zie have probably known one another for a while, zie has probably known about zir diagnosis or diagnoses for some time and has probably been experiencing symptoms before diagnosis (if zie didn’t have any symptoms, why would zie see a mental health care provider to get a diagnosis in the first place?). So zie has been a person with mental illness for a while now, and zie has been your friend, relative, coworker, classmate, or what-have-you all this time; are you going to treat zie differently just because you know something about zie that you didn’t know before? If zie told you something else about zirself that did not indicate zie was involved in any sort of criminal or exploitative activity, like zie collects seashells of the exact color of the complexion of zir first sexual partner (just for something admittedly a mite unusual that nonetheless means nothing harmful), would that change whether zie is a good friend (or loving relative, or competent coworker or interesting classmate or what-have-you)? Whatever drew you and zie together has not changed because zie has told you zie has a mental illness. Zie is still the same person you’ve known and cared about for however long you’ve known and cared about each other.
Third, please do not broadcast zir diagnosis to everybody you both know. Having a mental illness is really not a good cause for feeling ashamed, since having a mental illness does not mean someone is violent, stupid, weak-willed, or a bad person, simply that zie has a medical condition over which zie has little if any control, just as if zie had diabetes, or epilepsy, or an allergy to peanuts. However, the world at large tends to treat people with mental illnesses as if the state of having a mental illness somehow makes someone a bad person, and thus, a lot of people with mental illnesses are hesitant to let it be known that they have a mental illness (or more than one). Let zie choose whom zie wishes to tell about zir diagnosis.
Last, and most important, just be there for zie. Be zir friend, or relative, or coworker, or classmate, or what-have-you. Have lunch together. Talk on the phone. Text zie. Keep zie on your Facebook friends list. Just be there. Accept zie for who zie is. I cannot stress enough how important it is for people with mental illnesses to have people in their lives who care about them and support them by just being there.
Your friend (or relative or coworker or classmate or what-have-you) is still your friend (or whatever zie has always been to you). Don’t treat zie any differently because zie has had the courage to trust you with zir diagnosis.
First off, because of the way society at large views people with mental illnesses, zie has probably spent a lot of time considering whether to tell you about zir diagnosis. Zie may be afraid that you will drop zie as a friend or, if zie is a family member, refuse to see zie or refuse to allow zie near the children or something like that. So remember that it takes a lot of courage and trust for a person with a mental illness (or several mental illnesses) to come to you in the first place and tell you about zir diagnosis. Chances are, you’ve known zie for a while now, or else zie wouldn’t trust you enough to tell you.
Secondly, given that you and zie have probably known one another for a while, zie has probably known about zir diagnosis or diagnoses for some time and has probably been experiencing symptoms before diagnosis (if zie didn’t have any symptoms, why would zie see a mental health care provider to get a diagnosis in the first place?). So zie has been a person with mental illness for a while now, and zie has been your friend, relative, coworker, classmate, or what-have-you all this time; are you going to treat zie differently just because you know something about zie that you didn’t know before? If zie told you something else about zirself that did not indicate zie was involved in any sort of criminal or exploitative activity, like zie collects seashells of the exact color of the complexion of zir first sexual partner (just for something admittedly a mite unusual that nonetheless means nothing harmful), would that change whether zie is a good friend (or loving relative, or competent coworker or interesting classmate or what-have-you)? Whatever drew you and zie together has not changed because zie has told you zie has a mental illness. Zie is still the same person you’ve known and cared about for however long you’ve known and cared about each other.
Third, please do not broadcast zir diagnosis to everybody you both know. Having a mental illness is really not a good cause for feeling ashamed, since having a mental illness does not mean someone is violent, stupid, weak-willed, or a bad person, simply that zie has a medical condition over which zie has little if any control, just as if zie had diabetes, or epilepsy, or an allergy to peanuts. However, the world at large tends to treat people with mental illnesses as if the state of having a mental illness somehow makes someone a bad person, and thus, a lot of people with mental illnesses are hesitant to let it be known that they have a mental illness (or more than one). Let zie choose whom zie wishes to tell about zir diagnosis.
Last, and most important, just be there for zie. Be zir friend, or relative, or coworker, or classmate, or what-have-you. Have lunch together. Talk on the phone. Text zie. Keep zie on your Facebook friends list. Just be there. Accept zie for who zie is. I cannot stress enough how important it is for people with mental illnesses to have people in their lives who care about them and support them by just being there.
Your friend (or relative or coworker or classmate or what-have-you) is still your friend (or whatever zie has always been to you). Don’t treat zie any differently because zie has had the courage to trust you with zir diagnosis.
Sunday, September 6, 2009
Crazy Does Not Equal Stupid
Part Two of Crazy Does Not Equal...
Full Disclosure: I have schizoaffective disorder and post-traumatic stress disorder. I have suffered from one form or another of mental illness for most of my life, mostly depression in one form or another, anxiety, and various manifestations of PTSD. I am 33 years old, a ciswoman, white and Cherokee, divorced, mother of one completely awesome daughter, owned by two adorable tabby cats, bisexual with polyamorous tendencies, a proud bleeding-heart liberal, an eclectic pagan, and completely out of my tree.
I've always been hesitant to be open with people about my mental condition. Mental illness is still HUGELY stigmatized, and I don't want to be treated as if I'm somehow less than other people because my brain and mind are funky. But I've come to the realization that mental illness will remain stigmatized unless people with mental illnesses are open about their conditions and show the world that we're not what society would have the world believe.
People with mental illnesses are often stereotyped as violent, or, in contrast, figures of fun, to be mocked for “abnormal” behaviors. And if we're not to be feared or made fun of, we're childish and incapable of making our own decisions. Failing that, we're weak-willed or of poor character, often therefore leading to the conclusion that we're responsible for our conditions and could be “normal” if we'd just decide to be. On top of all that, we're often considered lacking in intelligence, which can be part and parcel of the “childish and incapable of making our own decisions” or “weak-willed or of poor character” tropes.
In this post I’m going to address the stereotype that people with mental illnesses lack intelligence or are otherwise incapable of thinking for ourselves or making our own decisions. (Yes, I know, I’m not addressing these tropes in the order listed above. I’m dealing with each stereotype as I damn well feel like it.) I’m going to get pretty personal on this one, because this stereotype is my single most hated of all.
If you ask people with mental illnesses who have received treatment, be it psychiatric (medications, hospitalization, etc.) or psychological (counseling, support groups, etc.), many of them will tell you that psychiatric and psychological health care providers can be horribly condescending. Many are not, and many providers who begin their relationships with patients with that condescending attitude can be brought up short by a patient either refusing to tolerate the condescension and/or showing the provider that, as a matter of fact, people with mental illnesses can be and often are intelligent people. Some providers, no matter what anyone does, are just asshats. Some people are just asshats, and that seems to apply across all lines we draw and all categories into which we place ourselves.
The title of this post and this series of posts actually comes from something I said one time. At the time I was attending a support group for people with affective (mood) disorders. The support group leader had asked permission to allow a few nursing students who were considering specializing in psychiatric nursing to sit it on a group meeting. We did our usual group stuff, and then the leader asked around the room if any of us had any tips for these students. I looked the students in the eyes individually and then said, “Crazy does not equal stupid. PLEASE do not treat your patients like they’re idiots just because you’re seeing them in a psychiatric clinical setting.” Damn near everyone else in the group (all adults with histories of dealing with psychiatric and psychological health care providers) agreed almost immediately.
I guess this particular stereotype irks me so badly because I am intelligent, in fact outright nerdy, and I REALLY hate being treated as if I’m stupid when I know bloody fucking well I’m far from it. I have a high school diploma and a Bachelor of Arts degree in English with a minor in psychology; I was an honor student for most of my academic career. In addition to English I can also speak, read, and write Spanish, and read and write French and Latin. This is definitely anecdata, but I’ve known a lot of people with mental illnesses, and if I’ve met as many smart crazy people as I have, I’m fairly confident that stupidity is not rampant among the population of people with mental illnesses. The films “A Beautiful Mind” and “Shine” seem to have helped with this stereotype a little, as they both depicted people with severe mental illnesses who were highly intelligent and/or highly talented. But there are plenty of people out there, some of them in the mental health care professions, who still believe that mental illnesses render people incapable of logical thought, intelligence, or thinking for themselves.
I’ve been hospitalized for psychiatric reasons on quite a few occasions. One time, I had to go to the county facility because I was severely suicidal, but I had no medical insurance and was too ill to work and was still fighting Social Security for my disability benefits. Having been hospitalized for psychiatric reasons before, in private hospitals covered by medical insurance I had at the time, I packed a couple of changes of clothing, my personal toiletries (soap, shampoo, deodorant, tampons and pads, comb, toothbrush, a few other things like that), and a couple of books to read because I almost never go anywhere without something to read (I think it’s an English major thing). Silly me.
When I entered the facility, my purse and the tote bag in which I had packed my clothes, books, and toiletries were both confiscated from me, which in and of itself did not particularly surprise me, but I thought that they were just going to lock my purse in a safe (usual procedure with patient valuables in any hospital) and search my tote bag to make sure there wasn’t anything in there I could use to hurt myself or someone else or any illegal drugs or whatnot like that. No. They took my tote bag, gave me my housecoat, a change of trousers, two paperback books, and put me on the ward, keeping the rest of my belongings locked up at the security desk. No change of underwear, no toiletries. I asked the next day if I could please have an actual shirt, clean underwear, and my toiletries so that I could, oh, I don’t know, take a shower. I was told that somebody would do it and bring my stuff to me but nobody had time to do it right then. Okay, fine. I went into my room and read. Several hours later, I asked again if I could please have a shirt, clean underwear, and my toiletries so that I could shower. Again, I was told nobody had time to do it right then but somebody would and they would bring me my stuff then. The next day, I asked again. Third verse, same as the first. Later in the day, FOURTH verse, same as the first. I went to bed for the second night in a row without being able to shower or brush my teeth or comb my hair, and still wearing the same shirt, bra, underpants, and trousers I’d worn when I’d checked in two days previously.
The next day, my period started, which I had been expecting, as you might have guessed by my decision to pack tampons and pads. I asked, yet again, if I could PLEASE have clean clothes and my toiletries so that I could shower. Can you guess what they told me? At that point, I lost my temper completely, screaming that I’d been asking for something as simple as MY OWN CLEAN CLOTHES and MY OWN TOILETRIES so that I could take a fucking shower on multiple occasions for TWO FUCKING DAYS. Various employees tried to tell me to calm down and be reasonable. I screamed that I’d been reasonable and calm for the last two days and it wasn’t fucking working and that it shouldn’t be this much trouble to get a fucking shower. I then screamed that my period had started and I’d like to bathe or at the very least not bleed all over everything. They gave me a pad from behind the nurse’s station, of a cheap brand that irritated my vulva and upper inner thighs (I have sensitive skin, and nowhere is my skin more sensitive than in the lady bits). When I was finally discharged, I told my then-boyfriend (who had insisted I be hospitalized because I was suicidal) that I’d seriously rather commit suicide than be there again.
This experience was probably an intersection of prejudice against people with mental illnesses and against people with no medical coverage and no money, because never before had I been treated that way by mental health professionals. Apparently, people with mental illnesses who have no medical coverage and/or money don't deserve to have their own clothing nor use their own toiletries whilst hospitalized for psychiatric reasons, and, should they dare to request their own clothing and toiletries, they are being unreasonable, because no person with a mental illness could possibly be so reasonable as to want soap, shampoo, and deodorant to take a shower and clean clothing to wear after showering.
After that, I found out about a program at a local private hospital called Charity Care, which helps pay or entirely pays hospital bills for people who need hospitalization (not just for psychiatric reasons, anything really) but have no coverage and/or no way to pay. Thereafter, I went to that hospital, and was treated like a human being who just needed some help.
The private hospitals aren’t perfect either. I’ve seen plenty of psychiatric nurses and nursing assistants who seem surprised when psychiatric patients show intelligence or critical thinking skills or anything that might make you think, “Holy shit, this person is smart (or at least not stupid).” I’ve known plenty of psychiatrists, psychiatric nurse practitioners, clinical psychologists, and counselors of various stripes to do the same, and, although the “Wow, she’s intelligent and articulate” reaction of surprise and the usual subsequent change in behavior is annoying, it’s better than continued condescension.
It seems like the general public also tends to think that people with mental illnesses are lacking intelligence or the capability to think for themselves. Honestly, there are times when the latter is true, even of me. I’ve had several episodes of psychotic behavior during which I wasn’t capable of thinking for myself or making decisions for myself. However, for the great majority of my time, even though I experience psychotic symptoms on a more-or-less daily basis, I am perfectly capable of driving a car (even a stick shift), cooking meals, shopping for groceries, reading and comprehending what I’ve read, writing coherent (and often complex) sentences (betcha hadn’t noticed that), carrying on an intelligent conversation, and otherwise not being an idiot. I’m not an idiot, and I’m not the only person with mental illness who isn’t an idiot. Please don’t treat people with mental illnesses like they lack intelligence; chances are, they don’t.
Or, to quote the Roman Stoic philosopher Seneca, “Nullum magnum ingenium sine mixtura dementiae fuit,” which translates as “There has never been any great [talent or genius, the word can be translated either way] without an element of madness.”
Full Disclosure: I have schizoaffective disorder and post-traumatic stress disorder. I have suffered from one form or another of mental illness for most of my life, mostly depression in one form or another, anxiety, and various manifestations of PTSD. I am 33 years old, a ciswoman, white and Cherokee, divorced, mother of one completely awesome daughter, owned by two adorable tabby cats, bisexual with polyamorous tendencies, a proud bleeding-heart liberal, an eclectic pagan, and completely out of my tree.
I've always been hesitant to be open with people about my mental condition. Mental illness is still HUGELY stigmatized, and I don't want to be treated as if I'm somehow less than other people because my brain and mind are funky. But I've come to the realization that mental illness will remain stigmatized unless people with mental illnesses are open about their conditions and show the world that we're not what society would have the world believe.
People with mental illnesses are often stereotyped as violent, or, in contrast, figures of fun, to be mocked for “abnormal” behaviors. And if we're not to be feared or made fun of, we're childish and incapable of making our own decisions. Failing that, we're weak-willed or of poor character, often therefore leading to the conclusion that we're responsible for our conditions and could be “normal” if we'd just decide to be. On top of all that, we're often considered lacking in intelligence, which can be part and parcel of the “childish and incapable of making our own decisions” or “weak-willed or of poor character” tropes.
In this post I’m going to address the stereotype that people with mental illnesses lack intelligence or are otherwise incapable of thinking for ourselves or making our own decisions. (Yes, I know, I’m not addressing these tropes in the order listed above. I’m dealing with each stereotype as I damn well feel like it.) I’m going to get pretty personal on this one, because this stereotype is my single most hated of all.
If you ask people with mental illnesses who have received treatment, be it psychiatric (medications, hospitalization, etc.) or psychological (counseling, support groups, etc.), many of them will tell you that psychiatric and psychological health care providers can be horribly condescending. Many are not, and many providers who begin their relationships with patients with that condescending attitude can be brought up short by a patient either refusing to tolerate the condescension and/or showing the provider that, as a matter of fact, people with mental illnesses can be and often are intelligent people. Some providers, no matter what anyone does, are just asshats. Some people are just asshats, and that seems to apply across all lines we draw and all categories into which we place ourselves.
The title of this post and this series of posts actually comes from something I said one time. At the time I was attending a support group for people with affective (mood) disorders. The support group leader had asked permission to allow a few nursing students who were considering specializing in psychiatric nursing to sit it on a group meeting. We did our usual group stuff, and then the leader asked around the room if any of us had any tips for these students. I looked the students in the eyes individually and then said, “Crazy does not equal stupid. PLEASE do not treat your patients like they’re idiots just because you’re seeing them in a psychiatric clinical setting.” Damn near everyone else in the group (all adults with histories of dealing with psychiatric and psychological health care providers) agreed almost immediately.
I guess this particular stereotype irks me so badly because I am intelligent, in fact outright nerdy, and I REALLY hate being treated as if I’m stupid when I know bloody fucking well I’m far from it. I have a high school diploma and a Bachelor of Arts degree in English with a minor in psychology; I was an honor student for most of my academic career. In addition to English I can also speak, read, and write Spanish, and read and write French and Latin. This is definitely anecdata, but I’ve known a lot of people with mental illnesses, and if I’ve met as many smart crazy people as I have, I’m fairly confident that stupidity is not rampant among the population of people with mental illnesses. The films “A Beautiful Mind” and “Shine” seem to have helped with this stereotype a little, as they both depicted people with severe mental illnesses who were highly intelligent and/or highly talented. But there are plenty of people out there, some of them in the mental health care professions, who still believe that mental illnesses render people incapable of logical thought, intelligence, or thinking for themselves.
I’ve been hospitalized for psychiatric reasons on quite a few occasions. One time, I had to go to the county facility because I was severely suicidal, but I had no medical insurance and was too ill to work and was still fighting Social Security for my disability benefits. Having been hospitalized for psychiatric reasons before, in private hospitals covered by medical insurance I had at the time, I packed a couple of changes of clothing, my personal toiletries (soap, shampoo, deodorant, tampons and pads, comb, toothbrush, a few other things like that), and a couple of books to read because I almost never go anywhere without something to read (I think it’s an English major thing). Silly me.
When I entered the facility, my purse and the tote bag in which I had packed my clothes, books, and toiletries were both confiscated from me, which in and of itself did not particularly surprise me, but I thought that they were just going to lock my purse in a safe (usual procedure with patient valuables in any hospital) and search my tote bag to make sure there wasn’t anything in there I could use to hurt myself or someone else or any illegal drugs or whatnot like that. No. They took my tote bag, gave me my housecoat, a change of trousers, two paperback books, and put me on the ward, keeping the rest of my belongings locked up at the security desk. No change of underwear, no toiletries. I asked the next day if I could please have an actual shirt, clean underwear, and my toiletries so that I could, oh, I don’t know, take a shower. I was told that somebody would do it and bring my stuff to me but nobody had time to do it right then. Okay, fine. I went into my room and read. Several hours later, I asked again if I could please have a shirt, clean underwear, and my toiletries so that I could shower. Again, I was told nobody had time to do it right then but somebody would and they would bring me my stuff then. The next day, I asked again. Third verse, same as the first. Later in the day, FOURTH verse, same as the first. I went to bed for the second night in a row without being able to shower or brush my teeth or comb my hair, and still wearing the same shirt, bra, underpants, and trousers I’d worn when I’d checked in two days previously.
The next day, my period started, which I had been expecting, as you might have guessed by my decision to pack tampons and pads. I asked, yet again, if I could PLEASE have clean clothes and my toiletries so that I could shower. Can you guess what they told me? At that point, I lost my temper completely, screaming that I’d been asking for something as simple as MY OWN CLEAN CLOTHES and MY OWN TOILETRIES so that I could take a fucking shower on multiple occasions for TWO FUCKING DAYS. Various employees tried to tell me to calm down and be reasonable. I screamed that I’d been reasonable and calm for the last two days and it wasn’t fucking working and that it shouldn’t be this much trouble to get a fucking shower. I then screamed that my period had started and I’d like to bathe or at the very least not bleed all over everything. They gave me a pad from behind the nurse’s station, of a cheap brand that irritated my vulva and upper inner thighs (I have sensitive skin, and nowhere is my skin more sensitive than in the lady bits). When I was finally discharged, I told my then-boyfriend (who had insisted I be hospitalized because I was suicidal) that I’d seriously rather commit suicide than be there again.
This experience was probably an intersection of prejudice against people with mental illnesses and against people with no medical coverage and no money, because never before had I been treated that way by mental health professionals. Apparently, people with mental illnesses who have no medical coverage and/or money don't deserve to have their own clothing nor use their own toiletries whilst hospitalized for psychiatric reasons, and, should they dare to request their own clothing and toiletries, they are being unreasonable, because no person with a mental illness could possibly be so reasonable as to want soap, shampoo, and deodorant to take a shower and clean clothing to wear after showering.
After that, I found out about a program at a local private hospital called Charity Care, which helps pay or entirely pays hospital bills for people who need hospitalization (not just for psychiatric reasons, anything really) but have no coverage and/or no way to pay. Thereafter, I went to that hospital, and was treated like a human being who just needed some help.
The private hospitals aren’t perfect either. I’ve seen plenty of psychiatric nurses and nursing assistants who seem surprised when psychiatric patients show intelligence or critical thinking skills or anything that might make you think, “Holy shit, this person is smart (or at least not stupid).” I’ve known plenty of psychiatrists, psychiatric nurse practitioners, clinical psychologists, and counselors of various stripes to do the same, and, although the “Wow, she’s intelligent and articulate” reaction of surprise and the usual subsequent change in behavior is annoying, it’s better than continued condescension.
It seems like the general public also tends to think that people with mental illnesses are lacking intelligence or the capability to think for themselves. Honestly, there are times when the latter is true, even of me. I’ve had several episodes of psychotic behavior during which I wasn’t capable of thinking for myself or making decisions for myself. However, for the great majority of my time, even though I experience psychotic symptoms on a more-or-less daily basis, I am perfectly capable of driving a car (even a stick shift), cooking meals, shopping for groceries, reading and comprehending what I’ve read, writing coherent (and often complex) sentences (betcha hadn’t noticed that), carrying on an intelligent conversation, and otherwise not being an idiot. I’m not an idiot, and I’m not the only person with mental illness who isn’t an idiot. Please don’t treat people with mental illnesses like they lack intelligence; chances are, they don’t.
Or, to quote the Roman Stoic philosopher Seneca, “Nullum magnum ingenium sine mixtura dementiae fuit,” which translates as “There has never been any great [talent or genius, the word can be translated either way] without an element of madness.”
Friday, September 4, 2009
Crazy Does Not Equal Violent
This is my first post in a series entitled "Crazy Does Not Equal...", in which I intend to explore the stereotypes about people with mental illnesses and how those stereotypes hurt people REGARDLESS of their mental health status. I have submitted the following to Melissa McEwan in hopes that she will use it as a guest post on Shakesville, which has a lot more readers than I do so far.
Full Disclosure: I have schizoaffective disorder and post-traumatic stress disorder. I have suffered from one form or another of mental illness for most of my life, mostly depression in one form or another, anxiety, and various manifestations of PTSD. I am 33 years old, a ciswoman, white and Cherokee, divorced, mother of one completely awesome daughter, owned by two adorable tabby cats, bisexual with polyamorous tendencies, a proud bleeding-heart liberal, an eclectic pagan, and completely out of my tree.
I've always been hesitant to be open with people about my mental condition. Mental illness is still HUGELY stigmatized, and I don't want to be treated as if I'm somehow less than other people because my brain and mind are funky. But I've come to the realization that mental illness will remain stigmatized unless people with mental illnesses are open about their conditions and show the world that we're not what society would have the world believe.
People with mental illnesses are often stereotyped as violent, or, in contrast, figures of fun, to be mocked for “abnormal” behaviors. And if we're not to be feared or made fun of, we're childish and incapable of making our own decisions. Failing that, we're weak-willed or of poor character, often therefore leading to the conclusion that we're responsible for our conditions and could be “normal” if we'd just decide to be. On top of all that, we're often considered lacking in intelligence, which can be part and parcel of the “childish and incapable of making our own decisions” or “weak-willed or of poor character” tropes.
Let's lay this out one by one. In this post I'm going to address the stereotype of people with mental illnesses as violent. People with mental illnesses are FAR more likely to be victims of violence than perpetrators. A study done by North Carolina State University and Duke University around 2000 revealed that people with serious mental illness (defined as schizophrenia, bipolar disorder [commonly called manic-depression], or psychosis [which is actually an umbrella term that covers a number of illnesses with symptoms involving hallucinations, delusions, and other disturbances in perception]) were 2.5 times more likely to be attacked, raped, or mugged than the general population. Another study showed that mental illness alone is a very poor predictor of future violence. (Pile on a substance abuse disorder, and you might have a problem, but mental illness alone, not so much. In fact, substance abuse alone is a MUCH better predictor of violent behavior, even without the presence of a mental illness.)
I'm going to put this in personal perspective. I needed to go stay with my parents for a while, shortly after I had finally told them about my condition. (They knew about some of my earlier struggles with depression and PTSD, but not about the psychotic symptoms nor the severity of my symptoms in adulthood.) My stepfather, who at that point had known me for over 20 years, during at least 10 of which I shared his home, asked me in all earnestness if he would wake up one morning with me standing over his bed holding a knife. It made me want to cry. In the moment, I answered, no, I'm not a danger to anyone (except myself, sometimes, but I didn't want to get into my self-injury and suicidal tendencies with him right then). Later on, I thought, “Jesus H. Christ on rollerskates, the man has known me for 2/3 of my life and he thinks I'd hurt him? Family? Someone I love, who has pulled my ass out of more slings than I care to count?”
And I'm not going to try to count the number of news stories that harp on the mental illness (or possible mental illness) of perpetuators of violence. Just to quote a recent one, how many of the stories covering the rampage on women of George Sodini characterized Sodini as mentally ill in some fashion ("crazy", "insane", insert adjective here)? I don't know if Sodini was mentally ill or not, I don't give a damn, and it's not the fucking point. The point is, he was a misogynist asshat who thought that all women were to blame for the fact that he couldn't get a date, and he got VALIDATION of that from numerous websites and books perpetuating the idea that women's bodies are public property and/or financial commodities. The other point is, even if he was mentally ill, his misogyny is what led him to shoot those women in that health club, NOT any mental condition, and by calling him "crazy" or "insane" or whatever, the media has done yet another disservice to people with mental illness. We have enough stigma to overcome without every news channel calling perpetrators of violence "crazy" or "insane" or whatever whenever some horrific act of violence occurs that often has little to nothing to do with mental illness and more to do with societal prejudices and beliefs taken to a violent extreme.
People with mental illnesses suffer enough from the illnesses themselves. In my own life, I've wrestled with suicide countless times; I've cut myself, scratched myself, beaten myself in the face and head. I also fight, EVERY SINGLE DAY, with perceptions that may or may not reflect reality. One of the symptoms of schizoaffective disorder is extremely vivid dreams. Sometimes I'm not sure if I dreamt something or if it actually happened. Sometimes I see things that either no one else can see (bugs crawling on walls or my skin) or that logic tells me cannot be (inanimate objects moving towards me menacingly). Sometimes, I'll see/read/hear something that triggers me into a panic attack. And that's just my life. That's my personal daily struggle, along with the other, more ordinary daily struggles like "what the hell am I going to cook for supper?" and "oh shit, I have to do laundry again" and "damn, the car needs an oil change."
And then the stigma piles onto the daily struggle. How many people suffer without help because they're afraid to ask because of stigma? How many people seek help but keep it a secret, not telling family or friends who might be willing and able to help, because of stigma?
There's been a series of public service announcements on TV (and according to that site, on radio, but I've never heard the radio ads) about how to deal with it if a friend tells you zie has a mental illness. They're really great ads; they tell the public that your friend is still your friend even if zie has a mental illness (which should be a colossal "DUH!" but often is not) and that continuing to be zir friend can be a HUGE help in zir treatment (which is very true), but, in the face of the number of times the media perpetuates stereotypes of people with mental illness, they are teaspoons emptying the sea.
So is this post, and the ones I'm planning to continue to explore the stereotypes of people with mental illnesses and how they hurt, not only people with mental illnesses, but everybody. People with mental illnesses are PEOPLE. We are human beings who deserve dignity and respect. We are here, we are real, and we are not the monsters we're made out to be.
Full Disclosure: I have schizoaffective disorder and post-traumatic stress disorder. I have suffered from one form or another of mental illness for most of my life, mostly depression in one form or another, anxiety, and various manifestations of PTSD. I am 33 years old, a ciswoman, white and Cherokee, divorced, mother of one completely awesome daughter, owned by two adorable tabby cats, bisexual with polyamorous tendencies, a proud bleeding-heart liberal, an eclectic pagan, and completely out of my tree.
I've always been hesitant to be open with people about my mental condition. Mental illness is still HUGELY stigmatized, and I don't want to be treated as if I'm somehow less than other people because my brain and mind are funky. But I've come to the realization that mental illness will remain stigmatized unless people with mental illnesses are open about their conditions and show the world that we're not what society would have the world believe.
People with mental illnesses are often stereotyped as violent, or, in contrast, figures of fun, to be mocked for “abnormal” behaviors. And if we're not to be feared or made fun of, we're childish and incapable of making our own decisions. Failing that, we're weak-willed or of poor character, often therefore leading to the conclusion that we're responsible for our conditions and could be “normal” if we'd just decide to be. On top of all that, we're often considered lacking in intelligence, which can be part and parcel of the “childish and incapable of making our own decisions” or “weak-willed or of poor character” tropes.
Let's lay this out one by one. In this post I'm going to address the stereotype of people with mental illnesses as violent. People with mental illnesses are FAR more likely to be victims of violence than perpetrators. A study done by North Carolina State University and Duke University around 2000 revealed that people with serious mental illness (defined as schizophrenia, bipolar disorder [commonly called manic-depression], or psychosis [which is actually an umbrella term that covers a number of illnesses with symptoms involving hallucinations, delusions, and other disturbances in perception]) were 2.5 times more likely to be attacked, raped, or mugged than the general population. Another study showed that mental illness alone is a very poor predictor of future violence. (Pile on a substance abuse disorder, and you might have a problem, but mental illness alone, not so much. In fact, substance abuse alone is a MUCH better predictor of violent behavior, even without the presence of a mental illness.)
I'm going to put this in personal perspective. I needed to go stay with my parents for a while, shortly after I had finally told them about my condition. (They knew about some of my earlier struggles with depression and PTSD, but not about the psychotic symptoms nor the severity of my symptoms in adulthood.) My stepfather, who at that point had known me for over 20 years, during at least 10 of which I shared his home, asked me in all earnestness if he would wake up one morning with me standing over his bed holding a knife. It made me want to cry. In the moment, I answered, no, I'm not a danger to anyone (except myself, sometimes, but I didn't want to get into my self-injury and suicidal tendencies with him right then). Later on, I thought, “Jesus H. Christ on rollerskates, the man has known me for 2/3 of my life and he thinks I'd hurt him? Family? Someone I love, who has pulled my ass out of more slings than I care to count?”
And I'm not going to try to count the number of news stories that harp on the mental illness (or possible mental illness) of perpetuators of violence. Just to quote a recent one, how many of the stories covering the rampage on women of George Sodini characterized Sodini as mentally ill in some fashion ("crazy", "insane", insert adjective here)? I don't know if Sodini was mentally ill or not, I don't give a damn, and it's not the fucking point. The point is, he was a misogynist asshat who thought that all women were to blame for the fact that he couldn't get a date, and he got VALIDATION of that from numerous websites and books perpetuating the idea that women's bodies are public property and/or financial commodities. The other point is, even if he was mentally ill, his misogyny is what led him to shoot those women in that health club, NOT any mental condition, and by calling him "crazy" or "insane" or whatever, the media has done yet another disservice to people with mental illness. We have enough stigma to overcome without every news channel calling perpetrators of violence "crazy" or "insane" or whatever whenever some horrific act of violence occurs that often has little to nothing to do with mental illness and more to do with societal prejudices and beliefs taken to a violent extreme.
People with mental illnesses suffer enough from the illnesses themselves. In my own life, I've wrestled with suicide countless times; I've cut myself, scratched myself, beaten myself in the face and head. I also fight, EVERY SINGLE DAY, with perceptions that may or may not reflect reality. One of the symptoms of schizoaffective disorder is extremely vivid dreams. Sometimes I'm not sure if I dreamt something or if it actually happened. Sometimes I see things that either no one else can see (bugs crawling on walls or my skin) or that logic tells me cannot be (inanimate objects moving towards me menacingly). Sometimes, I'll see/read/hear something that triggers me into a panic attack. And that's just my life. That's my personal daily struggle, along with the other, more ordinary daily struggles like "what the hell am I going to cook for supper?" and "oh shit, I have to do laundry again" and "damn, the car needs an oil change."
And then the stigma piles onto the daily struggle. How many people suffer without help because they're afraid to ask because of stigma? How many people seek help but keep it a secret, not telling family or friends who might be willing and able to help, because of stigma?
There's been a series of public service announcements on TV (and according to that site, on radio, but I've never heard the radio ads) about how to deal with it if a friend tells you zie has a mental illness. They're really great ads; they tell the public that your friend is still your friend even if zie has a mental illness (which should be a colossal "DUH!" but often is not) and that continuing to be zir friend can be a HUGE help in zir treatment (which is very true), but, in the face of the number of times the media perpetuates stereotypes of people with mental illness, they are teaspoons emptying the sea.
So is this post, and the ones I'm planning to continue to explore the stereotypes of people with mental illnesses and how they hurt, not only people with mental illnesses, but everybody. People with mental illnesses are PEOPLE. We are human beings who deserve dignity and respect. We are here, we are real, and we are not the monsters we're made out to be.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Pi and "Sanity"
Last night, I watched the movie "Pi", which is an independent film about an ethnic Jewish (as opposed to religious Jewish) mathematician who finds (via his computer mainframe) a mathematical concept of natural unity whilst trying to make mathematical sense of the stock market. It's sort of hard to explain. His mentor had found a similar (perhaps identical) concept whilst studying the transcendental number pi.
Anyway, Max (the protagonist) appears to have some physical and/or mental illness issues. He seems to suffer from chronic migraines and at the very least severe social anxiety.
It's a very intense and multi-layered movie, and I'm sure I'll get more out of it on subsequent viewings.
One of the things I got out of it on this first viewing is that neither Max nor his mentor (Sol) are particularly mentally healthy. Max, as previously stated, appears to suffer from severe social anxiety and possibly some sort of paranoia. Sol has had a stroke. And yet, they have both at least glimpsed a truth and a reality beyond normal perception.
It seems like sanity blocks the perception of such profound truths and realities. It seems like, in putting our perceptions of the world into neat little boxes, we miss the forest for the trees. It seems like only in "madness" does the truth really emerge.
It just put me in mind of my favorite Seneca quote: nullum magnum ingenium sine mixtura dementia fuit. (There has never been any great talent without an element of madness.)
Anyway, Max (the protagonist) appears to have some physical and/or mental illness issues. He seems to suffer from chronic migraines and at the very least severe social anxiety.
It's a very intense and multi-layered movie, and I'm sure I'll get more out of it on subsequent viewings.
One of the things I got out of it on this first viewing is that neither Max nor his mentor (Sol) are particularly mentally healthy. Max, as previously stated, appears to suffer from severe social anxiety and possibly some sort of paranoia. Sol has had a stroke. And yet, they have both at least glimpsed a truth and a reality beyond normal perception.
It seems like sanity blocks the perception of such profound truths and realities. It seems like, in putting our perceptions of the world into neat little boxes, we miss the forest for the trees. It seems like only in "madness" does the truth really emerge.
It just put me in mind of my favorite Seneca quote: nullum magnum ingenium sine mixtura dementia fuit. (There has never been any great talent without an element of madness.)
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