Dr Madvibes

I wrote in the last couple of entries that it is very easy for people to use mental health professionals in the process of abusing others.  You should know how to prevent such an attack, not just to keep yourself safe, but to stop wasting the time and resources of therapists who are needed for genuine cases.  Even some therapists don’t see how rare genuine cases are, but they are rare.

The relative rarity of true mental illness is something we should all keep in mind. I am torn about advertising that encourages people to seek help.   If they feel they need it, they absolutely should seek help, and shame shouldn’t be a factor.  On the other hand, such advertising encourages everybody to see mental illness everywhere.  It’s not the same thing as being different or unique; it’s not the same as living in a difficult set of circumstances.  It may be perfectly normal, but it is not that widespread.  Yet these ads can send the message that if John Kirwan has depression, then it’s okay if you try to have your eccentric neighbour/colleague/acquaintance, Jo Blogs, diagnosed.  If Jo Blogs doesn’t feel she is mentally unwell or out of control, then it’s not okay, because it is not true.  (Assuming, of course, that she is no immediate danger to herself or others!)

You may think that only a madwoman would live the way she does, or even look the way she does.   You may not approve of something about the way she lives.  You may think she doesn’t know how to fit in properly.  It may be okay to have a mental illness, but  such ‘concern’ about people is frequently based on hate and fear.

We all hate things and we all fear things.  We all change with our environment and things that happen to us, too — so ultimately, we all risk this treatment.  However, some people are at higher risk than others, and it’s worth thinking about whether you might be vulnerable.  Here are some factors that may make you an easy target:

• You differ physically from others.  You may have a skin problem, a speech defect or a disability — or you might just be bigger, smaller, different-looking.
• Your outer appearance changes a lot.  You might like to vary your hair frequently or your weight might go up and down.  Alternatively, you might dress up for some things and have times when you see no reason to be as well-groomed.
• You physically resemble the ‘profile’ chosen by a serial abuser of this type. (I’ll explain more about this soon.)
• You are part of a minority group — for example, gay, gifted… or  both, worse luck! :p  (Here, consider anything that could put you at one end of the bell curve.  Interests and even your Myers-Briggs personality type can be a factor.  I did not know my personality type was so rare!)
• You have been bullied at school or abused by others in the past.
• You choose to present yourself unusually. I don’t include goth, emo, punk or steampunk outfits in this.  People have a category for those things and they are understood. By this,  I mean that you’re one of a kind.  You might like bright colours, an unpopular colour or very unusual accessories.
• You are not interested in current trends.
• You like to make and use things yourself, instead of buying name brands.
• You are involved in expressive arts, such as writing or painting. (These are open to being analysed, but you can be misinterpreted, or else you could have expressed an imaginary/ fleeting state of mind.)
• You have unusual routines or ways of keeping house.
• You know you must manage a unique set of circumstances, either for a long time or forever.
• You have substantially less (or more) money/assets than those in your peer group. OR your income is seasonal/subject to a lot of change.
• Most of your peer group is religious OR simply rigid in their world view.

As you can see from this list, it really could be anyone.  If any of these things are you, then don’t change for anybody — but do be vigilant.  If a combination of these things is true, then you will have to be very assertive for the rest of your life.  You may wish to reconsider your choice of peer group, if that is a factor.  Having said this,  you cannot always control your friends’ choices of partners, and sometimes, there are individuals you must put up with.

So how do you know if people are doing this to you?  I can only work in retrospect, but if I had known what I was looking for, I now realise there were plenty of signs that these people were not safe to be around.  When I tried to  describe the lead-up to this, I realised the post was getting long, so it might well be another post.  When I have done it, I can then point out the things I should have been aware of.

Years ago, for doing things that did not matter,  I nearly got diagnosed with a mental illness I did not have.  It was not very hard for my peer group to accomplish, because I didn’t imagine it could happen.   Why would I?    Neither do many people, and it’s difficult to stand up for yourself against such a thing, so this is an easy and efficient way to abuse someone.

I don’t remember lots of details now, but I do remember the facts.  A group of my flatmates and one friend gathered together behind my back to stage an ‘intervention’ for me at the student counselling service, because they believed I was crazy.   They had six people on their side; I had only the student association advocate.  Two counsellors were sitting and taking notes.

I can remember how I learned about the intervention, but they had been breaking me down for a year — figuratively, of course.  I never literally broke down.   The process and methods my peers used before I heard about the intervention would make an entire blog entry on their own, and they will.   However, at that moment,   I knew my flatmates had been slowly excluding me and doing/saying abusive things.  I was miffed, as some of them had been trusted friends.   I knew some of them owed me a lot of money, and that others had refused to do any housework for weeks.  I lived in a pig-sty after giving up on cleaning up after their mess.  I often went without clean, dry clothes because they needed the washing machine and the minimal clothes-line space we had for drying things.  I started to refuse to lend any more money.  I also began asking for repayment on the ‘loans’, which were now in healthy triple figures.

One of the girls asked me to go to the dairy to buy them some ice-cream, with no mention of repayment.  On this occasion, I  decided to refuse for the first time.  She said something very rude to me; I  cannot remember what, now.  It became clear that I was not really being asked.  I had been told.  She had manipulated me into buying the ice-cream.   When I came back with it, one of my male flatmates was on the telephone (nothing new) and hiding under the kitchen counter so that I would not see or hear him (weird!)  Then, when he got off the ‘phone, he said, “It’s time for a flat meeting.”

I said, “Good!  I have been trying to call one  all year because nobody does anything on the roster.  What were you planning to talk about?”

“You!” he said.  I was stunned.  What could I have done?  I knew that they all owed me money, help with housework, food…big-time, too.  Not just a few things here and there!  If that was the case, why were they ganging up on me?

Then they said they had gone to the student counselling service  about me.  They demanded that I attend an intervention they had requested, because they did not like the changes in my ‘behaviour’ and believed I had a mental illness.  I could not believe it.   I knew I was not mad.  The accusation was outrageous.  I have quite a long fuse, but this finally made me angry.

I knew what had made me angry, but I had to wait until the next day to find out what had apparently made me ‘mad’.    The complaints  against me included  claims that I had gained weight, had stopped going to their church, had stopped doing all the housework and had ‘stopped caring’ for my appearance.   They also told the counsellor about everything I ate and drank, letting him know that I was an alcoholic, among other things.  They tried to make out that the eating and sleeping habits I have always had were a new development, and therefore,  a sign that my mental health had changed.

There was really no allowance for my side of the story.    I tried to explain that they drank most of the alcohol I had bought them, and this was why I had so many empty bottles.  I tried to point out that I did care about my appearance, but that I didn’t care to maintain the ‘makeover’ they gave me, as I did not like the new look.   I said my skin problem did not improve as a result of the effort I put in, but this did not mean I had not put in effort at any stage.  I did not want to buy expensive name-brands that didn’t work for me anyway.  I asked why it was their business that I had gained weight or no longer agreed with their faith.  Finally, I asked why they didn’t do any of the housework or show me any consideration.     The counsellor told me I was projecting and said that since I was denying it all, I must have a problem!

If you are wondering how I ever got out of that one sane and in one piece, so do I.  (Well, I don’t, really.  I will talk about what I did at some later stage.)   Some people believe that the sheer fact of being in this situation makes you crazy, because enough people thought so. Therefore,  if you were ever forced into accepting unwanted ‘help’,  it’s common for people to assume you couldn’t possibly have been sane.   But I was, and I did get out of the situation before further harm could be done.  ( I was even pronounced perfectly sane by a health professional at the time, and that’s something I will discuss in another post. )

I like to think that these days,  I would never let anybody take so much advantage of me in the first place.  In fact, I have recently proven that I know how to head these attacks off before they even start.  At that time, a friend’s  partner tried to influence a group of my friends after meeting me.  While I can no longer trust those he sucked in, I was still able to call ‘bullshit’ before it got any worse.   Moreover, even if I could not stop someone from forcing me to get unnecessary ‘help’,  I know what I would do about it.  After the first time,  there are some things I’d do exactly the same way again and others I’d do differently.

Thinking about all this, I potentially have several posts ahead.   I predict a post that describes  signs that people are about to do this to you, as well as one outlining some of the things about you (and them) that could put you at greater risk.  ( You can’t change them and you shouldn’t change yourself, but you can be prepared.)    Another post might suggest what you can do to assert yourself if you are pushed into an intervention or unwanted ‘help’  situation, despite your best efforts.   Also,  I don’t know if I’m a shining example of how to look after yourself afterwards, but that is brand new territory.  People have to do it, but nobody talks about it, for reasons I’ll explain later.  Maybe I will simply describe what life is like afterwards, even fourteen or fifteen years on.   I will just post as it all comes to mind, as I can always structure it later.

(Anyway, I digress, even if this was the best place to do it!)

My flatmates chose to escalate their abuse at the end of an academic year,  at exam time.  I had already packed a bag prior to the intervention, because I  no longer felt safe in my home.  For the next three weeks,  I stayed in other people’s flats.  My friends were extremely patient and helpful, but I wasn’t sure about how the situation would work when asking for consideration on my exam. scripts.  I feared it would only be granted if I let someone say I had depression or similar, so this meant I had to turn to some of my beloved lecturers for support.  One wrote a signed letter that said he had never witnessed any bizarre behaviour from me and in his opinion, I was completely free of mental illness.  Another (who later became my boss for some years) was reminded of a wonderful saying: “Helping is the sunny side of control.”  It’s so true — yet her help never controlled and it truly did help, in real, logical, useful ways.  Karen did things differently.

Who’d have thought it?  Didn’t I get into this mess in the first place because I was different?  I don’t know that for sure, and I don’t believe I was so very different.  I do, however,  know that  I will no longer be the same.  I aspire to be like those who saw the truth about me.

While I am sad to see the demise of originality in today’s culture, psychology never had room for any in the first place, and diagnosis is becoming an eerily normal part of modern life.  It is mind-numbing, and people accept it without question.  It is accepted even by those it could easily harm.   Do you imagine that one day, your ‘friends’ could set someone with qualifications onto you, like a hired gun?  Do you think a so-called ‘professional’ has the potential to find something wrong with you, just because of the way you choose to live?   Really? You bet!

This is an extremely inconvenient time to get mad.  I have work to do around here.  However, tomorrow, the next day or even next year are not looking good either.  I can be angry.  I can be furious.  At a pinch, I suppose I could be wild or irate, but those are risky.  One thing I certainly cannot be is ‘mad’, particularly at anybody who considers they should have authority over me.  ’Mad’, along with anything else I do say, can and will be used as evidence against me.  I have the right to remain silent…but the responsibility not to.  I have not committed any crime.

This link is an inspiring article by Bruce E. Levine.  It reminds me just how easily psychology can be used as a form of bullying or abuse.  Indeed, it’s almost a form of societal bullying, since it is frequently treated as acceptable –even with celebrity endorsements!– and nobody ever questions whether it is just.

http%3A%2F%2Fnews.infoshop.org%2Farticle.php%3Fstory%3D20120228111828590&h=3AQGiqumXAQFPoBP62lv2bX2KLXVszegYF-wAMMRVVI4rkA&enc=AZN7bmBPUZxLMHLMgipWQTLg_CQuHMuNhJddDAET285270fTGC74Y719lrMsi2z5vNoDs2K2qtKXeA3UrG94TzRx

Truly, nobody? Well, that is not quite so.  If any person should question the authority of conformity, they will become nobody in no time at all:  about as much time as it takes a professional (or heck, even an enthusiastic amateur) to diagnose them with something, I’ll wager!

This has  been happening for years; I was made aware of the dangers at a relatively young age, over quite trivial matters.    However, I think I will write a few posts about this issue, as I have a lot to say about it, including the idea that some ‘psychiatric abusers’ do this serially, with people who have similar physical characteristics.  This is sophisticated relational aggression at its finest and worst.

How am I to sign this off now?  Blank-vibes, false-vibes, sane-vibes, same-vibes, no-vibes… I-didn’t-pick-up-any-vibes (and I’m only imagining the BS)?   I really don’t know what you should call me in this context.  It strikes me that even in this blog, the practice of diagnosing non-conformists has robbed me of an identity I chose.

*shrugs*  Vibes, out!

These will only work if you are logged in to NZD; that’s where they are published.  This also means you are not in any danger of  losing security, etc.  There must be room for three or four hundred people around NZ by now.

Threads get updated regularly and the latest ones will be the most useful.

Part 6:  http://tinyurl.com/6axlg2d

Part 5:  http://tinyurl.com/4d5j5f7

Part 4:  http://tinyurl.com/4lcol8a

Part 3: http://tinyurl.com/4t4zzgb

Part 2:  http://tinyurl.com/4g6pte6

Part 1:  http://tinyurl.com/4b8crgm

Remember, too, that Air NZ is doing $50 flights out of Christchurch to ANYWHERE in NZ.  

Current Mood: Confused

So much has happened, and yet nothing really has.  I am too tired to explain it, but I am also too tired to keep drinking and giggling at parties as if there is nothing to explain.  This has actually been a big year in a variety of different areas, and I only hope some of the things promised for 2011 come true.  *grins*

At some point tomorrow (hopefully), I will drop off a few packages of home-made fudge to work colleagues with the following letter.  Who knows where this will end up?

This is a creative project. I have created something as a present for you. I hope you will enjoy it, but if you cannot use it, you have my blessing to pass it on to someone else. It may not be worth anything in monetary terms, but please receive its intent: to cheer you during the difficult financial times affecting all New Zealanders.

 You have received this because I value your unique contribution, which cannot be measured in money, units of output or key performance indicators. I am happy to share my time and resources so that each individual’s unique gifts can be kept alive, no matter what the market decides those contributions are worth. These are some of my values.

 In doing this, I feel eccentric, if not old-fashioned. I wondered why, until I thought about the values New Zealand children have begun to absorb. Sadly, this generation will learn by example that sick people should not be assisted, because they do not contribute to the employment market. This generation will blindly accept that education is only as valuable as the inaccurate, arbitrary sets of measurements used to confine it.

 National plans to cut funds for education and health care. Will this build the society we want our children to inherit? As an educator, I would be ashamed to impart this government’s values to future generations through inaction.

 If you agree with me, I invite you to participate in this creative project by keeping it going. A copy of this letter is available at www.drmadvibes.com. I would like you to print it and send it to like-minded friends — along with your own creative gifts for them, to remind them you value them more than their market value

 A suitable gift need not be elaborate or expensive. If you have children, perhaps you could involve them in helping, too. Let’s see if we can get these little messages of kindness all around New Zealand and remind each other that any other human being is always a worthwhile investment. I would be interested to hear from anyone who participates, so please post on my blog when you’re done.

If you don’t agree or don’t wish to participate, that is perfectly fine. I still value you. I hope your day is a little brighter because someone is thinking about you.

If you think this is a great idea, don’t hesitate to print the letter and send your own creative projects on to friends and family.  I’d love to hear from you all.

Soon, I shall post part of something I’ve been considering for the past month or so. 

Someone I greatly admire has asked us all to consider the following question:  National plans to cut funds for education and health care. Will this build the society we want our children to inherit?

I know my answer to that question.  However, I couldn’t think how to take action in a way that would be within my capabilities and authentic to me, so I kept reading.  The open letter  invited me to start my own creative projects to protest the cuts.  I can do that. I’ve been creatively working around everyone else’s standards of conformity for years.   Watch this space.

I didn’t have to be silent too often at school, unlike the kids of previous generations.  Yet somehow,  I got extra homework to do.  It was not set by any teacher, but by the other students at school.  My parents required me to do the task, but the amount of work to do each day was left up to my peers.

My task was to chronicle the things that happened to me each day: what names I’d been called and how often, whether I’d been spat on again and by whom,  how I’d  been threatened or degraded and what physical assaults took place.   When I remember the contents of the file, I wonder why the extra homework was the last straw!  But it was.  It was unfair that I had to do more than others to prove myself and it was exhausting to re-live each day.

What has homework got to do with silence, then?  I imagine I would have been given less to do, if only some kids had shut their mouths.  I was called a stalker, a slut and a rootbag.  A classmate who lived nearby walked past and caught me kissing the family dog, so I became  known to have sex with my dogs.  I was accused of molesting little girls, because I was an assistant Brownie leader.  I did not know why people thought I was so evil.  I had tried to be nice.  But in the mix of names, the word ‘lesbian’  had featured.  I knew what the word meant, but I didn’t know what the word could do.

Letters were written to the school, but the deputy principal believed I had been provoking it.  I was encouraged  to look at my own social behaviour and consider why I was bullied.   But the kids didn’t stop.  I did not know why it was still  happening and I blamed myself for failing to change.   My teachers came back with every answer but the real answer, which they silently ignored.

Sometimes, the school would appear to do something about it, but it was a sham.   One girl witnessed a group of my peers being reprimanded for some bullying.  She was there while the deputy principal said, “I don’t care what you do to that girl.  Just don’t get caught.”

The school’s attitude continued, along with threats intended to silence me.  When I  reached the  legal leaving age, the school ‘suggested’  I leave unless I agreed to counselling for my ‘problems’.  The counsellor saw no need to see me beyond two sessions, but the school’s tactics directly followed an anonymous open letter my mother had  put in the paper.   The consequences of speaking out were made clear.

Despite this, the school had no interest in silence at more ethically appropriate times.   On one of her more volatile whims,  my mother once  called the school, when she feared I could become suicidal.   She demanded that the bullying be taken seriously.  The next day, the office lady’s daughter took great delight in announcing that she would spit on my grave.  That was the first I learned of my mother’s phone call,  leaving Mum to explain what had really happened.  I was not sure I believed her, and all the while, I felt someone was not telling me something.

Buried in the silence created by all their words was the word  ’lesbian’.  I didn’t realise it was such an important word, and I did not know what that word could do.  I didn’t think it was an important word.  My sister is a lesbian, so it was already normal to me.   But it was the silent, unspoken answer.  I had been getting  that treatment because people  knew that I would eventually figure out I was gay.

To cope, I  joined a church. I liked it anyway, but I could see it might help clear my name.   However, the church itself was a new source of abuse.  Because  I was still processing things, I was a prime target for new abusers.

The pattern of abuse took years to break.  It covered everything from workplace bullying to controlling flatmates, who tried to have me diagnosed with a mental illness when I would not be their maid.  Other people made me feel ashamed for the things they had done to me, silencing me  further.

My relationships were no exception. Several, especially the romantic relationships,  were abusive and based on silence, too.   While I also made  good friends in life, I have left just as many behind.  I don’t want to tell them I am gay after all.  They stuck up for me at a time when I believed I was not.  Now, they will think I  lied to them.

When I consider the  process of getting back to normal, I can  understand why Carl Walker-Hoover chose to  hang himself  when his peers abused him.  In an American school, in 2009, he would have known what the word ‘gay’ could do to him.  He would have known it was important, even at the age of eleven.

http://a.abcnews.com/Health/MindMoodNews/story?id=7328091&page=1

Had Carl taken the chance to become an adult, he might not have been gay.  Yet because of  adolescent bullying towards gays or suspected gays, some of us get extra homework to do – and an education besides.

A child could not have been  impulsive or selfish in the way many view  suicidal people.   At the best of times,  adulthood sounds ancient to a pre-teen child.   This was clearly not the best of times for Carl, who might well have believed his life would be cut shorter: a common feeling for those dealing with trauma.   I don’t remember believing I could live to be over thirty, because that was so old.  I’m only starting to feel as though there is a future now: at thirty-two!

At the time of writing this, I do not know if New Zealand is observing the Day of Silence. (www.dayofsilence.org)   This day is held in schools and education facilities to protest the harassment of queer youth, and if we don’t have it here, it’s time we did.

If I am anyone to you, please consider participating.  I want to do it in honour of my other friends, to whom I no longer speak.    You’d probably like them if only we were all still talking.

Definition: Feline Paralysis is a complex disorder which is characterised by a feeling of heaviness on the chest and/or legs at some point after lying down to sleep. People with feline paralysis find it difficult or impossible to get up out of bed as a result of this sensation. The condition usually worsens in winter.  100% of sufferers  share their accommodation with at least one cat.