…And other shit that ableists write, usually for pay, at the expense of the mentally ill.
I’ve been having a lot of trouble keeping a lid on my anger lately. I encounter a lot of people who are pretty convinced that they’re ready to blow the lid off a conspiracy involving the medical treatment that a number of my country’s mentally ill, including myself, have chosen. We generally didn’t ask for their advice or advocacy. They generally do not listen to our opinions about our own circumstances or treatment. They seem to think that they know best and that they’re not accountable to us. You see, we’ve been tricked, hoodwinked, by millions of hucksters with medical degrees who have inexplicably decided to moonlight in some sort of permissible medical fraud. Okay. A few things:
Unless it is your patient or yourself, you’re not qualified to comment
People like to tell me that they have a mentally ill family member. They may have volunteered with something or other. They interviewed someone. They may have read a book or taken a course or something. This is not usually persuasive. Having been adjacent to a mentally ill person is not really a credential of understanding, especially when you’re speaking to a mentally ill person who thinks you’re being disrespectful.
We are individuals, do not treat us as a single case
So you may have met a depressed, schizophrenic, or anxiety-disordered individual that doesn’t like a medication. That is not your cue to burn Eli Lilly to the ground. We choose different treatments, we have varying success with different treatments and we ultimately ARE different and make our own choices. It’s important that we do and much more so that we can control our own treatment.
Psychiactric medications are saving lives every day, and if you restrict, stigmatize or ban them, you will kill people
People like to say “remember the good old days, when people dealt with their problems and didn’t have a pill for every ill?”
They usually leave off the tail end, which is “…or they killed themselves”
Historical data from 1950 shows a pretty steady rate of suicide with a sharp per-capita decline of suicide around 1990. This isn’t something you’d expect with a few heinous, traumatic wars in there and lengthening lifespans into the years often accompanied by debilitating pain and illness, so what happened?
Fucking prozac happened. Fucking Prozac, released in 1987, changed fucking everything and thank god that it did, because people you know right now, people you love, are alive because of it or the drugs that followed.