pistil, stamen, stigma
Fuckwits, and the people who listen to them. A big fat elaboration on a paragraph from yesterday’s ramblings, and no, it doesn’t involve boobs.
Poll: should I see the PPG movie?
Sometimes I’m angry that what most people see as a personality trait is pathologised–I’ve been morose all my life, and just because I’m quiet and asocial doesn’t mean I need to be medicated. Sometimes I’m angry that a depression that pinned me through the chest is regarded as nothing more than a personality trait. I am always ready to be angry at those who tell me it’s my fault. It’s true that it’s quite possible to have a meaningful and sometimes happy life, even with the spectre of depression. And yes, it does seem to pale in comparison to “big problems,” like oppression or poverty. That the problem is in my head, though, doesn’t make it less serious, or any less debilitating. That I am able to accommodate this condition doesn’t mean it’s gone, or that if I confront it it will ever leave. It is acceptable for people with chronic illnesses to ask “What did I to to cause this? What am I doing wrong?” It is not acceptable for the mentally ill to stop asking these questions. No, if we just tried harder, ignored the pain, ignored the depression, got out of bed, it would all become better, as if we had never heard these smug self-righteous suggestions before. Aunt Tilly got over her issues. Russel Crowe’s role in “A Beautiful Mind” somehow proves something about the nature of mental illness. If I ignore the pain in my back, will it go away? Can I “work through” a broken arm? Why should the pain in my mind disappear if I ignore it? I don’t expect blind sympathy for my condition. I have no illusions about being “special” or “spoiled” because of my illness. I have a responsibility to accommodate this condition, to work around it, to create a life I don’t abhor in the face of a condition I do, but that doesn’t mean it’s my fault, or that because I can’t overcome something that has very little historical precedent for being overcome, I have some sort of character deficiency.
“It’s just something you need that you don’t have,” said Doctor C. “Do you think diabetics shouldn’t use insulin?”
No, no. But then, I don’t have a deficiency of Celexa, or Zoloft, or Prozac.Sometimes I’m angry that what most people see as a personality trait is pathologised–I’ve been morose all my life, and just because I’m quiet and asocial doesn’t mean I need to be medicated. Sometimes I’m angry that a depression that pinned me through the chest is regarded as nothing more than a personality trait. I am always ready to be angry at those who tell me it’s my fault. It’s true that it’s quite possible to have a meaningful and sometimes happy life, even with the spectre of depression. And yes, it does seem to pale in comparison to “big problems,” like oppression or poverty. That the problem is in my head, though, doesn’t make it less serious, or any less debilitating. That I am able to accommodate this condition doesn’t mean it’s gone, or that if I confront it it will ever leave. It is acceptable for people with chronic illnesses to ask “What did I to to cause this? What am I doing wrong?” It is not acceptable for the mentally ill to stop asking these questions. No, if we just tried harder, ignored the pain, ignored the depression, got out of bed, it would all become better, as if we had never heard these smug self-righteous suggestions before. Aunt Tilly got over her issues. Russel Crowe’s role in “A Beautiful Mind” somehow proves something about the nature of mental illness. If I ignore the pain in my back, will it go away? Can I “work through” a broken arm? Why should the pain in my mind disappear if I ignore it? I don’t expect blind sympathy for my condition. I have no illusions about being “special” or “spoiled” because of my illness. I have a responsibility to accommodate this condition, to work around it, to create a life I don’t abhor in the face of a condition I do, but that doesn’t mean it’s my fault, or that because I can’t overcome something that has very little historical precedent for being overcome, I have some sort of character deficiency.
Oh yeah, and fuck you too.