Perspectives from the Mentalist's Partner (6): The Blind Leading the Mad

As regular readers may have noted from Pandora’s occasional mentions of me, I have a disability. I’m partially sighted. I usually don’t think about it. Why would I? It’s something that’s always been with me. Well, when I say ‘always‘, I mean the pleasure’s been all mine ‘within living memory’. I hesitate to say that it’s a part of me, because that suggests a welcome I don’t extend to the problem; but the reality is that, yes, it’s made me who I am and so, yes, it’s wedded to me for better or worse, richer or poorer, and all that lark. Inseparable buddies, ’til death do us part. You know the lines.

So, then, how does this constant travelling companion affect me, you might ask? Well, I can get around familiar places for the most part, I can get on with my work. I don’t tend to think about what I can’t do a lot of the time because – well, to be blunt – I can’t do it, never have been able to and likely never will. I can’t play ‘normal’ sport with any degree of aptitude. I can’t drive or even safely ride a bike on a public road. I can’t read signs unless they’re smacking me in the face. I find it too much of a strain to read most newspapers or magazines (so the internet is a gift and the Apple iPad, with its built-in accessibility, is a dream come true). I can’t see well enough to build a PC, despite knowing exactly how to; I get help on the former score from Pandora.

The point I’m trying to make is that there are quite a lot of things I can’t do, and more things besides that I can’t do with much competence. I don’t tend to think about this because, as I’ve already stated, that’s how it’s been for as long as I can remember. Yes, occasionally I get pangs of wishful thinking – possibly more so when I was younger than now – but generally I can ignore my bosom buddy. And since I don’t tend to think about what I can’t do, people who know me tend to stop thinking about it as well. Sometimes I think they forget, or consign my sight problem to the ‘oh yeah, forgot about that’ bin.

Why is this relevant to this blog? Well, it is to the extent that I have what, sometimes, can be perceived as an ‘invisible’ disability. Granted, it’s more readily perceptible than the amorphous ‘what?’ that’s going on in someone’s head, but it’s closer to that than the other extreme of, say, being in a wheelchair.

As we know, if a health issue isn’t readily perceptible, it tends not to be thought about – or, at least, it tends to be thought about less than the more obvious. Lots of buildings are geared up for ‘disabled access’. What this appears to mean, in general, is the installation of a wheelchair ramp or a lift. Worthy additions, certainly, but additions that fail to cater to me and others.

Airports are a good example of this. Many airports are moving away from announcing flights towards a position where the onus is on the passenger to find out for him- or herself when a flight is departing. Fine if you can see the often distant screens with their not so huge fonts. Of course, if you’re hard of hearing, announcements are not much good, but does there have to be only one form of communication?

Or what about going into a fast food joint. You might argue that I shouldn’t be there in the first place. But I am. So let’s look at the board. Oh, hang on, let’s not. I’d better get Pandora to read it to me. Often the same with a menu in a restaurant, the specifications on the back of product’s packaging, the instructions (as a last resort) that I’ll need to understand when trying to get something to work. There’s not a Braille or large print version.

I don’t expect the world to change for me, and it sure as hell doesn’t revolve around me, but I experience the unquestionable feeling of being marginalised at times. Perhaps not deliberately or in a major way – simply a crime of omission. The wheelchair lobby have been very successful in pushing the need for reasonable adjustments, and I applaud those efforts; but others have enjoyed fewer victories.

Now, take my problem and double it; treble it. People at least know what a sight difficulty is and they generally accept that I’m not making it up or hallucinating the bugger. Maybe society hasn’t caught up enough to cater to it in an ideal way, and there are real difficulties still. But things generally tick over. Good Samaritans will often step in to ask a blind person if he or she needs help. A lot of my friends are blind or partially sighted. They lead pretty normal lives. They get disability aids to assist them. They are offered reasonable adjustments. Could things be better for them? Most likely. But their disabilities are seen and recognised, and I for one wouldn’t like to be the person standing between them and the entrance to their local of a Saturday evening! Normal lives, normal people.

If being blind or half blind is Cinderella, then being mental appears to be Cinderella’s unborn sister. From my observations of developments around the Madosphere, it seems to me that there is a very long way to go to achieve recognition of mental illness as a disability (whether temporary or permanent). While stigma – the ‘get over it’ culture – still persists, what hope is there of a genuine cultural shift towards accommodating these problems, of reaching something akin to normalisation of these issues? If the problem is not seen, it often goes unacknowledged. Not through malice, perhaps. Ignorance is the mother of stigma here, I’d wager. The generic term ‘depression’, is a good example of what’s wrong. It doesn’t communicate useful information to Joe Public. In regular usage, it can mean practically anything across a wide spectrum from ‘a bit pissed off’ to ‘suicidal’. It’s symptomatic of, and continued to support, an all too common attitude of ‘Snap out of it! Get over yourself! Cheer up! It’s only in your head!’

Only in your head? What a quintessentially galling statement. Everything’s in your head. Everything is filtered through the lens of our senses; everything goes through our heads, all those neurons firing away merrily to create what we call our world view. Can things that are ‘just’ in your head be so readily trivialised or dismissed? Really?

My conclusion isn’t revolutionary. It’s stating what the Madosphere and mental health advocates generally are already stating: there is a need to begin to see mental issues in the same way that we see other health issues. We must collectively stop laughing them off and begin to provide the interventions, empathy and adjustments that are being extended, albeit sometimes slowly and imperfectly, in so many other areas.

Here endeth the sermon.

Pan

I think this post is particularly timely, given the shocking ignorance, offensiveness and self-righteous cuntery of the utter bollocks shown on the otherwise respectable Channel 4 this week (words to the wise: follow the link at your peril. It could genuinely upset or trigger you, and it will almost certainly anger you). For those unfamiliar, some God botherer, Malcolm Bowden, has been wanking on that depression – and as A notes in this post, that’s certainly an overused term – is a character failing, caused not by biopsychosocial factors, but by the dirty heathen sin of ‘pride’ (incidentally – as my next post will discuss, at least a little – there’s fuck all wrong with pride anyway. Conceit and arrogance are ‘sins’, if one must employ Biblical nomenclature – but they are
quite different from simply taking pleasure in the fact that you’ve done something good).

Yeah. The words “fuck away off” came to my mind too. Apparently leading mental health charity Rethink agree.

Can I just say that this is not how all – or even many – Christians view depression and other mental health concerns. This is clearly exemplified by some lovely people who actually practice the doctrines preached by Christ, rather than sitting in self-referential, holier-than-thou judgement.

Unfortunately, though, Mr Bowden has done neither people with mental illnesses nor his warped view of Christianity any good. He’s poured gallons of fuel onto the stigmatic fire, and has in all probability provided cocks like Richard Dawkins with a new pile of wank fodder.

Depression is real. Depression is a real mental illness. Godliness, or the lack thereof, has fuck all to do with it. Yet society, or at least parts of it, will nod along to Bowden’s demonising rhetoric, because it suits them to believe that teh m3nt@lz are all evil/scrounging/lying etc etc etc.

So hard as it is, on we must fight. All of us with disabilities – seen or unseen, mild to severe – in solidarity. That we must do, despite members of the community being some of the most marginalised and vulnerable in society, is disgusting, but cockjockeys like Mr Bowden, and indeed challenges such as A has discussed above, prove that it’s sadly a necessary evil even now, in a supposedly enlightened 21st century.

Kid Fuckers Beware

One thing that I’ve always loved about blogging with WordPress is the statistics function. Despite my pathological aversion to mathematics in general, I’ve always been a bit of a stats nerd, though of course the facility provided here is simple enough that you don’t have to use SPSS to make sense of the data (which is simultaneously a relief and an intellectual misfortune).

My favourite part of this has always been the information provided about the keywords that are used to get here. Sometimes they make me glad that I’ve contributed something worthwhile and have been able to help people – for example…

  • DLA / ESA and mental health (plus more specific queries eg. ‘DLA and BPD’)
  • DLA changes
  • Does Venlafaxine 300mg work?
  • How does transference feel?
  • Fighting stigma
  • Other people with C-PTSD flashbacks
  • Ending psychotherapy
  • Complex PTSD vs BPD
  • I hate DBT / DBT is shit (yay!)
  • Missing a dose of Venlafaxine
  • Quetiapine and hypersomnia

…some bemuse me…

  • Arsecunt
  • Borderline bipolar historical women witches
  • What things are fluffy?
  • Imagine walking fown [sic] the wrong side of the road, you are stopped because it is considered J Walking
  • How to register kindel [sic] with bed serial
  • Cunts of joy
  • Nihilism as a disorder
  • Nail writer forum mentalism anthology
  • Going to confession[,] and narcissism

…some make me laugh out loud…

  • Fuck life, fuck career and fuck everything
  • Achievements in cunt
  • Talking settees and Quetiapine
  • Minor hallucinations of curtains

…I’m still, to my surprise, getting a hell of a lot of searches pertaining to Mental Nurse, even though I thought everyone realised that it (regrettably) died some months back…

…but, of late, and perhaps inevitably, some terms arriving here have disturbed me…

  • Jokes about the mentally ill
  • How to fuck kids / I want to fuck kids
  • Gape rape fun / I want to be gang raped
  • Confessions of sexual abuse wank
  • Fucking young girls
  • Kids wanking videos
  • Rape is innocuous
  • Suicide is funny
  • Children DO fuck[,] they want to
  • Teens fucking five year olds
  • How do you screw a kid?

Blah blah blah. You begin to get the idea. Most of the stuff about ‘fucking kids’ has come in light of my post, Why Do People Fuck Kids? I note with interest that none of our delightful web explorers arriving at said post via one of the above beautiful searches have deigned the title question worthy of an answer.

So. Did you arrive here wondering if it’s fun to mock the mentally ill, or under the belief that suicide is something that exists to entertain you and your mates down the pub on a Saturday evening? Do you believe that gang rape is only something that people fake for the sake of fetish-ish sexual gratification? Did you happen upon Confessions wondering how to go about raping your four year old cousin/neice/nephew/son/daughter/grandchild/neighbour/daughter or son’s friend/etc?

Perhaps you are unaware that mental illness is very, very real, and that it’s extremely debilitating – even life-threatening. Perhaps you are unaware that suicide is rarely a choice, but, rather, an all but inevitable consequence when a disturbed or ill person runs out of ways to cope with a pile of psychological spaghetti taking the place of their brain. Perhaps you don’t realise that real gang rapes do take place, all too frequently, and that they are extraordinarily traumatic and stark. Perhaps you don’t realise that no, children don’t want to fuck or be fucked – they might curiously experiment with their friends occasionally, but they are not physically or psychologically in any way ready to deal with the consequences of actual, real sexual activity. Perhaps you don’t know that children are legally (as well as ethically) incapable of consenting to sexual activity because their minds and bodies are not mature enough to understand such actions. Perhaps, therefore, you do not know that when you have sexual relations of any description with a child, you are committing an act of rape.

But I think, on all counts, you do realise what you’re searching for. I think that you just don’t care about the people on the other side of the coin. Do you?

Perhaps the least offensive of you are the ones that fantasise about gang rape. I say that because, yeah – some people have non-vanilla tastes in sex and sexual imagery, and that’s fine. But, what you really find fun is, and I repeat, a fantasy about gang rape. A real gang rape – one where the people force themselves upon you, distinctly against your will, despite your protestations for them to desist – is highly unlikely to match the heady heights of pleasure in a ‘set-up’ of several people ostensibly, but not really, ‘forcing’ themselves upon another. No, alas, far from it – no pleasure nor ecstasy comes from a real gang rape; just pain, degradation, shame and horror. So don’t let me inhibit your sexuality, by any means, but please do realise that the apparently blasé attitude you have exhibited in looking for this material has the power to offend and trigger.

To those of you that find mental illness and suicide funny – part of me wishes upon you a day of crippling, abyss-like depression…or perhaps some time with persecutory voices and visions, telling you to throw yourself off a cliff or kill your wife/husband and children. See how entertaining it is then, and how ‘cowardly’ suicide apparently is in those circumstances. Yet, on the other hand, having been at the brink like this, I’m not sure I’d wish such experiences on anyone. That you find this kind of thing amusing proves that even I’m a better person than you. Fuck you, you pathetic, bigoted pieces of fuckwittery.

As as for all you lot that want to know how to fuck kids, or what’s wrong with fucking kids, or whether kids enjoy being fucked, or who want to bring yourselves off over images of child pornography? Well, I think you padeophilic cuntfucks most of all know that you’re twisted little wankshafts who can’t get it up over someone your own fucking size, so ‘have’ to turn, in the most cowardly and offensive fashion imaginable, to the one of the most vulnerable demographics available, just to get your pathetic little rocks off. Well, be my guest and read this blog, and see what your delightful intentions feel like like from the other side.

But be careful, people thus searching. I’ve had a lot of real-life sticks and stones thrown at this blog over the last two-and-a-bit years, and have had to act accordingly. I almost never use the services that I engaged to fight said attacks, but for you, my paedophilic readers, I will make a happy and delighted exception.

I can trace the IP address of everyone that visits this blog, you see. As noted, I almost never, ever do – so normal visitors and searchers need not worry. The problem for you, paedophiles, is that IP addresses can be directly linked to search terms, rather than just hits. So I can single you out. What a shame that is!

And what a shame, too, that the data also tells me your rough location…and, crucially, your ISP. What a shame, all the more, that I have reported (and will continue to report) your nefarious online actions to your providing companies!

See how fun your paedophilic endeavours are when you have to answer for your actions in person. Enjoy 😀

FUCK YOU ALL.

(I should add here that I haven’t reported all dubious searches; “fuck children” could, simply, mean something along the lines of “I hate children,” and that the searcher would like to find like-minded people. But some of these terms are completely unambiguous, and those are the ones that have been reported. Of course, I am aware that if a paedophile was being clever, there are ways to hide or fake IPs, but it seemed a sensible thing to report these instances nevertheless. Finally, I don’t check the IP address of anyone searching for something non-suspect, nor any normal visitor, so don’t panic; I’m really not spying on the overwhelming majority of you, most of whom I know and love. The software installed is a hangover from when I thought my family were reading this blog, and has only become useful again in tracking these worthless motherfuckers, not the rest of you).

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