Why Do I Care What the Families Think?

I have a longstanding problem with reading any comment threads on posts discussing whether people with mental disabilities should be “allowed” to decide what medication and treatment they want, if they want any at all. The threads usually have one or two comments agreeing with the post, and then quickly devolve into stories from people who knew a mentally ill person once and how disturbing or upsetting or unpleasant it was for them when the person wasn’t on medication. And that pisses me off, because the person who should be centered and prioritized in that discussion is the actual person who is taking the meds, not the people around them.

Don’t get me wrong, I understand that some people with mental disabilities who are not taking medication are unpleasant to be around. I don’t believe that they’re more likely to be dangerous or violent as a general whole, there of course will be people who are, but that’s the tiny minority. I do recognize that some may be verbally or emotionally abusive to their friends and family. I agree that nobody should be forced to endure abuse of any kind, even if it is caused by the abuser’s mental disability. BUT. The fact that some people may be abusive without medication is nowhere near good enough reason to take away any person’s right to determine their own course of treatment. If an individual person becomes abusive or violent or dangerous, that’s a different situation that should be addressed for that individual person. But a blanket decision that everyone with a mental disability must take medication is an overbroad reaction to a relatively infrequent problem that is a huge infringement on the rights and dignity of the person with the mental disability.

So I really hate seeing the families of the person with a disability, rather than the person themselves, centered in discussions about what should happen to or for the person. Given that, I bet you can imagine my reaction when I saw this headline in the New York Times:

For Families of Mentally Ill, Mixed Feelings Over Push Away From Adult Homes

Joe Newell, a police property clerk on Staten Island, would love for his brother, John, to get out of the Coney Island adult home where his television set and other property have mysteriously disappeared. But Mr. Newell remembers how the last time his brother lived on his own, he stopped taking his epilepsy medication and slipped on the ice, slicing open his nose.

Donald Navard, 71, a retired bartender, wants something better than a threadbare life of bedbugs and institutional food for his niece, Dorothy. But he still remembers how she ran away from her last apartment after a week.

And Florence Weil, a longtime activist for the mentally ill, had high hopes for her daughter, Marci Reller, when she was placed in a small group home last summer. Seven days later, Ms. Reller ran away from the home and drank a fatal cocktail of furniture polish and heart pills.

I don’t really want to get into a discussion of whether this is the best outcome for the individuals with disabilities, because I don’t think we have enough information to make that decision. And we don’t have enough information because the article focuses only on the reactions of family members (who clearly are upset about the conditions in the group homes as well). There’s a single quote from a person with a disability, even though, according to the article itself, “Unlike some patients in psychiatric hospitals, residents of adult homes are not considered dangerous to themselves or others. They are generally legally independent adults in charge of their own affairs.”

I’m glad that the families are involved in the lives of the people with disabilities and care for them. I know the help and love of my family and friends were and continue to be essential for me in living with my disability. But I am much more interested in what the people who were living in those homes and now will not be think about the whole situation than their families.

Guest Post: Why I didn’t celebrate “World Mental Health Day”

Everyone, please welcome our first guest poster, Arwyn of Raising My Boychick. Arwyn lives in the United States’ Pacific Northwest with The Man, the Boychick, bipolar type 2, and migraines. When the intersection of her neurology and the kyriarchal society she lives in allows, she writes feminist thoughts inspired by parenting a presumably-straight white probably-male at Raising My Boychick.

When I heard Friday night that Saturday October 10 was World Mental Health Day, I was excited: another day like Celebrate Bisexuality Day, but for us crazy folk?? Sign me up! When I Googled it, however, this is what I found:

World Health Organization:

Mental, neurological and behavioural disorders are common in all countries around the world, causing immense suffering and staggering economic and social costs. People with disorders are often subjected to social isolation, poor quality of life and higher death rates.

Bellevision Global (a parish in the United Arab Emirates — particularly look at the pictures on this site, if you are able):

Mental illness such as anxiety disorders, major depressive disorder, bipolar disorder and schizophrenia, if not properly diagnosed and treated would lead to poor work performance, family disruption, and contribute greatly to the global burden of disease.

Emax Health:

[United Nations Secretary-General Ban Ki-moon] states, “Mental disorders contribute to more disease burden and disability in developing countries than any other category of non-communicable disease, yet only a small minority of people with mental disorders in these countries have access to mental health services.”

Well ain’t that just fucking cheery. Thanks ever so much for the pathologization folks; there can never be enough support for the “those crazies = horrible miserable burden on society!!1!” meme.

To be fair, there was some good coverage as well. From the World Federation for Mental Health:

“Today, we call on all governments and partners to include measures for mental health in efforts to achieve human development and respond to humanitarian crises,” Ms. Obaid said. “Mental health is central to human dignity.”

See the difference there? How the first three talk about how those people (that’s me, gentle reader!) affect the rest of us (that’s all you normal, sane, not-crazy people; you know, the ones that matter)? How they say the reason “mental illness” needs awareness is because they (still me!) are a burden, a drag, a fiscal drain? And then how the last one is based on the radical idea that, gee, we are actually people and we matter too? Tiny difference there, don’tcha think?

If you’ve been following along, you know that I’m not in the greatest head space right now — to say the least. And yet, silly me, I still expect that when a group (or a day) purports to be helping me, to be bringing awareness to my needs, I not be dehumanized, pathologized, Other-ized, and victimized once again. I expect that it be recognized that my dis-ease, my dis-ability, arises from the intersection of my being and the kyriarchal society I live in. I expect to not be confronted with still more language and images that portray me and mine as miserable, sick, taunted, shunned, hated, and ignored. (Are we those things? Yes, in this fucked up kyriarchy, we are. But we’re also joyful, healthy, embraced, befriended, loved, and celebrated, and we damn well should be portrayed that way too. The constant portrayal of us as stigmatized contributes to our stigmatization.)

So no, I did not celebrate World Mental Health Day, because it was just World Fuck Over the “Mentally Ill” Day, which makes it different from the other 364 days a year… not at all.

Wake me up when it’s World Mad Pride Day. That, I think I can get behind.

This post is being moderated by the FWD staff.

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