The Joys of Mental Illness

In my previous post, I discussed my fallout with the Miami Secular Humanist's Meetup group. In the comments, something really interesting just happened, and by interesting I mean awful.

One of the commentors, Anthony Camilo, did one of those sarcastic parting shots that online dudes do when they're withdrawing from a conversation but feel the urge to get in some kind of last word. I'm certainly done it, recently, even.

Except . . . the subject we were talking about was, in part, my mental health. Let me lay out what he said, so you don't have to go fetch it from my last post:

Let me start by apologizing for each and every word I've written on your blog. I have been extremely unfair to you and after reflecting up on it I must admit that you are a reasonable human being and a well adjusted man who displays no sociopathic behavior whatsoever and is clearly in full control of all his faculties. A man who has empathy for others and has firm grasp on reality. There is not a hint of paranoia in you. You are also a paragon and hero to all those who are dealing with mental illness and most would be proud to call you their spokesman.

So, he basically calls me a sociopath who isn't in control of my faculties. To wit, he's saying what I've been quite honest about: I am mentally ill.

Which means he's mocking a sick person. He's making fun of my mental illness. I wonder if he also mocks people in wheelchairs?

Which is today's lesson about being mentally ill and the discrimination that mentally ill people face.

Edit: He removed the offending post. Too bad I'd already copied it here. D'oh! But before he did that, probably while responding to my post where I just said he should be sarcastic better, he posted:

You are a piece of shit and a douche-bag?

Classy, man, just classy. Then he deleted everything, made another sarcastic post (!!). Maybe this time he'll actually give up. Who can say?

Bad time with the Secular Humanist Meetup

I had a poor showing at the Secular Humanist Meetup dinner this month. At the beginning, everything was going fine. But then one of the leaders of the meetup, an elderly man, decided to speak to us all.

Now, it struck me as paternalistic bullshit from the get-go. The daddy figure getting up to address us all, at whatever length he desired, about whatever topic he desired. The only reason I didn't leave the room, if not the meeting, is because I hadn't settled up my check. In retrospect, that's what I should have done. Ah, the clarity of vision of hindsight!

Then he talked a bit about a friend of his, the punchline being that this friend was insane, murdered his wife and then killed himself. Also in retrospect, that was just nuts to be talking about in that forum, anyway. It showed a complete lack of respect for the boundaries of the people at the meeting. No one there came to hear about this dude's crazy murder/suicide. I was a total stranger, as were several of the other people at the meeting, and burdening us with his horrific story was extraordinarily rude. I understand that a grieving person needs to get it out - I've had friends kill themselves, myself, though never along with a murder which is clearly a higher level of horror - but a meeting full of raw acquaintences, total strangers and a few friends is not the forum for that grief.

But what got me riled up in the moment was how he talked about mental illness - and I think we'll all agree a murderer/suicide had some pretty serious mental problems - "wasn't the man he knew" and he "made choices". I said, with considerable anger in my voice, that, no, that is not true. I said that I suffer from mental illness - which, of course, first drew jokes, because, hey, I guess it was a funny topic and is part of the problem of talking about mental illness, haha, it's funny, fuck you - and people with mental illness have a disease, about which they are no more responsible for than people who have cancer or birth defects. I said that I was deeply offended that the insinuation that people with serious mental problems "made choices".

Rather than apologize for his ignorance, this old man said that "he understood mental illness". Which, clearly, he did not. After all, he was a trial lawyer and his association with mentally ill people somehow gave him insight into their feelings. Which, like I said, was obviously untrue because he was repeating one of the biggest canards used to diminish the seriousness of mental illness: that we somehow have a choice. I found his assertion that he was a trial lawyer and thus understood mental illness to be akin to a racist saying he has some black friends.

(Oh, for the record, also he was a touch of a racist. Talking about those "Latins" are, about how they had gay family members and didn't talk about it because they were "Latin". Like Anglo families don't have that kind of idiotic dysfunction? We live in FLORIDA for crying out loud, one of the most generally homophobic states in the Union! You don't have to go down to Latin American countries to find homophobia!)

Well, the old dude wasn't buying what I was saying, he was dismissive and verbally bullying, which never, ever works on me. So we were going at it.

Then one of the other people, one of the long timers at the meetup, said that he had been in an institution for about a week and, hey, I was out of line.

No, no, I wasn't. The old guy shouldn't have been talking about this subject in the first place. He surprised and burdened strangers and people who barely knew him with disturbing and uncomfortable things. And in so doing, he repeated one of the most vicious canards used to justify bad treatment of the mentally ill - the idea we have a choice, a position that he repeated, I will note. He was rude from the onset, he took the position of a verbal bully, and was wholly unapologetic about it. Friends, however, support friends, I get that - but I wasn't this man's friend. If he had kept his grief among his friends, well, we would have never had the opportunity to argue, right? But, no, he decided that it was appropriate to surprise total strangers with his tale of horror, grief and madness, and in so doing he insulted me, personally, with one of the most terrible lies repeated about mental illness. So, yeah, taking that altogether, I figure I was totally in line.

However, at that point, I said, "Fuck you" and left. Which, again, I found appropriate because when the old guard start forming up the wagons around themselves, well, the conversation was over.

When I was settling the check, another new guy came out and tried to talk me down. He said he wanted me to come back. I'd given the old man something to think about, right? I said I wouldn't unless the older man apologized. I was so cute! I have done this sort of thing before and I knew what was going on. They weren't talking about how trenchant my observations were in the meeting; they were either trying to put it behind them or confirming to themselves that I was the unjustified aggressor. Again, this is common. Either way, the idea that I had somehow enlightened anyone was cute in its optimism, but I'd bet money it was not reflective of the general attitude in the room - which was probably relief I was gone.

So, I guess I'm done with that group of secular humanists. I don't see myself going back unless I get an apology and . . . I don't see that coming. I mean, if the group understood that what the guy was saying was out of line, they would have probably told him, "Hey, uh, maybe this isn't the place for you to talk about your murderer/suicide friend. Maybe that's wildly inappropriate to do in front of people you largely don't know, and you should seek support from your friends, family and perhaps a grief therapist." But when I left, he was being supported, so I doubt they even understand the inappropriateness of his remarks. Perhaps I am being uncharitable, though.

Anyway, that's the end of my story. Unlike the elderly man at the meetup, I am not going to hold anyone captive with my story and feelings. But I did feel the urge to get them out, and I'm writing this so I can post it to the meetup group so that they can understand my position. And I'm posting it publicly, because I want to be open about the difficulties of having mental illness and the hurdles that people face when trying to discuss it - how we are subject to bullying, or laughter, when we defend our rights to dignity.

Rockin' the medical high

I don't believe in free will. Recently, this belief has been reinforced by my experiences with medicine. I'm gonna explain what I mean about that.

Some of my earliest memories were of incredibly fury and frustration. As a child of single digit years, I would literally be writhing on my bed in silent fury so intense it was a kind of agony. Other times, I felt a mind-numbing ennui that robbed me of all strength. I told no one of these feelings . . . except my mother, who helpfully told me to hide it. After all, said she, everyone feels angry and frustrated sometimes.

That's what I did. For years, decades. I assumed everyone else felt the same way I did. That they felt the same curious, intense and unspecified angers and frustration. That they felt the same crushing helplessness and hopelessness. I just assumed that they had more determination or willpower than I had.

It wasn't until I lived with Adrienne that I realized that, no, that wasn't normal. Not even a little bit. During this time, I was able to structure my life (or our lives) in such a way as to more or less remove all external sources of meaningful anxiety or frustration. By this time, I could give voice to the specific forms of the malady -- depression and anxiety. Still, despite a long standing belief that willpower is a sham primarily used to manipulate people, I was captured by the old belief that my problem was my will. If only I were stronger!

Several years ago, I started taking St. John's wort for depression. It worked pretty well, not completely, but it took the edge off. I noticed about this time, however, a worsening of my creativity and drive. Still, the respite from depression made SJW worth it. This January, I talked to my doctor about my depression and anxiety. She gave me citalopram which dismantled my depression in the middle of winter, where I have my darkest moods.

However, my creativity and my sense of language failed me. So I talked to a psychiatrist about that. My psychiatrist gave me Adderall.

Again, my life changed. I realized that the happiness I felt under St. John's wort and citalopram was merely the absence of depression. Which is an amazing feeling after being depressed my life long. I also realized that I was suffering a side effect common to both SJW and citalopram: emotional flattening. The absence of pain is not the presence of joy. Adderall, a combination of different flavors of medical speed, reintroduced (introduced?) me to that. Suddenly, women were prettier, music sounded sweeter and I was occasionally struck by the remarkable beauty that surrounds me here in Santa Cruz.*

Additionally, under citalopram, I was able to lose weight. Forty pounds since late January. This is unprecedented in my life. It appears that eating food was a kind of crude self-medication for depression -- fatty and sugary foods increase serotonin, which regulates mood. Adderall has the side-effect of making me not hungry, which is a different pathway . . .

Where is willpower through all of this? All I can find is a bunch of messed up neurochemistry. It just seems like, during my various development phases, or perhaps genetically, I got some damaged neurological pathways. My body doesn't regulate serotonin very well. My body has a damaged dopamine pathway. So taking one drug helps one, another drug helps the other. It gives me clarity of mind, calmness of spirit and . . . I can feel my command of language and creativity returning. I can focus.

At the same time, my problem with weight seems to be diminishing. I don't eat to feel better because I already feel better. And I'm just hungry less often. I have never had such a command over my diet! But I didn't "do" anything to get this command except take a couple of pills.

Wither will? I can't see it. I just see myself as a big ol' chemical reaction, doing things because the interplay of atoms and energy that I call "me" interacts with the environment in particular ways, determined by no one, going nowhere. My life has all metaphysical intentionality as ripples in a pond. What I feel to be intentionality is a chimera, a fantasy created by a heavily negentropic system that evolved in terrestial environment.**

Plus, as a nifty side-effect of all of this, I feel great. Even if I can't sleep as much or as well as I might want. It is a tiny, tiny price to pay!

* Medically, the current theory of what was going on in my brain runs like this: my depression was caused by too little serotonin. The citalopram increased the amount of serotonin in my body, removing the depression. However, I likely also have a short circuit in my dopamine pathways, which are important in the regulation of "rewards" for successfully completing tasks and even simple things like appreciation of beauty. The Adderall stimulates those pathways, making me happier, which allows me to focus better and take pleasure from the exercise of creativity.

** Which isn't as nihilistic as it sounds. Even if there is no spiritual component to human existence, no dualistic "mind", the existentialist truth still abides: we invest value into all components of our existence. How splendid! How . . . liberating! But, Chris, you might ask, how about me deciding if I want to get Cheetos or Doritos at 7-11? Clearly, you might say, I have some free will, if I can choose between those two tasty snacks? I believe that it is simply that we don't have the sense or intellectual ability to process all the factors going into our decisions. This creates a very powerful illusion of free will, but it is no more than the die not understanding the forces acting upon it as it is rolled. And, of course, we are going to react to that sensation, but insofar as no one, anywhere, can understand the factors acting upon us, ideas of will remain a useful fiction for purposes legal, moral and so forth and so on. But we shouldn't kid ourselves, I feel. We are controlled by forces we cannot understand, both internal and external. As we understand these internal and external forces, we will be able to act upon them -- we are acting upon them, which is basically the point of this entire post! My fallacy of free will was getting in the way of my mental health, and because lovely scientists were able to figure out some of the mechanisms of depression and reward, I am subsequently much healthier. And, of course, medical science isn't the only field interested in controlling you. There's always advertising . . .