Here’s some lovely music to listen to as you read.
If as a professional – you engage with someone dishonestly – you are quite simply not in any position to determine whether they are telling you the truth. If you walk into a situation already “the liar” – you aren’t going to be able to determine whether someone is telling the truth. People, on some level – always know when they’re being deceived. If a lie is what you’re offering, a lie is what you’re getting back.
And also – learn to differentiate a lie and a truth you struggle to believe.
If you’re lying to someone – they might not know what the deception is – but they will know when something is going on. And if a person has lived their life being lied to – they will more often than not, quite comfortably go along with it. You might get a comical eye roll from someone like me (my spiritual teacher jokingly and perhaps employing some reverse psychology told me not to do that – she says when you do that you’re “contacting” spirit.) or you might leave feeling quite like killing yourself would be appropriate. Don’t bother.
If an individual you engage with has the ability to speak, without regard for whether they are hurting your feelings or not – and if they consistently tell the truth – your feelings aren’t relevant. And if you are a psychiatrist your feelings should not even be a factor in determining any kind of conclusion or when you are annotating observations.
If you’re going to act based on your feelings, have the ability to say to the person you’re engaging with – this is difficult for me, because you’re hurting my feelings. And if they ask you why they’re hurting your feelings – and some part of you screams “because you’re telling the truth” …
Then the first thing you should write about that person is “She says things I find hard to believe but when it comes to what I do know, she only tells the truth.”
“Healing” is a sacrifice.
An exchange of energies.
Not a job.
Not really something you should be doing for £M£O£N£I£E£S£.
If you’re being paid to administer medication you wouldn’t take yourself, a job that requires you to prescribe people those medications is not the job for you.
If you couldn’t personally take the treatment of having a person making observations about your HEALTH based on first impressions don’t EVER do it to other people. If you don’t believe in psychics, in people who have for one reason or another acquired the skill to read you better than you can read them – DON’T GET A JOB ASSESSING PEOPLE’S MENTAL HEALTH, PERSONALITY OR ANYTHING SUCH THE LIKE.
If you’re being paid to keep people locked up, and you’re trusting a bunch of strangers gallivanting around doing their absolute hardest to convince themselves they’re nursing – whose credentials include a clown-degree acquired from a curriculum put together at a clown-college (like University of West London… If a person has studied psychiatric nursing at a top league University – lets face it – they’re going to be working at private facilities.
And if you really had trainee staff working with ME
2.) STUPID. HELLA STUPID.
(I consider myself my ex “boy”friends best teacher actually. I’m sure he’ll thank me for putting up with his poor manners, impolite anorexia – I didn’t need to, in addition to taking meds that made me hungry all the time, feel bad about my appetite – I didn’t need to have to be subject to his inability to feel emotion to the point of actual retardation, I look forward to the lovely thought that maybe one day he’ll thank me for teaching him not to undermine or underestimate women, for teaching him empathy, and for being HIS nurse and a PARENT too. And for teaching him that there is a huge, huge difference between having a “thick skin” and that being the kind of person that feels emotion to a degree that it affects her physiologically is actually much more difficult than being a person entirely void of the ability to respond to emotive-stimuli that isn’t just fear.)
And perhaps, sometime later, he will thank me for making him believe that he was much better off designing games – because that was the World he truly lived. The only joy he got from what he was studying was – quite literally – that he got to control other human beings and use some of his ninja skillz (*winces*)
I had the luck to scan (and found completely flawed) various aspects of your curriculum… Nothing there prepared any of your co-students for the kind of responsibility that taking care of the “mentally ill” actually is. If you want a recommendation for how to “train” students – get them on ambulance runs. Their interactions are brief, numerous and they experience a lot of scenarios that teach them how to engage and communicate with people – fast. Alternatively – get them to learn how to discuss their own issues, get them to a place where they can be absolutely honest with each other, with themselves – learn how big a deal it is to trust ANY individual with personal information.
If your students AND TEACHERS can’t trust EACH OTHER to exchange the kind of information that psychiatric professionals are handling on a day to day basis, not in the right line of work. Sozzles
Essentially… it’s not that I’d say that CHOOSING to work as a mental health professional of any kind tells me in a click of my fingers that you’re absolutely moronic, unethical and STUPID – but we both know you probably are. Here are the kind of things I think would be a fitting educational “portfolio” for a prospective psychiatric health professional –
a history of ART
a history of PERFORMING ARTS – because if you don’t understand archetypes you can’t analyse them. If you don’t understand that people are composed of not ONE archetypal energy but at least FOUR (I have so transcended the four archetypal energies thing that this won’t work on me – don’t even try and “help” me anymore. But you are, however, more than welcome to ask me for help)
a history of PHILOSOPHY and PHILOSOPHY of ART – because you have to learn how to ask questions, you have to learn how to accept not having all the answers – you have to learn that not everyone is inclined to think the way you do – and hiring a team of people who think like you is the worst thing you can do for a profession that revolves around the fantastic human mind.
a history of MISBEHAVING – because if you are the kind of person who endeavours to do as you are told, you haven’t mastered the art of thinking independently. if you haven’t also learned how to take responsibility for your actions, if you haven’t learned that you are capable of causing people damage, if you haven’t learned to be accountable – you can’t be responsible for giving people the kind of drugs that can affect them for the rest of their lives.
a history of developing a PERSONALITY – because you are dealing with vibrant personalities. Because when you give someone a drug that messes with their chemical make up – you could be robbing them of their personality. If you don’t value your own personality, how can you value anyone else’s? Rhetorical question – you can’t.
a history of HISTORY – because you have to learn that people behave cyclically. Because you have to be able to draw a comparison between the expansive human evolution and the individual human evolution. Because every person you are treating has a history, because you have a history.
a history of perhaps CRITICAL THINKING – y’know – thinking beyond the box or circle or whatever patten of behaviours you’re in and repeating.
Some kind of SPIRITUAL EDUCATION that has taught you that INEXPLICABLE THINGS HAPPEN.
THAT ANGELS EXIST.
THAT PSYCHICS EXIST.
THAT TIME TRAVELLERS EXIST.
THAT MEDIUMS EXIST.
THAT VAMPIRES EXIST.
THAT ALTHOUGH YOU MIGHT NOT BE ONE OF THEM – THERE ARE PEOPLE WHO ARE SO GIFTED AND SO CONNECTED TO THE PLANET THAT IF YOU MISTREAT THEM, OTHER PEOPLE WILL DIE.
That said – no degree can compare to a life of training. No qualification of any kind can teach you the importance of service. When I was three years old, I picked up a knife on a dining room table and I sat on the floor – a house fly landed beside me and I cut it in half. Have you ever cut a house fly in half? Can you imagine a three year old doing it? Isn’t that a really weird first/second/third memory?
When I was eight years old – I was asked telepathically (no audible voice asked – I understood that I was thought-asking myself the question) “If you had to repopulate a Planet, would you be prepared to do it?” I smiled and thought “If it was necessary” or something such the like.
(My adult self would of course impose conditions and say – not without personally, rigorously examining prospective parents, not without those parents knowing that “their” children would learn the truth of how they came to exist – that their parents were simply guardians – and that their parents were not to lie. Amongst many more conditions it would probably take years to author.)
Truthfully – I would admit to this connected to a lie detector but I think that’s unnecessary at this point, don’t you?
It’s not nice, to resent professionals that work in mental health. I’ve become genuinely fond of one psychiatrist – but the truth is I still resent his profession. And I’m fairly certain he’s coming to a place in himself where he’d agree I’m justified in that resentment.
I find the deception required in the mutual engagement of doctor and patient all … pretty evil. I did my bit – I went through the torture. It made no difference – that is the truth. If you can’t heal yourself, or a person without the use of medication – perhaps healing is simply a nice thought for the future. I would advise you find a means of helping people to learn how to “heal” themselves.
The NHS mental health services made me ill, every kind of medication I was given made me ill – when I was taken off the medication that made me want to die (akathisia, not suicidal thoughts) then I was given a medication that made me quite a bit fatter than I think is right for my body and I spent months of my life asleep and lacking any kind of inspiration or creative energy. Which affected my ability to complete a Masters degree.
I spent months in physical pain, I lost a lot of my physical dexterity, probably got watched going to the toilet a lot – why????? I know I won’t get the truth about the toilet thing – but that’s between you, your inner beings and your consciences… and could you really cope with a karma of that being done to you? Because I warn you… that is a karma you create for yourself. If your work makes you think that you’re creating a positive impact, if your conscience tells you that is ever an acceptable treatment of a human being you share a Planet with… Well okay. I’ll pretend to agree because I know guilt weighs heavy – and never goes away.
But I’ll say this – ignoring your true dreams and running away from an identity that is true to the person you experience yourself being internally is a great disservice to humanity – and is, in fact, even worse than being paid to feed vulnerable people meds that damage them.
Do you know what my true dreams were? Before I really knew who I am??
I wanted to be a vet, I wanted to be a unicorn, I wanted purple hair, I wanted to be an artist, I wanted a cafe or a book shop or to be a famous performer. Every time you look at some sad-looking, ill-fortuned, badly-dressed person in a psych ward and convince yourself that they’re some kind of bad smelling dribbling mess because they’re just “mentally ill” – you are SO wrong. At one point they were a vibrant human being that was victim to some experience that broke them, or a series of difficulties in life that made them hopeless – and when you medicate them before finding out every detail of their story – which they actually ought not have to explain to you at all – you have fucked up their life even more. You’ve contributed to their suffering. Can you cope with that level of responsibility? Can you even really comprehend it?
And always – ALWAYS remember – even if you manage to find something out about these people you are serving – you still don’t even know who the fuck the people you’re feeding these meds to are. I’m sure you’ve heard about ‘past’ lives and ‘future’ lives – but what about ‘simultaneous’ lives?? What if you are looking at yourself sitting in another physical body, carrying the weight of life experiences that you’ve been lucky enough to block out?
Always treat your patients and others with dignity, not like they’re waltzing into some weird freudian sex game you’re playing – where you misuse the power you have over their lives to make you feel like you have some control over your own.
On one occasion I was asked to come into my University and sit with the “Head”. I had, some days prior to that meeting sent my lecturer an email that was pretty informally written. I actually don’t do formalities – I should, I know, but I don’t. I find formalities can make communication quite dishonest, formality isn’t very emotive or sincere.
Once my lecturer confronted a room full of students – he literally almost shouted “WHY ARE YOU EVEN AT UNIVERSITY?!” and none of us could offer him an answer beyond the standard “to get a job” or “to get a degree” – and he said “well I’ll tell you why I came to University. TO CHANGE MY CONSCIOUSNESS.” (wrote that one down)
About a year later I sat opposite my lecturer in his office – Steve Littman by the way – and I told him that I had selected that University because of him.
He was quite angry that I hadn’t been engaging with the course, an academic program he had put a lot of effort into structuring. He’s a well read man – and most importantly he’s a VERY blunt feminist.
He doesn’t think before he speaks – he tells you the truth. My mother and I have never had a relationship founded in emotional connection – our conversations are usually about theology, actually. She’s never been awarded a degree but the years she has spent in study at christian schools, the Jewish Cultural Centre, Kings College – well, she’s more than deserving of a doctorate. Her faith is her life. When I was little I said “do you love me more than you love God?” and she said “I love God before I love any person”. That kind of honesty – with little regard for how it makes a person feel – that was how I was brought up to communicate.
I could do what I usually do and use this space as a venue to complain that I don’t think I had a nice time growing up – well, no one really has had a nice time growing up. We all have something bothering us. I know that and I really haven’t had to study psychiatry or psychology to learn it (actually somewhere along the line someone had to study it without the guidance of teachers. Remember that – that is a truth applicable to every degree, every practice, ever. Someone did it before they were ever taught how. Consider what their motivations were – consider yours – consider everything because THAT is psychiatry and psychology. If you can’t analyse the fuck out of yourself – don’t even THINK about doing it to other people.)
But as a person who had been brought up by a tough-as-fuck mother (right or wrong, naughty or nice – the quality is there and I assure you she could justify every decision she’s made about how she brought her family up by using a religious text.) – and essentially I had never really been able to feel a genuine respect for men. That is, I think, the most important thing about academia – when you meet a teacher they have to prove that they can teach you something. I think Bruce Lee said – you have to test your teachers.
Upon meeting Steve and having an interview with him – and before his decision to accept offering me a place – an interview that lasted for I think about TWO HOURS … we spoke and spoke. And he listened to me. He didn’t undermine me, he didn’t ask me weird questions or make me feel uncomfortable in any way. And we spent a lot of time in silence while I watched a piece of work that he showed on a little screen in his office. It depicted the same little video of his pet dog, the cinematic was cut into four sections and in each section the colour was different. It wasn’t really about what I was watching it was about looking or experiencing and trying to ascertain a deeper meaning that resonated. I could perhaps write an essay on what I experienced of that tiny little video but that would derail from what I’m really trying to discuss.
I am the kind of person who can say to a man “I made this huge life decision because of you.”
And that is how easy it is for me to tell the truth, once I know it. Steve and I had never had any kind of romantic undertone to our academic relationship – a lot of people thought so but that doesn’t mean it was true. I sent an email to him after discussing what I had said to him (it’s unfortunate that I could finally have it in me to respect a person, after a lifetime of mostly kind of hating men – to be able to have such a sincere conversation with a person that obviously shared my disdain for the fact that we exist in a time where sincerity scares the living shit out of people. I had had the opportunity of discussing poetry (Herman Hesse) with Steve – and I think he appreciated that there was someone who was so disinclined to actually follow his advice and yet also still very inclined to listen to it.)
(I did fancy-love-despise his co-lecturer, a GUEST lecturer at the University – and I was so, so, so unashamed and verbal about it that I really can’t fathom how people didn’t work out that if I fancied Steve I would’ve probably told them.)
I don’t DO shame. (Embarrassment, yes, but shame – no.)
So… what you should take from this – is even in the face of embarrassment, I tell the truth. And sometimes the truth is insane.
If someone tells you that they have connections to the Illuminati – why on EARTH do you think their FAMILY can confirm that?! Do you think every individual connected to the Illuminati just rings up ‘ole born again christian mum or muslim dad and says “ey ma I realised that fundamental details about your religion have been documented all wrong and Lucifer had the right idea”
DO YOU KNOW WHAT THE ILLUMINATI EVEN IS
If not – when a person introduces themselves as representative of any such thing, the correct response is to ask “what does that mean” or “what is that” or confess “to be honest that makes me quite jealous, how do I sign up?”
// humour aside
Ps I’m being 120% serious but apparently if you don’t employ humour when you converse about serious things people want to kill you. And ain’t that just the truth
Have you ever had a man flirt with your sister and then tell you to delete your nudes? Lets get more specific here – have you ever watched a psychiatrist flirt with your sister… as he and your sister discussed your mental health?
And later stared politely into space as your two-faced sister confessed with such insulting nonchalance that she thought you had a split personality? No, sister-mine, talking to counsellors and psychiatric professionals throughout my entire life taught me early on that when it comes to family – the correct thing to do is be silent. Learn to keep yourself a secret.
And I recall one particular counsellor – a woman that looked so like a spiritual teacher I lived with – that I sing praises for almost every time I write … said Keep to yourself until you become an adult. Then you can do whatever you want.
I did that and yet somehow my family still found a way to try and control me. But the issue was that if you come from a family that have in some form perpetually served themselves through trying to control you (my uncle excluded) … when you go out into the World you will meet people who do the same thing.
I can’t prove it – read enough of the stuff I write and it will resonate with you in a way that makes you think “how does she know me?”. I don’t know you, I don’t want to know you, I’m a reader. And if you’re putting on an act I might not be certain but I’ll sense it and I’ll engage with you thus. Am I being pompous? Am I being grandiose? Good, follow suit. It’s about time women felt comfortable being like that.
And there’s a strength in that guiltless self-adoration. Whether I am at the top or the bottom of any given hierarchy – sit me down with anyone and I can effortlessly bring out their childhood pains. When it takes an entire psychiatric team of nurses and doctors having to medicate you and ganging up on you and provoking you because you trigger them and say things they don’t want to hear very much – what they need to be reminded of is that they are stealing your life because you’re saying things they don’t want to hear.
Poisoning me with medication had a purpose – a spiritual teacher that sees spirit and hears spirit will tell you so. I neither hear or see spirit so I can’t be considered schizophrenic.
You came to no conclusion about a diagnosis for me – I think I was referred to as having experienced psychosis… Was that because I was saying things that frightened you? Ah.. a spiritual teacher warned me about that. She told me about a little girl called Holly who would say things to the elderly like “I can see your dead husband standing behind you” & of course how can just any parent raise someone like that?
When I was running a cafe, a little boy told me that he could sometimes focus on staring right through his hand – he described seeing his etheric body. I told him that I believed him and that perhaps he shouldn’t tell just anyone, that he should keep it a secret for only his very best friends. Because people might get jealous.
Before I effectively lost my shit and had a nervous breakdown – on numerous occasions I contacted various professionals representative of the NHS and constantly verbalised my real issues – at the time. It wasn’t that I wasn’t trying to get help, actually the opposite is true. I was so desperate for help and it was apparent that no one really wanted to offer me any.
On one occasion I was so out of emotional control I harmed myself, and as any responsible person would do I called an ambulance myself and went to have it looked at myself. I don’t need an infection or anything like that. There may be something inconsistent about my behaviour – but dishonesty is not generally a behaviour unless it is because I sense I am in real danger. I prefer silence to dishonesty, actually.
A psychiatrist read to me that he was under the impression that I had been ‘cutting my genitals’. It was difficult to ascertain how he came to such a bizarre conclusion, aside from the fact that there might have been blood on a tissue that I left in the bathroom bin at my mother’s. I can explain that – my chihuahua is brave beyond his appearance and I took him ‘out the front’ (to the front garden) – he chased a fox. As is evident from my engagement with the mental health services – for the most part I’m not a runner. (I did on one occasion run, but wouldn’t you have done the same?)
So – my chihuahua chased a fox. I fell on my knee and grazed it. I don’t have a photograph to hand but I will include one here, just to give the story some effect. So my knee bled and I dabbed it with tissue in the bathroom, put the tissue in the bathroom bin and moved on. I actually wrapped the tissue quite well – so if someone reported that in an effort to get me sectioned… they must have been rifling through the bathroom bin. That’s gross but that’s none of my business. I very frankly told this “psychiatrist” (do you still acknowledge yourself as such?? You oughtn’t.) that was inaccurate. “I haven’t been cutting my genitals”… He didn’t believe me. Of all the truth I was prepared to share, (like that I was getting over a childhood of living with a family that had abused me, that various points in the family home I had returned to after some years was quite emotionally triggering) that he wasn’t prepared to listen to – his interests were quite sparked when it came to discussing my genitalia. “Would you be prepared to have your vagina looked at? to confirm you haven’t been cutting it?”
…. An uncharacteristic thoroughness I would have quite appreciated that he applied when I told him about the “physical build up of energy that is unbearable” that I had to experience for months before a psychiatrist told me what it was called – akathisia. Which a year later I would learn a psychiatrist had described in a medical journal as – their words – “TORTURE”. My capacity and patience for online research is short and quite limited – I’m sure you can find that information via wikipedia.
My mother and I have translucent skin. If I’ve cut myself there’s no keeping it a secret because my skin scars pretty easily … Whether shallow or deep there is no scar on my body that has ever simply disappeared. (That said – I’ve not had laser yet.) Check out these stretch marks on my breasts.
What does my nudity have to do with mental illness? Do you have any idea of the art education that I’ve had my entire life? Really though. The female form in Art is all I know. Don’t they force psychiatrists to look at art? I feel Jung wincing in his grave. Not really, it’s a figure of speech used to illustrate that exchange between myself and a person that I consistently told that the medication he was giving me was making me ill and certainly not helping me. The problem is that if you are imprisoned in a psychiatric ward, you will determine what qualifies you as “well” and you’ll perform that. This was not about mental illness – this was about me speaking a truth and being enraged – and a psychiatrist and his little wizards using medication to kill my personality, to degrade me, to dictate how I expressed myself.
Have you ever had a person who had been given the right to your life – to the extent that he could literally force you to consume medication, force you to remain in a building that gave you ample opportunity to engage with mentally ill people that only served to prove to you that you weren’t ill at all. Weird, yes, but weird and mentally ill are not synonymous. How does a person formulate a professional opinion about you through discussing you with a group of people that have never known you? Like my family.
Perhaps that sounds like a juvenile thing to say – “my family never knew me!” but on one occasion in a ward a nurse saw me painting and was so shocked that she ran to telephone my mother … who said “oh yes she likes to paint!” ………………………… I was in Surrey at an ART school. Of course I like to fucking paint.
If I hadn’t of been force fed medications that made it so difficult to think, so difficult to sit still, so difficult to do anything other than sleep – I could’ve collected a myriad of statements from counsellors from my childhood – and documents from a psychiatrist I visited in my teens who would’ve told that man very explicitly that I had been consistently mistreated by the people I watched that “psychiatrist” talk with privately, about me. Sure you can be offered a legal team to talk to, and put together a case to get you out of a ward – but do you have any idea of how difficult the medications I was on made it to communicate?
That doesn’t change this though: the fuck does my naked body have to do with mental illness?
My inner being (also my uncle) tells me the correct thing to do is to take him and a whole load of other professionals to court. It’s very easy to break a person on meds – especially the kind of meds that induce torture – as aripiprazole does, as akathisia is. My own mother wouldn’t have told me to delete my nudes so why the fuck does a psychiatrist think he can dangle my freedom at my face – with conditions like deleting my nudes?
It’s not for me, those YEARS of my life – I will never get back. I will probably never forgive my family. But as I’m sure you’ve realised, I’m a good actress. I can engage with my family as if none of it ever happened. If I were as callous as I can be triggered into being I would have disowned my family… the truth is I need cash. I’m still recovering from what you all did to me – I’m now unable to trust ANYONE. (After losing trust in a family that made my life difficult – abused people abuse – after being molested by police – after engaging with psychiatrist after psychiatrist and after psychiatric nurse after psychiatric nurse … you don’t gain the ability to trust back. That never comes back.)
I could say you’ve turned me into a recluse – the truth is I never liked going out much anyway. So you can have that, I won’t put the blame for that quality on your complete and utter malpractice – it would be dishonest.
I thank every part of my past, for teaching me to become the kind of person who can cope with 0 human interaction and staying inside for a completely unacceptable period of time.
My psychiatrist asked at one point – if I’m getting on with my sister. Do you, psychiatrist, if being considered as such validates whatever woman-hating life you’ve led, often tell people to befriend relatives that have bullied them and back stabbed them for their entire lives?
This is all for people like me that have had to evolve beyond the use of their five senses. If you’re concerned about an artist’s comfort with being naked or undressed – work out why. Don’t feign concern over them. Don’t flirt with their family. If they can outright tell you what’s wrong with them, fucking listen. If they can tell you what’s wrong with YOU – fucking listen.
You know on an even playing field I could ruin your life too. And I think you set the tone. I think I will.
If I had pushed myself, if I had verbalised or annotated my own observations – as I was really supposed to do – as is the kind of thing I’ve always done – I could’ve not only sued but had a lot of professionals lose their jobs. The medication I was on is my excuse. I was selfishly preoccupied with getting the fuck out of that environment. The lack of privacy and being surrounded by people that my spiritual education would’ve told me I was there to help was awful. It was all very selfish, succumbing to that fatigue and unbearable shaking and not writing down absolutely everything. Well – I wrote down a lot but those notes have been lost. Selfishness is not very Illuminati at ALL. It was never about me – it was about the vulnerable people whose autonomy you steal.
When you look at the above photograph, do you see a submissive female form with her hands bound? Do you see an attempt at someone taking a photograph for a guy to masturbate to, because that MUST be where I get my self esteem – through the mere thought of men just drooling over me. (I’m being so, so, SO sardonic)
I went to this… tarot reader in Farnham at one point. She showed me a card called the Eight of Swords. She said something interesting. She said that this woman is bound – she’s blind and tied to a sword. She could use the sword to cut herself free but she chooses not to. That was my experience engaging with the mental health services. I could’ve escaped the ward – really – I took a lot of walks. I could’ve run off.
I could’ve even stopped taking my medication. Slipped it under my tongue etc. I took medications that caused ONLY HARM. I’m obliged to take you to the next step of observation of this card.
This woman stands beside a lot of swords – and yes, she could cut herself free. She could cut herself free, grab a sword and kill her observer. And then she could carry the swords off (there is a card depicting a sneaky character balancing a lot of swords over his shoulder)
But I think she finds more power in distracting you from the castle right behind her. I think there is an unspoken communication being depicted in this tarot (it would’ve been fun to discuss that I’m an excellent tarot reader)
Through my engagement with the mental services … I managed to give a very good depiction of my true character – that a whole load of stupid psychiatric professionals couldn’t BELIEVE in their WILDEST dreams. I wonder how you’re going to make amends