Systeemi kusee tarkoituksella.
Hyvän puolen huomio asiassa on, että status olen TV:stä tuttu ei riitä avaamaan hullujenhuoneen ovia, kun kyseessä ei ole Teatterin VIP-tilat.
Huonon puolen huomio on, että terveydenhuolto toimii hoitohenkilökunnan ehdoilla. Eli hoitavat pääosin omaa päätään välillä porilaitakin auttaen, jos siitä tulee hyvä mieli.
Miki Liukkosen murha
Re: Miki Liukkosen murha
Luulen, että Liukkonen olisi päätynyt samaan kohtaloon, kaikesta huolimatta. Maailma on toisille liikaa. Mutta olisiko Pori vielä kehnompi paikka, jos ei heitä kukaan auttaisi. Edes välillä?
Re: Miki Liukkosen murha
Tuo on kyllä varmasti totta ainakin moniin tapauksiin.
Vähän samaan sarjaan tarinoiden kanssa, jossa lintu pelastetaan pedolta, ja 10 minuutin päästä sama lintu on syöttämässä itseään.
Re: Miki Liukkosen murha
Tekikö Matthew Perry Miki Liukkoset ?
Re: Miki Liukkosen murha
Ehkä olisi parempi olla keskustelematta aiheesta josta ei todellakaan ymmärrä yhtään mitään ja ylittää käsityskyvyn. Hieno avaus kyllä mutta mielipiteet eivät koskaan ole faktoja. Eli arvailette kuin lotossa mutta ehkä vielä huonommilla todennäköisyyksillä.
Laitetaan nyt kuitenkin sioille helmiä:
https://yle.fi/aihe/a/20-10005753
Laitetaan nyt kuitenkin sioille helmiä:
https://yle.fi/aihe/a/20-10005753
-"Being sane while your are insane is most difficult thing to do."
Re: Miki Liukkosen murha
Tuo Jasmin oli mulle uusi asia....Salatuissa Elämissä...ja yht'äkkiä vainaa.
Re: Miki Liukkosen murha
Kerrotko armon Tohtori Pelko mitä tässä tilanteessa lääkärin olisi pitänyt tehdä?
Laura kertoo MOT:lle Jasminin kuolemaa edeltäneistä tapahtumista Jasminin molempien vanhempien suostumuksella.
MOT: Minkälaisia nää haasteet oli, oli, minkälaisia mielenterveysongelmia sun nähdäkses Jasminilla oli?
LAURA MONONEN: Paljon niinku henkilökohtasii asioita, todella isoi pettymyksii ihmissuhteissa, oman voinnin kanssa, sosiaalisen median takia oli hirveet paineet. Sanottiin ihan suoraan, että vitun läski. Sä oot lihonu, ja pitäskö sun mennä kuntosalille, sun perse on levinnyt. Tuli niin paljon semmosii asioita, mitä Jasmin sit alko oman pään sisällä miettimään, et milllainen mun pitää olla.
Jasmin kommentoi myös itse saamaansa arvostelua Instagramissa.
Jasminin Instagram-päivitys: ”Vaikee olla fine oman kropan muutosten kanssa, kun jokainen vihjailee mun olevan vähintään kolmosille raskaana.
Ja hoito ei sitten saa sisältää lausetta "et sä oo läski, vaan tosi kaunis ja hoikka ja lahjakas ja inspiraatio" koska toinen puoli kommenteista sisältää jo sen.
Laura kertoo MOT:lle Jasminin kuolemaa edeltäneistä tapahtumista Jasminin molempien vanhempien suostumuksella.
MOT: Minkälaisia nää haasteet oli, oli, minkälaisia mielenterveysongelmia sun nähdäkses Jasminilla oli?
LAURA MONONEN: Paljon niinku henkilökohtasii asioita, todella isoi pettymyksii ihmissuhteissa, oman voinnin kanssa, sosiaalisen median takia oli hirveet paineet. Sanottiin ihan suoraan, että vitun läski. Sä oot lihonu, ja pitäskö sun mennä kuntosalille, sun perse on levinnyt. Tuli niin paljon semmosii asioita, mitä Jasmin sit alko oman pään sisällä miettimään, et milllainen mun pitää olla.
Jasmin kommentoi myös itse saamaansa arvostelua Instagramissa.
Jasminin Instagram-päivitys: ”Vaikee olla fine oman kropan muutosten kanssa, kun jokainen vihjailee mun olevan vähintään kolmosille raskaana.
Ja hoito ei sitten saa sisältää lausetta "et sä oo läski, vaan tosi kaunis ja hoikka ja lahjakas ja inspiraatio" koska toinen puoli kommenteista sisältää jo sen.
Make Keke Great Again
Re: Miki Liukkosen murha
Tässä todellinen helmi sioille:
For the most part, I agree. It’s unfair that the system doesn’t treat mental illness as seriously as physical illness and the lack of mental health resources is disgraceful. Mental illness is everywhere, and it takes a grave toll on those whom it affects [1]. No one should feel afraid or ashamed to seek care.
Stigma is bad. But here’s the thing: I don’t know anyone who disputes this. I don’t know a single person who is pro-stigma. And while the internet is full of jerks, any mental health-related Google query pops up 1,000,000 times more pleas to Talk About Mental Health than links in support of stigma, and for every Youtube troll telling depressed people to buck up, I see fifty variants of the above images [2].
So if most people are against stigma, why does it still exist?
One day, a depressed person feels even more depressed than usual. He vents to a family member/significant other. The family member takes it seriously, the depressed person feels understood, and his mood temporarily improves.
This repeats several times.
The depressed person has another spike of hopelessness. He talks to a close friend but for some reason doesn’t get his usual rush of relief. He feels that the listener isn’t taking him seriously—and maybe that’s true, Boy Who Cried Wolf and all that—but it’s equally likely that, without realizing it, the depressed person has built up a tolerance. And so the depressed person acts a little bit dramatic. He cries, he stares at the floor, he yells, he screams, he hints at suicidal thoughts. He’s not lying, he’s just method acting. Eventually, the listener proves that she “gets it”—she starts crying—and the depressed person feels a little better.
This repeats several times.
The depressed person feels worse than ever. He spends a week posting about suicidality on his blog, telling anyone who will listen but becoming increasingly frustrated that no one understands. He fantasizes about showing everyone just how miserable he is. He wants to show them how they’ve made him feel this way: by shunning him, by refusing to listen to him, by supporting the unjust structures of society. He imagines that if he did die, his death would teach them a lesson. He imagines how sad they would feel at his funeral. He fantasizes about lying supine in the street and staring into space, blocking traffic, blocking the crosswalk, an act of protest against the universe. He fantasizes about being understood, about not feeling alone in his suffering. But, lying on his bed, he realizes that no words can possibly make anyone get it. He has to do something. Not suicide, because even though he hates living he he doesn’t quite want to die, but something just short of it. Something to show them how much pain he’s in. So he goes to the bathroom, downs a bottle of pills [10], and calls 911.
This repeats several times.
Patient well-known for depression/SI, borderline, PTSD, polysubstance abuse, has been seen 3Xs w/in the past 6wks for overdose all with admissions to the CCU. He arrives by ambulance today d/t acute polysubstance OD on psych meds. He crushed up three different psych meds of known amounts and took them all simultaneously at 1145. When medics arrived, he handed them a sheet of paper with the names, doses, and amounts of each pill stating, "I took these.”
The depressed person has attempted suicide five or six times now. During his last ER visit, the nurse rolled her eyes and said something about “you again.” The depressed person can’t think about anything other than his depression and how much time he’s wasted being depressed, which makes him even more depressed. He feels worse than ever but cannot communicate this: anything he says will be perceived as attention-seeking drama, a prelude to another pathetic attempt. He can’t get anyone to understand, and even if he could get them to understand, there is nothing they could do to help. The problems that once made him unhappy are not relevant anymore. Now his problem is depression. That’s all he is now: a depressed person. He cannot imagine a way out of his situation. And so he buys a rope…
It is a cultural myth that expressing emotion is inherently a Force for Good. It’s a myth taught by parents (“Go ahead, let it all out. There’s no such thing as a bad feeling”), supported by television (where emotions have to be externalized or else not exist at all), and expedited by the internet. But it is a myth. Communicating emotion is a drug—useful on occasion, tolerance-inducing, and addictive. This, in essence, is the problem with therapy—not all therapy, but definitely the chronic, insight-oriented, therapist’s-business-card-in-wallet type. Even if it’s not helping, you’ll still want more.
A 2001 study published in the Journal of Counseling Psychology found that patients improved most dramatically between their seventh and tenth sessions. Another study, published in 2006 in the Journal of Consulting and Clinical Psychology, looked at nearly 2,000 people who underwent counseling for 1 to 12 sessions and found that while 88 percent improved after one session, the rate fell to 62 percent after 12. Yet, according to research conducted at the University of Pennsylvania, therapists who practice more traditional psychotherapy treat patients for an average of 22 sessions before concluding that progress isn’t being made. Just 12 percent of those therapists choose to refer their stagnant patients to another practitioner. (NY Times)
This is also the flaw of inpatient psychiatric hospitalization. I’ve seen this a half-dozen times: patient checks into the psych ward feeling depressed and suicidal, gets started on medication, gets intensive daily therapy, does group-sharing activities, does artistic expression activities, feels much better, signs paperwork saying that she feels non-suicidal, leaves the hospital, gets in a taxi home, panics, downs a bottle of pills, and checks back into the psych ward.
As part of a larger clinical trial, patients (n = 103) with major depression without suicidal ideation at hospital discharge were followed for up to 6 months while receiving study-related outpatient treatments. Fifty-five percent (n = 57/103) reported the emergence of suicidal ideation during the outpatient period, with the vast majority (79%; n = 45/57) of these patients exhibiting this problem within the first two months post-discharge. (Source)
We conducted a national population-based case-control study of 238 psychiatric patients dying by suicide within 3 months of hospital discharge, matched on date of discharge to 238 living controls…Forty-three per cent of suicides occurred within a month of discharge, 47% of whom died before their first follow-up appointment. The first week and the first day after discharge were particular high-risk periods. (Source)
The risk of suicide in the first week after discharge is higher than the risk of suicide at the time of hospital admission. This is a withdrawal syndrome. And so, going back to Ozy:
image
If you are an addict, the solution is not to procure more drugs. And Ozy is an addict: if ze doesn’t talk about mental health in the most dire way possible, then ze doesn’t feel safe and cared for. By relying on external succor to treat pain, Ozy has taught zirself to be helpless. For example:
image
Ozy believes that mental illness is best modeled as a disability. Ze self-describes with the word “neurodivergent,” which probably isn’t meant as a bleak satire of the social justice movement but totally is. From zir essay:
Neurodiversity is essentially the radical notion that not everyone has a brain that works the same way.
The medical model of neurodivergence works something like this: just like some people can have sick bodies, some people can have sick brains…If your brain is sick, you should go to a doctor and receive treatment that will make you not sick anymore.
At the same time, the medical model isn’t very good for people who are going to have weird brains for the rest of their lives.
Ozy’s pulling a motte and bailey with the definition of neurodivergent: one moment it means “not everyone has a brain that works the same way; don’t be a jerk,” the next it’s “all mental states are equally valid; accept your current state and don’t try to change.” I don’t think everyone should become “neurotypical”—neurotypical people don’t exist, by the way—but I posit that not all neurodivergence is created equal.
It [the medical model] contributes to a Fantasy of Being Neurotypical, similar to the Fantasy of Being Thin. You can spend your entire life trying to become a neurotypical person and failing–or you can accept that you’re neurodivergent and try to live the best life you can as a neurodivergent person. It is possible to have a happy, fulfilled life and be badbrains as fuck. And for those of us who have incurable mental Stuff, it is necessary.
No. I don’t think it’s possible to have “a happy, fulfilled life” while clinically depressed, I don’t think it’s a fantasy to have obsessions and compulsions reduced to a minimum [11], and I don’t accept that mental stuff is untreatable. With regards to unwanted medicalization, Ozy gives the examples of ABA treatments for autism and ADD medication for kids. I mostly agree with zir on this—children can’t give consent for psychiatric treatment—but the blame should not fall on the treatments (which do help some people), it should fall on the parents: supply only exists because of demand. Fine, but Ozy is accusing the medical model of unfairly pathologizing all neurodivergence. This is absurd. Autism and ADD have pros and cons, but most neurodivergences unequivocally suck [12], and pretty much everyone who has depression or schizophrenia would rather they didn’t. It makes logistical sense to categorize these conditions as illnesses, as this allows mental healthcare to be covered by insurance and gives doctors grounds to prescribe medication. A good rule-of-thumb: does [insert condition] negatively impact your life or the lives of those around you? If it does, consider getting help. Otherwise, don’t sweat it.
The social model of mental illness works like this: some people are not able to do things that other people can do; this is called “impaired”. A person who cannot walk is impaired. Some impaired people are not accommodated by society; this is called “disabled”.
What does the author want to be true? Ozy distinguishes between “illness” and “disability” because illnesses are treatable, and disabilities, in general, are not. Ozy’s philosophy is the evolution of We Need To Talk About Mental Health: mental illness = Not Your Fault, mental disability = Not Even Curable. This is scientifically unsound—in this study, 70% of depressed patients recovered after eight months of outpatient treatment, and most mental illnesses show improvement with therapy—but it’s critical to Ozy’s identity. If mental illness is treatable, then getting help, to some extent, is Ozy’s responsibility, but if mental illness is immutable, then it’s society’s responsibility to take care of Ozy.
I don’t think there is anything wrong with social support and I don’t think there’s anything wrong with the occasional accommodation. But I would caution against being the type of person who needs to be accommodated, if you can at all avoid it. Once you start needing, it gets harder and harder to stop. I get the desire for trigger warnings, but when you demand that other people not trigger you, you are giving them power over you. Every bully in the world now has an easy way to hurt you: you have made yourself weak. It’s a perfectly reasonable choice to not attend a party because you feel anxious, but if you claim that you can’t attend a party because you have “an Anxiety Disorder,” you are refusing to own your choice, you are deciding that you have no power over your future, and you are solidifying that this is who you are: a person who is incapable of attending parties. Feeling anxious is temporary, Anxiety is an identity. Not doing the dishes because you feel depressed is understandable, not doing the dishes because you have Depression is a self-fulfilling prophecy. I get that defining yourself as Depressed eases the pain of depression—it lets you avoid the constant mental gnashing of “maybe I’m not doing enough,” “maybe I’m not trying hard enough,” it lets you accept your condition. Do you want to accept your condition, though? Or do you want to stop being depressed?
Sometimes, treating the symptoms makes the disease worse. When you define yourself as Disabled, you define yourself as someone who cannot solve his or her own problems. With time, this will become your default response to pain. “I can’t do anything, someone please help.”
This is a trap, and it will ruin you. I’m not saying “stop defining yourself by your mental illness” because I’m a neurotypical jerk. I’m saying it because I have tried the path of disability and it does not work. Mental illness is not your fault, but it is your responsibility. The only person who can fix your problems is you.
Ozy is dependent on other people for care and praise and relies on labels to avoid accountability for zir own behavior. The result is that Ozy is, always, perpetually, a victim.
image
If a significant other tells you that he/she is “unable to understand that I don’t deserve to be mistreated,” get a pre-nup and don’t have kids, because the divorce is going to be ugly. Ozy’s helplessness permeates every aspect of zir being.
Zir social life:
image
Zir day-to-day sustenance:
image
Zir sex life:
image
And zir employment (or lack thereof):
image
I’ll say it again: you do not want this. There’s nothing morally wrong or shameful about using mental illness as a disability, it just doesn’t work—a temporary solution becomes your new problem. Ozy identifies as genderqueer, but the only reason ze gets away with this behavior because ze a) is young and b) has female genitals. This coping mechanism will not last. Ozy knows this, Ozy is smart, but ze’s addicted to zir identity, to zir defense mechanisms, and ze can’t imagine being anything else.
image
Ozy, to zir credit, is working on cognitive behavioral therapy and exposure response therapy. I wish zir the best of luck, but I think that Ozy’s outlook will make the process much tougher than it has to be. Ozy doesn’t want to change, ze wants the world to change.
image
I want the world to change too. But I wouldn’t count on it happening any time soon.
VI.
I mean no ill will towards Ozy or anyone like zir. Life is hard, really really hard. The struggles of mental illness take a lifetime to solve. I am reminded of the Serenity Prayer:
God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
The courage to change the things I can,
And the wisdom to know the difference.
(Buddha ei kuulema kestä viinaa, joten ota suolan kera)
This prayer neglects to mention that nobody this side of Gautama Buddha has been granted “the wisdom to know the difference.” Few things are more difficult than deciding whether you need to change. If you focus only on treating the underlying disease, not allowing yourself the comforts of confession, self-acceptance, and the occasional crutch to lean on, then you will tear yourself apart for every mistake, get nowhere, and give up.
But the alternative is no better. If you focus only on treating the symptoms, then you will spend your life on the verge of tears, always looking for reassurance or distraction, always feeling that someone else—society, your parents, your genetics, your friends—has wronged you, always waiting for a prize, for a lover, for something or someone to wipe away your sadness, to tell you that you have suffered enough, that you are good enough, that this was all test, which you’ve passed, and now you can be happy.
This is one thing of which I am certain: suffering does not guarantee a payoff. Some people spend their whole lives miserable and then they die. Do not let this happen to you.
https://hotelconcierge.tumblr.com/post/ ... tal-health
- cancer.jpg (39.05 KiB) Katsottu 338 kertaa
Stigma is bad. But here’s the thing: I don’t know anyone who disputes this. I don’t know a single person who is pro-stigma. And while the internet is full of jerks, any mental health-related Google query pops up 1,000,000 times more pleas to Talk About Mental Health than links in support of stigma, and for every Youtube troll telling depressed people to buck up, I see fifty variants of the above images [2].
So if most people are against stigma, why does it still exist?
One day, a depressed person feels even more depressed than usual. He vents to a family member/significant other. The family member takes it seriously, the depressed person feels understood, and his mood temporarily improves.
This repeats several times.
The depressed person has another spike of hopelessness. He talks to a close friend but for some reason doesn’t get his usual rush of relief. He feels that the listener isn’t taking him seriously—and maybe that’s true, Boy Who Cried Wolf and all that—but it’s equally likely that, without realizing it, the depressed person has built up a tolerance. And so the depressed person acts a little bit dramatic. He cries, he stares at the floor, he yells, he screams, he hints at suicidal thoughts. He’s not lying, he’s just method acting. Eventually, the listener proves that she “gets it”—she starts crying—and the depressed person feels a little better.
This repeats several times.
The depressed person feels worse than ever. He spends a week posting about suicidality on his blog, telling anyone who will listen but becoming increasingly frustrated that no one understands. He fantasizes about showing everyone just how miserable he is. He wants to show them how they’ve made him feel this way: by shunning him, by refusing to listen to him, by supporting the unjust structures of society. He imagines that if he did die, his death would teach them a lesson. He imagines how sad they would feel at his funeral. He fantasizes about lying supine in the street and staring into space, blocking traffic, blocking the crosswalk, an act of protest against the universe. He fantasizes about being understood, about not feeling alone in his suffering. But, lying on his bed, he realizes that no words can possibly make anyone get it. He has to do something. Not suicide, because even though he hates living he he doesn’t quite want to die, but something just short of it. Something to show them how much pain he’s in. So he goes to the bathroom, downs a bottle of pills [10], and calls 911.
This repeats several times.
Patient well-known for depression/SI, borderline, PTSD, polysubstance abuse, has been seen 3Xs w/in the past 6wks for overdose all with admissions to the CCU. He arrives by ambulance today d/t acute polysubstance OD on psych meds. He crushed up three different psych meds of known amounts and took them all simultaneously at 1145. When medics arrived, he handed them a sheet of paper with the names, doses, and amounts of each pill stating, "I took these.”
The depressed person has attempted suicide five or six times now. During his last ER visit, the nurse rolled her eyes and said something about “you again.” The depressed person can’t think about anything other than his depression and how much time he’s wasted being depressed, which makes him even more depressed. He feels worse than ever but cannot communicate this: anything he says will be perceived as attention-seeking drama, a prelude to another pathetic attempt. He can’t get anyone to understand, and even if he could get them to understand, there is nothing they could do to help. The problems that once made him unhappy are not relevant anymore. Now his problem is depression. That’s all he is now: a depressed person. He cannot imagine a way out of his situation. And so he buys a rope…
It is a cultural myth that expressing emotion is inherently a Force for Good. It’s a myth taught by parents (“Go ahead, let it all out. There’s no such thing as a bad feeling”), supported by television (where emotions have to be externalized or else not exist at all), and expedited by the internet. But it is a myth. Communicating emotion is a drug—useful on occasion, tolerance-inducing, and addictive. This, in essence, is the problem with therapy—not all therapy, but definitely the chronic, insight-oriented, therapist’s-business-card-in-wallet type. Even if it’s not helping, you’ll still want more.
A 2001 study published in the Journal of Counseling Psychology found that patients improved most dramatically between their seventh and tenth sessions. Another study, published in 2006 in the Journal of Consulting and Clinical Psychology, looked at nearly 2,000 people who underwent counseling for 1 to 12 sessions and found that while 88 percent improved after one session, the rate fell to 62 percent after 12. Yet, according to research conducted at the University of Pennsylvania, therapists who practice more traditional psychotherapy treat patients for an average of 22 sessions before concluding that progress isn’t being made. Just 12 percent of those therapists choose to refer their stagnant patients to another practitioner. (NY Times)
This is also the flaw of inpatient psychiatric hospitalization. I’ve seen this a half-dozen times: patient checks into the psych ward feeling depressed and suicidal, gets started on medication, gets intensive daily therapy, does group-sharing activities, does artistic expression activities, feels much better, signs paperwork saying that she feels non-suicidal, leaves the hospital, gets in a taxi home, panics, downs a bottle of pills, and checks back into the psych ward.
As part of a larger clinical trial, patients (n = 103) with major depression without suicidal ideation at hospital discharge were followed for up to 6 months while receiving study-related outpatient treatments. Fifty-five percent (n = 57/103) reported the emergence of suicidal ideation during the outpatient period, with the vast majority (79%; n = 45/57) of these patients exhibiting this problem within the first two months post-discharge. (Source)
We conducted a national population-based case-control study of 238 psychiatric patients dying by suicide within 3 months of hospital discharge, matched on date of discharge to 238 living controls…Forty-three per cent of suicides occurred within a month of discharge, 47% of whom died before their first follow-up appointment. The first week and the first day after discharge were particular high-risk periods. (Source)
The risk of suicide in the first week after discharge is higher than the risk of suicide at the time of hospital admission. This is a withdrawal syndrome. And so, going back to Ozy:
image
If you are an addict, the solution is not to procure more drugs. And Ozy is an addict: if ze doesn’t talk about mental health in the most dire way possible, then ze doesn’t feel safe and cared for. By relying on external succor to treat pain, Ozy has taught zirself to be helpless. For example:
image
Ozy believes that mental illness is best modeled as a disability. Ze self-describes with the word “neurodivergent,” which probably isn’t meant as a bleak satire of the social justice movement but totally is. From zir essay:
Neurodiversity is essentially the radical notion that not everyone has a brain that works the same way.
The medical model of neurodivergence works something like this: just like some people can have sick bodies, some people can have sick brains…If your brain is sick, you should go to a doctor and receive treatment that will make you not sick anymore.
At the same time, the medical model isn’t very good for people who are going to have weird brains for the rest of their lives.
Ozy’s pulling a motte and bailey with the definition of neurodivergent: one moment it means “not everyone has a brain that works the same way; don’t be a jerk,” the next it’s “all mental states are equally valid; accept your current state and don’t try to change.” I don’t think everyone should become “neurotypical”—neurotypical people don’t exist, by the way—but I posit that not all neurodivergence is created equal.
It [the medical model] contributes to a Fantasy of Being Neurotypical, similar to the Fantasy of Being Thin. You can spend your entire life trying to become a neurotypical person and failing–or you can accept that you’re neurodivergent and try to live the best life you can as a neurodivergent person. It is possible to have a happy, fulfilled life and be badbrains as fuck. And for those of us who have incurable mental Stuff, it is necessary.
No. I don’t think it’s possible to have “a happy, fulfilled life” while clinically depressed, I don’t think it’s a fantasy to have obsessions and compulsions reduced to a minimum [11], and I don’t accept that mental stuff is untreatable. With regards to unwanted medicalization, Ozy gives the examples of ABA treatments for autism and ADD medication for kids. I mostly agree with zir on this—children can’t give consent for psychiatric treatment—but the blame should not fall on the treatments (which do help some people), it should fall on the parents: supply only exists because of demand. Fine, but Ozy is accusing the medical model of unfairly pathologizing all neurodivergence. This is absurd. Autism and ADD have pros and cons, but most neurodivergences unequivocally suck [12], and pretty much everyone who has depression or schizophrenia would rather they didn’t. It makes logistical sense to categorize these conditions as illnesses, as this allows mental healthcare to be covered by insurance and gives doctors grounds to prescribe medication. A good rule-of-thumb: does [insert condition] negatively impact your life or the lives of those around you? If it does, consider getting help. Otherwise, don’t sweat it.
The social model of mental illness works like this: some people are not able to do things that other people can do; this is called “impaired”. A person who cannot walk is impaired. Some impaired people are not accommodated by society; this is called “disabled”.
What does the author want to be true? Ozy distinguishes between “illness” and “disability” because illnesses are treatable, and disabilities, in general, are not. Ozy’s philosophy is the evolution of We Need To Talk About Mental Health: mental illness = Not Your Fault, mental disability = Not Even Curable. This is scientifically unsound—in this study, 70% of depressed patients recovered after eight months of outpatient treatment, and most mental illnesses show improvement with therapy—but it’s critical to Ozy’s identity. If mental illness is treatable, then getting help, to some extent, is Ozy’s responsibility, but if mental illness is immutable, then it’s society’s responsibility to take care of Ozy.
I don’t think there is anything wrong with social support and I don’t think there’s anything wrong with the occasional accommodation. But I would caution against being the type of person who needs to be accommodated, if you can at all avoid it. Once you start needing, it gets harder and harder to stop. I get the desire for trigger warnings, but when you demand that other people not trigger you, you are giving them power over you. Every bully in the world now has an easy way to hurt you: you have made yourself weak. It’s a perfectly reasonable choice to not attend a party because you feel anxious, but if you claim that you can’t attend a party because you have “an Anxiety Disorder,” you are refusing to own your choice, you are deciding that you have no power over your future, and you are solidifying that this is who you are: a person who is incapable of attending parties. Feeling anxious is temporary, Anxiety is an identity. Not doing the dishes because you feel depressed is understandable, not doing the dishes because you have Depression is a self-fulfilling prophecy. I get that defining yourself as Depressed eases the pain of depression—it lets you avoid the constant mental gnashing of “maybe I’m not doing enough,” “maybe I’m not trying hard enough,” it lets you accept your condition. Do you want to accept your condition, though? Or do you want to stop being depressed?
Sometimes, treating the symptoms makes the disease worse. When you define yourself as Disabled, you define yourself as someone who cannot solve his or her own problems. With time, this will become your default response to pain. “I can’t do anything, someone please help.”
This is a trap, and it will ruin you. I’m not saying “stop defining yourself by your mental illness” because I’m a neurotypical jerk. I’m saying it because I have tried the path of disability and it does not work. Mental illness is not your fault, but it is your responsibility. The only person who can fix your problems is you.
Ozy is dependent on other people for care and praise and relies on labels to avoid accountability for zir own behavior. The result is that Ozy is, always, perpetually, a victim.
image
If a significant other tells you that he/she is “unable to understand that I don’t deserve to be mistreated,” get a pre-nup and don’t have kids, because the divorce is going to be ugly. Ozy’s helplessness permeates every aspect of zir being.
Zir social life:
image
Zir day-to-day sustenance:
image
Zir sex life:
image
And zir employment (or lack thereof):
image
I’ll say it again: you do not want this. There’s nothing morally wrong or shameful about using mental illness as a disability, it just doesn’t work—a temporary solution becomes your new problem. Ozy identifies as genderqueer, but the only reason ze gets away with this behavior because ze a) is young and b) has female genitals. This coping mechanism will not last. Ozy knows this, Ozy is smart, but ze’s addicted to zir identity, to zir defense mechanisms, and ze can’t imagine being anything else.
image
Ozy, to zir credit, is working on cognitive behavioral therapy and exposure response therapy. I wish zir the best of luck, but I think that Ozy’s outlook will make the process much tougher than it has to be. Ozy doesn’t want to change, ze wants the world to change.
image
I want the world to change too. But I wouldn’t count on it happening any time soon.
VI.
I mean no ill will towards Ozy or anyone like zir. Life is hard, really really hard. The struggles of mental illness take a lifetime to solve. I am reminded of the Serenity Prayer:
God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
The courage to change the things I can,
And the wisdom to know the difference.
(Buddha ei kuulema kestä viinaa, joten ota suolan kera)
This prayer neglects to mention that nobody this side of Gautama Buddha has been granted “the wisdom to know the difference.” Few things are more difficult than deciding whether you need to change. If you focus only on treating the underlying disease, not allowing yourself the comforts of confession, self-acceptance, and the occasional crutch to lean on, then you will tear yourself apart for every mistake, get nowhere, and give up.
But the alternative is no better. If you focus only on treating the symptoms, then you will spend your life on the verge of tears, always looking for reassurance or distraction, always feeling that someone else—society, your parents, your genetics, your friends—has wronged you, always waiting for a prize, for a lover, for something or someone to wipe away your sadness, to tell you that you have suffered enough, that you are good enough, that this was all test, which you’ve passed, and now you can be happy.
This is one thing of which I am certain: suffering does not guarantee a payoff. Some people spend their whole lives miserable and then they die. Do not let this happen to you.
https://hotelconcierge.tumblr.com/post/ ... tal-health
Make Keke Great Again
Re: Miki Liukkosen murha
Depression is an evolutionary adaptation: a prompt to ruminate, a source of insight and strength.
I find this hypothesis kinda amusing—I’m pretty sure that in the Era of Evolutionary Adaptedness, depression would lead to death-by-Sabertooth almost immediately, regardless of how much it benefited your pre-agriculture Ascent of Man aesthetics. The evidence for depressive realism is weak, depression predicts a decline in physical health, and depressive fatigue makes it difficult to pour a bowl of cereal, nevermind allowing “the individual to concentrate on long-term goals.”'
Pah. Kyse on sosiaalisipsykologiasta pitkälti. Toki järjestelmä voi olla rikki, mutta osa pöpeistäkin on hyvin onnellisia. Pieni osa toki, sillä ilo on vain osa olevasta.
Depression is the human form of learned helplessness.
This is plausible. Repeated, inescapable suffering –> the human body decides “I must be sick” –> chronic inflammatory changes –> symptoms of malaise, fatigue, etc. The question is, given similar environments, why do some people “learn helplessness” while others don’t?
Ensinnäkin, selitin jo miksei jotkut. Toisekseen kyllä, sitä se on. Ihmisellä on minä ja ideaaliminä, joka näkyy mm. siinä mitä paskaa katselee Youtubesta, tai yleisesti parasosiaalisista suhteista joista toinen pääse päättämään ystävyyden tilasta. Enoni tapasi sanoa että minusta tulee varmasti professori, kun olin vauva. Vittuku en oo.
I find this hypothesis kinda amusing—I’m pretty sure that in the Era of Evolutionary Adaptedness, depression would lead to death-by-Sabertooth almost immediately, regardless of how much it benefited your pre-agriculture Ascent of Man aesthetics. The evidence for depressive realism is weak, depression predicts a decline in physical health, and depressive fatigue makes it difficult to pour a bowl of cereal, nevermind allowing “the individual to concentrate on long-term goals.”'
Pah. Kyse on sosiaalisipsykologiasta pitkälti. Toki järjestelmä voi olla rikki, mutta osa pöpeistäkin on hyvin onnellisia. Pieni osa toki, sillä ilo on vain osa olevasta.
This is plausible. Repeated, inescapable suffering –> the human body decides “I must be sick” –> chronic inflammatory changes –> symptoms of malaise, fatigue, etc. The question is, given similar environments, why do some people “learn helplessness” while others don’t?
Ensinnäkin, selitin jo miksei jotkut. Toisekseen kyllä, sitä se on. Ihmisellä on minä ja ideaaliminä, joka näkyy mm. siinä mitä paskaa katselee Youtubesta, tai yleisesti parasosiaalisista suhteista joista toinen pääse päättämään ystävyyden tilasta. Enoni tapasi sanoa että minusta tulee varmasti professori, kun olin vauva. Vittuku en oo.
Make Keke Great Again
Re: Miki Liukkosen murha
BTW: Antaisitko tämän miehen vastuulle kilon kokaiinia?`
Voi kuinka monta vertaistukihenkilöä vetää kamaa...
Voi kuinka monta vertaistukihenkilöä vetää kamaa...
Make Keke Great Again
Re: Miki Liukkosen murha
Depression is not sadness, it is hopelessness. A depressed person can feel happy (“It’s not gonna last”), but it is impossible to feel hopeful and depressed at the same time. The easiest way to have hope is to be okay with anything.
The anti-stigma campaign conflates symptoms with disease and confuses disease with identity. Depression is a chronic illness, sure, a disability, okay, but when it comes down to it, depression is a series of thoughts. Each thought lasts a moment. And a thought, lasting a moment, is not who you are.
Detachment is the key. Pretend that your feelings are happening to someone else, like you are controlling the videogame of your life: accept that you feel depressed without accepting that you are depressed. “I feel worthless and suicidal today. That’s interesting. I wonder if I can change this feeling?” So you do CBT and it doesn’t work. “That did not change my feeling. Huh, good to know.” If something goes wrong, it is not your fault. It has nothing to do with you. It’s just a thing that happened, once. Maybe it will go right tomorrow. Maybe it won’t. You are not allowed to look backwards, not even for a second. The past has no influence over what you do now. And you can’t look too far forwards, or you’ll draw patterns where none truly exist. For as long as you are depressed, you must loosen your grip on induction.
Eventually, if you keep trying, if you’re doing something, anything, you will start to feel better. Depression is hopelessness: the breakdown between effort and reward. When you rediscover that your actions have value, it feels like a miracle. “I just did the dishes! Holy shit! I made myself breakfast and I ate the breakfast and now the dishes are clean!”
Vähän sama kuin mökötin kun minua sanottiin linnakundiksi. Olen ollut linnassa, aion mennä uudestaan, mutta linnakundi en ole. Mitä minä olen, on jätkä joka käytti aikansa kaikkeen muuhun kuin linnakundeiluun, mitä ikinä se onkaan. Ainakin jutustelua siitä kuinka ennen mentiin taksilla ja ostettiin pannupitsaa ihan tosta noin vaan.
Minä mietin kuinka olin pienellä paratiisisaarella kuvaamassa maisemia kateellisille kavereilleni kun merestä nousi nuori lapsi meduusa naamallaan kaikkien sympatessa. Sitten siihen ilmestyi joku rantaleijona joka kusi tämän lapsen naaman päälle ja lapsi hämmennyksissään lopetti itkemisen, jolloin tästä vatipäästä tuli naisten silmissä alfa. Minä taas järkytyksissäni hörähdin nauruun ja jouduin ostrakisoiduksi, enkä voinut edes puolustautua, sillä halusin suojella lasta totuudelta, jonka hän tosin jo sydämessään tiesi. Loma menikin sitten sietäen solvauksia samalla katsellen kun Alfa vei kaikki naiset. Lentokentällä olinkin jo onnellinen että loma loppui, kun tullimies veti sivuun ja kysyi mikä tää golden shower juttu on? Ei uskonut tarinaani ja nyt olenkin sitten rekisteröity seksuaalirikollinen ja edes kehitysmaa ei huoli minun rahojani.
The anti-stigma campaign conflates symptoms with disease and confuses disease with identity. Depression is a chronic illness, sure, a disability, okay, but when it comes down to it, depression is a series of thoughts. Each thought lasts a moment. And a thought, lasting a moment, is not who you are.
Detachment is the key. Pretend that your feelings are happening to someone else, like you are controlling the videogame of your life: accept that you feel depressed without accepting that you are depressed. “I feel worthless and suicidal today. That’s interesting. I wonder if I can change this feeling?” So you do CBT and it doesn’t work. “That did not change my feeling. Huh, good to know.” If something goes wrong, it is not your fault. It has nothing to do with you. It’s just a thing that happened, once. Maybe it will go right tomorrow. Maybe it won’t. You are not allowed to look backwards, not even for a second. The past has no influence over what you do now. And you can’t look too far forwards, or you’ll draw patterns where none truly exist. For as long as you are depressed, you must loosen your grip on induction.
Eventually, if you keep trying, if you’re doing something, anything, you will start to feel better. Depression is hopelessness: the breakdown between effort and reward. When you rediscover that your actions have value, it feels like a miracle. “I just did the dishes! Holy shit! I made myself breakfast and I ate the breakfast and now the dishes are clean!”
Vähän sama kuin mökötin kun minua sanottiin linnakundiksi. Olen ollut linnassa, aion mennä uudestaan, mutta linnakundi en ole. Mitä minä olen, on jätkä joka käytti aikansa kaikkeen muuhun kuin linnakundeiluun, mitä ikinä se onkaan. Ainakin jutustelua siitä kuinka ennen mentiin taksilla ja ostettiin pannupitsaa ihan tosta noin vaan.
Minä mietin kuinka olin pienellä paratiisisaarella kuvaamassa maisemia kateellisille kavereilleni kun merestä nousi nuori lapsi meduusa naamallaan kaikkien sympatessa. Sitten siihen ilmestyi joku rantaleijona joka kusi tämän lapsen naaman päälle ja lapsi hämmennyksissään lopetti itkemisen, jolloin tästä vatipäästä tuli naisten silmissä alfa. Minä taas järkytyksissäni hörähdin nauruun ja jouduin ostrakisoiduksi, enkä voinut edes puolustautua, sillä halusin suojella lasta totuudelta, jonka hän tosin jo sydämessään tiesi. Loma menikin sitten sietäen solvauksia samalla katsellen kun Alfa vei kaikki naiset. Lentokentällä olinkin jo onnellinen että loma loppui, kun tullimies veti sivuun ja kysyi mikä tää golden shower juttu on? Ei uskonut tarinaani ja nyt olenkin sitten rekisteröity seksuaalirikollinen ja edes kehitysmaa ei huoli minun rahojani.
Make Keke Great Again
Re: Miki Liukkosen murha
No matter what Kendrick says, dick is pretty much free. Men are constantly aware that they are replaceable, women are constantly reminded that they are inferior. Most people feel inadequate most of the time.
I get obsessively down on myself, and hammer myself into the ground so hard that there is no way of possibly getting back up. I tell myself I am too anxious to be in charge of anything or have any real responsibilities, and that if I did, I would just freak out and ruin everything and get fired. This attitude basically showed in my job interview, when they started throwing responsibilities at me and I just said “I don’t know if I’ll be able to do that,” and had no idea how to respond to any of it. I couldn’t say "Yeah, I’m capable of that,” because I don’t believe I am and I couldn’t lie. Clearly the wrong things to say, but I was just so intimated and nervous. I left the interview, went to my car, and broke down and cried for almost an hour. I just feel like my anxiety is going to destroy any chance I have of ever accomplishing anything. [From a forum, somewhere.]
No catchphrase exists that can mend the feeling of inadequacy. You can try—“All of this stuff is subjective, it doesn’t really matter”—but at some level, it does matter. We care about measurement and any trait can be measured. The scale starts at 0 and it goes to 10. You are not a 10. And so, the argument goes:
We all fantasize of being beautiful and with a beautiful person.
People who are less than 8/10 usually manage to find someone: a 2 with a 2, a 4 with a 6, a 6 with a 7, etc.
All of these sub-8 relationships remind me of playing “house” as a kid: you play Mommy and I’ll play Daddy. Let’s pretend.
When you’re taking your date out for a fancy dinner, even if you are a 7 with a 7, it is role play. When you get your dick sucked in your car down by the lake and think you’re part of some hot sexual act, it is not, you are pretending. When you get photos taken together, deep down, you’re trying to convince yourself that you’re the hot couple which you will never be.
We make each other feel better by allowing each other to pretend to be the sexy people that we are not. 8+ people do it for real. [/r9k/]
I reject this. Some people have it easier than others, but beauty is an not immutable truth. For the rest of this essay, that is what I intend to prove.
...
https://hotelconcierge.tumblr.com/post/ ... attractive
Kun on huonoin versio ITSESTÄÄN, kannattaa lukea.
I get obsessively down on myself, and hammer myself into the ground so hard that there is no way of possibly getting back up. I tell myself I am too anxious to be in charge of anything or have any real responsibilities, and that if I did, I would just freak out and ruin everything and get fired. This attitude basically showed in my job interview, when they started throwing responsibilities at me and I just said “I don’t know if I’ll be able to do that,” and had no idea how to respond to any of it. I couldn’t say "Yeah, I’m capable of that,” because I don’t believe I am and I couldn’t lie. Clearly the wrong things to say, but I was just so intimated and nervous. I left the interview, went to my car, and broke down and cried for almost an hour. I just feel like my anxiety is going to destroy any chance I have of ever accomplishing anything. [From a forum, somewhere.]
No catchphrase exists that can mend the feeling of inadequacy. You can try—“All of this stuff is subjective, it doesn’t really matter”—but at some level, it does matter. We care about measurement and any trait can be measured. The scale starts at 0 and it goes to 10. You are not a 10. And so, the argument goes:
We all fantasize of being beautiful and with a beautiful person.
People who are less than 8/10 usually manage to find someone: a 2 with a 2, a 4 with a 6, a 6 with a 7, etc.
All of these sub-8 relationships remind me of playing “house” as a kid: you play Mommy and I’ll play Daddy. Let’s pretend.
When you’re taking your date out for a fancy dinner, even if you are a 7 with a 7, it is role play. When you get your dick sucked in your car down by the lake and think you’re part of some hot sexual act, it is not, you are pretending. When you get photos taken together, deep down, you’re trying to convince yourself that you’re the hot couple which you will never be.
We make each other feel better by allowing each other to pretend to be the sexy people that we are not. 8+ people do it for real. [/r9k/]
I reject this. Some people have it easier than others, but beauty is an not immutable truth. For the rest of this essay, that is what I intend to prove.
...
https://hotelconcierge.tumblr.com/post/ ... attractive
Kun on huonoin versio ITSESTÄÄN, kannattaa lukea.
Make Keke Great Again
Re: Miki Liukkosen murha
Kamahuora selittää.
The Trauma Narrative
Before I had just been in pain, with symptoms like scars – but now I began to feel that I had been deeply violated, that a great injustice had been done, that I was a true victim of an abuser. I took on the narrative that I had been deprived of some fundamental human right by an evil man. I started having semiregular nightmares of my father coming to kill me, or me killing him.
This is what everybody else believed. It was easy to agree with them, because it put me in a position of authority and power – I was an authority on suffering, now, because I had gone through the thing stamped by society as “bad.” I had power because I adopted a frame where I could explicitly label what I had gone through and pull it out when needed in conversations, as a piece of my identity, and a shortcut for gaining sympathy and support from people around me.
https://aella.substack.com/p/the-trauma-narrative
The Trauma Narrative
Before I had just been in pain, with symptoms like scars – but now I began to feel that I had been deeply violated, that a great injustice had been done, that I was a true victim of an abuser. I took on the narrative that I had been deprived of some fundamental human right by an evil man. I started having semiregular nightmares of my father coming to kill me, or me killing him.
This is what everybody else believed. It was easy to agree with them, because it put me in a position of authority and power – I was an authority on suffering, now, because I had gone through the thing stamped by society as “bad.” I had power because I adopted a frame where I could explicitly label what I had gone through and pull it out when needed in conversations, as a piece of my identity, and a shortcut for gaining sympathy and support from people around me.
https://aella.substack.com/p/the-trauma-narrative
Make Keke Great Again