I am currently reading a comical surrealist novel, "The Master and Margarita," (completed in 1939, published in english for the first time in 1967), which was written by the late Russian playwright Mikhail Bulgakov (1894-1940), who actively wrote during the Stalinist regime in the first half of the twentieth century, and whose work was banned because of its controversial criticisms of over authoritative government and related corruption, remaining unpublished for the most part, until well after his death . Bulgakov's story depicts the appearance of Satan in 1920s Moscow, and the following passage caught my attention just last night. In it, the devil has inadvertently drawn the company of a young poet who has until that moment spent a number of years hospitalized in relation to uncontrollable fear that arose in his conscious thoughts as a consequence of belligerently tyrannical publishing houses:
"That's better," said Woland (Satan) with a slight frown . "Now
we can talk. Who are you?"
"I am no one," replied the young man with a lopsided smile.
"Where have you come from?"
"From the madhouse. I am a mental patient," replied the visitor.
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Earlier today, I enjoyed the privilege of presenting my concerns about patient abuse at the Arizona state Hospital at a very impressive Human Rights Rally at Wheeler Park in Flagstaff. This gathering was organized by the friendly folks from the Indigenous Resistance.org network, and sponsored (in part) by The Flagstaff Action Network, Outta' Your Backpack Media, The Arizona Center for Biological Diversity, and the Shanker Law Firm. As I spoke, I found myself thinking of my friend Thomas, who has been hospitalized at the Arizona State Hospital (ASH) for 8-9 years and is likely not going anywhere soon, and who- due to having made at least one attempt to rely upon the hospital and state grievance and appeals representatives as a matter of speaking up in defense of his rights as a human being- is today little different from a shaking leaf in a desert windstorm, his fear of ASH staff and administration so deep, that he would literally shudder whenever I shared with him my own strongly felt desire to speak out against abuse at ASH.
I did not know whether to estimate Thomas' fears as irrational, at first, but beyond getting to know him as I also grew familiar with the rampant patient abuse at ASH, I also had an opportunity to speak with a human rights advocate who tried to assist Thomas in at least one situation, and I learned from her that Thomas had been subjected to administrative retaliation almost identical to the retaliatory transfer that I later came to experience in early September, 2011.
Thomas is a peaceful and amicable man, through and through, and he too was unduly placed on a very dangerous unit after questioning certain issues at ASH, where he is constantly subjected to violence imparted on him by much more aggressive mentally ill adults. But even with these seemingly volatile circumstances, the ongoing elbow to elbow presence in his daily life of violent paranoid schizophrenics, and so on, it was Thomas who first said to me:
"I am terrified of staff!" He then vainly tried to warn me, in his kindhearted way, explaining to me that "It's best to just let these people do things the way do them, and get out of here as soon as you can."
Indeed, the problems at ASH are with staff, and not the patients.
THERE WERE AT LEAST 200 PEOPLE AT TODAY'S HUMAN RIGHTS RALLY.
I HANDED OUT 42 OF THESE TO ATTENDEES.
I ONLY REGRET NOT BRINGING MORE
(PREPAREDNESS IS THE CARDINAL RULE OF ANY GOOD BOY SCOUT)
As I spoke today, I thought about how essentially unjust it is that Thomas and countless other individuals that I got to know at ASH don't have the basic freedom that I have today to speak out against the wrongdoing at ASH. And I fear even now, as I write, that my message today will not carry far beyond the impromptu stage that I orated from. I am no sort of pulpit speaker, and I do not like asking others for help; while the range of issues by other speakers today had to do with equally imperative aspects of human rights issues in contemporary society and culture.
But my voice, coming as I am from that place, ASH, where patients are laughed at by staff, and scorned by certain of the other patients who staff have wrapped around their dirty fingers, whenever they advocate on behalf of their own fundamental human rights, may be the only voice from ASH to hit this part of the state for the next millennium. Such is the state of mental health care and related advocacy concerns in the human community, not so much a case of deaf ears as it is a case of hollow voices, the stigma and related discrimination's against mentally ill persons being the standard for more Americans than any sort of poll will ever tell us.
I know what it is to discriminate. Not so long ago, I would effectively cross any given street if and when I came upon a man on a sidewalk yelling at the sky, and so on. Today, via my very real experience over the last 25 months, I know what it is to accept mentally ill persons for who they are, no less human then anyone else, and therein deserving of love, compassion, and respect equal to that of anyone else. Which is to say, I have a learned and sincere understanding of both the discomfort (or worse) that many citizens experience when faced with issues specific to the mentally ill; as well, today, a far more equitable understanding of what it is to be, in fact, affected by mental illness, and subjected on that basis to discrimination and abuse.
This latter understanding came to me via my experiences while being "treated" (for lack of a better word) in Arizona's sole long term public mental health care facility, ASH. Bottom line, hands down, end of story.
I also know today that even in contemporary terms, the presence today of covertly sanctioned patient abuse in public American hospital facilities such as ASH is a far more insidious state of affairs than outright racism or genocide, because many mentally ill persons do, for the most part, function in their very own, personal worlds on the basis of their given health challenges. Being placed in long term settings where direct, publicly administered oversight is effectively nonexistent, puts vulnerable persons such as the mentally ill at undeniably great risk of abuse and related medical perversion. Based upon my experiences at ASH, I somewhat doubt that the administrators at ASH even comprehend the depths of this risk, but this is no excuse for their systematic rejections of patient voices in terms of alleged staff wrongdoing.
ASH is a place where I might have at one time felt safe in presuming that mentally ill adults would be most protected from outright abuse and medical unlawfulness, but as a patient there, I learned the exact opposite.
Voicelessness is a central theme of mental illness in society today, but not entirely because of the inability and related unwillingness of healthy people to listen. My time in the close company of Arizona's most seriously mentally ill adults taught me that we, the ones effected so strongly by our given mental illness/disorder, experience our illness all but alone. This is true in the sense that only the mentally person experiences the innermost aspects of their own cognitive experiences, and in relation to this, we are often most alone when asked to meaningfully express ourselves. The desire to loudly advertise our struggles to remain lucid is not a given, and far too often, the societal stigmatization of mentally ill persons carries a two fold impact.
I can, in this sense, attest to the fact that most of us, the mentally ill, undesirably share the same degree of shame and stigmatization that is assigned to us by supposedly "healthy" people. Further compromising out ability to even accept needed health care in context.
Early on in my treatment for depression, I shirked the notion that I could somehow be like that, and once I somewhat willingly allowed myself to begin treatment for an identified mental illness, I did so begrudgingly, because I was not certain that I was in any way deserving of exclusive attention derived of my diagnosis as a mentally ill person. As such, my own shortcomings in terms of accepting the fact that at least some degree of my depression based thinking is, at times, distorted, underlies the essential reason that it took so long (21 full months of continuous inpatient hospitalization) for me to come to terms with my full diagnosis as a seriously mentally ill person. Sadness, per se', is not a mental illness, right? That is what I had told myself since my first encounter with severe depression (at the age of 13 or so). And with my suicidal ideations in mind, so what if my sadness causes me to discard all notions of taking part in this world as it presents itself to me.
Right?
But before these factors, there is me, the person, the man; and I am nothing, if I am unable to ascertain the essential bearing of my mental state on some level. All mentally ill persons have moments of reasonable lucidity. and at those times, at that level of their experiential lives, they are at least somewhat aware of their given interactions and related challenges when it comes to connecting with the world around them. This is not always true, but there is as overwhelming belief that the seriously mentally ill do not know that that they are so affected is erroneous. As with myself, I am well aware that major depressive disorder- a known form of serious mental illness- has long negated my life experiences, and that it is only due to my being affected by severe depression- vs. more debilitating forms of mental illness- that I am able to function with no seeming negation in this sense.
Most "healthy" people see all of this as an affliction, and are made uncomfortable by it, granting mentally ill persons what might be characterized as "their space," or avoiding them entirely. This same basic condition applies to the atmosphere at ASH, and the outright deliberate willingness of the majority of ASH staff to treat the patients there as unequal to themselves directly endorses the fundamental challenges that all mentally ill people have in accepting the full breadth of their given diagnosis.
....Let the freaks be, right? Mikhail Bulgakov knew what he was talking about when he portrayed the expressed self identity of his long hospitalized poet in the way that he did:
"I am no one... I am a mental patient."
Identity is a tricky thing in America today, and perhaps in human experience itself. I know that my father's conflict with self identity flowed in part from his modern "heritage" as an American Indian man, in large part because was an "Oklahoma Indian," a member of the far displaced Chickasaw nation, and a person who grew up in a time when Indian children in Oklahoma were told by their own parents to cloak their indianness because their parents were terrified by what they know about the new blood colonizers. The depression that my father experienced later in his life was rooted in identity conflicts, I know this much about him, conflicts as deep as the waters of the greatest northern lakes, and as personal as humanely possible. My depression flows from these same elements of self understanding and conflict, albeit in a different form.
But today, with the help of others who understand the graphic fear that comes with believing- for whatever reason- that you are not worthy of- or cut out for- life itself, as well as of those who are capable of comprehending the egregious state of human rights issues in the United States and beyond, I may find the means to bring voice to the patients at ASH. Please, whoever you are, become involved in expressing simple, straight forward demands for rigorous investigation and oversight of the atrociously inhumane conditions at the Arizona State Hospital today.
DATELINE 2018: Not only am I able to seemingly function with no legitimate challenges specific to my known diagnosis of major depressive disorder, I am further and more importantly able to speak in defense of my rights and care needs.