Monday Music: the no, no, NO edition

I will never again underestimate the importance of being able to walk down the street without feeling like a hunted animal. I thought about it a lot before I came to Britain – on my trips to Ukraine especially – but it’s having been able to travel extensively by myself, go to Scotland, pop down to Liverpool, end up in the south in Devon, that has really driven this home for me.

I know I have a lot of Jordanian readers, as well as drive-by comments who worry that I am slandering their home, and I know it’s an uncomfortable situation when someone is laying it out in the barest of ways, but I will continue to do so in my writing, on this blog and elsewhere, because this is one of the few things that a) Keeps me sane & b) Keeps me working.

So this is a Monday Music dedicated to whatever it is that keeps you going through the night:

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Mad is as mad does

This discussion about madness & the Icarus Project on Feministe ended up getting shut down because people ended up talking past each other and there was a lot of anger and feelings ended up hurt. With all due respect – as I said over there before the comments were closed – how the hell do you avoid having a discussion about mental illness and what it means and doesn’t mean without people getting trampled on? Is that even possible?

I think there are fine engagement rules that can facilitate honest debate (or bury it, depending on which way the wind is blowing), but personally, I don’t exactly attempt to be careful about the emotions of those around me when it comes to discussing mental illness. There are statements I have patience for and statements I do not have any patience for, and there’s that. I’m more or less grimly amused when, for example, someone shows up on my blog and asks me how I can possibly consider having children after suffering from PTSD. On the other hand, I refuse to be told off by people who tell me to stop using the word “crazy” as an insult – because, guess what? I own that word as much as anyone who has ever had it used to dehumanize them does. And I happen to think it’s a great word that has a variety of connotations – both negative and positive. I will not have my language purged of it.

I’m OK with hosting a largely unmoderated discussion on mental illness here, especially since one of the things I saw wrong with the discussion on Feministe was all of the assumptions people made about each other in their defensiveness (coming from an intensely personal experience, that’s actually quite normal) – assumptions such as “you’re just one of those people who thinks it’s cool to go off their meds and torment others” or “you’re just one of those people who thinks it’s awesome to strap people into chairs and give them injections that can harm them.”

I think if people can bear with each other and talk it out, they realize that nothing as extreme is being proposed – at the very least, I didn’t see anything extreme going on at Feministe.

It isn’t surprising that saying “people should try to manage their conditions” is going to be interpreted as “x and y and z should be mandatory for all the crazies.” It is, however, frustrating, because having been on both sides of the fence, I don’t think that managing one’s condition automatically includes mandatory medication (how about mandatory therapy sessions?).

I think it certainly includes a discussion of various social arrangements, however – especially as this pertains to custody of children, visitation rights, restraining orders, emergency contacts, and other flotsam and jetsam of human relationships.

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Tweedledee, Tweedledum and Faerie Lands

For eight long years, D and I have been internet friends. We traded witticisms (well, witticisms in his case, anyway) as we chatted about Tolkien, Metallica, life, death and the importance of good beer. We kept in touch when I went to college, when he got his Master’s, when I moved to the Middle East and when he got a new job. Even when we went for long stretches of time without speaking, I’d catch myself reading a book or listening to a song and wondering if D would approve – or smite it with his clever use of sarcasm.

Finally, finally, this past bank holiday weekend – I went to the south of England armed with a book on Celtic myths (some snooty, tweedy person in a bookstore doubted I could comprehend it, so I knew I had to get it for D right away) and actually met D.

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Monday Music: The Cream of Devonshire Edition

I am exhausted from the coolness that was heaped upon me in the last week. I am in thrall to the peculiarities of life and the importance of having friends who know just what kind of beer to order at a crucially emotional moment. Until I am able to sufficiently recover while in London, here some (hopefully appropriate) music:

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