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Edited on Wed Jan-12-11 02:54 PM by HereSince1628
I understand that this is why I am so determined to argue the truths that the mentally ill are more often victims of violence than perpetrators, that we mostly aren’t dangerous to others and that we can be intelligent.
Others think that my disorder makes me dangerous to them. I find THAT assessment of me very deeply distressing. Unfortunately, the only thing I can do is passionately protest that their assessment is wrong. In my passion to protest, I provide--in their perception--proof that I am indeed dangerous.
I have no greater self-loathing than comes from being considered dangerous. Dangerous is what my father was, what my brothers were and what my sister was: people trained in domestic violence by a master.
I have no greater fear than being seen to be the mirror of my father. Words fail to communicate the sting of the bile in my throat produced by that fear. Even dead he haunts me. In my dissociations, at times when I am greatly agitated, I literally feel him in me, his pants on my legs, his stubble on my face...his hair on my head. It terrifies me. I KNOW it isn’t real, but the feeling of actually turning into him is tortuous. The sensation that I must escape him is exquisitely real. And I REALLY MUST, and do, cut, pound or tear all vestige of him out of me. Like a coyote in a trap chewing off its own leg…
The psychological community calls this self-harm. I’ve called it salvation, but it isn’t. It’s really a crutch, a way of focusing on a painful reality to keep from slipping into the being I loathe. I don’t like pain. I don’t invite pain. But it’s a necessary tool. Like an extended cartoon pinch to be sure of wakefulness. The feeling that my face is his, is a delusion; the sting of the cutting is real. I desperately want reality. I’ve cut myself, shredding my clothes, dozens of time in minutes to ‘keep it real.’
Emergency room nurses and hospital security guards don’t understand this any more than a random person on the street. I’m mentally ill and I’m dangerous. In the presence of my dissociation, they fear for themselves. I suppose that’s natural. Destroying my left rotor cuff by aggressively placing me in arm bars and then smashing me into walls and onto the floor, was painful. It was real. It broke the dissociation better than the hair pulling that caused them to attack me. The lasting damage is worse than anything I ever did to myself. I’m left handed and I can’t reach my wallet in my left pants pocket. I can’t get a bar of soap into my right arm pit. I must thread my shirts and coats on and off carefully because I can’t raise my left arm 40 degrees from my side without tearing pain. The hospital record says “Mr. ****** became agitated and was placed in four point restraint…” Well I suppose that names some of it.
The out-patient staff and professionals have read my record. They are afraid of what I might do. I’ve never wanted to kill myself, but you know, they can’t tell an act of suicide from an act of salvation so my record is flagged. I can’t even see a dermatologist without first getting quizzed about whether I feel like I want to hurt someone. It’s devastatingly depressing. Because and despite of my most vigorous efforts to NOT be the dangerous person I know my father to have been, my caregivers see me as I saw him. They’ve got me wrong and their reaction to me stirs up my own delusions and fear. Their misunderstanding has hurt me. It’s left me physically disabled and psychologically untreated. I walk into the out-patient mental health clinic and see THEMs. That’s a downright horridly bad outcome.
Not everyone has problems like mine. But I am convinced I am not alone in feeling the bite of misunderstanding. Misunderstanding of mental illness hurts tens of millions of Americans every week. Some are hurt more, some are hurt less. But hurting due to misunderstanding and fear is terribly wrong. It’s got to be curtailed. Deleting posts won’t stop misunderstanding, it requires education at the point of the offense. I am sure I am annoying, but the only people who can stop the sweeping misunderstanding on DU is us. When you recognize it, please, intervene. Politely.
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