Columns

Having reviewed a recent column submission, one that may not find its way into publication, it seemed to be the work of a brainwashed, "good" mental health consumer. It was not the work of the normal, anti-establishment persona that I normally might project. Some young Berkeleyans might feel that the Berkeley norm of anti-establishmentarianism isn't anti enough. I don't know; I live in Martinez and have not gone to Berkeley in a long time because of my agoraphobia. When I do go to Berkeley, I'm not trying to talk to college students or others, except maybe to order an iced coffee from a cafe that is or was on College Avenue. Me and my wife would go there, and she would visit the pet store across the street from there. The parking necessitated carrying a lot of quarters, and I don't know if the meters have switched since then to accepting debit cards.

But it seemed when I went there as though I was perceived as an unclean Martinez resident, and not looking very high I.Q. at all. I'm wide in the shoulders, big in the gut, and my appearance doesn't draw unwanted attention in Martinez. 

I don't play chess. My father once played it in chess tournaments decades before the first Macs or PCs came into existence, either of which could have won every tournament. Nothing about the game makes me feel as though it is worth playing. I prefer less mentally strenuous games such as Scrabble (my favorite), and Monopoly. 

I am unhealthy in that I do not try to enjoy things enough. You don't die right away from that, but you can die from it. But people who have fun get sick, too. Doctors cannot cure everything. Sometimes they resort to attempts at making a person more comfortable while they are still around. Mentally ill people aren't considered important enough to draw a lot of time and expense toward fixing us. 

When social fears are dominant, rather than the fear that you may not survive, you are a successful person, in my view. Doctors don't provide food, shelter, housing, or a means of paying for their expensive visits. I have medical conditions, but I do not feel safe enough to spend time on them, or to be vulnerable after a surgery. I'm postponing dealing with the medical issues until I feel safer; it may never happen. 

I'm in my late fifties and many people with my condition don't make it this far. Many who knew me when I was young would have predicted I'd be long gone by this time. 

When doctors can't fix you, they might give you a narcotic to keep you feeling better and to prevent you from complaining too much. Or, they might throw up their hands and tell you "there is nothing more I can do." I haven't actually seen the latter happen--that part is my speculation. 

The worst drug I've taken in terms of shutting down the faculties isn't an antipsychotic; it is a very old antidepressant: Trazodone. Results may differ with other people. Antipsychotics are often promoted as treating depression. When you have altogether fewer thoughts, it means you will have fewer negative thoughts. Negative thoughts are the seeds of much of the depression that people get. Or maybe you will just be so out to lunch that you can no longer speak up about how miserable you are. 

Doctors can't fix a person who doesn't take care of his or her health. They can't eradicate addiction to drugs or food. They can't necessarily fix numerous other afflictions. They end up making a lot of profit from maintaining people who are chronically ill with something. They can make you more comfortable in the short term. The human condition persists: Birth, Old Age, Sickness and Death. This means that you can't get through life without at least some level of suffering. If you can find enjoyment in your life--something you enjoy--you should do that, and not postpone it until you've established security or fixed whatever else it is that keeps you terrorized. Social fears? Low self-esteem? Struggling through school? This is not the same realm as housing insecurity, food insecurity, expensive habits, or being threatened by violent people. Doctors can't fix any of this...