Insane Jane and other medieval horrors

http://socialmediasatisfied.com/movember-mental-illness-and-my-sons-battle-with-ocd-and-depression/

About all I can say is that the above article about a woman's valiant struggle to find help for her son is heartbreaking, and too true. We are still in the dark ages when it comes to mental illness. We avoid, look away and nervously change the subject. We don't help, so afraid we'll say "the wrong thing" that we say nothing at all. Or, perhaps worse, try to fix it: "Here, read this book, it's saving my life." "Dr. Oz says it's nutritional." And so on.

It's true, no one comes to help or bakes brownies or any of the stuff they do when someone breaks a leg. Breaking a leg is a day at the beach compared to this stuff. Feeling alone and, in particular, feeling ashamed, being sure it's your fault, is the worst thing of all. But if no one comes to visit, isn't that the message, isn't that what they're telling you without words?

There are certain "helpful" phrases which kill: "Why don't you just" and "can't you just" being among the worst. "Just" has nothing to do with an intractible brain disorder or a deep conviction that your life is worth nothing. And it implies that you're lazing around not doing anything about your problem simply because you lack motivation. "Just" implies simplicity and even ease, and if you don't see it that way, you obviously need it pointed out to you "for your own good".

I have nothing more to say about this, except that people should WISE UP and stop being such insensitive assholes and get with reality: mental illness can happen in ANY family, it's not a disgrace, and people in this situation need support and understanding and compassion more than anyone else in the world.

Enough said? Of course not, but I'll stop now because I am very, very tired.

POST-BLOG comment: These are ads are for widely-available "mental patient" costumes for Halloween. Nobody seems to question them or even notice them. It's a joke, apparently: don't you have a sense of humor? These folks are funny, aren't they?

I've seen them, along with a mockup of a "mental hospital" in my neighbor's front yard. Accompanying it was a sign: DANGER! ESCAPED LUNATIC! I wonder why we don't see any Parkinson's costumes, or MS "fancy dress" costumes, complete with bloody straightjacket and axe. But these conditions aren't horror-movie stuff, and I guess "craziness" is. Society retains a medieval dread and horror of old-style mental institutions, like something out of Amadeus,  but meanwhile people with mental illness have been turned out on the street with NO support of any kind, not even minimal shelter or food. The thinking seems to be: if we treat them as if they don't have an illness, then they will ACT as if they don't have an illness. Once more, society has its head up its ass so far it can't see the light of day.

http://margaretgunnng.blogspot.ca/2013/04/the-glass-character-synopsis.html

http://members.shaw.ca/margaret_gunning/betterthanlife.htm

The sugar daddy ambush

Do you know what I shit-hate these days?

Stupid people. Or maybe I always have.

We had a nice time at the Canada Day celebrations yesterday at Coquitlam Town Centre Park. Yes, a very nice time looking at displays, sampling food, listening to multicultural music, watching kids on climbing walls, and all those Canada-day-type things.

Then as we were walking along, just walking along in complete innocence, a woman, low to the ground and of indeterminate age, literally ran at us and pressed a booklet into my hands.

“This is a book that’s very helpful for seniors with issues,” she chirped.

I stopped in my tracks.

“Give it to him,” I said, pointing to my very grey, very-much-older husband.

“Oh, that’s what they all say,” she twittered. “I won’t admit to my age either, sweetie.”

My mouth opened and Bill tugged me onwards, sensing a coming storm. “Thanks a LOT,” I yelled back at her as we walked away. “Oh, don’t mention it,” the woman tweeted, obviously delighted she had snagged another victim.

I mean, Jesus!

She RUNS up to people whom she has decided are “old”. Old enough to qualify as “seniors”. This includes women. Last time I checked, most women are not thrilled and delighted to state their age if they’re, say, over 50. Not that it’s a bad thing, but let’s not jump the gun.

We all sort of hope we look at least a few years younger than our chronological age. I thought this was nearly universal. Isn’t it? If not, when did it change? (If you think this is the first time seniors' propaganda has been pressed on me, guess again.)

And to have someone RUN at you because you look like a suitable pigeon for a book on “seniors' issues” is atrocious. “Oh, look, some fossils walking along! I’d better catch them before they fall over.”

My husband thought I was overreacting and said (as I dumped the goddamned ripped-up booklet into the garbage: I glanced at it and it said, among other things, “Where to meet seniors”, so it was probably publicity for a disguised escort service), “It was because of me.”

Well, maybe it WAS because of him. He’s greyer than me, mostly because I color my hair. But please, no running after prey, especially not older prey! They might not be too thrilled to be recruited for the ranks of the over-65, particularly if they are a good many years younger.

And don’t tell me, as I am always condescendingly told, “Oh, don't feel bad. 'Senior' begins at 40”. That’s a load of bullshit and you know it. Would a 40-year-old woman, still deluding herself that she can have another baby like all those Hollywood stars, welcome a booklet on how to pick up a doddering old sugar daddy?

Oh, and. This is even worse. It’s those people who miss irony, and think YOU’RE dumb.

I had a recent attack of this on Facebook. Somebody named a scientific principle, one often quoted on The Big Bang Theory (which is my religion), and I riffed on it in an ironic manner.  The person posted a “now, now, now, that’s not what it means at all” sort of reply, telling me exactly what the principle was and why I had gone so wrong in misinterpreting it.

Why are people so thick? Why do they always turn it around so that ***I*** am the stupid and/or ignorant one, and that I need to be immediately set straight? Whoever these people are, and most of them wear penises to work every day, they do not “get” irony, have perhaps never heard of it, and take absolutely everything literally.

In other words. . . they are men.

It’s not too nice when a joke falls flat, but when the other person has no idea it IS a joke and corrects you for your misinformation, it’s worse than annoying and leaves you with an insulted, put-down, even pitied feeling. Meantime you know you are skating rings around this dullard in wordplay skills and subtlety, not to mention basic intelligence.

But who wins in the ignoramus sweepstakes? Who comes out looking far more clever and erudite?  Could it be me? Are you out of your freaking MIND? Never mind that I’m invariably right, because being right has nothing to do with it. It's all about power and putting so-called "ignorant" people (usually women, assumed to be about as smart as Kha Kha Kardashian - oops, her name is Khloe - I'm so sorry - I got it wrong!) in their place.

Do I think I am smarter than other people (a sin worse than murder)? I don’t just think it, I KNOW it, and Facebook proves it to me every blessed, persecuted day of my life. (Oh, and. This deserves a post of its own, but I will mention it here. Someone will refer to something atrocious, destructive, and categorically WRONG. Then someone else will say, "Oh, it's always been like that." Some people, fancying themselves to be historians because they watch the History Channel, will say, "People have done that since the Etruscans in the year 14 billion B. C." The fact that "we've been doing this for a long time" is supposed to end the discussion. Suddenly, now the most heinous behaviour is OK and acceptable because we've been doing it forever! Make sense? 

Add to this one another ludicrous fallacy. I call it "men do this too!". Anything men do automatically justifies whatever negative, weak or shameful thing women are doing. It renders their sins more acceptable, though only a small percentage of this filters through to women. But at least they aren't seen as the snivelling bitches they were before. . . because after all, "men cry at the movies too".)

(I have to confess something really awful. I think that picture is really Khim Kardashian - or is that Kim - oh, will someone please set me straight here? And my much smarter boy friend just told me that the Etruscans didn't really live in 14 billion B. C. because the theme song of The Big Bang Theory says that that was when the universe was created. Why do I bother keeping a blog at all? I'm just a silly little girl.)

  Visit Margaret's Amazon Author Page!

http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B001K7NGDA

New Breast Cancer Guidelines: :Yes! No! I Don't Know!

NEWS FLASH: Canadian Task Force on Preventive Health Care scores another good one in preventative medicine!

Listen, gals: you can forget about what your doctor has been telling you for the past 25 years.

You can forget about mammograms, unless you suddenly see an egg-sized lump poking out of your bra.

As a matter of fact, don't even look at the lump, because it's probably not there and will only cause you needless anxiety if it turns out to be nothing!

'Cause we all know women are anxious little chick-a-biddies who run around in circles if they think something will happen to their precious little boobies!

And we all know that 99 times out of 100, it's just nothing! They shouldn't worry about it! They shouldn't even go to the doctor, who won't do a breast exam on them anyway 'cause the Task Force has told them not to!

Well, all this new information has certainly clarified things for women, hasn't it? Personally, I feel a lot more secure in knowing the system isn't going to help me at all in the early detection of breast cancer. And it's such a relief to know I don't need to pay any attention to the state of my breasts, unless one of them turns blue or falls off or something.

SO. . . this wonderful task force has left women with so much freedom of choice, they now have THREE options they can follow in making their decision whether to pursue breast cancer screening, or just chuck it in the wastebasket where it belongs!

(Hint: only one of these three options is "right". We just put the other two in to make you feel like you have a little bit of control here, even if you don't.  OK, sweetheart? Now get back to your bloody rolling pin.)

Option A: YES!

Option B: NO!

Option C: I DON'T KNOW!

Now, who says this report doesn't clarify things? Repeat after me, the new Task Force Cheer:

Yes! No! I Don't Know!

Yes! No! I Don't Know!

YES!

I'm  still in favour of self-exams and mammograms, even if my doctor calls me a fussy little hypochondriac.

NO!

I'm not gonna touch those suckers any more! And now I won't have to put my tits in a waffle iron.

I DON'T KNOW!

I'm confused as hell. Should I leave them alone and just hope for the best?

It just gets worse, ladies. . .

YES!

NO!

I DON'T KNOW!

YES!

NO!

I DON'T KNOW!

And out of all this wonderful new information, we've come up with a brand new category which should fit everybody (not to mention make all our doctors happy!),  because we all know, don't we ladies, that one bra size fits all:

Let's pretend it isn't there. . .

and maybe it will go away!

http://members.shaw.ca/margaret_gunning/betterthanlife.htm

Life's candy, and the sun's a ball of buddah

Eye on the target and wham,

One shot, one gun-shot, and BAM -

Hm. Well, it isn't Mr. Arnstein I'm after, but something infinitely more elusive and devious (and it plays a mean game of poker).

I want to get published again. I need to get published again. I have three books written, all finished and ready to go. Three. All are publishable, as far as I am concerned. But has anyone ever seen them?

That would be a big "no".

People have weird ideas about being published. "Must cost quite a lot, I'd imagine. Are you going to take out a loan?" "Is your book going to be on the bestseller list?" "Don't writers all help each other get published - I mean, kind of like one big artist's colony?" Yeah, like I'm going to tell all my sneaky colleagues how to get published so their nasty little novel can kick MY novel's ass!

It isn't at all what you think.

When my dream came true, after thirty years of pining and longing and bloody hard work, it came true the same way it does for maybe 85 or 90% of writers. There was one big popping flare of fireworks, then fast-fading embers raining down, then . . .

nothing.

It didn't matter how good the reviews were (stuff like "fiction at its finest "- no kidding). They meant nothing. I was supposed to run all over the country on my own dime and try to drum up interest. But I also learned that readings and posters and web sites and all that shit made no difference at all.

So what does make a difference? Something called "buzz". If a novel is "buzzy", it automatically has tons of readers right out of the starting gate.

Buzz is like sex. No one tells you what it's all about, or how to get it. You just sort of fumble around, and fail most of the time. And when the novel fails to sell, guess who gets the blame? Mr. Agent? Ms. Publisher? Don't make me laugh!

I can't stop writing, which I guess means something, good or bad. I have kept writing and kept writing through the most hideous, soul-destroying crises of my life. I now have two novels and a book of poems, all of which I feel deserve publication. I WANT SOMEONE TO READ THEM, GODDAMN IT!

In many people's minds, this is sheer ego. "Oh, isn't writing its own reward? Can't you just do it for self-expression?" (Or, worse, "leave it for your children").

No one expects a concert pianist (or a gymnast, for that matter) to play in an empty hall, but we writers are seen as crass and egotistical if we want someone to look at what we've slaved over for years. Stories must be TOLD, not chucked into a drawer. An untold story isn't even a story.

So, Mr. Arnstein, you big galoot, you mustachio'd rat fink, I'm pursuing you once again. Like Barbra Streisand in that ridiculous sailor suit , it's one roll for the whole shebang.

Hey, all you agents, pundits, arbiters of literary taste - get ready for me, love, 'cause I'm a comer - so even if this fantasy-trip is a bummer -

NOBODY

No, NOBODY
Is gonna

rain

on

myyyyy

paaaaaa

(rrrrrrrr)

rrrAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYD-UH!