A documentary about “scary” kids scares me on behalf of the kids.

There’s a new documentary out that I don’t think I’m going to watch. It’s titled “A Dangerous Son.” It’s an HBO documentary that tells “a story about families with children who have psychiatric disorders that lead to violent behavior.” Mostly because I have already read all of those stories. Again. And again. And again.  

And I have found them incredibly disturbing each time – but on behalf of the children who are being written off and exploited. Especially because, as Mel Baggs pointed out in a comment: Across violent and abusive sets of environments, we – the kids – are the only ones seen as having a violence problem.

And those environments are so very often the context for “violent outbursts.” Like mine.

People considered sending me to a school for kids with behavioral problems, after therapy and medication didn’t work to quell my outbursts. Because they were going after the wrong thing: It must, the psychiatrist said, be Oppositional Defiant Disorder and anxiety. Not trauma. Not communication barriers. Not what was modeled as social behavior. Just that I was a rebellious, insolent, violent kid.

A throw-away diagnosis. A throw-away kid.

And I already know the kinds of things they’re going to talk about in the documentary: Desperate, at our wit’s end, we’re scared of our so, so very violent and mentally ill kid. But we’re out of treatment options. The psychiatric hospital is out of beds.

.  .  .

It’s possible to advocate for and with children who are struggling and vulnerable with, as I pointed out in 2016, some level of dignity. According to NPR, the director of the film “wanted to show how challenging this situation is both for the child and the family. Often, people assume a child’s behavior is a type of parental failure.” Further, director Liz Garbus told NPR, “Destigmatizing families like Stacy’s who are going through this and seeing how hard they’re trying is really important.”

Well, yes, in part it often is a parental failure, along with the psychiatric industry and other adults in the children’s lives. Whether it is directly perpetuating abuse and violence, enabling it, or failing to recognize the abuse and trauma, it is a failure of adults in their lives. You know what else is a parental and societal failure? Filming kids at their most vulnerable as a way to showcase how “challenging” it is.

You know what’s really important?

Not, as the NAMI spokesperson in the NPR article implies, framing it as a choice between psychiatric beds and intractable violence at home. Because it does not surprise me and my friends that one of the kids’ behavior “didn’t improve” when he got home from inpatient. Because we have witnessed the violence and hostility of inpatient institutions.

Maybe a focus on trauma-informed care and removing sources of abuse and violence in the kid’s life. Maybe that’s also important. Maybe it’s important to fight for community-based services and training providers need instead of more psych beds.

It’s possible to advocate for struggling children with dignity.

.  .  .

Savannah Logsdon-Breakstone wrote an article on their blog following Newtown and a particularly bad Gawker article written by a parent about her 13-year-old son called “I am Adam Lanza’s Mother.” In it, Savannah describes being one of the “scary kids,” the right to privacy, and the dangerous assumptions and dismissals people make. Every word of the piece is important, but here is a snippet:

My mother doesn’t regret keeping it private, between her and her private journal or her therapist. Today she was at  a consumer and family advisory for our behavioral health managed care organization (BHMCO). They read that gawker article, and my mother was appalled. She has scary stories about me, but the idea of sharing them in a way that associated them publicly with me was a horrifying violation of privacy and good sense to her. She was struck by the negativity of the piece, of the author. And she noticed how it relies on and perpetuates stigma, and jumps to conclusions.

Having been one of those scary kids is scary… What made it scary to have been one is what people assume based on it — and what they assume when you don’t disclose.

The author of the “I Am Adam Lanza’s Mother” piece is in the documentary.

.  .  .

And what if filmmakers had turned a camera on me capture my worst moments? Then what? Would anyone have seen the context? Would anyone have seen a vulnerable child? Would anyone have stopped to think about the young person whose future they’re so willing to damage? What this might do to them on every level of being?

No. They wouldn’t have, because it’s already happened, over and over again, to others. They chose to exploit. But they could have provided sensitivity and trauma-informed care to a young, struggling person instead.

However lost in life you may think we are: “None of us are lost causes.”

 

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The NYT antidepressant article: what it does – and doesn’t – say

There’s a New York Times article on mental health – and reactions to it – making the rounds on my social media feeds. The article under debate is “Many People Taking Antidepressants Discover They Cannot Quit.” And the NYT has a less than stellar track record on mental health. They’ve run articles on whether we should construct a new wave of “modern asylums.” Based on people’s reactions, and the NYT track record, I mostly expected the antidepressants article to be shaming medication use. It wasn’t. It discussed antidepressant usage and prescribing habits. And as the title promises, the people who can’t go off them, due to extensive and protracted withdrawal symptoms.

It’s not necessarily well-written as a public health article. And it is not an article that is telling people to stop using their medications long-term. Yet the discussions I’m seeing are talking about med shaming and taking meds long-term. Which, if you feel like long-term medication is most beneficial to you, you have every right to it. At least some of that discussion, I think, is rooted in fear that the article will contribute to medication shaming. I do get that. I’m on meds, including an antidepressant. I like a couple of them. I don’t like it when people think I shouldn’t have access to them because they think all meds are the same or evil.

But the article is about effects of withdrawal when people try to go off of them. It is about people not knowing these risks beforehand to make an informed choice. It is about doctors not providing informed consent. My perspective is shaped by the fact that I had been medicated for a long time before I was able to assert more control. Not “taken medication,” but “medicated,” with little information on the drugs I was being told to take. I am now on two that I cannot taper off of right now, because I’ve been on meds for so long. I know; I’ve tried. So: informed consent is a thing that should exist.

The article discusses people being unable to get off medications, and the response I’m seeing is to talk about it being okay to take them long-term. But not everyone on antidepressants finds an adequately stabilizing one. Not everyone on antidepressants wants to be on them forever. People get to make choices about if what the medication is doing is worth it. If a person wants to go off of a medication, reassurance that it’s fine to be on it long-term is a response I do not see as helping.

So I find it disconcerting that people would turn the subject to the stigma of taking long-term medications here. We need to be talking about side effects. We need to be talking about withdrawal. We need research on effects – positive and negative – that can help guide informed consent and people’s medication choices. I do understand stigma and medication shaming exists. If people do that in response to this article, or anytime, it’s inappropriate. And I have been on the receiving end of medication shaming, too, and it’s demoralizing.

But I don’t think criticizing the article for what it doesn’t say – as a preemptive defense against med shaming – is useful. We should critique and criticize based on some of its actual flaws: it is written with, perhaps, some sensationalism. It lacked clarity at some points. It may deter some people from finding something that works for them. But it does not argue against people’s personal choices to stay on antidepressants long term.

Prejudice after mass shootings is a well-defined pattern

Alternate Title: This autistic with mental health disabilities would like others to develop better pattern recognition skills.

East Coker

Image text:
You say I am repeating
Something I have said before. I shall say it again.
Shall I say it again? 
-From T.S. Eliot’s “Four Quartets,” Part II: East Coker

I have an inordinate fondness of T.S. Eliot’s poetry. I have significantly less fondness of repeatedly having to tell people to stop blaming mental health for mass shootings. But yes, I shall say it again. Because a 2017 Georgetown Public Policy Review article by Delaney Luna notes that “a 2015 study found that 63% of Americans blame untreated mental health problems for mass shootings.” Because “contentious studies associating mental disorders with violence are often cited as fact, overstating the propensity for mentally ill individuals to commit violent acts, and promoting these ideas to the American public.”

(Unfortunately, often gun control legislation introduced in the wake of shootings targets disabled people. There is clearly a mass shooting problem, but any solutions need to be non-biased and not ableist. The public policy article does set up the dichotomy of blaming mental health vs. gun control, so keep the above in mind).

So yes, I shall say it again. Stop scapegoating social minorities – people with mental health disabilities – and evading the real problems. There are patterns to how people respond to these incidents, and patterns behind the motivations of perpetrators.

Fact: There is usually a history of things like domestic violence or white nationalist supremacy discovered in the backgrounds of those who commit mass shootings. Response: Many people, including government policymakers, decline to do anything but blame terrorism (predominantly if the perpetrator is or thought to be brown and Muslim), or mental health (predominantly if the perpetrator is white). It is still apparently easier for many people reporting news coverage, or policymakers, and others to deny these patterns. They believe it is better to scapegoat than get at the real problems… better to try and stop us from having rights.

The discussion for the most recent incident in Parkland, Florida revolves around mental health. There’s also talk of white nationalist ties. Which, great, please talk about white nationalism being one of the factors involved. White nationalism – as recorded by the Southern Poverty Law Center – has a body count even as its proponents play respectability politics in some arenas. But some coverage is talking about white nationalism – and mental health – in the same conversation, and it needs to stop. One Tumblr user puts it well in their post “Extremism is not a function of mental illness.”

Most extremists are average people in a socially vulnerable position that extremist ideologues can exploit. People who feel disenfranchised (legitimately or not.) People who are socially isolated. People who are scared, or angry, or feel cheated.

This isn’t mental illness: this is a social problem.

This is exactly what happens every time social change comes to a head.

It becomes violent when someone feeling threatened by the changes decides it’s time to put the social change back the way it “should be.” It becomes violent because these people are told by their extremist social group that the world is getting out of line because they haven’t stopped it.

Stop saying, directly or indirectly, that only people with mental health disabilities can be responsible for atrocities and violence. We are not, in fact, more likely to be the perpetrators of such violence. Luna notes in the Public Policy Review article that “only about 3 to 5% of all US crimes are committed by individuals diagnosed with a mental illness, and fewer than 5% of all gun-related killings between 2001 and 2010 were committed by individuals with diagnosed mental illnesses.”

Stop saying it when most of us are engaged in such a struggle to survive already. Fun fact: I just got out of a psych ward again within the last few weeks. Surviving is hard.

Diagnoses from hospital stay.

[Partial screencap of diagnoses from my most recent hospital stay, including autism spectrum, suicidal ideation, and bipolar disorder – unspecified. Name of hospital and dates removed.]

Stop saying extremism and its resulting violence is the result of mental health disability. Stop tying mental health disability to white nationalism, the way that’s being done now after mass shootings and whenever the Trump administration does something terrible and/or linked to white nationalism.

So yes, I shall say it again: Stop trying to tie mental health disability to all the occurrences you pretend are unexplainable by anything else.

We’re already dealing with enough without scapegoating being pushed as “mental health reform” and being blamed for social problems that are explained by multiple other factors. We already know you don’t actually want to help us – just protect people from us, but it sure would be nice if you could at least stop making life harder for us.


Note

Conversations on mass shootings do shift with context, and it’s important to note mental health isn’t the only topic of conversation. If the perpetrator was brown and Muslim, Islamophobia comes into play as a prejudice:

 

Trauma in Fiction and Real Life: In Defense of “The Catcher in the Rye”

holden caulfield ask

[Anonymous Tumblr ask reading: “Holden Caulfield was a whiny self-centered teenager and he didn’t deserve an entire book”]

The above ask was sent to a Tumblr user, who responded with thoughts similar to my own. Holden Caulfield of J.D. Salinger’s The Catcher in the Rye is a traumatized teenager. Catcher is the story of what trauma can look like. It is the story of what it looks like when adults fail youth.

Holden was a vulnerable teenager experiencing so much trauma. He had so much grief of losing his brother, one of the only caring people in his life. He had to survive a toxic school environment where his peers killed themselves and he was implied to be enduring sexual abuse. He narrates his story from an institution in California following the breakdown.

Catcher is the story of what trauma can look like. The book wasn’t the story of “lol angst.” To dismiss that? Means letting adults and parents and educators off the hook to do good. To do right. To maybe support youth in working through trauma and edging closer to adulthood. Catcher is the story of a traumatized teenager. Some adults actively contributed to his trauma. And all of them let him fall through the cracks until the breaking point.

Stop letting traumatized teenagers just fall through the cracks. Stop assuming teenagers are just supposed to be miserable. Remember that just because trauma isn’t immediately visible doesn’t mean it is not serious. Treat pain, whether trauma-related or not, with respect – not as bothersome angst. Talking about counseling options can be helpful, but forcing them into it is not a solution. Training teachers to be better mentors and making sure guidance counselors remain in schools (and improving upon guidance counseling) are useful as well.

.  .  .

I read Catcher in high school, the same time I started dealing with fallout from trauma. I could see in Holden myself. I read and glimpsed what could have happened to me if things had been a little different. I read as the adults in his life failed him, as some in mine didn’t. I was a frightened and hurting teenager. Who didn’t know that it was trauma to even talk about. Who didn’t have any coping mechanisms. Who thus did not remotely know how to cope. Who did not know how to react, to process, to keep my pain at bay from myself and others. I had a support network of sorts. Holden Caulfield did not.

Is that how you want to view traumatized teenagers? Are you going to even recognize the possibility of trauma? Is that how you’re going to react to teenagers’ pain? Even if they aren’t strictly experiencing the effects of trauma? Is it? If you think he is just a whiny self-centered teenager and other iterations of that ilk, I know that this is what you would have thought of me in high school.

If this is how you view traumatized teenagers and teenagers in general – no, they’re probably not going to trust you. If your response to teenagers’ pain is “lol angst,” – especially if you work with teenagers – you are contributing to the problem. If you think Holden Caulfield’s pain is “lol angst,” you are contributing to the problem. The book is not just Holden’s story.

Catcher was once my story. Catcher is the story of so many people who are traumatized and trying to reach adulthood. Catcher is the story of what trauma can look like.

vignettes from a psychiatric history on #worldbipolarday

I can tell you about all the time I have spent among the thyme
thinking of the dark Thames that river I’ve seen
both in TV shows and up close
its dark waters inviting me to sink in its good-bye waves and
ink its darkness on my arms and there is a river dell I see
when I close my eyes and wonder what Virginia Woolf felt in her river
a wolf in me is ready to jump through (s)now and fall through the ice.
Sometimes it’s frenetic energy with a voice of reason that
falls flatter than the paper thin hospital gown that I wore,
highlighter butterflies on my wrists.
I can (out)pace the world, wield
every word as a razor sharper than
the knives I wanted to use for an off label use.
I can be higher than the hills I once wanted to die on
and still see the rivers from on high.

When I was a child, I loathed my psychiatrist. He made me take tests every time I visited him. He condescended to me. He diagnosed me with anxiety and ADHD (accurate) and denied that I was autistic (inaccurate). He told me to focus, focus, focus, also calm down. I ended up throwing child toys at him. He put me on Clonidine first, then more ADHD meds.

I later found out he is held in high regard in the area of ADHD.

Seven years ago, I went on a potent drug ostensibly as an adjunct for a depression diagnosis at age 16. I don’t know what the psychiatrist knew about being angry all the time at home and aggressive at school. The drug gave me uncontrollable urges to move, far different from merely wanting to stim. My mother called the psychiatrist to explain that I seemed to feel like a “Mexican jumping bean.” The doctor prescribed a muscle relaxant.  

I later learned the side effect was akathisia and could have been much worse.

When I told a psychiatrist years later that I was aggressive in high school, he nodded.  “Yes, that’s why they put you on it.” He was an autism specialist a second hospital found and seemed to agree with the decision to put me on it.  “Well, now that you’re not aggressive, we could probably take you off of it.” Besides the issue I had with medicating for compliance, I already had tried to go off it several times. . No psychiatrist ever told me there would be withdrawal, even with tapering, that would last for months.

Each time was so hellish from withdrawal that I asked for it again.

In college, one time, I objected to eating outside on the campus quad on the grass – some of my friends wanted to. They went anyway. I ditched dinner and left the dining hall, almost in tears. I sat near my dorm building. Another friend found me there and asked if I was okay. I wanted to lie, to keep pretending that my brain hadn’t been trying to kill me for the past several months, to talk in circles around my friend and the thoughts. Instead “I don’t want to exist anymore” burst out like Gusher fruit snacks breaking open. My friend took me to our dorm’s resident assistant, who got me an appointment with the campus psychiatrist  for the next day. She upped the dosages of the medications that hadn’t been working.

I pretended things were fine after that.

Fourteen months since college graduation. I’d been at a new job seven months. Six months since the first psych hospitalization. One month since the second. There were still people who didn’t know about them. My mother, who was in town, mentioned I had been published. We were at a lunch table with relatives. But the publication was on my experience with those hospitalizations. My cousin asked if they could read it and I realized a hole had been dug, pushing the conversation in a dangerous direction. “It’s something I don’t really want relatives to read,” I said. I pushed dirt back in the hole the same way I used to pat down the earth around flowers and herbs in the garden, alone.

I pushed dirt back in the hole the way I once imagined filling my early grave.


The featured image for this post is a neurodiversity necklace from Spacerobot Studio for a reason. The need for neurodiversity and mental health movements to intersect is vital.

Not every person with a mental health disability has to see it through the neurodiversity framing, but we should be at times working together to push back against the narratives that frame autistic people, people with intellectual or cognitive disabilities, people with mental health disabilities, as inherently Other. Ableism manifests in different ways toward disabilities that have been categorized in different ways. But the end message is of Other.

As we approach Autism Acceptance Month, we should take care to remember that neurodiversity values all kinds of minds.

A history of progressive ableism that remains today

For clarity: I know that other progressive activists do great work. This is an anti-ableism post. It should be interpreted in this manner rather than as anti-progressive. 

Introduction

Too often, progressives use ableism to accomplish their goals. I do not mean just using some words that many disabled people consider offensive.  I mean things like advocating for ableist gun reform laws. I also mean things like attributing people’s worst traits to mental health disabilities, like people do with Trump.

In the 20th century, progressives gained momentum. Progressives of this time were not the same as they are today, but the ableism is still around.  Then, the cause to rally around was eugenics. I am providing eugenics as a historical example of progressive ableism – and will point out how it still lurks in undertows of thought.

Historical example: The early 20th century and Progressive Era eugenics

Eugenics was a movement that gained some level of popularity in the early 20th century (and still continues in modern forms today). Supporters of eugenics wanted to prevent the procreation of the “unfit” and promote “better breeding.” Eugenics was popular with progressives, including reformers and activists, of the early 20th century.

The Eugenics Record Office (ERO), intended to serve as a hub for American eugenics research, was financed at one point by the Carnegie Institution. Teddy Roosevelt once wrote a letter to eugenicist Charles Davenport of the ERO about “degenerates” that said:

Farmers who permitted their best stock not to breed, and let all the increase come from the worst stock, would be treated as fit inmates for an asylum. Yet we fail to understand that such conduct is rational compared to the conduct of a nation which permits unlimited breeding from the worst stocks, physically and morally… Someday we will realize that the prime duty… of the good citizen of the right type, is to leave his or her blood behind him in the world; and that we have no business to permit the perpetuation of citizens of the wrong type.

A reformer included Victoria Woodhull, a suffragist known for being the first woman to run for president (in 1872). Another was inventor Alexander Graham Bell. Several groups of feminist reformers, including the National League of Women Voters, had eugenics-based legal reform as part of their goals.

Stop making me have to defend insidious people from ableism

Bigoted actions and words from Trump are the result of bigotry. And bigotry is not a mental health disability, though people with mental health disabilities can also be bigots. We are people and vary in thoughts and opinions. But I’d really like prominent progressive activists to acknowledge this and stop making the case for Trump being crazy. That way, people with mental health disabilities won’t face as much ableism. And I won’t have to keep defending insidious people from ableism. 

I defend even people I loathe from ableism because public figure he may be, but attributing bigotry to disability hurts all people with mental health disabilities. And I do it also because when progressives pull out the “But no sane person would do that!” or “Trump is crazy!” lines, this is what they are saying:

Only crazy people can be responsible for such vile acts.

It’s the line of thinking that mental health disability must be responsible for acts society can’t explain, acts society considers terrible. The unintentional undertones of this speak of eugenics to me. Eugenicists of the past posited that many people, especially marginalized people, had increased rates of poverty and crime due to mental and moral “deficits.”

Today, mental health is blamed for everything, from mass shootings to having a poor moral compass – and Donald Trump’s actions and bigotry. Right-wingers and the GOP are the party of eugenics themselves, for sure, and I find that loathsome. But progressives should stop blaming mental health as they oppose damaging policies and actions.  

Related Posts:

Rewriting the Narrative on Psych Ward Abuse in Journalism

Psych Ward Reviews gained a new feature in January 2017: a news article repository of staff-on-patient abuse in hospital psychiatric wards. It is an ongoing effort, both of searches and a morbid set of daily Google Alerts with phrases such as “psychiatric patient abuse.” As part of my search process, I have read over about two hundred articles so far.

One thing of note was that many of the articles on staff-on-patient abuse I found were not in major publications. They were in local news outlets or smaller magazines. And as I knew, there are many failures of psychiatric wards as a crisis care model. These failures can involve staff-on-patient abuse, suicides, ill-maintained facilities, and Medicaid fraud. My focus here is how journalists cover abuse and other failures.

Journalists do so with a few different lines of thought. Many fail to address issues that come with psychiatric wards as the main method of crisis care. These problems include taking away patients’ rights and ability to make decisions. Instead, they discuss issues such as funding and staffing shortages, and overcrowding and bed shortages. However, the reasons for psych ward abuse are power dynamics and ableism.

The system requires institutionalization in secured wards away from the public. Patients then lose their rights (available in theory). The power shifts to doctors and staff, who make decisions about a patient. Many hospitals seek patients for profit. These are settings prone to abuse. We must build a stronger network of community-based crisis care, including peer respite centers and support. There must be meaningful oversight and accountability for any community care providers.

But why don’t journalists talk about creating alternatives to psych wards? The reasoning by many journalists is that shortages result in increased abuse and neglect of patients by staff. They then describe hospital failures as inevitable because of these shortages. But the psych ward system’s issues are structural, rather than wholly solvable with money. Journalists could instead talk about these structural failures. They could do so in many ways.

They could cite the various works around abuse in institutional settings, and question power imbalances. They could push for more accountability and data on abuse rates in articles. They could interview former patients, to see what community options they want. Depending on the size of their platform, they could craft a new crisis care narrative for the broader public. The narrative would present alternatives entrenched in community-based, rights-affirming crisis care.

 

2016 was lighting candles to mourn, but it was also carrying torches high

Year in Review: 2016

 Disability Rights, State of the Blogger, and Looking Ahead to 2017


  • Progress in 2016
    • #CripTheVote and disability on stage in U.S. politics
    • Disability Intersectionality Summit
    • Other moments in disability rights
  • State of the Blogger
    • Overview of the blogger’s 2016
    • Looking at, and valuing, disability and autistic history
    • Top five viewed posts and pages
    • Posts and pages that I liked but had fewer views
  • Looking Ahead
    • 2016 as an atypical year and the blogger’s plans for 2017
  • Conclusion

Progress 

#CripTheVote and disability on stage in U.S. politics

cripthevote-2

The logo of #CripTheVote, designed by Mike Mort. Blue text reads: #CripTheVote. There is graphic-design image of a voting ballot box with a ballot being dropped in. The ballot box has four blue squares, with line art in white of the standard wheelchair user disability icon, a brain, a pair of hands signing, and a person walking with a cane.

 

In 2016, Alice Wong (Disability Visibility Project, which chronicles disability stories), Andrew Pulrang (Disability Thinking blog and Center for Disability Rights), and Gregg Beratan started #CripTheVote, which is

a nonpartisan campaign to engage both voters and politicians in a productive discussion about disability issues in the United States, with the hope that Disability takes on greater prominence within the American political landscape. We hope to encourage people with disabilities to engage with the election at all levels from President on down, and to vote. We also want to hear candidates engage with disability policy issues and disabled people as much as possible.

They hosted Twitter chats, provided resources to disabled voters, and sparked a more organized engagement with politics from the disability community. It brought disability to the stage of politics in a major way, and enabled disabled people to have a central platform to organize around and put their resources and news.

Hillary Clinton released an autism plan and announced support of the Disability Integration Act after an autistic person stood up and asked if she supported it, leading to then-candidate Bernie Sanders co-sponsoring the bill. Then at the Democratic National Convention, a disabled person – disability rights activist Anastasia Somoza – took the stage. 2016 was the year, as Dylan Matthews writes, that disability rights broke through in national politics and disabled people became seen as a constituency by politicians.

Disability Intersectionality Summit

This year, the Disability Policy Consortium accepted proposals and held a Disability Intersectionality Summit. Presentations included topics on the intersections of being undocumented, being LGBTQ+, being a person of color, having mental health disabilities, on #DisabilityTooWhite – the hashtag and movement around the the disability community’s failure to represent racially diverse voices – and more. It was held in Boston on November 5.

Other moments in disability rights include: 

Disability rights groups struck a major blow to sheltered workshops.  Maryland voted to end subminimum wage. An investigation has finally opened into Illinois’ group homes for disabled people. A major Minnesota job provider for disabled people agreed to reform its hiring practices. Michigan banned non-emergency restraint and seclusion for disabled students. Georgia’s governor spoke in favor of Employment First policies for disabled people in Georgia.

The FDA finally put out a proposed rule for banning contingent electric shock devices like those used at the Judge Rotenberg Center. A major case involving a girl and her service dog went before the Supreme Court, and could open up an easier path for disabled students and their families to make schools comply with various laws. Litigation against Georgia’s substandard, segregated “education” system called GNETS for students with disabilities by the Department of Justice moved forward.


State of the Blogger

Overview of the blogger’s 2016

It was a hard year, like it was for many. I spent a serious amount of time dealing with badbrains. I wrote about the dehumanization of psychiatric wards here. I adopted a cat, though, so that makes up for a lot of things.

In terms of other advocacy, I continued volunteering for a non-profit’s social media that I have done since 2015. I also kept working for a non-profit that I been with since December and continued to blog. I began work on a great number of blogging projects like Autistic Community on Medium, and Welcome to the Autistic Community on Tumblr. I also ran Autistic History Month this year.

I also decided to turn my life experiences and history research into writings for publications and have published with the Establishment and the Deaf Poets Society on institutionalization and psychiatric wards, eugenics history and Buck v. Bell, and my experience with housing in college.

Looking at, and valuing, disabled and autistic history

In addition I have been working on my disability history/eugenics history blog more. I revamped my eugenics history 101 post into a downloadable PDF. and updated the resources list for that blog. I worry a lot about eugenics as a popular movement being back full force – it’s still here, in some areas and ways.

I also ran the Autistic History Month blog this year; a link compilation for autistic history can be found here and the posts for 2016 here. As Sarah Pripas-Kapit and I remarked in the closing post for Autistic History Month, history is essential to working for change today:

Thank you for furthering the knowledge of autistic history, and showing that we have a history. I am the first to admit that I don’t know everything about autistic history… Knowing history is vital, especially in this time of turmoil for many. Knowing autistic, and other disability history, is vital. If we don’t know how we organized and formed communities in the past, it’ll be harder to organize and sustain community now. -Kit Mead

It can be tempting to believe that history is an upwards trajectory, with things always getting better and better. Historians call this the “Whiggish view of history.”

Yet the Whiggish view of history oftentimes is not supported by evidence… While the past ten years has been a period of progress for the autistic community, I fear that we may be heading into a period of regression. As so many others have said, the election of Donald Trump to the presidency is looking to be disastrous for people with disabilities. Like many of you, I am concerned about the months and years to come.

History tells us that civil rights are never a done deal. We have to work continually to uphold them.

But I hope that history can also provide hope. We are not the first generation of disabled people to face an ableist state and rollbacks of progress. By looking to the past, we can find a way forward during these turbulent times. -Sarah Pripas-Kapit

Top five viewed posts and pages

Posts and pages that I liked but had fewer views


Looking Ahead

2016 as an atypical year and the blogger’s plans for 2017 

Like s.e. smith says, 2016 was not normal and therefore, we should not allow ourselves to long for 2016 and make it a crowning glory of years that we look back to sometime in the middle of 2017 and go “well, things were so much better then!”

I really recommend reading the post by s.e. smith for how we cannot normalize 2016 because it wasn’t normal. We lost a lot in 2016 and our state of politics has steadily descended into even more chaos than usual. It’s not like I particularly look forward to the next several years’ potential events, but I will take a lot of pride in being alongside many other great activists, working to keep what progress we have made.

In 2017, I will continue to update my post-election resources page and continue my advocacy work, sharing and disseminating resources. I will continue to blog about the things that mattered before this election, and will blog on the things that matter more now because of the election.


Conclusion

2016 may have been holding candles up against a darkening sky in mourning, but it was also keeping candles lit and torches high against rain and darkness. We made a lot of progress in many different areas, and we also lost a lot – but we have faced dark times before, though never like this. We will work against the rapidly encroaching darkness of night to be lighthouses in the fog and darkness for many ships. Torches held high, we face 2017 and the years to come.

Carrie Fisher (Princess Leia) Wrote Books and Had a Service Dog

carrie-fisher

[Image description: Three images related to Carrie Fisher. From left to right, Carrie Fisher wearing glasses and kneeling next to her service dog, the French Bulldog Gary, at a red carpet event; Carrie Fisher dressed in white as Princess Leia with her iconic hair buns, surrounded by Stormtroopers; and Carrie Fisher’s book Wishful Drinking, which has her name, the title, and an image of Carrie Fisher with hair buns facedown on a table with a martini glass in her hand.]

In high school, it was mentioned to me in passing by someone that Carrie Fisher, whom I knew as Princess Leia, had bipolar disorder.

I shrugged, and said, “Oh, okay.” She was still Princess Leia.

Sure, depressive episodes and generalized anxiety made up a majority of my days, a damp humid cloak like the Georgia summers I liked to wander down the streets in – alone. An autistic, depressed, anxious wreck, isolated and considered socially unacceptable. But Carrie Fisher was just Princess Leia, right?

I never thought she meant much to me besides her role in Star Wars until a short while ago. In college, I became invested in disability rights and later, after my first and second hospitalizations in a psych ward, mental health rights as well. Each discharge from the hospital read that I had major depressive disorder, not bipolar disorder. Each hospital had only seen me for suicidality. They didn’t see the times I felt higher than the hills I once wanted to die on, and faster than the too-fast DC Metro trains. I find the Metro a relatable metaphor. I too sometimes go too fast, experience frequent malfunctions, and occasionally derail.

But I find her more than a relatable metaphor. Carrie Fisher was a bipolar person who dealt with substance abuse issues. She was often considered socially unacceptable. She openly spoke about her mental health disability, and substance abuse issues (which were in part an attempt to keep her manic episodes in check). She was open about her dog Gary’s role as a service animal and took him to public events. And she was also the actress who played Princess Leia, a mother, an author, and a script doctor who edited scripts.

She was Princess Leia, and she was also an outspoken mental health advocate.

I owe her a lot.

For talking about about everything in the open. For being Princess Leia but also someone who employed a great number of coping strategies for her mental health, and talked about them. For sometimes being considered socially unacceptable.

For showing me that she, Carrie Fisher – Princess Leia – was as outspoken in real life as she was on screen. For showing me that it’s possible to be vocal about personal struggles and what you don’t like – and what is good – about your brain and yourself.

I Wanted to Believe (+ mental health resources)

I wanted to believe. I wanted to believe this country could do this. But we didn’t, so I want to say, now: Hold each other up, hold each other, we will do our damndest to make sure as many of us as possible make it. Please don’t kill yourselves. I know how painful it is to watch over half the country vote, in essence, for (at the least, an effort at) the total destruction of human rights here. I know what it’s like to want to die. I know what it’s like to be close to it. But please don’t. Hold each other up. Hold each other. Please try to survive. Find any reason you can. Remember that your existence is defiance.

Please stay alive.

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Here are some resources, I originally created them for a support group I’m part of – they are mostly taken from my mental health resources page. Some of them are specific to certain identities, like gender or racial identities.

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