This isn’t a typical mental health blog but it’s one I needed to write. With the abhorrent tweets from J. K. Rowling, it left me questioning a huge part of me. I have a love for Harry Potter. And this situation made me question it all. Should I rid myself of everything related to it? How can I cut such a huge chunk of me out? I had to really think. I came to my conclusion and here are my thoughts about it and how I got there. I only made it coherent when talking to someone else who was having the same struggle.
With J. K. Rowling, I’ve decided she is not Harry Potter. That has grown bigger than her. It’s the people who love it that have made it what it is. The people who have brought it to life. It is the friendships it’s formed and the lives its saved. And those people are statistically more open and accepting than the rest of the world. (Info on study here)
As the wizarding world is bigger than her my friend who I was discussing it with said maybe we should focus on supporting the publishers and actors. The actors have spoken against her. (Find details here). They know the world is more than her. She had an idea but others took it further and the wizarding world made it it’s own. They removed it from being about one person. With any fandom it’s not just about the creator. The fans take hold and it belongs to them rather than the creator.
In the story it teaches us to be accepting of all. It shows us that differences can be overcome and it shows that people who try to eliminate anyone from society will not go far. She wrote her own downfall in these books. She showed the fans of Harry Potter that you can not push out a whole section of society and expect no backlash or to keep your status. It will catch up with you.
I’m not going to feel guilt for liking and loving something that actually made me feel part of the world a little bit. For being the kid with no friends who then finds them later on. For needing a bit of magic in my life to deal with the shit storm it was. Harry Potter to me is not about J. K. Rowling. Its about the friendships it created, its about the magical world, its about finding something that made me see that people should be accepted in society and sometimes we just need to find the right people, it’s not us causing the issue.
My final words are for the people of the trans community. You’re not on your own. We love you andd accept you. We want you in our society. You make it a better place. Keep fighting together and we will beat people like her. Big love.
Please be aware that some of the content may be triggering. Please take care when reading.
People always want to know what it’s like to have Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD). They want to know how I live with it and what’s going on in my head. They want to know what is me and what’s the illness. So I thought I’d try to put into words some of these things and few other bits. It may not be succinct or always easy to follow but that probably says as much about this disorder than anything else.
I hate being in my head. Life is exhausting. I second guess myself all the time. I know there is something wrong with me. For years now people have officially known that doctors see my personality as screwed up. Thanks!
The thing is I’ve thought I’m screwed up for a long time. I’ve always felt on the outside. I’ve never felt a part of the group and for years it’s bothered me. I couldn’t work out how people made friends so easily and even more how they kept friendships without coming across as totally needy and to be called “a sheep”. Believe me it’s happened.
To begin with I tried my best to fit in. I rejected things I liked in favour of what others liked. This included music and television shows. It included the way I behaved with others. I just wanted to be “cool”. It didn’t work. I was seriously unhappy and it was totally unnatural. I hated myself. And I lost myself.
That’s part of BPD, lack of a sense of self. Knowing what I like and who I am is hard. Do I like something or is it just because someone else says they like it? Obsessions come and go often depending on other people’s feelings towards them. With age there has been a bit more stability in this area but it can still fall apart. I will allow myself to like things that others close to me don’t now. It’s quite freeing but hard as I fear my likes will make others dislike me.
The fear of being disliked is strong. The fear people will hate you and leave you very much in evidence. This can lead to desperate behaviour. This is where the term “manipulative” comes out. We can appear manipulative because we are desperate to hold on to people so can make what appear as threats of harming ourselves. But we don’t use it in a manipulative manner. We are scared. We don’t know how to keep our fear under control (and this fear is strong and terrifying) so we want to hurt ourselves as we can’t imagine being without the other person and we are hurting so much. We don’t want to hurt you really. We want to stop the pain. However we can learn to deal with this better but it takes time. And the fear doesn’t seem to ever leave. At least that’s my experience.
I talked about overwhelming fear above. All our emotions though can be overwhelming. I can feel physically sick with fear over something others would feel vaguely scared about. If something apparently trivial goes wrong that can lead to suicidal thoughts taking over. It may seem silly and overdramatic to you but to me these are my real feelings. Saying they’re silly and overdramatic to me just invalidates me. I already do this to myself. I know it sounds silly to you. I know I sound overdramatic. But it’s how I feel and it takes me time to work out if that’s justified and change the feeling. For most people this is an automatic process. For me and others with BPD it takes using therapy skills and many checks. We may even have to get notes or a book out to help us deal with it.
Self harm and suicidal thoughts can be a daily occurrence. For me they definitely are. I wake up wanting to die and go to bed wanting to die. I can be smiling but planning my suicide inside. I can be making plans for the future while wondering if I’ll be alive for them. Self harm feels like my main coping mechanism. It’s been there most of my life now. Losing it in favour of other skills is hard work. Self harm works for me in a way they don’t. It’s easier than going through multiple skills or sitting with the feelings. And when feelings are overwhelming it can feel like you want to be rid of them as fast as possible. I’d rather feel the pain physically than sit with an emotion that is painful.
Another reason sitting with emotions or dealing with emotions is hard for me is that I struggle to identify my emotions. I can maybe go as far as good or bad emotion but finding other words is more challenging. It’s frustrating not being able to express yourself and how you feel. To only be able to guess at an emotion. I want to tell you how I really feel but how? What. Words do I use? Will you truly understand how I feel? What if you don’t and it all gets confused and taken out of context? How do I sort this mess? Easier to keep it inside and deal with it how I normally do. It’s nothing personal. I promise.
There’s a lot of things from the past I’ve expressed here. The thing is they all build on each other until it becomes a complicated web. Untangling it by using different skills takes an awful lot of time. I want to make it so these skills are second nature and I don’t have to sit up with a big manual so I can discuss and deal with emotions, or interact with others, or stop myself trying to kill myself. I feel an idiot.
The thing is I feel a screw up but it is an illness. It’s the illness that makes me feel that way all the time. That’s the main thing that’s hard living with it. The self hatred. The constant need to apologise. It’s hard to break down these walls.
So that’s a small insight into what is going through my head a lot of the time. It can all be in there. There is also probably a lot more that adds in too. It won’t make you feel like I feel. No one can do that for anyone else fully. Even others with BPD will have different experiences. But this is me.
This is a personal piece. Please be aware that some of the content may be triggering.
The date today as I write this is 15th February 2020. Three weeks ago I found a lump in my breast. I regularly check mine but this one was actually brought to my attention by my cat kneading my chest as she loves to do and it not feeling right. So I checked it out and it felt sizeable. It had been 2 weeks at most since I’d last checked.
I kept checking it over the weekend just to make sure it wasn’t just some lumpiness that would go away. Then the following week I tried repeatedly to get a GP appointment, finally managing to get one on the Thursday. Luckily it was a GP I know well and trust as with my history of sexual abuse it was raising anxiety. When he checked he said he thought it was about 5cm. He referred me on the two week wait cancer initiative.
My appointment came through for 12th February 2020. I went along with more apprehension of facing the tests than the results. It started with an ultrasound of the breast. This seemed to confuse them and another person was brought in to look. Then it was decided I needed both a mammogram and biopsies. Normally someone my age would not be given a mammogram as it may not show anything. But mine showed the lump clearly.
The biopsy process was painless due to local anaesthetic. I was still just thinking it was a normal part of the process and they would be like it’s all fine but we just have to know what it is. That was not the case.
After the biopsy I was asked to wait in a room. My mum was with me. We got called back in and I was faced with a number of people which put me on edge. They explained that they were concerned about the lump. That I was going to have to return for another appointment to get the results of the biopsies and find out the next steps. That they were pretty sure surgery would be needed whatever.
One of the people in the room was a breast care nurse. She had been assigned to my case and would be my point of contact. She was lovely. She took me and mum off into another room. We discussed a few things and she sorted out the appointment. Her comment that there was a lot that they can do to treat cancer made me feel they know already but I can’t be sure. I’m in a state of not knowing.
So I’m sat here having a mixture of thoughts. I’ve been through so many emotions in the last few days. From the incredibly calm to the extremely anxious to suicidal. I’ve been showing others the calm side. I’ve been pushing my emotions down. A few people have heard some of the worry but not the full extent. Not the thoughts that have been going through my head that make me ashamed of myself.
There is a part of me that feels IF it is cancer then I don’t want to go through the treatment. The thought of dealing with being unwell and making it worse to get better scares me. The thought of trying to live when mentally I want to die all the time seems hypocritical. In fact it feels like it could be my way out which is a terrible thought isn’t it? But I know others will want me to go through it all. I know I will have to do it for them.
Obviously at this stage I have no definite answers. But this doesn’t stop the thoughts. Google is not my friend at the moment and the late night Google searches are not a good idea (other search engines still available?). I feel so much guilt over my thoughts. I’m just trying to push all the feelings down. I don’t want the pity. I don’t want to be treated as delicate. I don’t want people thinking I’m brave and strong. I’m not. I’m a mess. Not because I care about me but because of those around me. I don’t want to cause them anymore suffering.
So yeah that is where I’m at as I write this. I don’t know anything definite. If I publish this I may know more by then. I will keep people updated. Feel free to connect in the comments or on Twitter, Facebook or Instagram. For more information and support about cancer click here.
Please be aware this a personal piece and therefore some of the content may be triggering.
It’s Sunday night. Many people dread it as its the symbol that the working week is ahead. To me that’s not currently an issue but tonight my mood is extremely low. The suicidal thoughts are strong in my mind (I am safe). The voice is loud and I feel isolated. So I’m writing. If you’re reading this good luck as I’ve no idea where this may go. Also sorry as it may get self pitying.
The last few weeks have been hard. Many difficult things have happened and are ongoing. The future is uncertain. As it is for everyone I know. But this makes things hard with my desperate need for control. This makes my mental illness go wild. It sees it as an opportunity to take over even more of my life. It makes me isolate myself. It makes me hurt myself more. It makes me want to no longer exist. The symptoms of depression such as loss of appetite and concentration and difficulty sleeping are back. In my head it is an obvious depressive episode.
I’m also though pushing my way backwards in some ways. I’m trying hard to hide my emotions again which means turning them forever inwards. I’m pushing away the question of how I am and getting others to answer it and forget I never answered. I’m punishing myself in these ways. I’m going back into relationships that are unhealthy. I have no self respect. I have no self worth.
The voice is helping me along with all this. Its a constant torrent of how I should be dead and how much people hate me. It puts doubts in my mind and increases my paranoia. I know people are out to get me or pretending to like me. I understand. I’m unlikeable but they don’t want my death on them and that’s fair. They are lovely people who deserve better than that. They deserve better than me. I’m a burden to them but they are too polite to say it. I’m needy. I’m a pain. I’m selfish.
I’m currently convinced I’m going to be arrested. I’m scared about going outside. I’m forcing myself to do it but I’m terrified. I think Lorazepam is going to be my friend. The anxiety is high. I’m sure I’ve done something wrong and it will soon be discovered. I’m watching out on the local police force’s Facebook page for my picture to appear – without liking the page so they cant find me. Every siren makes my heart beat faster. I’m resorting to pulling out my eyebrows to help me cope with the anxiety.
Also I feel I’m not allowed to feel how I do. That people are trying to take the feelings away and rubbish them. To rubbish me for feeling them. I know they seem irrational. I’m not stupid. But I need to work through them myself to see it. I need to be allowed to feel if I can. I don’t want people to ask if it’s logical or question it. I do that myself. Twitter is my place that I allow myself to currently express myself and I really don’t want people pointing out it’s not logical. I just need to express it.
Physically my body feels like its giving up on me. I feel very unwell all the time. I’m waiting on hospital appointments for different things. I think the current count is five different hospital teams aside from the mental health team. I’m pushing my body all the time. I’m walking about 4k a day. I’m doing things around the house. All on little sleep and feeling pretty awful. I want to give up and stay in bed. It’s just not an option. Other forms of self care are falling by the wayside as well.
I’m also finding the thought of asking for help from my mental health team hard as well. I know I’m a drain on services. I’ve been made very aware of this lately with my care coordinator complaining about her high workload and not wanting me as part of that anymore. It doesn’t matter that a month ago I tried to end my life. Or that in September/October I was with the crisis team. Nope. I’m just a burden and what I feel doesn’t matter. And they’ve lied to me as well.
So there are my current thoughts and feelings. My rant. My Sunday night. Hope yours is better.
Please be aware some of the content may be triggering. Please take care.
A paradox: a person or thing that combines contradictory features or qualities.
I love the word paradox. I think it’s one of my favourites. I don’t know where I discovered it but it totally made sense to me straight away. I am a paradox a lot of the time. In my mental health, in the food I like, in my interests, in my personality. Most of the time I don’t mind this. I feel it makes me that little more interesting. I have found others who are a paradox too and they’re awesome, interesting people. But sometimes it means that in certain situations I’m not taken seriously.
I mentioned that I’m often a paradox with regards to my mental health. What I meant by this is that my behaviour is often contradictory to my thoughts and feelings. This can mean when I’m in distress I’m not taken as seriously. I can understand this to an extent but as most people with a mental illness are good actors anyway it should be thought about.
Take this morning. I’ve been actively thinking about suicide. I feel so low and useless. But with my care coordinator I laughed at a couple of things and had a sense of humour. This made it seem I was better than I was. It was contradictory, a paradox.
I also felt I was worthless. Then I had an email about helping review mental health factsheets and put myself forward. I feel I’m rubbish at what I do yet still I try to do more.
Being a paradox can be interesting but it can also be highly frustrating. Sometimes I want people to understand and see I’m not OK without me saying. This doesn’t happen as I can laugh and joke and still feel depressed. People don’t take my reactions to questions and comments saying I’m suicidal seriously. I’m dismissed by professionals who can’t see that I’m really struggling because my actions aren’t always in line with my feelings.
Also I can feel extremely suicidal to the point of making plans but still be doing things that suggest I’m still going to be around in time. The thing is this doesn’t mean my suicidal thoughts are any less serious. I still am desperate to die and can even make an attempt on my life despite future plans recently made. This is the reality of being a paradox.
I think there needs to be more awareness of paradoxes in mental health. It can leave people isolated when their actions go against what people expect from the mental illness. The truth is mental illness comes in many guises and this needs to be recognised more widely, especially with regards to those of us who are a paradox.
This is a personal piece. Please be aware some of the content may be triggering.
Alcohol is something we hear a lot about. There are many arguments about whether it is a problem or just something to use to relax. Overall alcohol can be fine if used in moderation. The problems come when it becomes more than just the odd glass.
My relationship with alcohol has always been complicated. Most children don’t experience alcohol until later on in their teens. I first experienced alcohol at two years old. To me it was normal for me to be given a glass of wine when we met my parents friends for dinner which happened fairly often. I even began to acquire a taste for certain wines, leading to a melt down at three years old in M&S because they weren’t buying the wine I liked. I think the thinking behind giving me alcohol at a young age was to give me a healthy relationship with alcohol as I grew up. This didn’t completely work though I was less bothered about going out drinking as an early teenager as I already had access to alcohol at home. Why sit cold in a park when you can drink in your own home?
The real problems began when I went away to university. There was noone to monitor my drinking so I went all out. Why should I care about the effects? I didn’t like myself and this made me feel less anxious. It gave me confidence. I could forget the events of my past and approach guys. I was fun and attractive to them. What they probably saw though was a desperate girl throwing herself at them? A girl who didn’t care.
I’d often drink myself into dangerous situations. I’d end up with a strange guy somewhere I didn’t know. I’d walk around the town on my own, falling asleep in different places, waking up to continue my journey home, arriving not knowing how I’d got there or what had happened on the way. I’d give my card and pin number to friends loudly without worry about someone stealing my money (though as a student they’d have been disappointed). I didn’t care though. In my head I was being that fun friend. I was just living the crazy student life like everyone else. But I wasn’t.
There was another side to the drinking as well. As it got more out of control I’d become depressed after drinking. One little event on the way home would trigger me into sitting in the middle of the road waiting for a car to hit me. Or I’d try climbing out of a first floor window, having others pulling me back in. I’d down two litres of cider in an hour and pass out. I began drinking cans of cider on my own in my room on the nights we didn’t go out. I thought it was the perfect accompiament to essay writing.
Soon people started to worry and I was referred to the campus nurse who also happened to be a trained mental health nurse. My suicidal thoughts had peaked. I’d made threats to end my life. Things had deteriorated so much in three months. My mental health had been poor before I’d started to university but this was the biggest deterioration since my first suicide attempt at fifteen. I was told I needed to stop drinking. That alcohol was worsening my mental health. I was to go back in a month to review how things had gone.
I never kept that appointment. I tried stopping drinking but it didn’t make much difference so I didn’t see the point in continuing and I began drinking again. Depression and anxiety overtook me and I realised I couldn’t stay at university on my own anymore. I made my request to transfer to one nearer home. This didn’t reduce my drinking for the rest of the year and there was many more drinking escapades and me waking up in states that I never imagined I would.
Once I moved home I decided I needed to get a handle on my drinking. It helped I was so busy working and going to university that it didn’t leave much time for alcohol. I also didn’t have the same connections to go out drinking. This helped a lot. I reduced my drinking but didn’t stop at that point. This meant that drinking still had an impact on me though less severe. I’d be drinking at home and just getting depressed with everything. It was only after another suicide attempt that I decided no alcohol was the way to go for me.
No alcohol sounds simple. You surely just don’t drink. I wish I found it that easy. I found myself craving alcohol. If something bad happened I’d want to turn to alcohol. The thought of being drunk and away from the situation was still appealing. But I tried hard. I did slip up repeatedly but in the end I managed it. I’m currently eight years sober. It’s still a struggle. I still get the urge to drink and have to fight it.
I’m not saying alcohol is all bad but it can be hard when it overtakes your life. I’m not saying people shouldn’t drink but I just want people to be aware of why they drink and when it may be becoming a problem. If you need help with alcohol issues you can find information here.
This is a personal piece. Please be aware some of the content may be triggering.
I’m broken. Broken beyond repair. A failure. A burden. Useless. Worthless.
I’ve been trying to move forward. Make progress. I’m being proactive. I’m making plans. Signing myself up to things. Exercising. Taking my medication. But what’s the point when I just go backwards.
Tonight is a little paradoxical. I’m feeling like a failure not because I self harmed deeply but because to me it wasn’t “good enough”. I’m in pain and feeling not good enough. Therefore I’ve sunk further. All the thoughts of my inadequacy have come to the forefront. People, friends (though why they bother with me I do not know) tell me I’m not what I think but I can see the evidence. How can they not? Or are they just too kind to agree?
I’m nothing. A waste of space. Someone to be hurt. Someone with so little worth that it doesn’t matter what others do to me. I should just take it. Even hurt myself. That’s what life has told me.
Sometimes I forget these things. I feel good. Then I remember. That’s the hardest.
This is a personal piece. Please be aware some of the content may be triggering.
I have screwed up majorly. I have pushed people away and withdrawn from others. I didn’t mean to. I just am either too much or not enough. There is no balance. I warn people and they say they can’t see it and then when it happens they recoil in horror. I tell them they need to tell me as I’m not skilled at picking up social cues but they don’t and just ignore me. I know it’s my fault but it hurts.
All that is going through my head is how much I must of hurt these people. I hate myself for it. I’m not excusing my behaviour but I don’t always realise when I’m doing or saying something wrong. If people let me know I could try and talk to them and make things right but I don’t always get the chance. I understand that maybe they get too hurt by it but when they just ignore me without telling me I’ve hurt them I feel worse. I know that’s selfish as it’s not really about me but it would help others too as I could learn what I’m doing wrong instead of just guessing. Also I really want them to know how sorry I am and I dont get the opportunity to let them know.
People say I’m being paranoid. That I need to understand that people might be busy or not well. I understand this I do but I can’t help going through everything I’ve said and done to the point I make myself sick. It makes me push away further if they do come back. It also makes me try to not get too close to new people. Though I fail at this massively. I get caught up in it all too quickly. My feelings for people go to an extreme and I’m desperate to talk to them and help them. It all becomes too much again and again people ignore and hate me.
I want to ask what is wrong with me but we all know. I’m just not cut out for friendship. I deserve to be alone.
It’s not just friendships I screw up though. It seems I destroy my support systems and the help I’m being provided. I reach crisis point and they say its too much. They can’t help me. I trust them and ask for help and it backfires. I’m pushed further away when what I need is reassurance. They wonder why people don’t talk when they’re suicidal but what other option is there when you’re scared you’ll lose everything anyway. Why try to make yourself better? For people that say they are good at working with people with BPD they seem to forget the fear of abandonment part that can cause further crisis. It feels like they’ve helped me hit self destruct again. But then at the end of the day it is my fault. I should never of asked for help instead of acting on the thoughts I was having.
So there you have it. Why I’m a screw up. Don’t worry I hate myself more than anyone else.
This is a personal piece. Please be aware some of the content may be triggering.
Today I had a melt down. Not just a little one but a major, uncontrollable show of emotion. I was in the DBT peer support group that I’ve started attending and I got triggered and that was it. My mind started turning over everything. Memories came back with full force. The voice started. It was overwhelming. I started by sitting quietly with tears going down my face. We were doing an exercise and everyone was focused and I just couldn’t ask for help. Then someone noticed me. They asked if I was OK and I got asked if I wanted to take a moment. That’s when things just nose dived.
I practically ran out the room. I wanted to slam the door behind me but couldn’t do it. This infuriated me and I hit the wall and ran to the stairs. At that point I just sobbed and emotion overtook me. There were so much emotion that I have no idea what it was I was feeling. All I know is it was horrible. In that moment I wanted to die. Everything was so intense. It felt unmanageable. I felt nothing was going to be OK again.
Luckily the peer support facilitator followed me. She was amazing. She got down to my level. I think she grabbed my arms. It’s a little hazy. I can’t remember what she said. All I know is she got someone else to go in with the group and took me somewhere quiet.
When we got in the office I just wanted to curl up small and hurt myself. I hated my reaction as well as still feeling the heightened emotions. Also everything was still going through my head. I couldn’t look at her. I was so ashamed of myself for so many reasons. For my reaction. For my feelings. For the thoughts of what had happened in the past. For what the voice was telling me. I started to hit myself as I was asked to stop. I hadn’t even realised I was. Things were hazy. It was like being in two different places.
The facilitator started talking to me. The conversation is a little bit of a blur. But it started to calm me. She got me to focus on my breathing to bring me back to the moment. She then had to leave me to go back to the group but someone else sat with me. They talked to me about nothing in particular but it helped. I started to be able to respond and the tears seemed to stop. The intensity of the emotions slowly eased.
When the facilitator came back we decided to have another talk. I opened up about a lot of things from my past. It all kind of blurted out. There were things I had never really spoken about. It just felt, well not easy but, OK to talk about. I felt listened to. I felt understood. I felt I mattered. But this was also contradicted by other feelings of shame (of what had happened in the past and of needing to ask for help), of being selfish, of guilt. I hated myself. As much as I was told it was OK I couldn’t believe it. I was (and am) an awful person. I couldn’t stop apologising.
Eventually I left, apologising as I went and promising to email her and contact my care coordinator. I decided to text my friend. She was the only one I wanted. I explained to some extent what had happened and she was concerned about me. Immediately guilt started to escalate again. But I kept talking (still apologising). She kept me calm. She was great. I’m so grateful for her. I’m so grateful for the facilitator too.
When I got home I got into trouble for being home late. It started as soon as I walked in. Immediately all the negative emotions started to rise again. I tried to explain I had a melt down and the questions started. They were things I found difficult to discuss but they wouldn’t leave it alone. Even when out walking with mum she brought it up and told me I just need to get over it. Maybe she is right but it added to how bad I’m feeling. Shame came forward again.
Since then things have been hard. My mind has been going over things. The voice has played its role. I’m trying hard to stay afloat. But its tough. I hate myself.
If you have any suggestions on dealing with shame feel free to share in the comments or on Twitter, Facebook or Instagram.
I wouldn’t normally comment on things that happen in America as it is not my country. But this is an issue that comes up again and again with regards to mass shootings in America. The common rhetoric is to claim the perpetrator is mentally ill. Now it is possible that they do have a mental illness but for the number of mass shootings that happen each year in America, that is a lot of mentally ill people with access to guns.
The truth is that these mass shootings are murder. Even terrorism. Often racism is at the core. This isn’t mental illness. Racism isn’t a mental illness. It’s a societal issue. Also America is not the only place where people are mentally ill, yet the number of mass shootings that occur there is disproportionately high. Surely this points to a deeper issue (*coughs* gun laws).
Here is the reality. People with a mental illness are more likely to be victims of violence than perpetrators. I only have access to British statistics but this paragraph from Time to Change’s website shows the rate of murder caused by someone acting as part of their mental illness:
“According to the British Crime Survey, almost half(47 per cent)of the victims of violent crimes believed that their offender was under the influence of alcohol and about17 per centbelieved that the offender was under the influence of drugs. Another survey suggested that about30 per centof victims believed that the offender attacked them because they were under the influence of drugs or alcohol. In contrast, only1 per centof victims believed that the violent incident happened because the offender had a mental illness.” Time to Change (Accessed August 2019).
It shows that while mental illness can cause someone to become violent, the chances are you’re more likely to be killed by someone drinking or on drugs. Yet this is never given as a possible explanation to those carrying out mass shootings. They also forget to mention that those with a mental illness are more of a risk to themselves than others.
It’s too easy to blame mental illness. To take something that people already fear and stigmatise against and use it to “explain” something so scary. People don’t want to think that someone who is a neurotypical person can be capable of causing so much death and destruction. But that is the case. Their brain may have been warped but it is not by mental illness, it is by racist ideologies (most of the time).
I know there will be many who won’t accept that mental illness is not to blame in the majority of cases. The thing is, even if a person is mentally ill, there are many other things that contribute to these situations. You need to look at your treatment of those with mental illnesses. You need to look at the ease of access to guns. It is not simply “this person was mentally ill and so there was nothing we could do”. Even when a person with a mental illness is violent, there are things that can be done to reduce this risk as there are often signs that this may happen.
So there we have it. Think before you say that a perpetrator is/was mentally ill. You are adding to the stigma. Maybe think what could be changed to prevent this ever happening again. What could of prevented it. What was the real motive. It is more than likely much deeper than “they were mentally ill”. Think. Yes, I’m looking at you Mr. President.