Rings around the moon.

I believe that I have finally untangled the threads - that I’m well on my way to describing the forces that caused the pain in my therapy. In Hegelian terms, my therapy was a tragedy. Both parties - myself as the client, he as the therapist - both of us thought that we were right. Neither of us could see the other’s reasoning as legitimate. So the only possible ending is, according to Mr Hegel, ‘the hero dies at the end’. Now. Here I am. In the library with Tesco sandwiches, crisps and fruit juice, planning what comes next. Still alive! I have my university place in September, and so I’m beginning to focus in on the core problem that binds my traumatic experience of therapy and the catastrophic treatment of my son, by mental health services. OK, my conclusions - start at the top level. Start with the awareness that something is wrong and the obvious answer - make a complaint! There is a problem! The outcome of a complaint process is to decide who has the most legitimate argument. And t...

As I have explained, my son did indeed manage to  escape from psychiatric services . But the harm done to his sense of identity, to how he understands himself because mental health treatment conforms to a medical model, and because there is shame associated with ‘diagnosis’... The harm done, remains one more hurdle for him to jump. It doesn’t take much imagination to feel how difficult it would be to regain confidence and trust enough in oneself, even the most mentally healthy of us, after life events have shaken the very foundations of our lives. Now imagine - how much harder with a ‘diagnosis’ and the memories of being sectioned, of being  treated  without one’s consent; the sound of doors locking, the muffled screaming, the atmosphere of anxiety and violence, and the drooling shuffling zombie walk of new-to-Risperidone patients. There is more, there is worse. In truth, psychiatric services are probably more than happy to see ungrateful people go and I was so, so ungrat...