A Modern Form of Catholicism.
In my last post I congratulated the mono-state and said I'd refrain from firing off my opinions for a while. I've lasted about two weeks ..which isn't bad by my standards. Plus, I think this topic is too big to let slide. It's the news that Labour are rolling out mental health "walk-ins" across the country.
It's been on the cards for quite some time now, and I've feared it like an oncoming army. Sat here waiting in apprehension. You could call me paranoid ..and in doing so you'd be playing into my fears and confirming my argument. The Orwellian trojan horse, helping the state gain entry into every human mind. From the cradle to the grave (we already have 'infant mental health' funding).
Of course, people will argue that these are just walk-in centres, there for people seeking help. That no one's being forced to turn up. That there are countless genuinely mental people walking the streets who clearly need the help. Which is undoubtedly true. That it's putting pressure on A&E services, and yada, yada, yada.
However, it's hard not to be cynical. I've watched this trend grow. I wrote about it back in 2021:
We're Sleepwalking into a Mental Health Crisis
I started noticing the pattern way back circa 2015. The endless stream of TV and newspaper articles pushing the very term mental health. Pieces on the BBC, aimed at younger people, trying to sell the idea of sectioning. The wider push to get people (again, largely younger people) to self-identify with their various labels. I'm bipolar. I have anxiety. I have depression.
The medicalisation of the human experience.
The vast majority of people wearing such badges are simply normal people. Normal people with problems and emotions, yes, but nevertheless normal people. They do not have mental illness. They don't need the state this involved in their lives. Yet they've been encouraged to wilt under such diagnoses. To view their normal fears and emotions as terminal conditions needing medical remedy. As fundamental disabilities, not natural hurdles that are part of life.
We all have a rich personal tapestry. Anxieties and emotions are normal. I have anxiety, and I'm not saying that facetiously, it's a genuine admission. In fact, when I hear stories of young people entering the adult world that are too anxious to even answer the telephone I can fully sympathise, as I had that exact problem. I was criminally shy and anxious. I still have a tendency towards this now. To some extent it's how we're wired - our natural dispositions. Just as some people have a natural tendency to be more aggressive, so need to manage their anger more. Likewise, to some extent it's also a product of how we're raised and the things we've experienced. Either way, it's all perfectly within the natural spectrum of human behaviour.
We all have slightly different personalities, so this impulse to box and medicalise everything is so unromantic and numbing for society. I would hate to put a medical label on my own personality. I prefer to view my anxiety as being a product of my fox-like nature. I have moments of incredible braveness and moments of incredible cowardice, and I often find myself caught between the two. I'm never sure whether to show my teeth like a lion or to panic-off into the bushes like a threatened squirrel.
And the capacity to be cunning gives a greater natural capacity for cowardice and overthinking.
Perhaps it's my fox-like nature that leads me to fear the mental health cage. Maybe it won't be so bad?
From Fox To Kitty Cat
In a fitting parallel I had to take the cat to the vet yesterday. He's a stray "outside" cat who turned up in the garden one day and needed feeding. I felt conflicted putting him in the cat carrier - his little jail. I'm not normally sentimental, but I felt teary-eyed doing it. He has an instinctive desire for freedom that I admire and relate to. I wish my fellow humans were more like him. He's not used to being indoors, let alone being caged up, so he meowed like a baby the entire journey.
Fortunately, his front paw is looking a lot better now, so he seems to be on the mend. Still, I feel like I took a great liberty in forcing him into the box. Perhaps he would've been just fine had I left him to his own devices? Maybe the antibiotic injection he was forced to accept will do more harm than good? I certainly wouldn't have been as blasé at the vets if it was me getting the injection.
I can't help but feel this is what the state is like with us human pets. I'm sure they're trying to do the right thing, but you suspect they'd try a lot harder if it was their own health or freedom on the line.
It'd also be better if there was some actual depth of meaning. Materialism - where everything's just a chemical soup, covered over with nice, but hollow words isn't enough. In truth, it's perhaps the biggest source of depression. Actual religions - even horoscopes and animal fables - are so much more fun and healthy. Life is hard at times because it's a quest.
A question mark. A quest for meaning.
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