A young woman diagnosed with schizophrenia recounts the discrimination she faced and the stigma attached to the medical condition in public psyche
I remember my first instance of discrimination, which took place in
the very place that existed to understand people like me. I was 21 and
had gone in for a psychological test that was being conducted by senior
students of psychology.
There was a range of experiments they wanted me to participate in, in
order to measure my abilities at problem solving, my memory, my
attention span, and so on. I completed the experiments before the
minimum time limit and came out. The report said: “We can’t use her
scores, they are not normal.”
Then I had one of the psychology students come up to me and ask, “Are
you mad?” I said “Huh?” Before realising what she meant by that
statement, a very close friend who was around rushed up to me and said,
“Ignore that, let’s go chill.”
Today, I realise what that student meant and what my friend did. I
was diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia at the age of 22, at the very
peak of my education and youth. It certainly was not at all a comfort — I
could hardly even pronounce the word.
Years went by. I was given treatment, attended support groups and yet
was caught in a vicious circle. Not only was I discriminated against,
my entire family faced discrimination. The very fact that there is a
schizophrenic in the family disentitled us from being invited to
functions and gatherings. Many friends no longer wanted to associate
with my family or have anything to do with us. I then asked, “Am I that
bad and horrible a person? Why won’t they talk to me?”
In time I improved. Through counselling sessions and various
therapies, I was encouraged to further my studies in Clinical
Psychology, because I had tremendous insight into the ‘illness’ I had.
This I did. But, then again, the same place that is part of this vicious
systematic madness did not favour me. I was asked for a fitness
certificate and letters from my treating psychiatrist, counsellor,
support group, and caregiver that stated that ‘I won’t be a threat to
myself and to others’.
I was given admission on these grounds, along with a ‘donation’ from
my dad. It took me time to understand the politics. Today I ask: How
many of the others considered ‘normal’ had had to give such a
certificate and letters of undertaking? I was never violent towards any
outsider. Like everyone else I too had my frustrations—– the first of
which was accepting the label of madness. Why did they make it even more
difficult for me to seek an education, just like everyone else?
I dropped out of the course due to another discrimination I faced
when I approached the Head of Department. He refused to let me sit for
my pending papers even though I had permission for a six-month break and
the course had another year to be completed. Being who I am — a
hardcore rebel — I could not accept the terms and conditions that were
being set. I found my voice back. So I told him to keep the degree for
himself and walked out of the office, wondering again, “What is wrong
with me? Am I really crazy that I have to subscribe to the various
‘terms’ they had? Why didn’t any of my other classmates have to go
through the same procedure?”
Years went by; I grew and evolved as a person. I learnt more about my
label, accepted it and continued living with it. Then again, remarks
are still thrown at me. “You don’t look schizophrenic,” someone says. I
wonder to myself, “What is a schizophrenic supposed to look like?” It
reminded me of the case of a woman with cerebral palsy who was offloaded
from a flight not too long ago, because she looked ‘mentally ill’.
Now I live a life without medication, which is another highly
controversial stand to take for the psychiatric system that firmly
believes that a schizophrenic cannot live without medication or
psychiatry treatment.
I don’t ‘look’ schizophrenic. I am articulate, I can be bold and
opinionated, and can certainly express myself. But it didn’t happen
overnight. When I seek employment, I am discriminated against, because
it only takes a simple Google search to find out who I am. So my
existential question of ‘Who am I?’ is replaced by what the world thinks
of me: ‘What are you?’
The system says, “You must accept your condition and come out with
your stories. Share them with others so that discrimination and stigma
can be fought”. But, I wonder, in what way has the system helped me at
all? It has denied me the basic fundamental rights guaranteed by the
Constitution of India. It has taken away my legal capacity by deploying a
simple label. I cannot vote, I cannot sign a contract, I cannot hold
office, I have no right to the same education as others, I have no say
in my treatment, I can be held against my own will. Even though I now
stand on my own feet, have other means of making a living, pay taxes.
Why must I be paying taxes, anyway, when they have taken away my legal
capacity and there are laws that consider a person like me to be as good
as dead?
I owe my recovery to many good, compassionate, caring practitioners
and people. They too are a part of a system, but I wonder why they are
not seen or heard off. I hear voices...but I can only hope for mine to
ever be heard.
(Women's Feature Service)
Nessun commento:
Posta un commento