Sadness, Joy and the Curse of DSM-5. Blog 128

Good morning morning!

Ok - so we are a bit older than these two! 

I spent a wonderfully convivial evening with a dear friend - a fellow traveller for over 25 years. I cooked and we ate and talked. We shared stuff in the way you do with old friends, with the trust that comes from years of confidences and love. Its the kind of relationship where you can explore the things that make you who you are without fear of being closed down. You can visit each other's cores. Conversation never runs out but you can be silent together too. Such is the quality of this friendship. And I am blessed to have a number of these. 

Someone once said to me that I am supremely intense and very analytical for an artist! I am not sure that it was meant as a compliment - he being a scientist and of the opinion that analysis is the sole territory of fine scientific minds. It made me laugh out loud I remember. This stereotype persists, with the belief of some that artists are by definition flaky and odd, not of the real world and deeply irrational. Apparently we live in garrets, were latterly prone to consumption are often narcissistic and even mentally unwell. The likes of Sylvia Plath, Nick Drake, Sarah Kane, Glen Gould all pointing to a reinforcement of this. 

We like to think that artists are somehow different from normal human beings, and some even buy into and pedal this as a badge. Take Stephen Fry for example - I adore the man, but his public demonstration of his apparent manic depression, now fashionably renamed Bipolar bothers me. Its not that I disbelieve his belief - indeed many would argue that his self exposure normalises mental illness in that a man of his intellect, creativity, productivity and stature is a sufferer of this Black Dog. More than that some would say it gives comfort to those who daily suffer the discrimination and indignity of mental illness. I'm not so convinced. The romanticism bugs me. Dealing with deep human distress is no picnic for anyone. I know, prone as I have been all my life to periods of profound sadness. But almost everyone I know has such times, isn't it just part of being human? I guess it becomes pathologised and then the drugs

companies rub their hands together with glee - more pills, more profit. And so the cycle goes with the DSM-5 (Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders) adding new 'conditions' almost daily. The lastest one published this May revises its definition of gender identity issues (ah politics!) and adds Gambling Disorder! Dear God, is all human experience now to become treatable by a drug?  I am sorry but it makes me mad (haha!) to consider the supposition that all human distress can be magicked away by simplistic and lazy thinking and a few pills. Why isn't it ok to be sad? its just there in the emotional palette of human beings isn't it - a natural companion of joy, love and anger surely? 

Makes us uncomfortable?

I am not diminishing real emotional and mental anguish, I have seen it debilitate people, myself included at times. I have also recently spent quite some time with a woman who is 'schizophrenic' and indeed her behaviours are well outside the norms of social behaviour. She has several competing voices and speaks in them most of the time. But even she, who is certainly categorised as mentally ill  still lives a manageable life, takes care of her ailing mother, has children, cooks, goes shopping, laughs and cries. 

I know that many doctors are well meaning, caring, deeply serious and committed to making people well. But the funny thing is that unlike any other disease - these illnesses of the mind cannot be easily confirmed by a trusty old blood test. Diagnosis is largely subjective, and based on the patient's self reporting or in some cases that of their relatives and the essential ingredient of course -  the 'expertise' of the physician. I believe that by definition these illnesses are indeed dis-ease. They are a manifestation of human beings struggling with being alive, with life itself even. Life is not in our control and yet we try to make it so. 

I am 350 pages into writing a novel with a narrative which at times touches this territory. I was recently asked by a good friend and artist to share a fragment of it - she wanted to get a sense of the style, tone and rhythm of what she called the mental state of 'rumination' for a piece of drama she is making. My central character Bernadette could be said to ruminate - but I had no idea that this is now a categorisable symptom of a mood disorder! I thought rumination was a proper process of considering and thinking deeply about something. A plausible dictionary definition is this:

1. The act of pondering; meditation.
2. The act or process of chewing cud.

If rumination is a symptom now of a mental illness than all great thinkers and mystics throughout history are bonkers by definition! Why is it so unfashionable to ponder the great questions of life and existence? Unless of course like Stephen Fry you are an eccentric artist - in which case its allowable and inhabits its own 'safe' box at a distance from real people.

Sadness, joy, love, anger, birth, sex, envy travel us through the emotional and spiritual spectrum of our lives. That's why poetry, music, film, drama, painting take us deep into those places in which we all actually live, like it or not. No pap TV opium of the masses can hold back those moments in our lives when all things change or we are struck by illness or loss. We cannot Costacoffee them away - can we? I suppose if we want to choose a life of mildly sedated ease then why not? It could be worse - we could love, lose, rage, live truthfully and joyfully. Or not. 

So on a bit of a rant myself this morning! But there you have it. A nice cup of 'real' coffee and listening to some Nick Drake should sort that in no time!

Have a lovely day - and maybe just let life carry you forward. I plan to.