Irony

Yesterday, the day after my last post, I had to do work in a psychiatric office.  I was somewhat discomfited to see a brochure for Electroconvulsive Therapy, and looked–to the extent of my ability out of the corner of my eye–at the poor souls who were landing there, likely not happily, and perhaps not of their own choice.

I thought: how AWFUL to be remanded to these people for what in most cases is normal human suffering.  I saw several of the shrinks.  They wear sweaters, and smile in the fashion I have come to expect from back-stabbing, ladder climbing VP’s in large corporations.  Their sincerity has every appearance of being sincere.

Yes, I am a cynic, and I do realize that there are genuinely good people in the “mental health profession”, but what in the process builds this?  What builds genuine love, joy, happiness, generosity of spirit, openness, kindness?  Freudian analysis?  Are you fucking stupid?

Consider, too, this phrase “mental health professional”.  It implies both that this person is as qualified as anyone on the planet can be to discuss the process of what we call mental health, AND that they themselves exemplify, that they DO mental health, better.  We all know, I think, that in most cases this is a lie.  Not all such “professionals” are full blown neurotics, but I suspect most pipe-fitters and electricians are more honest, and more genuine.

In some respects, of course, the burden of listening to litanies of failure and woe all day every day, knowing that your therapeutic arsenal is very weak, that you are fighting tanks with bows and arrows, must be tiring.  There can be no question that sedation of various sorts creates relief, but there is no skill in this.  You could train most nurses to do it easily.  Nor is there much skill in simply listening.

Any skill there may be consists in helping people feel heard, in inspiring confidence, in helping feel cared about genuinely, and in facilitating self healing in others.  It consists not in putting oneself on a pedestal, nor quite putting the patient on a pedestal, but sitting on a park bench, and having honest fruitful conversations, at the end of which your “patient” realizes for him or herself how the healing process must proceed.