houston’s craziest

This Houston Press article is making me angry. It describes a program in which severely mentally ill people who commit crimes repeatedly are assigned caseworkers to help them get back on their feet. Instead of putting mentally ill criminals in jail or the psych ward over and over again, they’re given some personal attention and aid that is tailored to their specific situation. It’s one of the best programs I’ve ever seen in terms of reducing crimes committed by the mentally ill–treat them like people with potentially-manageable diseases instead of just more bodies to incarcerate, and you’re well on your way to lowering your crime statistics while also not being an asshole.

BUT! Did you notice the title of the article? “Houston’s Craziest.” So much for treating these individuals like people! The Houston Press (in accordance with HPD, who released an actual list of 30 crazies to watch out for), in choosing that offensive, disrespectful, eyeball-grabbing title, has undermined the content of the article itself. In choosing that title, they’re letting their readers know that despite the existence of a well-run program to keep severely mentally ill people off the streets and out of jail, they should still be known as “Houston’s Craziest.” In publishing that list, the Houston Press and HPD are letting everyone know that, despite every living person’s desire for respect and dignity, it’s still okay to point and laugh at the exploits of “crazy people.”

And I know, they didn’t publish everyone’s names. And maybe some of the people on the list could in fact be described as crazy. But it doesn’t matter. The public existence of that list undermines the efforts so many people have taken to change the terrible stigma associated with all levels of mental illness.

I’ve been very fortunate when it comes to my depression, for the following reasons:

  1. It’s not terribly severe.
  2. I grew up the daughter of well-off, suburban, highly educated people. I had parents who knew when something was wrong, knew where to take me for treatment, could support me financially when I needed it, and were able to provide me with medical insurance until I was 25.
  3. Because of #2, my depression and anxiety were caught relatively early and have therefore almost never gone untreated.
  4. Because of #2, I’ve been able to get an education myself, acquire job skills and social skills, find employment and a place to live, and support myself financially.
  5. Because of #4, I’ve acquired a savings account, health insurance of my own, and a support network of local friends to help me when I need it.

As I said, I’ve been very fortunate. But take away one or two of those things (ESPECIALLY #s 2 and 3) and any of those people on the list of Houston’s Craziest could be me. Well, not the men, because depression doesn’t change your gender. Hey-ohh! But make no mistake: I’m here with my laptop on the patio of the apartment my boyfriend and I rent, with my nice shoes and my clean teeth and my belly all full, writing complete sentences on the website I pay to host, because of the way I was born.

This isn’t about fate, because I don’t believe in it, and I don’t think I’m special. What it’s about is the fact that the “crazy” guy on the street could have the same exact illness as the girl in the cubicle next to you; the only difference is that she’s had it better in life than him.  It’s important that we keep the guy on the street from committing crimes and harming others, of course, but it’s also important that once we’ve done that we treat him like a human being, and not like a person on a list of undesirables.

This ties in nicely with my thoughts on Dave Cullen’s Columbine, but the cold front’s about to come in, so I’m going to go inside, sit on the couch with my dog, and knit while watching an episode of “Firefly.” Later I’m going to take my meds and get in bed with a book. That sound you hear is me trying not to take it for granted.

football and loneliness

Brendan: “Hey, I want to watch the football game on Saturday.”

Me: “Far out. What time? We should try to get your Halloween costume stuff that day too.”

Brendan: “It starts at 11.”

Me: “Okay, maybe we can go to the Halloween store after it’s over.”

Brendan: “Sure.”

Me: “Who’s playing?”

Brendan: “Texas and Oklahoma.”

For those of you who don’t know, the UT vs. University of Oklahoma football game has been held every October since, I don’t know, the dawn of time or whatever. It’s a big fat deal in college sports: they hold it in Dallas (a neutral location!) and all the sports fans go for the weekend.

I’d completely forgotten about the game’s existence until Brendan mentioned it, but during the two years I spent at UT, the Texas-OU game weekend was my favorite weekend of the whole school year.  Not because of the game, which of course I never attended, but because the campus was nearly deserted from Friday afternoon to Sunday evening.

I didn’t do anything differently on those weekends, mind you. I read and wrote letters and listened to music in my dorm room, ate in the cafeteria, walked to the computer lab on campus and back. But almost nobody was there to see me do it! Phrasing it this way sounds weird, but it’s how I felt: I could be invisible without worrying that anyone was watching me be invisible.

See, I knew that in my section of the dorm I was already known for being the girl who didn’t go anywhere. People would knock on my door to borrow things or ask questions on a Friday night, knowing full well that I’d be in my room. It embarrassed me to be this person, since everyone else went out every chance they got.

That’s one of several noticeable differences between being a dorm shut-in during your undiagnosed depression and being an apartment shut-in during your unemployed year.  In your apartment you can eat and bathe without leaving, there aren’t classes to attend, and you have no roommate, so there’s nobody around to watch you be a shut-in.  Also your neighbors are not all kids just out of high school, so they don’t care what you do.

I’ve talked a lot about my need for alone time on this site before, so obviously I learned not to worry about what people thought of it. I’ve also acquired at least five wonderful and engrossing hobbies since then, so I don’t even have time to worry about it.

That said, it’s important to get a balance. I get really testy if I don’t get lots of alone time, but if I get too much things can start to get depressing.  I plan to spend this Texas-OU weekend alternately going out and working on projects at home.