April Wobken

The Network of Thought of Dax and Baggs

April Wobken

ENGL 384

Foss

4/26/2019

The Network of Thought of Dax and Baggs

Selene dePackh’s Troubleshooting articulately brings the message of the Autistic interpretation that Amanda Baggs conveys in her piece, Up in the Clouds and down in the Valley. Baggs describes the typical Autistic interpretation as the absence of something important; the absence of speech, of language, of thought, of movement, of comprehension, of feeling, and of perception. Though there is an absence to most perspectives, Baggs insists that there is more to it than simply an absence, rather a different angle. Troubleshooting’s Dax represents Baggs’s Autistic perspective in the following scenes: Dax’s perception of language into patterns, Dax’s struggle with heavily structured tasks, and when describing other’s perception of her due to her Autism.

Baggs describes her process of understanding her surroundings as starting with sensory impressions repeated long enough for her to become deeply familiar with them. Once the familiarity is established, the concept forms into patterns that evolve into a more complex network of patterns. This method applies to her understanding of sensory impressions and language. She reflects about first having to match words to their responses before she was able to understand the meaning of the words and why (Baggs). This understanding of a pattern is the dominate way she and Dax both describe understanding language. When first interacting with Chill, Dax describes the process of unpacking his words, “He’d been talking for a few before the first information made it to the appropriate parts of my brain…His sounds and expressions were coming into focus. He’d begun rephrasing what he’d probably already said…I was starting to get him synchronized” (dePachkh 3-5). Dax does not fully understand the words Chill speaks until she becomes familiar with the pattern. Even though language is universal, speech has a pattern and people must adapt and get used to each individual’s style, people all do this without thinking most of the time. Unless someone may have an accent or different dialect, the adjustment period might be a bit more difficult. The Autistic cognitive process affects her socializing, taking her at a fundamental level with each interaction, having to pay close attention to words without even understanding their meaning and ciphering through the absence of information. Dax describes herself as having to do this adjustment for each new interaction until she adjusts, she will often miss many important details of a conversation. The process is very exhausting for her and forces her to be very alert when trying to communicate effectively with others.

Baggs’s describes the autistic experience of being in the valley and in order to understand other people she must climb mountains and reach the sky, this process does not guarantee her a similar experience to those in the sky once she gets there. “It’s hard for me to climb that mountain all of the time though, so they are more rarely my experiences than those of others. Still, so many people from the mountain describe the valley only by what is not there, and that is not anywhere near a thorough enough description” (Baggs). This different experience is shown by how the contrast of Petra’s experience of Dax compares to Dax’s own experience of herself. When she first confronts Dax about having Autism she comes from an angle of doubt, saying that she does not see Dax as disabled and that Dax’s tattoo is fake. There is a stereotype that autism looks a certain way and like most unaware people, Petra seems to think that Dax is not “autistic enough” (dePackh 78-79). When Petra spends more time with Dax she realizes how much help Dax needs to function on the level that society requires of her and helps Dax complete her To-Do List. Once Petra leaves Dax struggles with her task management and is only able to catch up on her list when “The Mistake” moves in and manages it for her.

Autistic people are diminished into fragments of people merely due to their different cognitive ability that has no effect on their sexuality or possession of a soul, yet these two factors seem to include in the “package” of having autism to outsiders. Baggs describes that some of her deepest and most profound experiences from her different cognitive perception are simplified into an insulting and demeaning explanation of simply lacking language, thought, and a soul. This is reflected when Dax’s mother receives the diagnosis that her daughter is Autistic and starts treating her differently. Autism is misinterpreted into sociopathy by her mother, which is parallel to Baggs’s description of the stigma that Autistics lack a soul. Dax also reflects that people with autism are not seen as being able to have sexual desire, yet she proves that bias wrong throughout the book with explicit details of her sexual interactions and desires with/for Chill, Petra, and Angela.

Many characters approach Dax as if something is absent and she is not adequate as she is. Even though many people autistic or not, have short-comings or flaws it seems as if hers are more apparent due to the fact of her Autism. Dax does not seem bothered by her condition; she seems to function contentedly in her own skin/mind unless someone else gives her reason to feel difficulty due to discrimination. Dax does not despair about having Autism and it is like Amanda Bagg’s said, “Focusing on absence is the easiest way to describe the presence of something much more important to me than what is absent. Many autistic people have even applied these words to themselves. Some of us do this knowing full well that there is so much more that we cannot say” (Baggs). Dax seems to understand her surroundings as well as other people. The Mistake” is an able-bodied man and yet he seems to be the most challenged of all the characters: between his violence, anger, mixed signals/feelings towards Dax, and abusive behavior towards himself and Dax he seems to be the most impaired character. These narratives prove that absence can be anywhere, not just in an official “diagnosis”.

A person that is different cognitively is not seen as a human being. Hence, justifying the cruel and unusual treatment at Thunderbird Academy towards their patients and the general treatment of Autistic in modern day culture. They believe that once they have bee “treated” then they will deserve to be treated and acknowledged like everyone else until then they are not a complete human. Autistics are not offered self-agency due to the belief that Autism is worse than diseases such as measles or other preventable vaccinatable diseases. Yet Baggs and Dax show the readers that Autistics have the ability to feel deeply, desire, think deeply and express themselves through their stories.

Works Cited

Baggs, Amanda. “Up in the Clouds and Down in the Valley: My Richness and Yours.” Disability Studies Quarterly, vol. 30, no. 1, 2009, doi:10.18061/dsq.v30i1.1052.

DePackh, Selene. Troubleshooting . Reclamation Press, 2018.

I pledge; I hereby declare upon my word of honor that I have neither given nor received unauthorized help on this work. – April Wobken

April Wobken’s Major Project: Short Story “Solitary Sands” Regarding Stigma on ADHD/Hypersomnia

In my story, Solitary Sands, I attempt to relay the experience of a person with ADHD and Narcolepsy in college. The usage of ADHD medication is one that is often mislabeled as unnecessary due to the strong misplaced idea that the condition does not warrant medical intervention. If they believe it does, the next thought is that the person could avoid usage of stimulants and if they use stimulants they are seen as a drug addict. Yet people use alcohol, marijuana, tobacco, and other illegal drugs recreationally frequently, but it is not seen as frowned on. It is all fun or the occasional “fix”. Even if the person needs the stimulant intervention for reason’s of ADHD or Hypersomnia, they are still blamed for their disability, seen as being able to be healthier to not need the medication. This issue is awful for people prescribed stimulants on college campuses, all are regarded as having drug problems or being drug dealers.

Health centers on campus refuse to refill the prescription, causing the student to go out of their way to get something they need. When they complain about this struggle and how it may impede their ability, they are again told that maybe they should be using a different medication. Doctors are the only ones who are really justified in making medical judgement, yet when it comes to ADHD diagnosis or medication, people will go out of their way to tell you what YOU are doing wrong.

Not only this, but ADHD is regarding as a slang word for when people are having trouble staying on task. This is problematic because this takes away from the seriousness of the disability. More often than not, the people that make these comments might be the same people that think that ADHD does not need medical intervention and regard people who take medications such as Adderall as inferior to them.

In the story, the main character, Roxanna, has used amphetamines for most of her public education, but stopped in her Community College education, simply because she did not want to rely on them. She progressively had issues of falling asleep in class and focusing, but would attempt to power through. Towards the end of her Sophomore year she got back on the medication, much to her Father’s dismay, and was able to knock out the difficult Statistics class. She stopped falling asleep in class and realized the possible connection. Roxanna’s doctor tested her for Narcolepsy and she was positive—she is put on a regulated prescription of Adderall to manage her symptoms. Once she goes to her new 4 year University, she is faced with a lot of struggles simply for having the prescription. Fear of it being stolen (it is enforced that college kids will steal it), fear of not getting a refill on time, fear of judgement, and the like. I cover these struggles between dialogue between her and her roommates. Two of her roommates appropriate her condition to their convenience and see her as a source for the “fix” they may need for studying. The perception of a person with ADHD medication being a drug dealer is more often not self made, but made by others who perceive the ADHD afflicted’s medication as public property. It is seen like a courtesy equivalent to sharing alcohol or marijuana. This is problematic as the mental impairment is not regarded seriously and people see the afflicted as a recreational resource. It is similar to what we have read in class regarding how the disabled body is not seen as an equal, but rather as a fascination (a freak) or a resource to be manipulated for personal gain.

April Wobken

4/2/2019

ENGL 384

Foss

Solitary Sands

I looked around the room, my roommates were nowhere to be seen, just boxes half full and empty. I was still unsure. “Where is it, mom?” I gave her a look, implying the subject matter.

She looked at me but continued to walk out into the living room. “Oh, your Adderall?” I winced and shushed her, but she ignored me and continued. “I left it in your medicine cabinet.”

I quickly walked over to my room and dove for the medicine cabinet. It was perched lazily on the shelf and I repossessed it, hiding it in my purse. Horror stories about taking Adderall and amphetamines were thrown my way whenever it was discovered that I am prescribed it. Most commonly, ones of college kids abusing them. I walked back towards the living room and heard Susan’s mother, Karen, narrating about how Susan used to take Ritalin when she was a child.

“Did you know there was this big epidemic where doctors over diagnosed ADHD?” Karen paused, barely retaining her excitement, “I was so glad when I found this out, I took Susan off those horrid things immediately.”

“Wow, I had no idea.” Mom seemed to be at a loss for words and seemed to consider her claim. I bit my lip in irritation.

Karen continued, “There are better alternatives to ADHD treatment, Susan takes rhodiolia rosa and does a lot of yoga. Mindfulness is a great method to bring focus to the unfocused mind.”

“Mom, are we going to go out for dinner?” Susan seemed impatient and I was grateful for the change of subject.

“Oh, yes sweetie. I am coming.” I started to make my way into the living room and Karen acknowledged my presence with a sympathetic pout. “Nice to meet your Mrs. Twehaus and Roxanna. I hope this new school and year is good to you and my daughter.”

I smiled. Karen walked over to my mom on her way out, whispering very loudly, “Do consider what I told you.” Karen patted my mom’s shoulders and seemed pleased with herself. The door quietly shut.

Mom said nothing of it that day. My other two roommates moved in later that evening.

***

I did not understand Honor Code, not for lack of honor or honesty. Growing up, I had to take my medication at home or in the nurse’s office. When taking Adderall, you not only gain relief from symptoms of ADHD and Narcolepsy but additional skills such as caution and mistrust of people, everyone is an enemy because everyone wants your ‘drugs’. Especially the college kids—my roommates, my neighbors, simply all of the students.

Locking doors was common sense to me, I did not need to grow up in the city to know that. Yet it seemed that when I flipped out on my roommates for leaving the apartment door unlocked, I was regarded as the suspicious one.

“Roxanna, UMW has an honor code”, Kelly said proudly.

“Yea, I know that you’re a bit new here, being a transfer student, but Kelly and I have been keeping these doors unlocked since Freshman year.”

Rita stayed silent while fixating her gaze at the large window in the living room and the people playing soccer in the yard. I rolled my eyes. “Seriously? Things could easily get stolen.”

“But they won’t, honor code.” Susan reinforced and Kelly nodded.

“So, you are so confident about this, that you are willing to risk having something important stolen?”

Susan and Kelly both nodded.

“Why even take that chance?” I sighed irritably, “And without your roommates’ consent? I live here too.”

Susan folded her arms. “Look, Roxanna, I get where you are coming from. But honor code is something the students take seriously, I get that being on Adderall makes you paranoid, but trust me no one is going to steal your drugs.”

I gasped and felt my face become hot. Rita stared at me quietly and Kelly tilted her head. “I am not paranoid, and I do not appreciate you announcing my medications out loud.”

Susan shrugged and Kelly awkwardly stumbled over to the kitchen to busy herself with lunch. I retired to my room to study.

Later in the night Rita approached me and told me that if anything, we could lock our bedroom door, if that would make me feel better. I nodded and expressed gratitude. Rita didn’t seem bothered by much; it was surprising for her to be bothered for someone else. Maybe I was reading into it too much, she may have been avidly avoiding conflict. My mouth felt dry and my brain compressed, as if it was dehydrated through thousands of straws. I had been overdoing it lately and had been only taking one instant release a day instead of two. Adderall crashes were not pleasant, but not unbearable, unless I was under high stress and overly fatigued. I wanted to study more, but I resigned myself to sleep. I nearly forgot to lock the door, Rita had gotten the door when she came back in from her last smoke break and I felt at ease. I slept better that night.

***

A few weeks had passed and I busied myself with club activities in my free time. I made a few friends and started dating a boy name Luc. I was incredibly grateful to have him because I felt much more at ease having someone to spend time with. My roommates were okay, Kelly and Susan seemed to have their own system that Rita vaguely went a long with. They would often make dinner and would share, but if Kelly was making it then it would only be vegan food. I appreciated the efforts because it made things a bit less awkward.

Rita was often entranced by the shapes her cigarette smoke would take and took solace in exploring that world each after breakfast each morning and before bed each night. Despite drinking Red Bull like water, she always was courted by her drowse. I felt reluctant to allow myself too close to Rita for fear that it would cause conflict. Rita seemed to know Susan and Kelly really well but seemed oddly distant, but I was too scared to risk it.

Rita reveled her selective vulnerability to me when I stumbled into my bed with muffled sobs after fighting with Luc. He had told me that maybe if I studied harder and had more discipline, my ADHD wouldn’t be so bad.

Rita had been tucked away in her strategically placed blankets but dragged herself into an upright position. She kept it simple and allowed her body to be comfortable in its habitat, wearing a white crop top and underwear. “Bad party?”

“No.”

“Bad sex?”

I paused. “No.”

She placed pillows in her lap, propping her elbow on the pillow, to then prop her chin on the palm of that hand. “Then what?”

I explained to her what Luc said and she listened closely. She chuckled to herself when I explained what Luc said and shook her head.

“Many people ‘think’ they understand ADHD, as if they were a doctor themselves.” She paused and inhaled from her vape. “You won’t see no self-proclaimed ‘experts’ on Leprosy.”

“Anyone can be distracted.” I felt hopeless.

“Normal distracted is different than ADHD distracted. Just as Diabetic hunger is different than normal hunger and as AIDS’ flu is different from normal flu.” Her eyes were distant.

“Yea, I never thought of it that way.” The constriction of my lungs eased.

“Yea, probably because people like to make slang out of diseases. ‘I am so OCD today’ or ‘I am so ADHD today, I cannot focus!’ or ‘That girl is cancer.’”

“Oh! Yea once when my friends and I were goofing off, one said to the other, ‘Stop acting autistic’.” I paused. “Even I laughed though. It’s like saying something is silly in a stupid way.”

“Yea, but more people are Autistic than you think. Judy from Statistics is.”

“Shit really?”

“Yea.”

“She doesn’t seem autistic.” I paused.

“But she is.”

I knew I was wrong but had no words to process it.

“Think about your description, that association alone will build up the interpretation/bias that autistic people are stupid and silly. Even if that is not what you meant, using that word as slang to replace stupid or silly immediately connects the association to the people with the condition.”

“I really know nothing about autism,” I spoke slowly and carefully, “hence I don’t have the agency to define her condition, she and her doctor does.”

“No one likes a know it all.” Rita laughed. “Just as long as you at least try to hear all that needs to be said and understood, that’s what counts.”

“Yea.”

“It’s like Luc saying he was so ADHD today, despite his implication that it is not a real issue.”

“I know it’s real though.” I spoke stronger and a bit louder. “Sometimes I get into fads where I buy planners and write out everything that needs to be done in the next 3 months. But then I lose it, or forget about it. Or I get on this kick that I will remember what I need to get done.” I paused

Rita listened to my struggles and gave me a piece of her mind about Luc. Though she was engaged in our conversation I found her to be a bit intimidating in her certainty about things.

***

Susan would rarely engage me in a conversation outside of shared living room time and dinner. Kelly however, would frequently ask me how I was doing to a point of scheduled madness. This only led to small talk that never deepened and I found it infuriating; it was the kind of small talk forced at Thanksgiving Dinner with people you only see for the sole fact that they are related to you. Refusing this social gesture would be rude, so I did my best to keep it satisfied and at bay.

I had just quelled her recent outburst that occurred during my intent watching of “Game of Thrones.” I so desperately wanted to finish the episode and she even commented, “You don’t have to pause it, I’ve already seen it.”

Nevertheless, I got in a whole two more episodes in, a real steal, before she came in again to ask about my classes.

I decided to try to be a bit less flat. “Well they are okay, lots of group projects, and I lose track of my schedule so easily. Psychics is ridiculous because of this one kid.”

Kelly twirled her hair while staring at the blank tv screen and nodded her head. “Yea. I’ve got 4 papers due. One of them is for a philosophy class about Rene Descartes and his theory is wack.”

“I remember him. I took philosophy before but focused on Nietzsche.”

“The paper is 8 pages long and I cannot use over 5 quotes.” Kelly continued. “I am so overwhelmed I cannot even focus.”

I nodded.

“I spent hours on this paper last night and it is due tomorrow, but I am on the cusp of falling asleep, Roxanna.”

“Drink some coffee?”

Kelly sighed loudly and Rita exits the bedroom, heading for the kitchen. “Roxannaaaa, I already did.”

“Then sleep now and wake up early?”

“No way!” Kelly lifted her arms up above her head. “If I do that I will oversleep with how tired I am!”

“I’m sorry, I wish I could help you, but I got nothing.”

Kelly smiled and quickly restrained it. “Hey, I was wondering, if you could spot me an addy?”

My fingers tensed. Rita gaped and returned to her dinner preparation once she noticed me staring. “No.”

Kelly smiled and put a jovial hand on my shoulder. “Before you say no, just know that I am not oblivious to the fact that you are a student and I am not expecting charity. I will give you five bucks for one.”

“What do you think I am? A drug dealer?”

“No!” Kelly was surprised. “Hold on a second.”

“This is my prescription and I actually NEED it.” I shoved off her hand and stood up. “No, Kelly. If you want Adderall, get the prescription your damn self.”

“Roxanna, I only need it this once. Why would I need a prescription?”

“So, my medication is just recreational to you?” I did not wait, I continued to my door and made myself safe.

***

It was a warm evening with a hint of mist calming the air. I lit a few candles and enjoyed time in the living room, reading a book. Rita was in our room and the other two were gone.

Halfway into my book, with the candle’s lemongrass aroma melding into the misty air I was at ease. So much so that I was beginning to doze off, which was impossible on my medication. I noticed my body developing a tolerance to the medication, I began falling asleep in class again and if enough time passed in stillness I would fall victim to sleep’s clutches. Asking for a higher dose was like asking for judgement with a side of mere possibility for the desired results. I felt like a codependent girl crawling back to her old abusive boyfriend, only the boyfriend was my doctor and my parents.

Daddy would say, “I hope you are not developing a dependence on this.”

Mother would say nothing.

It was a courtroom trial to prove that I was not a drug abuser and yet I knew that I needed the medication in a way that made my body feel awake, alert, and grounded. I had been on the lowest dose for a year now, some got to get upped in 6 months. I took magnesium, cut back on vitamin C, and did my best to avoid taking the medication on the weekend. Giving my body a break was crucial, it helped me not develop a tolerance so quickly and I always did it in high school. I went without Adderall in community college, but in my last semester there I had to get back on it because I was failing my classes. I usually bullshit my way through material because no matter how much time I made for studying, sleep would claim me or another temptation of the mind. Once I got back on Adderall, surprisingly I stopped falling asleep throughout the day and taking naps, it was an added bonus. I found out I had Narcolepsy. I knew I was responsible with my medication, yet I often ran through these narratives in my head to convince myself. Daddy never seemed to believe in me.

The candle flickered and a gust of wind blew through the screen. I felt the pull of the clouds enticing me and as I tried to read the page before me, it blurred and I felt gravity pressing into me. My eyes fought sleep but it was dragging me to hell. If I wasn’t careful, I could probably sleep all day, off medication. I feared sleep like one who fears death, it was all the same. To be asleep is not equivalent to being truly alive and it seemed my consciousness was kidnapped into this void that loved me and doted on me more than reality itself. It scared me because sleep was enticing more than life itself, and that is why I loathe it. A girl loathes the man that batters her, but for some reason stays with him despite it all, because she finds some sort of solace in him. The sandman called for me often. The weakness and loneliness from my disabilities grew rapidly since being in this university—those sentiments deeply crave comfort and sleep offered it, so much so that my fragmented dreams and void space became a frontier I desired to reside in. If I could describe what I barely remember, it would be a realm of warmth: warm breezes, perfect humidity, soft light in the sky, sand warm from the passing day’s blistering sun, and ocean waves like a white noise machine.

In Linguistics I felt my mind being interested in the subject matter, wanting to soak the knowledge in, but Sandman knew me better and promised me more knowledge. My mind was dead space when awake and the school’s desire for an arctic tundra made me cave into myself for warmth. I felt like a collapsing sandcastle, being eroded by the waves and seduced into their cradle.

I could take another Adderall, then I would feel it again, but I didn’t. It would be at 20MG and I wanted to rise to 15 MG. Not without my doctor’s approval, it had to be done right. It was coming close to my 6-month mandatory in office visit, since it was a controlled substance. I would address it there.

My mind processed the nearing struggle in fragments and it became muted as my eyelids tremored into sleep’s clutches. I was startled violently when I heard loud laughs traveled outside in the halls and into my apartment. Two men’s laughter became unmuffled as they opened my door and casually walked in. I gasped and only one seemed apologetic.

“I didn’t mean to startle you, I am with him.” The boy was tall and muscular, clad in a soccer uniform. He pointed to his darker friend, also on the same team.

“I don’t care who you are with, you knock as a curtesy before you may be permitted to enter someone’s space.”

My bedroom door cracked open and Rita nestled in the crack to quietly observe. “Oh c’mon, you know me Roxanna. I am a friend of Susan’s. The new Walking Dead is premiering tonight and Susan said we could come use y’all’s TV, after all our PlayStation is here.” He pointed to the hooked-up PlayStation, a marker of his territory.

“Whatever, you jerks just make yourself at home.” I blew out my candles and gathered my things. Rita stepped back and welcomed me in.

“Don’t let it get to you too much.” Rita paused. “Kelly and Susan have lived very open lives and believe that everything is okay so long as it’s fun.”

I jump up onto my bed and settle into my blanket. “Must be nice to be so happy and full of energy.”

Rita twirled her finger into the blanket fibers. “I used to take Ritalin; I get the paranoia. My docs told me how college kids loved amphetamines and I needed to be careful.”

“Yea, treat you as if you will sell drugs or give them out like candy if they don’t remind you.” I sighed in irritation, feeling a bit understood.

“Right?” Rita took a drag from her juul. “I got put on Wellbutrin, they said it would be better for me, non habit forming and what not. I am confident no one is going to steal my drugs now at least.”

“I used to take that too. It has a similar dopamine enhancing effect as amphetamines, but it really did not help me enough.”

“Yea, it doesn’t help me either.” She sighed and gazed at me in understanding and envy. “I got into vaping because my mind felt like dead space, the nicotine at least calms it.”

“My friend became an avid smoker once she lost her health insurance and Adderall”, I recalled.

“I miss it. Life was better. I feel so out of it and people don’t have the patience for you once you are obviously dysfunctional. Kelly and Susan are like that…” Rita trailed off and her eyelids were weary.

I felt the silence and heard the clock’s tick. I forced an apology but she shrugged while mumbling to herself before escaping into her phone. In the morning, I looked under my pillow to make sure my Adderall was still there.

***

“Can I get an extension? Please?”

“For not having your refill yet?” The professor sighed. “Isn’t it your responsibility to make sure that this is handled, how hard is it to get a refill?”

“Two hours away, because my primary care is the only one that will refill it.”

“If it is so hard to get, maybe you would be better off getting a different medication?” He tapped his pen. “One that is not controlled of course. I hear there are great alternatives, like Wellbutrin.”

“Sir, with all due respect you are not my doctor.”

“No, but I am your professor, and young lady I think you need to be more efficient about your time management skills. Stop procrastinating.”

“My car is broken!”

“You can always get an Uber, couldn’t you?”

I bit my lip while my nails burrowed in the palms of my hands. My mind was disconnected from words. My body went autopilot and left his office.

It was near exam time and well past refill time. I could not make the drive down to my home, bcause I was very ill. Sometimes I could push my prescription a week over and still have some pills to spare if I rationed myself to one pill a day. However, with it being the week before exams I took them as prescription dictated, twice a day. Now I only had two to ration and a weekend to get the paper.

No doctor in the area that would take my insurance felt “comfortable” prescribing Adderall to a college kid. “College kid” was all there was to my identity. It did not matter if I was 22, a bit older than the average college kid. I stuck to my primary care provider back home, a two-hour drive. He would only fill the prescriptions by paper and it was illegal to send it by mail. I would make the two hour drive each time–It was worth it. But now my car wouldn’t start and I began to have a meltdown that I tried to conceal when returning to my room. The apartment appeared empty, so I screamed and sobbed loudly. Anytime I tried to confide in people about how frustrating to was to fill the prescription I was often met with life suggestions. Like maybe, I shouldn’t rely on something so difficult, there were better options for ADHD treatment that were not illegal after all.

I did not even bother mentioning the fact that I was narcoleptic, that was even more misunderstood. People would often attempt to introduce me to the unknown frontier of sleep, and how important it was to not drink caffeine before bed and get enough sleep. I never felt well rested, even if I sleep enough, too much, or too little, it was all the same. Surely I was mistaken, and perhaps a better diet would assist me. Recommendations to go vegan were frequently thrown my way. Even when I told them I was prone to anemia. Even if I told them all the things I tried to be more natural, all the time I spent in a healthier life, and how that made no overall difference unless I could be awake and alert. Even though I spent 2 years without amphetamines or without even missing them, I was labeled as being dependent. When I was struggling to get the paper prescription the people regarded me as a starving addict needing her fix.

I felt shame. My struggles were only met with criticism and scrutiny. I was a drug addict no matter what I did or thought.

My flesh felt stagnant and dried into leather. My tongue was raw from the impulse to chew on it, the dead space provoked strange voids and reactions to stay awake. My flesh craved pain, nothing extreme, but sensation of burrowed nails and pressure. I cupped my hand into the pointed edge of my bed post and massaged the bones. My flesh felt dead and begging for validation. Times like this I wondered how far away death is from sleep.

I found sanctuary in my room and the Sandman’s pull became louder. The sands were warm and free from time’s laws. The white noise echoed into my head while my vision tremored into five fragmented rotating pictures, each having a gravitational pull of their own. The fragmented images grew larger and coaxed my skull into submitting to my pillow. I found less logic in being a warrior for my basic needs, that which are not arguable for others when hungry or thirsty. My fear of sleep was dismissed and outright ignored, I questioned it and began to wonder if sleep had been my true friend all along. The Sandman promised me peace and acceptance; it was delivered each time I spent adequate time in the sands. I didn’t want to believe in “fantasy” but it seemed preferable than “reality”.

I resided myself into the warm sand. The grains had a gentle vibration that felt like a slow heart beat strumming my skin. My eyes fluttered as the particles tickled my lashes and the grains returned to the collective. The waves gradually painted my flesh with more grain and solidified its form with moisture. The sun was a dimmed beige that faded into the faded desert rose sky. Despite the sand’s warmth, I began to feel chilly, but he knew and attended me with his own blanket.

April’s Response to Elizabeth Donaldson’s Psychographics: Graphic Memoirs and Psychiatric Disability

Donaldson addressed the portrayal of madness in comic books. One of the examples that struck out the most to me was the Batman comics’ Joker and Harley Quinn. I think this was a great parallel because these two characters are so popular in our culture. Arkham Asylum was originally Arkham Hospital in the 80’s rendition of Batman. The Hospital looked normal, like any other hospital. However, in the later comics, the hospital developed into a darker portrayal, Arkham Asylum. The Asylum is very gothic and dark; it portrays the madness inside, feeding into the idea that criminals are all insane. Popular culture uses movies/music/art to process thoughts/feelings/events–This is very problematic because the growing stigma of mass shooters coming from backgrounds of mental health issues is thriving from these media representations of mental illness.

Schizophrenia is a misunderstood illness that was often misdiagnosed as Bipolar disorder in the late 1900s. Donaldson enforces the idea of “Nothing about us, without us,” and stressed that media depictions of schizophrenia are often from people without the illness. Which leads to the question—How can you represent something accurately if you do not truly understand this? The answer is simple, profit does not need a “how”. The consequences are dire for people with mental health illness, because they are stuck between two hard options/risks: keeping the illness a secret to avoid stigma but risk being misunderstood for illness-related complications, or be open about their condition in an effort to be more understood and free but risk being misunderstood for every unpleasant action they do/don’t do being intensely judged/analyzed based off of their illness. It’s a gamble.

The problem cannot just be attributed to these bad portrayals in the media though. Media is something people can choose to indulge in and the opinions they form on real-life situations from the show is out of anyone’s control. Changing media and a person’s art will only cause controversy. What could be beneficial is changing the education system. Why is it that only college students are required to take Psychology? You would think only requiring “educated” people to learn psychology would be a bit problematic. Everyone needs to learn to understand their fellow human being. Psychology, Sociology, and the like should all be required in K-12 education. Science and some math really serve no purpose for most people’s long term career paths, especially in blue collar jobs. With the way math is taught, it is only catered to math that is not functional on an everyday/every person basis. With this in mind, wouldn’t it be monumental to introduce social sciences to the public? The average person could learn far more about human behavior and decency from these classes than the gamble of “following someone’s example.”

Education is not accessible to everyone, but pop culture is. When Suicide Squad came out, I was disturbed by how many teenagers were romanticizing Harley Quinn’s relationship with Joker. Ride or die devotion is idealized, even if the partner is abusive, what matters is sticking through the rough spots. The problem is Harley does not stick up for herself and challenge the Joker’s bad treatment in this movie, she ultimately goes along with whatever he says because of her love for him. Having a partner in crime is an equal exchange, not a one-sided relationship of devoted obedience and tolerance of questionable treatment. Joker never attempts to understand Harley; he only cares about her understanding him and forces her to become mad to do so. Once she is devoted, he takes it a step further and presses her to dive into a basin of chemicals to physically mutilate her skin to being pale to prover her loyalty. He does nothing to meet her as an individual separate from him. The Joker manipulates Harley into absolute loyalty for the sole purpose of self-gratification and a more effective tool for his bidding. Everything is a one-sided test of loyalty, ensuring his tool is effective. Despite all of this, popular culture loves this pairing and I can’t help but wonder how this will affect their idea of a good relationship/partner and only romanticize mental health issues being untreated and used as a tool for abuse.

K-12 education needs to be better, so people can be aware of something being wrong/inaccurate because ultimately the stigma has more risk to fueling more problems than people with mental health issues themselves. Media is consumed by all classes and will form stigma about mental health issues if there is no other context/exposure to the topic in a person’s mind. Keeping knowledge to the people that can afford it only deepens the divide between the working class and white collar/educated workers, which only fuels more tension and more problems.

April’s Response to Oscar Wilde’s Fisherman and His Soul

When reading Oscar Wilde’s “The Fisherman and His Soul” the Fisherman reels in a mermaid instead of fish in his net. Upon examining her he clasps her in his arms and she screams in an attempt to escape, only causing him to hold her tighter. The Fisherman believes that anything caught in his nest belongs to him and the mermaid is his prize. When the mermaid realizes she could not escape she begins to weep and begs for freedom. The Fisherman says “I will not let thee go save thou makest me a promise that whenever I call thee, though wilt come and sing to me, for the fish delight to listen to the song of the Sea-folk, and so shall my nets be full” (Wilde). The extraordinary being becomes a slave to the Fisherman’s pleasure and labor. This phenomenon is discussed by Rosemarie Thomson in her introduction to “From Wonder to Error—A Genealogy of Freak Discourse in Modernity” that Extraordinary bodies exist solely for pleasing man, who is destined to be its master (Thomson 3).
The mermaid is an object of wonder that the Fisherman wishes to further utilize past her assistance in his fishing work. The Fisherman attempts to further his bargain with the mermaid, requesting her hand in marriage. The mermaid rejects him stating that because he has a human soul, she is unable to love him. He must send his soul away in order for it to work. Despite the suggestion, she has no knowledge of how to get rid of one’s human soul and laughs in pleasure in response to the Fisherman’s proclamation to send away his own soul. The rejection was not an option and he is fixated on the exotic otherness and beauty of the mermaid.
Thomson states that extraordinary body forms are rare, unique, material and confounding of cultural categories, they exist as magnets which able-bodied people attach their anxieties, questions, and needs to at any given moment. The body exists to be exploited and useful to everyone but the body itself (Thomson 2). The mermaid is a magnet that the Fisherman secures his needs upon. Throughout the story, the Fisherman never is shown to converse with the mermaid about things other than wanting her. The relationship seems quite one-sided and only exists due to his threat of imprisoning her if she did not uphold her promise.
The relationship between the mermaid and the Fisherman only exists because of the power the Fisherman has over the mermaid. The Fisherman kidnaps her into his net and in turn for allowing her to leave she should be grateful and fulfill his needs with love and his nest with fish. This request is quite unreasonable and unfair. For example, if a child was ensnared in a bear trap outside of someone’s home and the homeowner freed the child while expecting the child to return daily with food. The homeowner feels like the child owes them if the child did not walk into the bear trap they might have gotten food or their flock may have been saved from the wolves. The child should be grateful the homeowner saved them and should return daily with food even though that person’s house was what inconvenienced/injured them. The bargain is not fair.
The conflict that initiates the story is the plight of having the mermaid, and despite this, the plot quickly takes a turn into a new conflict and neglects to give much personality to the source of the Fisherman’s desire that caused him to forsake his soul. “Disabled limbs became a thing of wonder for rich people to collect for their cabinet of wonders” (Thomson 2). The mermaid is only depicted as an accessory to have and is not given much expression or personality, she is something that the Fisherman claims undying loving for and the affection she may eventually grow for him is never depicted. The story seems to parallel to winning a prize such as a car and having it break, it is sad that such a valuable possession should die or break. However, this sadness is only for the owner, the sorrow is not felt for inanimate objects or prizes such as the mermaid.