For those of you who aren't AS Psychology students, let me assure you that the Rosenhan "Being Sane in Insane Places" core study is every bit as controversial, but not nearly as philosophical or respectable, as the title sounds. That is, pretending to be mentally ill - Schizophrenic to be exact - in the hopes that you can research how easy it is to get into a psychiatric hospital, is just a tiny bit unethical. Nowadays I tend to write blog-posts on things that have caught my eye; good or bad. Today, I'm moaning... again. I might take it up professionally. Anyway, the two aims of the Rosenhan study are as follows:
1. "Find out whether mental health professionals can truly tell the difference between the sane and the insane"
2. "Discover the consequences of being labelled as insane"
What really got to me was the use of the word "labelled". Labelling someone as mentally ill. You cannot label someone with a mental illness! They either have one or they don't - in the same way that a Diabetes sufferer has not been labelled, they have been diagnosed. All the way through the core study it's labelled, labelled, labelled, and I'll be honest, I got bloody sick of it. Labels are social tags. Emo is a label, slag is a label, goth could even be classed as a label - but not Schizophrenia. It's a serious mental illness and a medical term, yet even my Psychology tutor was surrendering to the core study, spouting the word "label" just as much as the paper in front of me.
In her defence, she must not know that I have a mother with Schizophrenia. I thought about sticking my hand up in the air and arguing, but what would be the point? I have no doubt that she'd defend herself with some intelligent but still wrong response; leaving me with no chance but to agree with her, but no way in Hell was that happening. I didn't want to look like an idiot, nor did I really want to be that girl, the one that has to point out her mother is mentally ill. I didn't really want everyone in the room looking at me every time Schizophrenia is mentioned.
What I'd suggest to all teachers is, if you're studying a sensitive topic like mental illness with a group of teenagers, please find out beforehand if there's anyone in the class it might strike a nerve with. And please make sure you don't offend them by reducing a mental illness to a "label".
Meaghan
Hi, guys.
I'll start this post by saying that my best friend, Jayson, left for Paris on Sunday morning and I was very uncertain about how I would feel about him going away. Those who know me will know that we dated for three years, and there wasn't a day that went by without us talking. Obviously, with him going abroad, I wasn't expecting a message. I thought I'd find it hard to cope, or miss him terribly - but as it turned out, there were more important things to think about. My Grandad was taken into hospital on Monday afternoon because he was struggling to breathe, so I started spending a lot of time in hospital with him. (Jayson texted me at least once every night, so that made life less stressful than it could have been.)
My Grandad had a condition called Angina, which was caused by passive smoking (whereby you don't actively smoke yourself but breathe in the harsh chemicals from the cigarettes other people are smoking. I like to call it "smoking by association"). We thought Angina was the reason he was struggling for his breath - and we were partly right - but none of us could have guessed the extent of the problem. A few weeks ago, he had been hospitalised in Nottingham, where he was treated for external Shingles. My family didn't find out until yesterday, but Shingles had activated another virus; one which covered the walls of his lungs and chest. Coupled with his Angina, and his age, he didn't stand much chance of fighting it off. Grandad died on Tuesday evening, aged 81, surrounded by his family. Me, my sister, my Dad, my Uncle, and my Uncle's wife, were all present. My cousin Kim and her husband, Michael, were just a few minutes too late. While Grandad was alive, I never said goodbye. I felt guilty about it for a few minutes until I realised that I was there at the end; I never left. No need to say goodbye, and no need to feel guilty.
He looked peaceful, almost like he was sleeping. My Dad is devastated. He's only 41 years old and has lost both his parents. If you read my blog often, you'll know that he was planning a trip up to Banff this year to commemorate 10 years since my Grandma's death. Instead of being a chance to remember my Grandma, it will now be a bittersweet trip - considering my Grandad wants us to throw his ashes up there. To be near my Grandma. Well, half of him. He wants the other half in Blackpool. As you can tell, he loved the seaside. He used to tell me and my sister than when he died he'd reincarnate into a seagull and he'd let us know it was him because he'd poo on us. You'll also know that I used to be scared of the big grey chimneys in Derby Hospital, next to the mortuary. Although I still find them eerie, they won't remind me of my childhood fears anymore, or my Mum's illness, they'll remind me of Grandad's life.
The things I want to remember about Grandad:
- How he slapped his leg and laughed when he found something really funny.
- Him calling everybody, everywhere, "duck," however inappropriate.
- How he treated everyone with the same courtesy and respect.
- His love of photography, family, animals, and the occasional fridge magnet.
- How he'd tap my arm when I hugged him.
- How he'd draw a picture of his budgie on every card he signed.
- How proud of me he was! When I used to run, and play football, he backed me all the way - running after me with a camera on sports day at primary school. He even used to keep the little poems I wrote for him. If it weren't for him I'd never have been published in any book.
Grandad was the kindest, sweetest, nicest, most generous man I have ever had the good fortune of knowing and I have absolutely no doubts about which direction he's gone. I know the saying is common, but Heaven definitely gained an angel. He's with Grandma, somewhere. I love you.
While I waited anxiously at home for my doctor's appointment, my Dad went out to get his 20-somethingth tattoo. This one was inspired by Banksy's artwork of the little girl holding a balloon; although Dad asked the tattooist (who happens to be our cousin, Abby) to change the girl into a boy so it would represent himself. I should mention that the tattoo is dedicated to my Grandma Muriel, his mother, who passed away almost ten years ago. The anniversary's coming up soon... this May.
When Dad told me about the idea, I loved it. My Grandma died when I was seven years old and to this day I still feel like I lost a best friend. In the years after her death, I'd often write her name on a balloon and watch it fly into the sky (her real name was Alice, but she always asked to be called Muriel - her middle name). So not only is the tattoo symbolic of my Dad; it's also symbolic of me and my sister.
It's not the first memorial tattoo Dad's had for his mum - the first was a script which reads 'Rest In Peace' one way and 'Dear Mother' the other, depending on where you're viewing it from.
A couple of years ago my Dad and I, along with my siblings Arron and Tiegan and our Grandad Bill, went up to Banff in Scotland, where my Grandma was born, to walk down the streets that she once walked down. For the 10th anniversary of her death, we're hoping to go back up there and put some flowers on her parents' grave, where her ashes were thrown. I really love it there and I'm hoping my Dad does decide to go up - a lot. It's sad that Arron probably won't be joining us, or my Grandad Bill. I know my Grandma would have wanted that. She died at 69 years old of a "hole in the heart" or Septal Defect, while awaiting treatment for throat cancer.
Meaghan xx
I've had this blog for a while now. I used to post entries quite often, but every time I did, something bad happened - and to be completely honest I thought me writing things down was cursed or something - so I deleted everything. Recently though my friends at college have all had the balls to start their own blogs, so I thought I'd jump back on the bandwagon. LET'S ALL BE CURSED TOGETHER!
At the moment I'm studying at Joseph Wright in Derby, which is a college for A-Level students. Me and my best friend Paige joined at the same time, while my then-boyfriend decided to stay on at sixth form while pursuing his career with the RAF. Jayson and I had been together for almost three years before I left, so it was a huge decision for me to leave school to be at a college so far away from him. I was bullied pretty badly throughout my time at Swanwick, so I left at the first opportunity I saw. But I didn't understand that I'd be giving up Jayson, too. Four weeks after I started college, he said he started getting this weird feeling that "it was time". Neither one of us really understood it. So, realising there was nothing I could do to change his mind, we called it quits but decided to remain friends. This happened in October, yet I can't remember a single time when I've really opened up about how I feel about it. To be truthful, I'm probably never going to because there are some things you just can't put into words. People who knew us both sometimes ask if there's any chance we'd get back together, and I tell them what I tell myself; "no." Sometimes it's hard, but I've reached a point where I'm happy without him. Saying that, we text every night and never wait too long to see each other.
So, aside from all the Jayson shit, I'm doing just fine. I've met so many amazing people since being at JWC. I don't know how and I don't know why, but we managed to form a 'Wolfpack' - a massive group of mutual friends who all hang out at breaks and lunches. When possible, we take it in turns to throw parties. When I'm at college I study English Literature, Psychology and History. I love English and Psychology, but I'm finding AS History a little tougher than the GCSE spec because it's all about Russian politics, really. I'm a bit of a day-dreamer, so if I'm not interested in something I just drift away. I have no days off, but sometimes I'm only in for an hour so I find lots of time to do the things I love.
On the home-front, things haven't been great lately. It's complicated to explain, but things are really tenuous between my brother and my dad because Arron keeps chillin' with my dad's ex. It all came to a head last night when Dad told Arron that maybe he should just leave. I can tell he feels guilty about telling him to go, but I think it was the right decision. So Arron has a month to save up, and then he has to leave - although we'll try and retain some kind of relationship with him if he'll let us.
So, there we are fellas. I pretty much just brain-farted all over this post but hopefully everyone at college, if they're reading this, knows me a little bit better now. I'll try and brainfart every day if I can. If there's anything you want to know, just comment.
Meaghan xx
