Disordered Thoughts.
There is a really thought-provoking entry over at Feministe about disability and respectful language.
As I will discuss in an upcoming post, I don't think that the post perfectly applies to mental illness of any kind, but I think she raises some good points about language, the comments are pretty interesting, and it dovetailed nicely with something I have been thinking about lately, which is what to call my bipolar disorder.
I've been thinking about words, and what they mean to me.
Disorder - something that should be corrected if possible. More than a mere disadvantage, it is something that is wrong.
Condition - a very neutral word, possibly implying a difference from the norm or a challenge, but little else. Has great value in that it allows one to define a thing almost completely without reference to any other thing or state of being.
Illness - often something that it is possible to recover from, and so recovery is often expected. Has no benefits, and causes only harm. Probably contagious.
Mental Illness - not often something one recovers from. Incapacitating. Isolating. Requires treatment, which often does not work. Probably worsens progressively. Contributes to erratic or dangerous behavior. Poorly understood.
Disease - something that could be progressive or fatal, and does not necessarily have a cure. Has no benefits, and causes only harm. Maybe contagious. Not really applicable to being bipolar, though.
Disability - something that significantly renders the subject physically or mentally unable to function in a way that society views as normal. Probably not contagious, probably congenital.
Affliction - something universally understood to be bad in just about every way possible, pretty much like a curse. Something undesirable in every regard. Possibly a punishment, or something viewed as a punishment.
These are all problematic words, in their own way. Some of these definitions have clearly been influenced by the cultural notions of health and ability that surround me and which I did not, until pretty recently, question very deeply.
Some of these labels imply that it is possible for the individual to be some other way. As in, "illness" implies that there is a state of wellness that differs from the subject's current state.
Some, like "disorder" or "disabled" imply deviation from some "ordered" or "able" norm, and so, while I might find them accurate descriptors of my own condition, I find them problematic on a political level because they would put me in a place our culture regards as "below" others.
So I can't quite figure out which of the above words works for me. This is partly why I enjoy my lycanthropy metaphor, because as a totally mythical trope it rather neatly sidesteps the need for such a nuts-and-bolts category. I am leaning toward "condition," with "mental illness" thrown in when I want to step away from the metaphor, or when I am pointing out that it fucking sucks to be bipolar.
I've been looking at how other people define their issues, most of them people with more experience at it than me. And mostly, from what I can tell, people's preferences vary tremendously. There is no set word, no one inoffensive way, to bring this sort of thing up or discuss it.
So, because I do plan on talking about this stuff in the future, I want to make it clear that while everyone ought to watch their language when referring to other people in general or specifically, I don't take issue if someone who has a disorder, condition, disease, disability, or affliction, wants to call it a disorder, condition, disease, disability, or affliction when referring to themselves. I think we all ought to be able to define ourselves however we want. A word that is neutral to me may be positive to you. A word that offends you may delight me. And a word that we both agree upon may lie heavily on someone else's shoulders.
But if we don't call it something, discussion becomes impossible. There's only so much vaguing-up of language one can be expected to do. Eventually, you have to give it a label and categorize it, because if you don't give it some sort of handle and squish it into some sort of shape, you just can't talk about it, and if you can't talk about it, it's impossible to get anywhere.
So I am going to ask for your good faith, going forward.
It is damnably hard to write about my own experiences and thought processes in such a way that makes it obvious that my choice of words is just that - a choice of words. I try to be very careful how I describe things in general or as they apply to others.
I am aware that my main frame of reference for this sort of thing is still one of privilege, that I am still using the language of and falling into the thought patterns of, for lack of a better word, the abled. That is, I am working from within a cultural and personal framework that gets very little input from anything but sane, healthy, able-bodied people. This has its own pitfalls - such a culture clearly does not include me, and yet I'm trying to use that paradigm to frame my own life . . . an effort surely doomed to failure.
So, yeah, I probably fail at tact and inclusivity more often than I realize when referring to others, and I don't mind having it pointed out politely when I do.
But whatever word I use to describe myself is in no way meant to be construed as a hard and fast label, or as the only label I believe to be acceptable. It is not my way of trying to tell people what to call themselves, any more than my use of "people" in this sentence is my way of saying that nobody should call themselves "individuals" or "humans."
It's just what I am using to describe how I see myself at that moment in time. No more.
As I will discuss in an upcoming post, I don't think that the post perfectly applies to mental illness of any kind, but I think she raises some good points about language, the comments are pretty interesting, and it dovetailed nicely with something I have been thinking about lately, which is what to call my bipolar disorder.
I've been thinking about words, and what they mean to me.
Disorder - something that should be corrected if possible. More than a mere disadvantage, it is something that is wrong.
Condition - a very neutral word, possibly implying a difference from the norm or a challenge, but little else. Has great value in that it allows one to define a thing almost completely without reference to any other thing or state of being.
Illness - often something that it is possible to recover from, and so recovery is often expected. Has no benefits, and causes only harm. Probably contagious.
Mental Illness - not often something one recovers from. Incapacitating. Isolating. Requires treatment, which often does not work. Probably worsens progressively. Contributes to erratic or dangerous behavior. Poorly understood.
Disease - something that could be progressive or fatal, and does not necessarily have a cure. Has no benefits, and causes only harm. Maybe contagious. Not really applicable to being bipolar, though.
Disability - something that significantly renders the subject physically or mentally unable to function in a way that society views as normal. Probably not contagious, probably congenital.
Affliction - something universally understood to be bad in just about every way possible, pretty much like a curse. Something undesirable in every regard. Possibly a punishment, or something viewed as a punishment.
These are all problematic words, in their own way. Some of these definitions have clearly been influenced by the cultural notions of health and ability that surround me and which I did not, until pretty recently, question very deeply.
Some of these labels imply that it is possible for the individual to be some other way. As in, "illness" implies that there is a state of wellness that differs from the subject's current state.
Some, like "disorder" or "disabled" imply deviation from some "ordered" or "able" norm, and so, while I might find them accurate descriptors of my own condition, I find them problematic on a political level because they would put me in a place our culture regards as "below" others.
So I can't quite figure out which of the above words works for me. This is partly why I enjoy my lycanthropy metaphor, because as a totally mythical trope it rather neatly sidesteps the need for such a nuts-and-bolts category. I am leaning toward "condition," with "mental illness" thrown in when I want to step away from the metaphor, or when I am pointing out that it fucking sucks to be bipolar.
I've been looking at how other people define their issues, most of them people with more experience at it than me. And mostly, from what I can tell, people's preferences vary tremendously. There is no set word, no one inoffensive way, to bring this sort of thing up or discuss it.
So, because I do plan on talking about this stuff in the future, I want to make it clear that while everyone ought to watch their language when referring to other people in general or specifically, I don't take issue if someone who has a disorder, condition, disease, disability, or affliction, wants to call it a disorder, condition, disease, disability, or affliction when referring to themselves. I think we all ought to be able to define ourselves however we want. A word that is neutral to me may be positive to you. A word that offends you may delight me. And a word that we both agree upon may lie heavily on someone else's shoulders.
But if we don't call it something, discussion becomes impossible. There's only so much vaguing-up of language one can be expected to do. Eventually, you have to give it a label and categorize it, because if you don't give it some sort of handle and squish it into some sort of shape, you just can't talk about it, and if you can't talk about it, it's impossible to get anywhere.
So I am going to ask for your good faith, going forward.
It is damnably hard to write about my own experiences and thought processes in such a way that makes it obvious that my choice of words is just that - a choice of words. I try to be very careful how I describe things in general or as they apply to others.
I am aware that my main frame of reference for this sort of thing is still one of privilege, that I am still using the language of and falling into the thought patterns of, for lack of a better word, the abled. That is, I am working from within a cultural and personal framework that gets very little input from anything but sane, healthy, able-bodied people. This has its own pitfalls - such a culture clearly does not include me, and yet I'm trying to use that paradigm to frame my own life . . . an effort surely doomed to failure.
So, yeah, I probably fail at tact and inclusivity more often than I realize when referring to others, and I don't mind having it pointed out politely when I do.
But whatever word I use to describe myself is in no way meant to be construed as a hard and fast label, or as the only label I believe to be acceptable. It is not my way of trying to tell people what to call themselves, any more than my use of "people" in this sentence is my way of saying that nobody should call themselves "individuals" or "humans."
It's just what I am using to describe how I see myself at that moment in time. No more.