Mad Hatter Syndrome?

Unless you have lived in a remote cave, or under a large rock, for the past many years, then you have heard the phrase mad as a hatter ... and know the beloved Alice in Wonderland character Mad Hatter. So ... WTF does it mean, mad as a hatter?

A hatter, well that's the poor sop who used to make hats, felt hats, specifically. The best sorts of felt hats required fur from beaver or rabbit pelts. And, of course, the fur from the pelts need processing in order to become a hat. By processing, of course we mean the addition of some kind of unfriendly chemicals. (Are there any other kind of chemicals, but the unfriendly kind, i ask you, dear reader?) Mercury applied to the fur made it rougher, matted ~ you know, to harden the fur so the hatter could shape it, iron it, steam it into its finished form, usually a top hat.

Hatters typically worked in poorly ventilated areas, and so the fumes from the mercury compound literally went to their heads. Ahhh, the pleasantries of mercury poisoning: brain damage ... kidney damage ... a painful death, sooner rather than later. What does that look and feel like? Like this ~ yellowing of skin, intense itchiness, loosening of teeth, mouth sores, bleeding gums, loss of co-ordination, slurred speech, and personality changes such as irritability, paranoia, memory loss, depression, anxiety, abdominal cramping, breathing difficulties, cardiac malfunction, muscle cramps. You get the idea, right? Sounds charming, huh? [NOT]

A so, now you know what Mad as a Hatter means. Makes one value sanity, doesn't it? Indeed, it does. It reminds one, too, of the pain of madness. Yes, it hurts when one is mad ... insane ... unstable ... mentally ill. Make no bones about it.

Manic Mondays # 1 :: Suicide and Stigma

Manic Mondays, my attempt to devise a vehicle for myself through which I can write focussed posts on what it feels like, looks like, tastes like, smells like to live with mental illness.  First and second experience will inspire these posts. I want to make these posts deeply personal, rather than clinical or medical.

A good friend of mine who was bipolar recently hung himself. He had struggled for awhile, following the holiday season. I think he reached that point that some of us reach, where we know we need something ... some sort of relief. But ... something keeps us from reaching out and grabbing it. Fear, perhaps, of the exhausting stigma and judgmental attitude one faces, when one seeks the so-called help the mental health system offers its victims. We get tired of hanging on to the rocky cliff. And we let go. And they blame us ... for feeling the feelings, for having the thoughts, for seeking relief. Its almost as though, because we cannot see the wounds of those afflicted with mental illness, we blame them for their illness. Like, c'mon, snap out of it, stop being depressed! How many have heard that one before?

Do we, as a society, think and believe we're doing all we can to stop this from happening? When did we last hear about a revolutionary breakthrough in psychiatric treatment? How much of society's resources goes toward R&D of mental illness and psychiatric treatment? Not enough, I fear, particularly when one considers the invisible virulence and life-threatening nature of diseases such as bipolar disorder and schizophrenia.