Take This Job And..., 3

I make a living off of my alleged disability.  I say alleged because I am quite fully recovered from PTSD.  I don't simply just live with it or cope with it.  I am really and truly over it.  It doesn't mean I don't suffer occasionally from triggers but there are no relapses and I take care of myself in all ways to ensure that my mental health doesn't deteriorate again.

In the mental health system where I work they do not believe usually in this kind of recovery.  Once sick always sick.  You are expected to remain for the rest of your life on medications and under the care of the kind professionals and therapists of your friendly neighbourhood mental health team.  Should you be accepted for the training as a peer support worker and land yourself a couple of paying gigs, so much the better.

But they are still going to see you as being sick.  Or not quite well.  Or fragile.  Or not completely stable and therefore not thoroughly competent, professional and certainly not to be trusted.  The stigma never quite goes away.

One of the more annoying features of my eleven years as a mental health peer support worker has been having to field, negotiate and at times openly fight with ignorant but well-meaning mental health professionals.  There was the occupational therapist expressing amazement and trepidation that I am no longer in the capable hands of a psychiatrist; the psychiatrist in one of the mental health teams where I work asking nosy and inappropriate questions about my diagnosis and the wisdom of not being on medication; particularly egregious have been the mental health colleagues (a case manager and an occupational therapist) insisting on outing me to new clients.  The absolute disrespect has only been matched by their utter stupidity.  The OT in question, even after being repeatedly reminded that if anyone is going to reveal information about my mental health experience it is going to be me and no one but me, on three occasions while meeting with new clients, unbidden, and without my permission, said "and Aaron has also had a mental illness and he still is mentally ill."

I let the bitch have it over that one, especially after the third offence.  She played dumb and tried to convince me that I was the one with the problem because I appeared to be ashamed of having a mental illness.  I replied by telling her that it is my diagnosis, not hers and for that matter I am long recovered and if she is unable to respect so simple and clear a boundary then she and I should not be working together.

I could go on.  The fact is, working as a peer support worker, I am never quite been able to forget altogether that I ever had a mental health diagnosis and just get on with my life.  It is always being waved in my face like a bloody red flag by well meaning mental health professionals that often don't have a clue what they are talking about.

Idiots!