Do people read blogs? I have to confess that I don't myself. Instead I watch Youtube a lot and read the Guardian and other news sites online. For a long time I've felt, with little evidence, that maybe, despite my awareness that people don't read blogs, this one was making a difference, that perhaps, among other things, I was presenting the human face of 'mental illness' or 'schizophrenia' (whatever that word means), that I might somehow de-stigmatise this condition. I thought this blog would improve people's understanding of it and bring about some changes not only in public perceptions but in psychiatric discourse. This activist motivation entered into the reasons I wrote the screenplay The Hounds of Heaven in 2012, a film I have talked about in other posts. One problem, as I've become aware, is that every person diagnosed 'schizophrenic' is different from every other person diagnosed 'schizophrenic'; my life story might only to a limited degree be generalisable. Furthermore popular prejudices and stereotypes associated with mental illness are very hard to shift, even among commentators I like, such as Jon Stewart. Yet another problem is that I believe I have recovered, that I recovered many years ago, and so it is strange to at once say that this is condition I understand because I have it and say that I no longer do. The general public and psychiatric profession does not believe recovery is possible. This year I have been studying postgraduate Philosophy part time – this is why I have not posted for a long while. (Later this week I will publish an essay I wrote concerning fictions for a Philosophy of Language paper.) But I still want to keep this blog going. There is still more I can say about my life, even though perhaps I have said all I need to. In this post I want to discuss some problems with Woke ideology, as it pertains to fiction and to my other concerns, and then talk a little more about the Mental Health System. I have described a great deal of my life in this blog – in this post I wish to talk about what the shrinks and other mental health workers knew about it and when they knew it.
As I've said, I spend a lot of time watching clips from smart people on Youtube, sites such as Munecat, Mathologer, Veritassium, Cosmic Skeptic, and Lawrence Krauss's site The Origins Podcast. Sometimes I watch Unbelievable? or talks by Steven Pinker and Richard Dawkins. I like Rupert Sheldrake. I also like Sam Harris. I used to watch Bret Weinstein before he went down the anti-vaxxer rabbit hole. I religiously view clips from American late night talk shows like The Late Show, The Daily Show and Late Night with Seth Meyers. I always watch Bill Maher, enjoy The Majority Report, John Oliver, and Jon Stewart. As this reading list suggests, I have Catholic tastes. The algorithm can't work out if I'm gay or straight, a moderate or progressive left-winger, or if I'm a Christian or an atheist. I admit that I was drawn to the anti-Woke left but in recent months have returned to the Progressive wing of the Democrat party. But this does not mean that I can't criticise Woke ideology when it goes wrong.
I have discussed the inspirations of authors before in this blog. I have argued that authors sometimes draw from their own life experience, sometimes draw on what they surmise about other people (any good author is a kind of amateur psychologist), and sometime make stuff up. The problem with Woke ideology, as it pertains to fiction (and to other forms of story telling such as documentary making), is that the current dogma has it that one should only write about one's own experience and the experiences of the group to which one belongs– or else simply invent stuff with no relation to reality at all. For instance, the novel American Dirt, a novel about illegal immigration from Mexico to the US by Jeannine Cummins, became the subject of sometimes vitriolic controversy because Cummins is white. She was accused of putting on 'brown face'. More recently the documentary Jihad Rehab was pulled from Sundance because a number of Muslim documentary makers, most of whom hadn't seen it, mounted a ferocious campaign against it partly because it was made by a white non-Muslim American woman. The only documentary film festivals in the world that have screened it were here in New Zealand and in Zurich. I recommend readers watch Harris's interview with the documentary maker Meg Smaker (on Youtube) although, for balance, you should also read the Guardian article about the controversy. There is another problem with this political orthodoxy. Suppose we say that only Maori authors can tell stories about Maori – are we then supposed to believe that a particular Maori author speaks for all Maori? If we say 'no', it would follow from this way of thinking that the only permissible form of story telling is autobiography. If this idea, that authors should only write about their own experience or invent fantasies, becomes the new orthodoxy, all stories will either be memoirs or chimeras such as are found in the Marvel cinematic universe or in the fantasy section of the bookshop. (No one can accuse Tolkien of appropriating the cultures of elves and dwarves because elves and dwarves can't mount Twitter campaigns for more representation and social justice.) It would destroy literature. I am not saying that misrepresentation can't be a problem. I have a published a couple of (badly-written) posts about how terribly the film A Beautiful Mind represents the life of John Nash and schizophrenia generally. But I don't think Ron Howard should be cancelled. Edward St Aubyn, in Double Blind, and Salman Rushdie, in East West, depict schizophrenic characters that I think are completely inaccurate but I don't think either book should be burnt because of that. It is important that writers be able to write about whatever interests them. A reader might disagree with a particular representation but he or she shouldn't go on Twitter calling for the author to be cancelled because the author has hurt his or her feelings.
There are some other problems with Woke ideology. These problems pertains to my own life – these are the problems that probably led me to embrace the anti-Woke left. Perhaps most importantly, I get the impression that for a man or woman to say he or she is straight is considered somehow homophobic. This is part of the reason Tom Cruise received such opprobrium starting in the 'nineties. Because he had sued a British newspaper that had said he was gay for defamation, a civil suit he won, it split much of the public evenly between those who thought he was a closet homosexual and those who thought he was a homophobe. I think this public perception was partly why he has appeared on Graham Norton's show several times. This Woke dogma might also be why George Clooney, after a gay magazine in the UK called him "gay, gay, gay", released a statement saying, "I don't want to offend the gay community by saying I'm not gay but the third 'gay' seems a little excessive. I may be gay, gay, but I'm definitely not gay, gay, gay.' (To state the obvious, Clooney is straight.) I might be wrong about this impression. On his show, Seth Meyers sometimes runs a segment called "Jokes Seth can't tell" in which a lesbian writer and a black writer tell jokes that a straight white man couldn't tell – in fact, Seth usually introduces this segment by saying that these are jokes that he as a straight white man can't tell. It seems that a man or woman with impeccable leftist credentials can get away with saying he or she is straight but that some of us can't.
This double-bind, a double-bind that affects those of us who may perhaps be the subject of mostly unfounded rumours, is part of the reason I was 'ill' for so long. A couple of years ago a dear female friend, a friend I hadn't seen for many years, sent me an email. She had read this blog. She said, "Why do you mind if people think you're gay?" She added, "Of course, I'm not under the Mental Health Act." To put it bluntly, one reason I don't like people thinking I'm gay is because gay men have sex with each other, a practice that simply repels me. Another reason is that because many people think gay men and women are born gay, this would mean that people might come to the conclusion that my love for the three women in my life that I've fallen for (one of whom was the friend who had sent me the email) was somehow fake. It is possible for a man to accept homosexuality in others while still finding the idea of sodomising other men himself abhorrent. I know this makes me sound homophobic. In 2014, the clinical psychologist I saw that year said something like, "There is so much hate in you." As I've suggested in other posts, he was putting me in the double bind I have just described, putting me in a position where my only possible options were homophobia or homosexuality. This is why I nearly hanged myself at the very beginning of 2015.
The generally accepted definition of 'homosexuality' is "sexual attraction towards members of the same sex". 'Heterosexuality' is defined as "sexual attraction towards members of the opposite sex". Presumably 'bisexuality' should be defined as "sexual attraction towards members of both sexes." It seems to me that most people, including most psychiatrists, don't understand these definitions because they don't understand what the term 'sexual attraction' means. I'm different. Even back in 2007, when I first became 'unwell', I had a fairly good understanding of sexuality. In particular, I knew that I was heterosexual because I knew that I was only sexually attracted to women. Starting in 2013, however, after I first started to consistently say that I'm straight, I've had to deal with psychiatrists and other mental health workers who either think I'm dishonest or stupid. Immediately before being put under the Act in early 2014, I saw a psychiatrist who took the risk of defining the word 'homosexual' for me as though I didn't know the definition. I felt as though something evil had looked at me from behind her eyes. She was treating me as though I was retarded. At my first appointment with the clinical psychologist I saw in 2014, I said I was straight but this didn't stop him from asking me, after some eight months of seeing him, "Aren't you attracted to men?" Two or three years ago, I saw a different psychiatrist once for a second opinion. I told him that the people at bFM had thought I was gay. He expressed surprise, saying that he thought bFM would be quite a progressive place. I said, "They weren't homophobic – they just thought I was gay." A little later, my regular psychiatrist asked me, "Why do you mind people thinking you're gay?" I replied, simply, "Because it's not true." The point I'm getting at here is that the people who think it homophobic for someone to say he or she is straight obviously don't understand the definition of homosexuality.
In this blog, perhaps not consistently, I have not only been claiming that I am straight but also trying to prove it by talking about my sexual attraction to women. (I am setting aside that terrible part of my life from 2013 until the end of 2015.) Once again this causes me to run afoul of Woke ideology. We live in an age where many strident Feminists see all men as potential rapists. I am not going to excuse someone like Harvey Weinstein but I have heard stories about university professors who have been disciplined for looking at female students the wrong way. For a discussion of this issue, from a female perspective, I recommend the Lawrence Krauss podcast in which he interviews Janice Flamengo. I am aware that in discussing my sexual attraction to women some women on the fringe left may regard me as something like a male chauvinist. I have played around with the term InCel because, although I have been celibate since 2011, this does not mean that I have become a Buddhist Monk who has sworn of sex. I still want to be in a relationship with a woman but because I am no longer particularly handsome, am unemployed, and am diagnosed schizophrenic, I am not particularly attractive to women. I don't blame women for my celibacy, I blame myself and my situation. I have considered writing a blogpost describing my relationships with women in the past to show that I have mainly had perfectly respectful attitudes to women. I was in a serious relationship from the age of 17 until the age of 21 (with a girl called Danielle) and was sort of in a relationship from the age of 23 or 24 until the age of 29 (this particular relationship was, admittedly, complicated). I never slept with the girl I call Jess although I wanted to and I believe she knew that I did. I made an advance on her early on in 2011 but, from hanging out with her in 2013, I get the feeling that she either didn't mind or had forgiven me. (Our relationship was complicated by the Christchurch earthquake.) Very occasionally in my life, the last time being in 2012, I have made an advance on a woman but never, I believe, in a crude or coercive way. For instance, when I was much younger I made an advance on a girl called Sara, one of the three women I've loved in my life, after we had seen a movie together and while we were watching the video Lost Highway. She rebuffed me but we remained friends. In fact, it was Sara who sent me the email I described earlier in this post.
The main point of this post is to describe not my life, which I've talked about at length, but what the people in the Mental Health Service knew about it. I have realised that some of my readers may not understand how the Mental Health System in New Zealand works and so I shall give a brief description. A patient sees his or her psychiatrist for an hour perhaps once a month or perhaps more infrequently. (The last time I saw my present psychiatrist was over six months ago.) A patient also has a Key Worker, a nurse or occupational therapist or social worker, who he or she sees more often. In my early days, in 2007 until 2009, I saw my Key Worker, a woman called Kate Whelan, at least once a week. We would usually go out for coffee to a cafe. At the beginning of 2010, Kate organised a weekly coffee group for youngish patients to meet and socialise which I attended. Since Kate, I've had five Key Workers; currently I don't seem to have a Key Worker at all. My only contact with the Taylor Centre is my monthly injection. After the injection I have to remain at the Taylor Centre for two hours, just in case I suffer post-injection syndrome, during which I talk to other patients or to the workers observing me. Apart from a very nice woman called Teri, I don't always remember the names of the workers because new ones appear fairly regularly. After every interaction between a patient and a worker or workers, they write up notes about the interaction. In my case this means that I now have a dossier of notes bigger than the Bible. As I've said in a recent post, I don't believe that when I get a new psychiatrist, they pore through my notes. At my last injection, I asked a worker about this, about how the psychiatrists come to an appointment with some understanding of the patient, and she said that after an appointment with the doctor, the doctor makes a short summary of the last several months. This might not be a sufficient explanation. Perhaps the doctors do write up some kind of short summation, a summation which, as I argued in that recent post, might in my case be full of serious inaccuracies.
A legal right I have as someone under the Mental Heath Act is that I can ask to see my notes. As I said in that recent post, in 2015 I requested a copy of my notes and, after some time, was given an enormous sheaf of papers. Supposedly notes about every interaction I'd ever had were in it. I only read the very beginning of it because it was so dispiriting. What I noticed, however, was that there seemed to be some omissions. The record didn't include any notes about my first appointment with my first psychiatrist, Antony Fernando; nor was there any mention of what I had said when I had first made landfall at the Taylor Centre. I didn't kick up a fuss about this at the time because, back then, I had a kind of fatalistic sense that I had no options or recourse, that there was nothing I could do. If they did carry out redactions on my notes, the Taylor Centre may have broken the law. In the rest of this post, I shall, therefore, rely on my memory. I know memory is fallible. However everything I shall say I feel confident about.
I have talked about my first psychotic episode in a number of posts, "My First Psychotic Episode", "My First Psychotic Episode and bFM" and "Theory of Mind and the Big House" and elsewhere. It occurred in 2007 when I was twenty-seven. Although this may be an oversimplification, it seems justifiable to say that the cause of this first episode was that a rumour went around some of my acquaintances that I was gay. Of course, there had been rumours about me (among some people) starting in 2001 because of the short film script I had written that year, the gay spy film that I described in the post "My First Psychotic Episode and bFM". The episode I suffered, which really kicked into gear perhaps a fortnight after I left bFM, was acute. I decided that there were listening devices in the fire alarms, started dividing my flatmates, of which I had twenty, into angels and demons, heterosexuals and closet homosexuals, and formed the paranoid conspiracy theory that the world was ruled by a conspiracy of closet homosexuals. I decided that Jesus was straight and all the disciples were gay and considered the possibility that I might be Jesus. The episode reached its climax when I considered drowning myself, decided against it, returned to the flat, and told some of my flatmates, "My father's gay but I'm straight!" What is important to note here is that, after I said this, much of my psychosis went away. I recall telling some of my flatmates the next night, immediately before my brother arrived to remove me from the Big House, that I either had schizophrenia or multiple personality disorder. I still thought that my father was gay and that bFM was full of closet homosexuals but the more bizarre delusions, such as the delusion that I was under surveillance, had evaporated (although I was still agitated and emotionally distressed).
The next day my father drove me to the Taylor Centre. It is hard to remember this exactly but both my father and mother were there. I went into an office and spoke with a psychiatrist called Trish van der Krellen and Kate Whelan without either parent present. I thought I had made some kind of important breakthrough. I had always tried to be friendly with gay people, had supported gay rights, and, even though I am straight, been interested in homosexuality. I thought that my father being gay might explain this. I thought that my father's homosexuality might account for why I had got myself into such a terrible mess. I recall that I was quite voluble, saying among other things that I had been friends with gay students at High School. I said, and this is exactly what I said, "My father's gay, he divorced my mother when I was seven because he didn't want me to be gay, and I want to come out as straight!" What I meant by this was that I had always been straight and wanted people to know it. I can remember Kate Whelan sitting there smiling; I immediately got a bad vibe off her. My parents were invited into the office – I recall my father was very red in the face. I wasn't sure at the time if they knew what I told Kate Whelan and Trish van der Krellen. My lovely mother said something like, "He was hit on the head by a night cracker when he was a kid. Perhaps that's the cause." (This is slightly inaccurate but close enough.)
Shortly after this first contact, I had my first real appointment with the psychiatrist who would be the one to treat me until the beginning of 2012, Antony Fernando. At the time I believed that the Mental Health Service would offer psychological treatment. I thought that I would lie on a couch, talk about my family, come to terms with my father's homosexuality, and then be let go. What I didn't realise then is that psychiatrists are doctors who consider psychological distress a symptom of a neurological disease, a neurotransmitter imbalance. I didn't realise then that basically the only form of treatment they offer is medication. I remember the moment I walked into the Fernando's office deciding, from the way he looked at me, that he was yet another closet homosexual. My parents were both present at the consultation– I couldn't tell Fernando that my father was gay with my father in the room and I couldn't say this to a man who I had immediately concluded was homosexual. Furthermore, I sensed immediately that this was a medical consultation and decided to treat it as such. I described my symptoms without mentioning anything to do with homosexuality at all. For instance, I told him that I had formed the delusion that there were listening devices in the fire alarms of the flat in which I lived and that the horoscope had been talking to me. Fernando asked me if I heard voices and looked surprised when I said "No". I very much wanted him to ask me if I was gay or straight but he didn't and never did. I recall telling him that I lived in a vegetarian flat. He asked me, "Are you a vegetarian?" I said, "No, I'm a carnivore." I was talking in code. I was trying to tell him that not only was I straight, I had a sex drive. When I said this, he smirked.
I believe it was at that first consultation that Fernando told me to "Stop avoiding". He also sarcastically referred to my "breakthrough". I immediately concluded that he had decided to diagnose me as a latent or closet homosexual. It was terrible. There was no way I could tell him he was wrong. I should say something about those early days. Because I had suffered an acute psychotic episode and because I was new to the Mental Health Service, I was put under the Early Intervention Team. I saw Kate Whelan or other workers every day. I can remember, in particular, going for drives or walks sometimes with a chap called Jurgen and sometimes a chap called Maurice. Although this didn't begin immediately, I would sometimes divide the people treating me into angels and demons, as I had my flatmates at the Big House. Sometimes I thought they might be, in a way, witches and vampires. I can remember immediately forming a bad impression of Maurice, sensing a kind of darkness around him, although I worked out later that he was a very good man. Not only was I still dealing with psychosis, suddenly becoming a patient of the Mental Health Service made me feel that my life had ended, that the world had ended. I sensed that I had become a patient permanently. Later in the year, there were times when I literally believed the Apocalypse had occurred, that we were living in the End Days. I sensed all this immediately. I had been uprooted from my previous life and put in new one, one in which I was subject to an institution. I recall, just a couple of weeks after becoming a patient, I attended an art group at an establishment called Toi Ora, a charity that caters to mental health patients by providing creative workshops. I drew a picture of whole lot of bric-a-brac and people being blown away by a terrible wind.
The point I am trying to make here is that the people treating me should have realised that my illness was a temporary reaction to stressful circumstances rather than something I was born with and would suffer from for the rest of my life. A couple of months ago a worker asked me about my 'illness', saying, "When was it picked up?" I replied, "It wasn't 'picked up'. I had a very sudden and severe psychotic episode." The worker's question is more evidence of the idiocy of the Mental Health System generally.
The other important point I wish to make, something I think about a lot, is that there was a window in those early days when everything could have turned out differently. I did very occasionally use the words 'gay' and 'straight' for the first couple of weeks although I didn't say I was straight again, or talk about bFM or the Big House. I told the people treating me about the gay spy film I had written when I was twenty-one – I know this because a worker asked me how long ago I had written it. I replied, "Ten years" although of course it was only six. (I hadn't then started making sense of my life.) During one of the first times I went out for coffee with Kate Whelan, in Remuera, I told her a story that I have also told in this blog before, in the post "An Anecdote; and A Description of a Condition". In 1998, when I was living at Knox College in Dunedin, I had bought a Cleo magazine because my girlfriend living in Auckland liked Cleo. My best friend at the time had teased me about it. I told him that I was confident enough in my sexuality that I could buy a woman's magazine without it worrying me. Being a philosophy student, he said, "By that logic, you could prove beyond doubt that you're straight by dressing in women's clothes." Viewing this as challenge, I borrowed a dress, wig and high-heels from our lesbian friend down the corridor and dressed in drag for an evening – our lesbian friend took photos. It was a fun night. The reason I told Kate this story was because I sensed that Fernando had decided to diagnose me a closet or latent homosexual and this was my way of saying that I was totally straight, that his diagnosis was absurd. I suspect that Kate simply put something like 'has transvestite tendencies' in my notes. I know this from circumstantial evidence. When you get down to brass tacks, the cause of my illness was simple. The people treating me should have worked out that I was straight and that I had become unwell as a result of false gossip. And they could have worked this out if they'd asked me some fucking questions.
The window passed quickly. I remember the feeling that I was under surveillance came back. I was walking with my mother and she asked me how they could be monitoring me. I decided that there must be a microphone in my glasses. The delusion that the world was ruled by a conspiracy of closet homosexuals, that there were more homosexuals than heterosexuals in the world, came back. I stopped using the words 'gay' and 'straight' entirely. These delusions went away at the end of 2007 but I still avoided using either word. I didn't say the word 'gay' to Kate again until 2013. When I became a patient of the Taylor Centre again that year, just before Easter, I had a consultation with a different psychiatrist and was assigned a new key worker, Josh Brasil. Josh was the first and only Mental Health worker to ask me how I identified. (I replied "Straight" of course.) A little later we went out for coffee. We discussed Charles Bukowski. Now, Bukowski is an author that straight bookish men like to talk about to prove that they are straight, the same way straight music fans like to talk about Jim Morrison and steer clear of Morrissey in conversation. I didn't like this conversation; it felt fake. I was also under a great deal of stress at the time. I saw Kate briefly and burst out to her that I didn't like "being flirted with by a gay man". Her reaction is hard to describe – the way I would put it is perhaps that she became incredibly uncomfortable. My saying this caused her considerable cognitive dissonance. Shortly after this, I changed my mind about Josh and decided that he actually was straight but I never corrected the error that I had made, although perhaps a year and half later, just before he moved to a different DHB and ceased being my Key Worker, I apologised for the bad start we'd had, saying that I had been under a great deal of stress at the time. Yet it probably had gone on my record as another black mark against me.
This post is a little clumsily written. I am probably repeating things readers already know. I can't go through all of the last fifteen years describing when people knew what, but there are two items in the list that are perhaps significant, that I'll mention. At my first Independent Review in 2015, a review I'd requested, my then psychiatrist put in the report that I was ill in 2008 and well for the first eight months of 2009 prior to going off the Rispiridone. The opposite is true. As I've pointed out a number of times, I was close to well in 2008 and didn't start hearing voices until January 2009, after I'd been on antipsychotics for over a year and half. I have described what triggered this episode most clearly in the post "The Illusion of Authorship and Other Matters." The important point here is that when I started hearing voices I told people. Very shortly after I started hearing voices, I was lying in bed and heard a voice say very loudly, "I love you." I thought it was God. I told the Scottish nurse Avril I had been seeing for 'therapy' about this. So they must have known that the 'treatment' I was receiving had made me worse. The only conclusion I can draw is that the people treating me are either incompetent or dishonest. The second item concerns a long essay that I wrote about my life and my treatment shortly after I was put under the Act in early 2014. I had a copy of it put in my psychiatrist's pigeon hole and gave another to my lawyer. I know my lawyer read it; I can remember, for instance, in late 2017 just before my last Independent Review, he said to me, "It's been four years. Perhaps that's long enough." (What he meant by this is that I'd been consistently saying I was straight since early 2013.) However I don't think the psychiatrist I was seeing, Jennifer Murphy, ever read it although I told her repeatedly that she should. I don't believe the Key Worker I had at the time, Josh, ever read it. I suspect that the Clinical Psychologist I saw in 2014, Simon Judkins, read it but because he's a fucking imbecile he didn't understand it. If they'd read it and realised I was telling the truth, the truth that my sociopathic former psychiatrist Antony Fernando must have lied about me, they would have been forced to let me go years ago.
Not only does the psychiatric profession not understand what the terms "heterosexual" and "homosexual" mean, I have come to the conclusion that they don't understand what the term "schizophrenia" means. In 2013, having been discharged from the Taylor Centre for a year, only being on 5mgs of Olanzapine for that period, and having been totally well since early 2010, I became somewhat psychotic again. I thought, rightly or wrongly, that there was still uncertainty in the Fourth Estate about my sexuality; I though that if I reengaged with the Taylor Centre and got it on my record that I'm straight and always have been that this fact would somehow disseminate into the public domain. I told the first psychiatrist I saw that year about the three women I'd loved in life. Just before I saw Jennifer Murphy for the first time, I heard a voice in my head saying, "Don't talk about love, talk about sex" and so, at my first appointment with her, I told her, truthfully, that the first time I'd had sex was New Years Eve 1997 and the last time was a one night stand in Wellington in 2011. It was almost immediately after that that she told me that I was schizophrenic. (Prior to 2013, my official diagnosis had been Psychosis Not Otherwise Specified.) She diagnosed me schizophrenic because she thought I was lying. Now, if you look up the definition of schizophrenia on Wikipedia for instance, you'll find that officially the positive symptoms are delusion and hallucinations. Dishonesty is not supposedly a symptom. Nevertheless, I believe this is why she diagnosed me schizophrenic. If dishonesty is considered the criterion by which we diagnose schizophrenia we would also have to consider Donald Trump and Hershel Walker schizophrenic. She diagnosed me schizophrenic, I have to assume, because she thought I was a virgin and was lying about having had sex with women. Presumably this lie originated with Antony Fernando. I wish to say something briefly about the psychiatric profession. The public tends to assume that psychiatrists are very clever people. They aren't. They spend some ten years learning about neurotransmitters and parts of the brain and nothing about real people. And of course most psychiatric discourse about schizophrenia is just fucking wrong. Jennifer Murphy is evidence for the claim that most psychiatrists are fucking corrupt and stupid.
When I write a post about my life, it is tempting to put everything in but I can't. I have to assume readers have read the other posts I've written. I will say one last thing however. In other posts, I have claimed that Antony Fernando is a closet homosexual. Having thought about this some more, I would like to refine this diagnosis. I believe that, at my first appointment with him, he experienced a Same Sex Attraction and then projected his own homosexuality onto me. This is why I decided he was a member of the Homosexual Conspiracy. If I'd been treated by a heterosexual psychiatrist, I would have recovered in a couple of months. Furthermore I believe Fernando has misdiagnosed patients before – I refer the reader to another post I've written concerning a patient called Yves who was also treated by Antony Fernando and was also, I believe, raped by the Mental Health System. Patients deserve better than a psychiatrist who gets sexually excited whenever he has a male patient in his consultation room.
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