On guns and “mental illness”
You know I don’t usually get into conspiracy theories, but some connections are just too convenient.
First, you build a medical/pharmaceutical industry that successfully pushes the notion that every little sorrow, nervous twitch, or bit of restlessness is a “disease” that needs to be treated with psychoactive drugs. Then you go on a holy crusade to take guns away from the “mentally ill” (and all the bobbleheads who haven’t thought about the implications repeat “good idea, good idea, good idea”).
So with the consent of the ignorant, complacent, well-programmed, and the devious slimeballs who take advantage of all of the above, any one of the millions who’ve been propagandized into taking one of those psychoactive drugs can become a candidate for losing his or her gun rights. No due process, no nothin’. (Added: Well, maybe the opinion of an authoritarian, anti-gun counselor or shrink.)
It’s just too-too perfect. Politically elegant.
The people who are so eager to grab the guns (you will not be surprised) don’t much care whose guns they take in the process. Because after all, the point isn’t preserving rights, it’s taking rights from one and all. Grab the guns from the “wrong” guy? But there are no wrong guys when it comes to taking away firearms!
Oh yeah, and it helps if you also set up “medical privacy” systems that centralize your health-care data and share it willy-nilly with “authorities.”
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Now as this trend takes hold, how many gun owners who might actually benefit by some of those drugs will avoid getting help because they fear the cop-knock on the door? We know that some murders have been committed because drugs exacerbated the problems they were supposed to help. How many other acts of violence may be committed because somebody who might have been helped by drugs goes over the edge?
And how many gun owners who would never dream that their depression, anxiety, or ADHD constitutes a “mental illness” will remain blissfully ignorant until
Authoritah comes for them?
And how many of those gun owners will have, in fact, supported the laws to “take guns out of the hands of the mentally ill”? But wait! Not me! You were only supposed to take some dangerous wacko’s guns! Sorry, guy. You’re the dangerous wacko now, dontcha know?
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On a more personal note
The long winter that’s clutched the NW and strangled my spirit goes on. We did have an incredible, better-than-summer weekend at the end of March. But since then we’ve had some of our rainiest, blowiest days. And days. And days. And did I mention, days? That glorious weekend feels like long ago.
I can’t cheer up no matter what stories I tell myself.* I can’t warm up no matter how many layers and jackets I wear. My friend Jill is in the final stages of dying of cancer, which seems incomprehensible, outrageous, and unfair for a person of such grace and goodness. She won’t let anyone visit, which I understand intellectually, but not emotionally.
But there are a few rays of sunshine, even if not the atmospheric kind or the need-a-miracle-for-my-friend kind.
On Tuesday, longing for something good to happen but not knowing how to bring it about, I stopped by the local Chinese restaurant and discovered they were having a buffet.
Though I arrived at the very end, there was still a fair bit to choose from, including some of my favorites (mmmm, cashew chicken). So I indulged.
While I was eating, the nice lady who owns the place went over to the steam tables, filled a go-box brim-full, and brought it over to me. She did the same for several other diners.
It was probably food she’d have had to throw out, anyway. But I’ve never had a restaurant do that. When I got home and opened the box, I noticed that everything she’s given me was something I’d had on my plate; she noticed and chose what she knew I liked. I was very touched.
Not to mention very well-filled with delicious food for my last two lunches.
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I’ve also decided to gift myself with 10 sessions of structural integration (aka Rolfing). Turns out there’s a practitioner in the nearby berg I jokingly refer to as The Big City.
Financially, I can’t afford to do this. Mentally and physically, I can’t afford not to. Rolfing is very powerful and good body-work is also, at its best, good mind-work. I’m hoping that it will help kick-start me out of this gloom and lassitude.
I’ll probably give some progress reports along the way.
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* But I’m not taking any medication for the blahs, therefore (NOTE TO AUTHORITIES) I must be sane.
