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Are 'they' just like you and me? by Marianne Broug
A while back I completed a course in crisis counselling. People had said to me, 'You should try counselling. You’d be really good.' I’d never thought of myself as a counsellor of any sort. 'I’m an artist! I'm a writer!' I would declare, as though those few words were all the explanation that was necessary. Frankly I thought I would be utterly hopeless as a counsellor. Regardless of the fact that I had spent well over two decades of my life struggling with my various demons, I was convinced that when confronted with a person in the midst of a crisis, I would immediately forget the tangle of frustratingly small daily battles (and triumphs) I had been through, and would want to scream in exasperation 'Oh come on, just get over it!' Or the equally helpful, '… so you think you’ve got problems!' When we finished the course we were given an Evaluation Sheet. One of the questions read 'Which aspect of the training are you most likely to remember in five years time?' As I watched other people’s sheets slowly filling with words, I felt like a stupid schoolchild. I couldn’t think of anything to write. Along with 'What was helpful about today?' or 'What was unhelpful?' such questions always render my grey matter completely devoid of function. Mute. Blank. But now when I think back over the course, there is something that does stand out. I am not sure whether it will be the 'thing' that I remember in five years time, but I do feel its impact at the moment. It was a group discussion about 'mental illness'. We were each given pamphlets from the National Mental Health Strategy: What is Depression? What are Anxiety Disorders? What is Schizophrenia? Mental Illness – The Facts. What is an Eating Disorder? What is Bipolar mood disorder? Each pamphlet was filled with more information than you could possibly want. Symptoms. Causes. Treatments. Where to go for Help. We were divided into smaller groups, each of which was to prepare and then present a paper on one of these pamphlets. But as each small group went through their regurgitation of the information in these pamphlets, I sensed a growing unease within the group as a whole. There were questions that these pamphlets could never answer, and indeed questions that these pamphlets would never even seek to ask. I felt a desperate desire to open my mouth and say something. I wanted to tell them about my own life, but I also wanted to tell them about the countless other people whose lives had intersected with mine, both personally and otherwise. But we had been warned against recounting such experiences. But then the tide of questions could no longer be contained - and I really can’t remember them all. Are 'these people' violent? Are 'they' out of control? What do 'they' want from us as counsellors? 'Who are these people?' 'Who are the 'mentally ill'?' The overwhelming sense behind all of these questions, was '… I feel so inadequate and afraid at the thought of being faced with Them'. I did attempt to answer some of their questions. I tried to say that 'these' people are 'You and Me'. They want what 'You and I' want. They want to be heard and held and loved and valued just like any human being does. But I don’t think my answers were enough. There was a silence. Eyes were looking askance at far away places only our internal selves are privy to … I wondered if they were thinking … 'but if 'they' are just like you and me, then 'Who Am I?'
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