Freedom

Irit Shimrat edited Phoenix Rising, a national magazine by and for former psychiatric inmates. She helped start a provincial organization called the Ontario Psychiatric Survivors' Alliance, which was responsible for the formation of many local groups. She has presented two nationally broadcast radio programs about psychiatry and written Call Me Crazy: Stories from the Mad Movement. She is thrilled to be part of Support Coalition International, an anti-psychiatry organization.

I'm going to talk about freedom in a personal context, because when I speak from what I've felt and seen, there's a better chance that I'll make some kind of sense. I'm going to talk about how I got free from psychiatry and how I handle life now. About being locked up, and about my friends being locked up. About what it means to be locked up, and what it means to be free. And I'm going to talk about how I believe we can help free each other.

Freedom is knowing that I am a real person, a good person. Freedom is knowing that it's okay to be "bad" sometimes. Freedom is the room to breathe, the room to expand, to relax. I'm allowed to breathe the same air that people in suits breathe, because I'm free. I can be loud and full of power, even though I'm female, because I'm free. Getting out of shackles, getting out of the little box called the Quiet Room, getting out of the bigger box called the hospital, getting out of the zombie haze the tranquilizers put me in-these were sweet and precious achievements.

Wherever I go, I am free to put on my coat, to walk out the door. Or to stay. The choice is mine. Having that choice, is freedom. Freedom, from pharmaceutical poisons, from humiliation, from labeling, from loneliness, from self-loathing. Freedom, from psychosocial rehabilitation, from vocational rehabilitation, from supportive housing, from services, from "special needs," from those who are paid to care. Freedom, to be a person rather than a patient, to live in an apartment rather than a residential facility, to have a job rather than an employment program, to have friends rather than social programs. Freedom to take risks. To feel strongly. To have fun. I've had more fun since I got locked up than I ever did before. I got out of the hospital by agreeing with everything they said about me. I've stayed out by denying it.

Slowly but surely, I'm unlearning everything they taught me. Here is what I'm learning. I am learning that I am well. That my brain is healthy. I'm learning to trust myself. I have within me all the capacities I need for survival. I do not fear the system. I do not respect it. I am learning to be proud of who I am. I am learning to be responsible for myself. I am learning love. I am learning that my emotions are just emotions, not symptoms. I am learning that I'm not broken. Having had my freedom taken away is supposed to mean that I have to struggle extra hard to act really, really normal. But to this, I just say no. I accept my weirdness.

Before I got locked up, I was shy and quiet and hated to stand out. I wore ladies' clothes and tried to act just like everyone else. For a long time after I got out, I just wanted to hide. I felt so inferior that I didn't want anyone to see me. I was just this blob of shame and fear. But once I finally started getting over it, thanks to friends, and good luck, and the passage of much time, there was no looking back. Now, I talk to myself in public, a lot. I practice tai chi at the bus stop. I laugh loudly, sing loudly, dance like mad. I feel free to be myself.

This doesn't mean I have fun all the time. Much of the time I should have spent writing this talk I spent in bed, curled up in a little ball, sleeping as much as I could. Full of despair, sure I wasn't good enough. Sometimes I'd praise myself for taking a bath, or boiling some noodles, or actually getting out to the street to bum a cigarette. More often I'd curse myself for being so useless. When I had to be with people I felt like I wasn't one of them. I couldn't make myself smile, relax, talk, listen. Does this make me abnormal? And if I am, so what? Are normal people as happy as I am when I'm "up"? What is normal, anyway? That which, for some people, is imbalance, might just be balance for me. If I could, would I give up my lows at the expense of my highs? I wouldn't even think about it.

Part of my freedom is accepting my bad times. Slowly, I'm learning not to get upset with myself about getting upset. When I'm feeling extremely miserable and not getting things done, I tend to get mad at myself, which makes me even more miserable, which makes it even more impossible to get anything done, which makes me panic. Panic is the worst. But I don't have to let unhappiness spiral into panic. I'm slowly learning to live with the fact that I feel really awful sometimes, and to know, at some level-even while it's happening-that it will pass. The more I can realize this, the faster I can get back to where I want to be.

Another freeing thing has been to realize that feeling lousy is not the same as being crazy. When I get panicky, I feel like I'm going nuts. But I don't see things that aren't there or think I'm on another planet (although I've been there, too). Recognizing that can help a lot. Sometimes it helps to remember that I'm not as weak as I feel. I know I can live through really scary stuff, because I have done so. The two things I'm most afraid of are isolation and humiliation. And this is the gift the mental health system gave me: I was subjected to isolation and humiliation such as I could never have imagined. Yet, I survived. So now, I know I can be strong. And sometimes what I need is to give in completely to my weakness. So what if I'm weak sometimes?