The Age is Melbourne's major daily but, lo and behold, it is now expressing doubts regarding the dogma of psychiatry
by Justice Lover
The Age is one of the two major newspapers of the Australian establishment. Like all other ruling class newspapers it has been completely loyal to its "values", and certainly psychiatry has been one of them. The following article published today by this newspaper indicates therefore the demise of this abomination which the shrinks consider a "medical specialty" - with the full legal endorsement of the state ! - while in reality it is no more than a fascist quackery which was given the legal power to force its atrocities on innocent people, causing untold suffering and death to many thousands of them.
However, the author the article, who testifies to have been a victim-patient herself, seems to be still under the influence of psychiatric propaganda. Thus, for example, she still considers psychiatry as a "science ", and stating as follows :
"Psychiatry is an unusual science. Despite hazy talk about dopamine and serotonin, psychiatry has no real biological markers. All estimates and prescriptions come from an influential book called the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM)."
Psychiatry is no science at all, and its assertions are based on lies and speculations, including the dogma of psychiatry itself : the dogma of "mental illness". Under the pressure of Big Pharma and its zionist allies psychiatry has been given the status of a "medical specialty", and the shrinks empowered to force their atrocities on their victim-patients. The time to outlaw psychiatry, and put Big Pharma's bosses and their zionist allies on trial for crimes against humanity, therefore is well overdue !
It's not a mental illness, it's just life
by Helen Razer
July 25, 2009
WHEN Death of a Salesman was revived on Broadway 50 years after its celebrated debut, its director asked for help. In an effort to flesh out its frame for a contemporary audience, the play was diagnosed. Two psychiatrists offered their assessment of Willy Loman.
In each case, Loman was pronounced manic-depressive with hallucinatory aspects. Arthur Miller soon received word that this newest Loman was in therapy. The playwright was aghast. The hapless everyman, Miller said, was not a subject for psychiatric study. He was simply beaten down by life.
Loman was, and should remain, a victim of circumstances; not one of disease.
"There are social reasons for why he is where he is," Miller said. Any analysis other than Miller's might seem ridiculous; particularly to fans of theatre.
But there is a real shift in the way we understand our weakness. We increasingly see ourselves, and fictional characters, not as social casualties but as people with psychiatric disorders.
This eagerness for disease could be easily read as proof of our idle self-interest. Unwilling or unable to confront our flaws and quirks, we claim a diagnostic defence. I'm not gloomy; I'm depressed. I'm not professionally lazy; I have ADHD.
Now, give me a pill and a label.
However, we're not entirely to blame. Medical orthodoxy virtually expects us to be mentally ill. Psychiatry is an unusual science. Despite hazy talk about dopamine and serotonin, psychiatry has no real biological markers. All estimates and prescriptions come from an influential book called the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM).
If you've ever been to the doctor feeling moody or anxious, you'll know the DSM checklist. Do you find it difficult to concentrate? Do you ever feel fatigued? Do you ever think, like Willy Loman, about death? Well, of course I do.
In the 2005-06 financial year, more than 12 million prescriptions for antidepressants were provided, primarily by general practitioners, to Australian patients. Data from the Australian Bureau of Statistics indicate that one in every five Australians will have a direct experience of mental illness during their lifetime.
About this time last year, I was reluctant to become one of them. In the same week, my partner was diagnosed with a degenerative neurological disease and I got the sack from my job. To dodge a Willy Loman end, I visited a local GP hoping for an understanding chat. She made her way through the DSM, pronounced me depressed and offered me an antidepressant called Zoloft.
Arguing that I was not, in fact, depressed but just having a rotten time, I declined. I did, however, make time to read about the drug online. "In the past people believed that depression was merely an emotional state that made people sad. These days, however, depression is recognised as a medical condition," said the makers of Zoloft.
We can hold the DSM, currently in its fourth edition, responsible for transforming everyday sadness into a medical condition. It now diagnoses human response to loss, save for the death of a loved one, as depression.
Recent years have seen several scholars argue for a revision, in particular, of the manual's criteria for depression. Other critics have ridiculed the inclusion in the current edition of disorders such as breathing-related sleep disorder and nicotine dependence. Many medical professionals urged a return to a psychiatry that doesn't diagnose snoring, smoking and every damn thing.
Despite hopes and lobbying by those psychiatrists who'd prefer a more cautious definition of mental illness, it seems this latest version of the manual currently under review promises more disease than ever.
Reportedly, new syndromes that medicalise sexism, poverty and the fact of not having sufficient friendships will all appear. Even the editor, Allen Frances, has spoken out against a text that will "trivialise mental disorder and lead to a deluge of unneeded medication treatment".
It is not only the truly mentally ill who will lose to this document. It's everyone. Our entirely natural responses to life become a subject for treatment.
The analysis of Willy Loman continued in The New York Times. Peter Kramer, psychiatrist and author of '90s best-seller Listening to Prozac, wondered aloud what would have occurred if the suicidal character "got some Ritalin, and maybe got some counselling to get into another line of work".
What might have happened had Loman been diagnosed, medicated and redeployed at a call centre is uncertain.
Only one thing is sure: Death of a Salesman would not have been a trenchant critique of post-war America. It might, however, have become a useful promotional tool for the pharmaceutical industry.
Helen Razer is a freelance writer.
This story was found at: http://www.theage.com.au/opinion/its-not-a-mental-illness-its-just-life-20090724-dw3i.html