My Heartfelt Fight for Rights by Writing Wrongs
By: David Bruce
~ Part I is an impassioned account of my personal experience of being “afflicted” with the stigma of mental illness. The tone is from an antagonist’s perspective in the first person in order to convey dramatically the points being made, and the leprous-like feelings being felt. Part II is a creative account in the third person in newspaper article format style of the “culprits” involved in the “stigma crimes” committed. ~
PART I
“Righteously” Robbed of all Our Rights Wrongfully
My spirit has been set aflame to spread forth and fan the fires of the flames in my fellow kinsfolk’s smoldering, smothering hearts to bring down the towers and institutions which profess to defend and free us, but which are really only fostering our fettering and chaining our lives to their unbalanced scales weighed out heavily against us. They press down upon us to demean us, to demonize us, and to dupe us into believing that we are poor mentally, materially, and meaningfully, and into believing that we are now below and beneath them.
We are taught that our rights are not as equal that our lives are not as worthy that our thoughts are not as important that are dreams are not as real and are really only fraught full of fictional, Fairy Tale fantasies.
We are led to discover that our homes are not to be happy, healthy, and homey that our hearts cannot be made whole that our minds are not meant to be healthy that our ideas are not to be heard and that our professions are, for us, just to wallow in our depressions.
We are instructed that our dreams are to be dropped and denied, lest we be pronounced extremely sick and totally blinded by our deluded denials. We have to be reconciled to the reality that our mates are only to be make-believe and never real, because it is fully laughable that any pretty person would ever find us to be even presentable, let alone found to be enchanting, charming, and intriguing.
We are resigned and accepting that our wealth is to be vanquished up out into puffs of smoke, and that we can only truly measure our real wealth by how many smokes that we can smooch from others of us who are just as terribly wealthy as we.
We are overcome and overwhelmed into surrendering our freedoms freely to be lost and locked up forever in a life sentence term in the prison blocks of our maligned, misunderstood, miserably mismanaged mental states. We then kill our times in Board and Cares where everyone is bored and where no one cares. There seems no one capable to understand and come up with a way to correct the cruel course that these cold, callous, cells have caught us all up in where we are all so hopelessly crushed and crumbled up inside so completely.
Our respect is totally lost and found to be missing being granted any credit whatsoever, and without any real sense of any genuine recognition of our being rightfully rewarded truly. Our rights are relinquished to self Righteous Rulers who spell out all “our” rules to insure their permanent Rule over us, under threat of dangerous, injurious, disabling homelessness and helplessness without any more hopefulness left for us to have and to hold onto anymore.
Our spirit is spat upon, sat upon, and spited at scornfully within us, without us, and withal in which we are all wowed to believe about our being base beings who are to be fully debased, disgraced, and defaced right in front of the faces of everyone with whom we have to face. Our feelings are felt fit only to be finished finally, and fully free of ever feeling again any of our finest feelings we had formerly felt so fine to freely feel.
Our bodies are abused by our drugs drank for our own good that blows us up into bulging, burgeoning, balloon bellies for people to sneer at and to poke fun at our slouching, sloppy, sleepy silhouettes pregnant with yards and yards of layered lard.
Our big, bulging, balloon bellies give birth to all our disgust, hatred, and shame at our appearances, especially at how we appear to others with whom we hold as so very dear. Our shameful, strange silhouettes, suffocating in sedated, sleep walking stupors, lowers our station and standing in society’s influencing circles. These social circles are drawn out to show everyone how to succeed by cooperatively conforming to the prevailing norms in which we can’t always just cruise right on in and crash, without stirring up a whole lot of commotion and emotion pleading for our expulsion.