sweet smokin’ judas

I was mentioning the other day to an acquaintance that I think I’m getting dumber. I blame the availability of Beavis and Butt-head episodes on Netflix for this. I’m even starting to have that laugh, so help me god. That, I guess, is my grand excuse for ignoring this thing.

ANYWAY: This Wikileaks/Julian Assange bullshit is making me really glad I don’t associate with leftists/anarchists/etc. very much these days. Well, actually, that’s a lie – I do, but it’s just not for purely political reasons anymore. It used to disappoint me when people who were ostensibly interested in an egalitarian society turned on women who came forth with sexual assault accusations when the accused was one of their own, so to speak. This hasn’t just happened with Assange, of course – I can think of a few dudes in punk bands, a few dudes in the zine world, and so forth, who had legions of supporters rushing to their defense even if those supporters had never met them and had no idea what the hell they were like as a person. And even if they did, hell, that doesn’t mean that someone who seems awesome can be capable of terrible things. I say it used to disappoint me, because now it just angers me. I’ve long since learned that lefty types are just as prone to asshole-ism as anyone else, and their political credentials don’t mean they can’t be fucking scumbags. The way Assange’s accusers have been talked about has been fucking shameful. And I am aiming a special hate-stare in your direction, Naomi “it’s not rape, you’re just mad he didn’t call you back” Wolf.

I’ve been trying to compose something about mental health and how to support someone without enabling them, inspired by some of Ciara‘s writing on the subject (both in her blog and her zines) and my own attempts to to figure out a good self-care routine, since Mpls winter is turning up the seasonal crankies for me something awful. (For instance: hearing cheesy country music at work today almost triggered a bout of girlish weeping. Well, OK, it kind of does that normally, but not so much). Mainly what’s on my mind is this: I think the “friends are the best medicine” shit is terrible and the kind of thing that can very easily destroy both your friendships and your mental health. This isn’t to say that friends should do nothing. Obviously! Duh! As someone with mental health issues who has friends with mental health issues, I try to be kind and supportive to my pals when they’re going through a tough time. Want a letter? You got one! Some delicious snacks? Why, certainly! I draw the line, however, at attempting to play therapist. If you start coming to me and expecting me to be the person who solves your issues and makes you better, that’s where I start getting uncomfortable. I don’t mind talking to my friends about their mental health business but I need to know that they are taking other steps as well, whether that involves professional therapy/meds or just improving their self-care routine. (Knee-jerk opposition to the clinical approach is another thing I can’t fucking stand, but that’s a whole ‘nother kettle of fish.) I understand that I may be easier to talk to than someone who has never had depression, but at the end of the day, just being some schmuck who sometimes tussles with a (comparatively mild) mood disorder doesn’t make me an expert on saving someone else’s life. Basically, my sentiments are in line with this post of Ciara’s, and she goes into much more detail than I do.

Other news:

1. My queer metal dude pal has a blog! It is so awesome! I got to see him on my vacation and he and I and my steady date nerded out about bands and got abominably drunk and played air hockey and it was pretty much the best thing ever, even though I woke up with residual beer caked on the front of my brain.

2. I haven’t been able to get a good picture of it but I have this awesome, ridiculous belt buckle now with a scorpion encased in clear resin. I feel like I should pair it with my red knee-high boots and become a comic book supervillain.

~ by Smellen on December 30, 2010.

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