18h30 UTC; SATURDAY, 14 DECEMBER 2013: By now, you may or may not have heard of the obviously illogical notion which Pat "700 Club" Robertson pushed on his (pseudo)religious programme this past week contending that the mere presence of a homosexual (in this particular case, a lesbian) in the family circle risked causing the children to develop homosexual feelings or tendencies.

This absent credible, peer-reviewed even, medical documentation proving such an interconnexion.

(Click on the lead-off image to see the original item for yourself, per Right Wing Watch.)

I mention this rather absurd notion at this time inasmuch as it calls to mind past psychotherapeutic abuse in the guise of therapy inflicted upon me by the County Day Treatment Programme in Eau Claire, WI in the 1980-81 period; I had originally been sent to Eau Claire for Vocational Rehabilitation purposes by the Minnesota version therefor, in the belief that certain Minnesota schemes to that end were "located in very bad neighbourhoods" or had unacceptably-long waitlisting ... but within a few weeks of final placement, I began having flashbacks of past emotional abuse from foster-siblings I had been living with near Caledonia, MN for a year and a half previous.

The which were eventually diagnosed as "paranoid schizophrenia" and a referral was made to the Day Treatment programme there. Which, in the end, abused me so psychosadistically that I have since been rendered unsuitable for more conventional employment and drawing disability benefit since (which I seek to supplement, or try to, with the Online Mall and the Online Boutique components as well as the PayPal-powered donations facility on this website).

Perhaps the acme of such psychosadism from Eau Claire Day Treatment involved the invocation of "schizophrenic germs" by staff members and therapists, or what passed for them, which carried the implication that schizophrenic disorders were of biological origin and that said "germs" were highly contagious, in its turn inspiring all manner of dreams on my part about my mere presence, as a "carrier of schizophrenic germs," suddenly causing wholesale panic and freak-out on the streets, in its turn calling to mind scenes from those Godzilla-model films showing panic-struck people screaming their lungs out on the streets, air-raid sirens going off and police sound cars urging people to remain calm and not panic in the face of Clear and Present Calamity Endangering the Peace, Safety and Good Order of the Community, and risking Clear Socioeconomic Harm.

The very term itself, "schizophrenic germs," calling to mind the bad old days of psychotherapy such as "Tea Party" types would love returning to, as in movies such as The Snake Pit and One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest as were set in old-school mental hospitals well before medications started gaining wide favour and acceptance medically, especially where coercive fear as an agent of coercive, cooptative even, control was sought to keep patients in line.

Which seemed to be what Eau Claire Day Treatment had in mind throughout.

Especially where the F- and S-words were overtly used in therapy sessions by counsellors ... where paranoia about "spies" volunteering information as could be used against clients was equally commonplace ... and a fear-powered climate of image-consciousness seemed to prevail, with an implied notion that we had to be all the more careful what we said to our parents or loved ones, or what we were feeling as a consequence of this treatment. (In one particularly memorable instance, the psychiatrist in charge was rather disturbed about what she felt was some "uncomplimentary" remarks about the treatment I was going through in a recent letter to my parents, eventually shared to my county worker back in Minnesota; she felt that my comments "brought Day Treatment into discredit" or otherwise risked it.

(Making matters even more disturbing, Day Treatment seemed to have this notion of their being a "Jewel in the Crown" sort of agency within the county social services department, which managed Day Treatment; i.e., their mission was deemed "essential to the community" and their funding was somehow "guaranteed," but was being reduced all the more because of "austerity measures;" hence, the recourse to scaremongering to justify continued operational funding. Anything seen as tarnishing this Precious, Precious Jewel in Our Diadem [or so an interrelated fantasy I had at the time went] risked "undermining the community" by "exposing same to schizophrenic-germ outbreaks at their worst," especially if Day Treatment were suddenly closed.)

There were also perennial fears on my part during the Eau Claire Day Treatment phase about:
  • the information from the "spies" eventually forming the basis of a "kangaroo court"-stylee proceeding as turned anything I tried saying in my defence against me, as if seeking to break me down by finding the Weakest Link, eventually exploiting same;
  • arbitrary and direct committment to Mendota State Hospital in Madison, be it through the "kangaroo court" or otherwise solely out of spite-induced whims of the resident psychiatrist;
  • being subjected to the threat of "shunning" by way of Shunning Orders sent local businesses by Day Treatment, essentially denying me the right to a livelihood in Eau Claire under pain of arrest for Unlawful Trespass (and under potentially capricious grounds); and
  • not "otherwise knowing my proper place" in the community as a "carrier of schizophrenic germs."
The which would be enough, in my youth at the time, to turn all the more to beer from time to time just to spare myself the pangs of such abuse and humiliation and, despite warnings that I risked emulating a certain John Wayne Hinckley (whose attempt to assainate then-President Reagan in 1981 was motivated by a desire to win the affections of actress Jodie Foster; Hinckley would eventually be found insane and was sentenced to an insane asylum), developing a correspondence with the late Muppets creator Jim Henson. (In a similar vein, let's not forget where South African parliamentary aide Dmitri Tsafendas' contention in stabbing then-President Hendrik Verwoerd in 1966 to death was out of a belief that the apartheid regime was doing little or nothing to help the "poor whites" whom the regime's propaganda claimed were as much the beneficiaries of apartheid's endowment of White Privilege as other whites; Tsafendas would eventually be found insane, sentenced instead to detention "at the State President's pleasure" rather than the gallows.)

By the late summer of 1981, the situation reached a crisis point which promoted a dear sister of mine to come over and as much visit me as find out what exactly was going on with Day Treatment to make the situation even worse (in fact, she became my link to my parents in relating the Tales of Drunkenness and Cruelty I was so going through, largely to avoid embarrassing Day Treatment further); for some reason or another, on the day of her visit to Eau Claire, the treatment staff, every last woman Jill thereof (yes, this was actually the case), fled town under mysterious circumstances (as if they had something to hide big time).

Which, in any case, would reach the welfare in Houston County (as was paying the bills, know), prompting their going into crisis mode and seek a solution, driven in large measure by state level budget cuts at the time. And at a closed-door conference, it was decided that I would be returned to Winona that fall with referral to the local sheltered workshop and residential placement in a boarding-house as had vacancies at the time (which, in and of itself, was just as abusive and scaremongering--but that's probably for another time).

Which was the case from October 15, 1981, on which day I moved back to Winona.

Yet, the scars and effects of this abuse in the guise of "therapy" still remain psychologically scarred in my mind, and will likely remain so to my grave. Not even two attempts to Vocationally Rehabilitate me and make me a Good Little Mouchik for the workforce resolved the issue, especially when the later attempt to integrate me into the mainstream workforce was perennially derailed by an insistence by the sheltered workshop to maximise per diem subsidies theoretically expected to help the disabled prepare for work.

And, in a way, explains my using Teh Blogospheerez as a conduit to express myself all this time.

Any questions? Leave them through the e-mail feedback form at the bottom of the page.

"Another small house is finished in the next block"
(to Engrishfy the closing remarks on every episode of the "slice-of-life"
radio series Vic and Sade through the years)

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