My sun is the same as your sun
mental health
[ 8 minute read ]
National debate used to be great. It got people talking. Loud people in the pub were popular entertainers. This is about conversation.
I listen to phone-in radio. It used to be fun. In 2016 people phoned in to rant about Brexit. So funny; it got people talking.
Today though, the same radio station has callers that are convinced that the media has a lot to answer for.
‘YOU are making me miserable.’
My understanding is that these people are holding the news channels accountable for casting bad news into the homes of righteous people. What they actually mean, I think, is that by being aware of the news that media channels broadcast, people’s lives become more miserable. Hume, the philosopher, would be delighted to discover that the common man could independently come up with his strong idea that people are made happier by seeing people smiling and sadder by seeing people crying.
Apparently, there is a mental health crisis in the UK these days. Yet, I read that there has been a suggestion that ‘admittance’ to the Peak District should be allowed only by paying an entrance fee. (A lot of beautiful hills in the middle of England, near Manchester). Harry in the pub, it seems, so far hasn’t noticed that snippet. I have come across a lot of people who say that they don’t listen to, or watch the news anymore, because it makes them down-heartened.
Further to this, is that there is a suggestion that the NHS could save two hundred million pounds per year if they make the patient responsible for paying for notification of hospital appointments. We used to get these appointments through a letter box in our door – something that we all definitely have unless you don’t have a home; I once had letters delivered to my tent when I was homeless. While I am not against the NHS saving money, we should remember that it is not a private business. It is paid for by taxing the British population. I am not against raising income tax to pay for services that we all need; roads, policing and emergency services, doctors, nurses and hospitals.
Personally, I don’t carry a mobile phone and I don’t own a SmartPhone. I hear people speaking with awe in their voices as they, nowadays, briefly mention how much computing power we ‘all’ carry in our pockets. ‘We have access to all the world’s knowledge’. No, you don’t, you really don’t. We all have a digital portal to information that someone else doesn’t care if you know, or wants you to know. That includes news.
I ordered three things online last week. I received emails that related to all three being dispatched. Yeah, I paid so I expect them to be dispatched. Then I got emails saying two of your items are here, and now here, and ‘Oh, by the way, they are here now.’ There are only two places that I am concerned about: there, being somewhere where it is sent from; and here: where I live. In other words, does it exist? And do I have it? These two truths are separated by a time period known to be a few days; not next day or next month. Sending me emails to fuel my anticipation and cause me to produce addictive dopamine is setting me up for cognitive dissonance. It hasn’t arrived! I hate this world! Oh my God! How stupid are you people! Why can’t you just send it?
One of the items did not arrive when the email said it would. I had a tiny panic attack. Was I not in and the delivery person knocked? Has it been stolen? Did it get delivered to the wrong address? Did I waste my money? I would not be worried if I had not had to open emails that I did not need, that gave me false information. Let me go back a bit. Does it exist? Yes, here is some money. Do I have it? Well, if I need it badly I will definitely look to see if I have it. ‘Ah yes. Here it is’. So sending me emails just made me anxious. I had to open them, because in my world you only send an email to a customer to tell them something is wrong. As a trader, in the past, it was unheard of to constantly tell the same customer, ‘You can trust me, you can trust me, you can trust me,’ then, ‘Ooops sorry, I messed up.’ If we had done that we we not be trusted every time we said, you can trust me. Think about the boy who cried wolf.
I get my hospital appointments by post. I go for walks to chill out. Once or twice when things have gotten too much for me, I have taken a holiday. I don’t expect to live a life of luxury just because I am British. Goodness, if I thought that nationality was the determinant in who gets what, I would be racist.
‘Ah, you see! Those people are African, not British, so they shouldn’t have luxury’.
No, no, NO!
‘I am British and I blooming well deserve luxury. So those people, in Africa, who are not British, also deserve luxury.’
Is that better?
Not being racist means believing that all humans have the same rights because there is no discrimination. I don’t, however, give money to charities to help people to buy optional, discretionary goods (luxuries). An optional, discretionary good is a television, a car, and a SmartPhone. Some people do need the latter two; I don’t. I need to know that I do not need to have money to get a hospital appointment. Yet, it seems that by using an App on a device it costs me money. Sure, we can receive texts and messages on a phone for six months without paying, but then we lose our right to have a phone number.
Mental ill-health, if it is personified, crouches, waiting to leap out, and possess anyone, (yes anyone) who finds it difficult to live with dwindling, inadequate or non-existent funds.
Here then, is my SmartPhone which I need for the future NHS app so I can get an appointment with a clinician for my mental ill health, which (SmartPhone) has access to all the media’s current fascination with reporting on poor social conditions across my home country. Of course, I cannot just buy a phone plan that lets me keep my number and only receive messages. Oh no, I, like everyone else, am encouraged to overspend my data download limit, because while I am waiting for the appointment, or I am in the waiting room, I need to distract myself from what ails me. I look on my SmartPhone for news because I enjoy reading about other people’s misfortune, starvation, exclusion, ostracisation, mental and physical anguish. I think not!
I think I will put my phone away now and go for a walk – except…..I can’t afford it. Because I can’t afford to go to the future Peak District I must make you, the nation, pay for my mental health appointments. Actually, I don’t have appointments for mental ill-health, because I have hand-written my own certification that says that I am entirely sane. I took a photo of it on my non-existent SmartPhone to prove it.
The real issue is that mental ill-health is not addressed as such. Government representatives and even Ministers will say something like,
‘We need to tackle mental health’.
No, we need to provide opportunities for good mental health to reduce mental ill-health. We shouldn’t be tackling mental health, we should be tackling mental ILL-health. I am amazed that the NHS does not have a chain of gyms and does not own the National Trust.
And there it is. Reduce the proliferation of things that make us feel bad so we can have time to feel good (in the Peak District). I know; reduce the cost that the NHS incurs by treating a rising incidence of mental ILL-health (mental health issues) by making them pay the entrance fee to the Peak District for the people who would otherwise be in the waiting room. Yes, I know, my argument (above) rests on the proliferation of, or absence of, bad news in the pub and by digital means.
'Today, on the news...The flowers in Mrs Brown’s garden have provided plenty of pollen and nectar for the local insects. No-one in Britain got stung by a stinging nettle, and the price of an ice-cream has returned to an affordable price. Now, over to Hannah, our reporter in the street.’
‘Helloooo! So far five hundred and sixty-eight people have said good morning to me; twelve elderly men have raised their hats; seven hundred women have smiled to each other as they passed; and four children have hugged my legs. It’s going to be another wonderful day in Britain. Back to the studio.’
‘In more serious news. The NHS is working hard. The police are catching criminals; here is a picture my daughter drew of a criminal in a stripey jumper being caught, and your neighbour is not going to have a better holiday than you, because the sun that shines on them is the same one that shines on you.’