Why blame leads to repeated victimization

I got this theory that blaming a person leads to further victimization. I say this because blaming itself is aggressive and violent, isn’t it? It is attacking a person, saying that they are at fault for the event happening to them. So this is a violent act upon that person, victimizing that person further.

Let’s say a person is a young underage college student, 17 years old, female, who feels lonely. She doesn’t have many friends. She is heterosexual, meaning that she often feels attracted to boys, but she does not often find boys attracted to her because they have little interest in her. She tries to find dates but does not succeed. Her self-esteem drops.

She tries a few college “clubs” but is not impressed with the caliber of students in these clubs. They just aren’t her type. She tries computer game clubs and a few sports clubs also. Either the boys are not interested, or “taken.” She feels very left out. It weighs heavily on her that she is single.

Did you ever go through such a phase? I did, for a short while. I remember when it was. I am awfully glad it didn’t last long. I was an adolescent. I know people who are terribly hung up on being single and think it’s the end of the world! I know I was obsessed over it for a while. I wrote in my journal how badly I wanted a partner, how that was the one thing I wanted and how that would solve EVERYTHING.

How funny it is that this is NOT what I want now. I don’t think a partner will solve anything. Having one will make life too complicated and yucky. I don’t wish for one, nor ever think to go looking for one, and if ever anyone asks, I do everything to fend off a potential one! I do not want to be “hooked up.” However, I recall those adolescent days well, and I truly feel sorry for anyone going through the “I feel empty without a second half” blues.

So let’s say this young woman (or girl) is going through this. She cannot find anyone. What now?

She can’t find anyone in her immediate circle. So let’s say she goes outside that circle. When you get used to hearing “no” a lot, what happens when you finally hear “yes”?

Maybe when you hear “yes” FINALLY after hearing “no” a whole lot, you jump far too quickly at the first opportunity. I think this is understandable, don’t you?

So she has heard “no” “no” “no” “no” and then, finally, “Yes.” But that “Yes” comes from a guy she probably shouldn’t quite have trusted. Maybe he’s a few years older, or from outside the college. She didn’t have the time to check him out, or he might have a few drinks in him, or she might, but she finally heard YES and she is truly exhausted at this point.

Or that is what they’ll say when they place blame on her. Because people are that way. They are cruel and dismissive. They judge without understanding where she was coming from. They don’t understand her viewpoint. They are incapable of knowing what it was like, when he was standing there. Besides, he was so nice. And all the others had done nothing but turn away. He was the first. He smiled at her and said hello.


Why do some people fall victim to medical malpractice repeatedly?

Why do some people fall prey to medical mal over and over? I have been thinking about this one for a while. One possible reason is what we see often in the media. The Frivolous Lawsuit Syndrome. I do not think this is the case. I highly doubt any lawyer will take on frivolous lawsuits repeatedly unless he or she is highly overpaid. Still, such a lawsuit is wasteful anyway. I don’t think this is the answer to that question.

What about poverty? Will this cause more medical errors? I doubt that. People who are poor do not have as much access to doctors to begin with, so this will lessen the chances of error. Medical error is not the only form of medical mal, however….. But I still think “better insurance” will not insure against malpractice. Despite what they say, getting better insurance, or even “better doctors,” is not any guarantee against malpractice.

I think malpractice starts with a foundational error. If you consider that one’s record is cumulative, then what if there’s an error way, way back. This means every fact is built on the next. This means that the next fact could be wrong, if the foundational fact is incorrect.

We all know a cracked foundation will produce a leaning tower.

What is the crappy foundation? Say that foundation is, “You are bipolar.” Now what? All the next years are based on this non-fact. All the pills given are wrong. The next pills are to correct that error, and the next, and the next.

This is exactly why I had so many medical malpractice incidents in my life. Because many decades ago, I went to these idiots, told them I had an eating disorder, and they said, “That’s not possible.” Foundation of lies established. From then on, the crooked tower built and built and built, until finally, the whole dishonest thing, without one stone correctly placed, collapsed.


Why do older people refuse “help”?

Why do elders refuse “help”? I can’t really answer that, but I have some ideas. One is the obvious. Sometimes, “help” is too much help. We insult people when we give them too much help.

For instance, if you see an elder who is carrying something, and ESPECIALLY if you have just come from the gym and would love to put those muscles to some practical use, there are those heavy groceries. Isn’t it tempting to carry them, and isn’t it easier for you to do it than this “older” person?

By doing this, what is the message you are giving to the elder.

“You are too old.” Maybe.

Or, “I am in much better shape.” Maybe.

Or, “You just can’t do that.” Maybe.

If the older person isn’t struggling, or panting, or stopping every five seconds to put them down, or hasn’t asked you for help, nor fallen, then chances are she/he is doing just fine. By grabbing the groceries, or insisting on helping, you’re saying, “I can do it better.” And that is an insult.

On the other hand, DO offer anyone, anyone at all a seat on the bus. Anyone. Man, woman, child. Ask, “Do you want to sit down?” That isn’t an insult. You’re not insisting. You’re offering a seat and you’re not judging nor saying “You can’t.” We don’t know if a person, young or old, is exhausted, pregnant, has just worked a double shift, has just come out of surgery, or is coming home from an abortion and her abusive boyfriend wouldn’t pick her up. Offer her a seat. She can say yes or no.

“Help” to an older person is loaded, when we think of all it means. Older people in many societies that judge people by INCOME get devalued. This means you’re worth what you earn, meaning nothing. No paycheck. You become a leach.

Now, you’re a number. A Medicare number. A person the medical system uses to make money, at taxpayer expense. So now you’re to be milked and milked and milked. As soon as doctors learn you’ve retired, you now have a new job. You WORK for the doctor. Elders spend¬† more time in doctor waiting rooms than anywhere else. Waiting. For what? To get milked.

If I ever call any doc again I suppose I’ll tell them “I can’t come then, I have to work.” Because I need to let them know I won’t take on the job of professional elder patient.

What do elders have to look forward to? Nothing. Getting tossed out. So that’s what “help” represents. The nursing home. I would refuse it, too. It represents losing one’s home. Losing one’s independence and freedom. And then they take take take. Or that is how it looks from the outside, anyway. From my standpoint.

I read a story about a couple who refused help, stayed in their home, and died. They stood their ground. To me, that’s fine. They were found months later. Decayed.

I do not at all blame them for wanting to be left alone. No one knows how they died. Somehow, there’s freedom and joy in that. I find beauty in their outright defiance.



The Bogus Reason Dr. David Brendel tried to send me to State in 2011

In 2011, after I was abused in Massachusetts General Hospital (illegally deprived of water), and to my therapist’s dismay (and pretty much everyone around me heard about it, since I would not be silent about what happened), I got stuck in Walden Behavioral Care, on the other side, the regular side, not Alcott, the other one, called Thoreau. Honestly, it wasn’t too bad for a psych unit. Others were far worse. Most of the staff were okay back then but most of the staff that were there are not there anymore. I cannot mention names, actually, because the “good ones,” in being decent to me, had to break rules to do so.

The social worker was hot and cold. Nice, then not so nice. Acted all compassionate, then, took it back. So I can’t say all that nice stuff about her. Wish I could. Like she acted like I had done “danger to self” because out of desperation “stolen” drinking water, just to keep myself hydrated, just to take care of myself. However, they were refusing me my necessary fluids, disregarding the possibility that I had a rare condition called diabetes insipidus. It took till 2012 for them to FINALLY listen.¬† This kidney condition is caused by the pills that were given to me by a doctor, by the way. I took these pills as prescribed for years.

Anyway, I was trying so hard. I still had the typical good hospital/bad hospital mentality that many mental patients end up with. Sorry to say, this is a by-product of the system, and also a by-product of patient abuse. This is inevitable because after patient abuse, the abused patient seeks asylum elsewhere, hoping for “better.” It’s bound to happen. All I wanted was for someone to be nice. Doesn’t that make sense? I had assumed all my life (since I had great parents who did NOT abuse me) that people were kind by nature, that they had good intentions, and that what happened at MGH would not happen again! I figured that another hospital would be “better” simply because human beings were kind. If you grow up with the idea that humans are okay, you’d think this, too.

In fact, I was so shocked by what happened at MGH, the greatest hospital in the world, honestly I could not believe it, I was kinda numbed out and not even feeling anything. I was shell-shocked. I couldn’t feel. I was paralyzed emotionally, and at the same time, wildly angry at what they had done, and desperately thirsty, grabbing anything I could that remotely looked liquid to drink. Dehydration and resulting electrolyte imbalance, which is not a psych disorder, will make a person nuts anyway. I was not a danger to anyone, nor to myself. I was recovering from horrible abuse, and also, recovering physically from what they had done.

So there I was at Walden Behavioral Care. Some staff listened to me, heard what happened at MGH. They were guardedly sympathetic. I KNOW as a fact they really couldn’t extend themselves any further. They couldn’t say, “Julie, you should sue.” I wish they could have gone further, and handed me a list of attorneys. I know a few probably wished they could have, but in doing so, they would have risked their jobs.

I cried a lot. I cried every single day. I bawled. They let me, which was awfully nice. They didn’t call my crying a disease, which was also nice. Sadly, Dr. Brendel and my therapist had other plans for me. I have no clue what was going on outside of my little world in there. I was locked up 26 days. During that time I communicated with the social worker, Rachel, with my outside therapist a little, and with Dr. Brendel. How much did they communicate with each other?

It looks like they were well aware of my blogging and they wanted me silenced. I did not know, at the time, that Dr. Brendel was one of the leading writers and thinkers on what happens when doctors “Google” their patients. He’s written papers on this topic, papers on ethical issues surrounding this. For all I know, issues around my own blog have ended up in his books and papers.

One day, Brendel had me in his office. One other person was present, I think the social worker, but I am not sure. A woman, either her or a medical student. He said to me, “Can you sum up how you are doing in one word ONLY?”

I thought to myself, “He doesn’t want to hear any more about the abuse. He’s well aware of what happened! They all know! He doesn’t really want to hear how I am doing. He wants to hear nothing. I am crazy with this trauma. I can’t even deal with it. And no one wants to hear that. I can’t think straight right now.”

I answered, “Insane.” I was probably describing Brendel, not myself.

He said, “You’re not going to like what I’m going to say to you. Two words.” Then he paused. He said, “State hospital.”

I wasn’t expecting that.

Later, I found out he was sending an awful lot of patients to State, or trying to. I tried to find out why. Most were not, as they say, State material.” Why were so many being sent? Was this an insurance issue? Was it him? Why? Was it Walden? This, in fact, went on for years. Even in 2014 and 2015, patients who should NEVER have been sent to State were being sent from Walden to State. Almost like there was a direct line there.

Was this a financial issue? Undoubtedly. Someone was making money doing this. Sending so many patients to State was certainly not benefiting the patients. Someone was getting rich off of this. I have yet to get to the bottom of it. There is no care there. These places are prisons, and they put vulnerable patients at very serious risk.

Beyond that, in my case, I was sure the issue was silencing. Their aim was to silence me. Brendel and the others foresaw that although I functioned fine and was not a danger to myself no to anyone, I was indeed a danger. To them. To the local hospitals, and to the mental health profession as a guild entirely. What if the kid talks? Well?

They knew this. They knew I had long history. They knew I could remember stuff. They knew I wrote stuff down fastidiously. Brendel had a head on his shoulders. Oh, one of the few psychiatrists who does. So he had the foresight to know that Maybe The Kid Will Talk.

And hey, brothers, maybe we need to do something about her now, before she Squeals.

So it was 2011, and Dr. Brendel decided to have me locked up before I got feisty. Lock the kid up and keep her quiet before she really starts rolling.

Dear Dr. Brendel, YOU FAILED to silence me. You and your pals failed in every way to keep me from writing about the decades of harms I witnessed on the nutwards. I also saw good stuff happen at times. Yeah I write about that stuff, too. You lied to me when you claimed I “needed” the State Hospital. I didn’t.

No, you needed me to be there. Putting me in there was not for my own good, and not for the good of society, but for your own good, and for the good of psychiatry and the medical institutions you represented.