The pain of the nameless. Of those who were baptized with a label. The pain of those who possess the scarlet letter of the mental health diagnosis that condemns them to an existence full of misunderstanding. The pain of those who have been branded dangerous, weird, eccentric, harmful, and misunderstood by people who haven’t even bothered to meet them.
They are those who are pointed out on the street. They are the madman of the town, the eccentric neighbor of your portal, the weird man of your street. They are not people, they are an accumulation of disqualifications, for the most part perpetuated over the years, that have dehumanized them in the eyes of others. They are an empty diagnosis, they are people without identity.
Perhaps you are so used to hearing these adjectives that you have not stopped to think about how the listener feels. You may even think that the recipient is laughing because they are as funny as you. But he thinks that perhaps his laugh is produced because he does not have the strength to make himself known to those who judged him with a simple glance and saw that being different could disqualify him. How would you feel if you were the one who received those insults or such unsympathetic qualifications?
“It is not convenient to label things as black or white, but to make an effort to perceive them as black and white at the same time. Or like gray, red, blue, yellow … Having good or bad features does not mean being a good or bad person. Whoever has a tendency to label people they know is likely to encourage their mania to value themselves in absolutist terms “
All this happens when at first they thought that, within their discomfort, if there was an answer to a diagnosis, a reason to feel so bad, they could receive treatment and thus solve their problems. But, in most cases, that label, that damned label that associates them with mental health is more of a burden than a solution.
It is a burden, because in the eyes of society they become dangerous, aggressive, uncontrollable and unreliable people. There is no longer work for them, there is no longer any hope of a better life because the label has condemned them to the existence in exile of the different, the forgotten.
There is nothing left, only the pain of the nameless, of those who saw how their dreams, when labeled, were left in hopes of dead paper. And yet society asks to reintegrate them. But how? If they are only being judged and society does not give them the opportunity to teach everything they are worth, everything they can do.
“It’s pathetic that we can’t live with the things we don’t understand. That we need everything to be labeled and explained and deconstructed. Although it is completely inexplicable “