 As you read this, I will have just retired from a 35-year career as a mental health professional in the National Health Service (NHS). During this time, I have worked with some of the most inspirational yet vulnerable people, and every single moment was a privilege. When I answered the call to contribute to this remarkable series of essays from the equally remarkable Ginger Nuts of Horror, I was at a point where my retirement paperwork had been submitted and the focus shifting to my prospective writing career. Ironic, then, that in the same week, my contemporary mental health novel Finding Jericho should be snapped up by Demain Publishing, and the need to explore the stigma of mental illness and social exclusion, core issues of the novel, would be at the forefront of my mind. I start with a word of caution. There is a chance that some creatives will read this article and take offence or find it preachy, snubbing the content based on what may be perceived as the moral high ground. As a writer, I say – that is your prerogative. As a mental healthcare professional, however, I say, I really don’t care. This is an issue far bigger than any individual writer with a frail ego. One thing is fundamental to any moral tenet, societal perception often defines its worth, its relevance and, above all, the level we all, as a community, tolerate it. This is true of the horror genre, and it is certainly true of mental illness. So much so, I am often asked how, as an advocate of mental health and social inclusion, I can support, let alone contribute to the genre. Most mental health professionals are, quite rightly, cautious around the horror genre. I say ‘quite rightly’ because, historically, there is evidence the genre has declared open season on the mentally ill over the past decades, perpetuating the myth of mental illness and its misinterpretation in society, namely that of mental illness as a vehicle for fear. For example, in 1966, the great Alfred Hitchcock was interviewed by Phillip Jenkinson and challenged about his movie Psycho. Jenkinson cited that mental health professionals and patients alike had informed him during a therapy session that the film had, in their view, “set back the cause of mental health by several years”. In response, Hitchcock mentioned the case of a man who had admitted killing three women, claiming that one murder had taken place shortly after watching Psycho. As part of his argument, Hitchcock suggested that the perpetrator had already considered and committed heinous acts and to blame a film for inciting another was wholly unfair. And to this I would have to agree. However, Jenkinson’s original statement was, in fact, talking about the mental health cause, that is, societal view of mental illness in generic media. In this instance, I fear the great director seriously missed the implications of the statement, and the longer lasting effects. When I see writers tackle mental health and horror articles, there is a primary focus on how the lived experience of mental illness informs and influences their work, or how the art of writing can help in the recovery process. Both have value in their own way, the insights gleaned from the likes of Brian Kirk in his remarkable articles while researching his 2015 novel, We Are Monsters, are invaluable to those creatives who have endured the same issues, the garnering of hope that mental health is something that is not insurmountable, ultimately becoming a forum for shared learning on the road to recovery. This is also important because recovery and hope are at the heart of reducing the stigma of mental health. The effects of stigma are simple and well documented, it stops suffers talking about their illness and is a core element to them not seeking help, be that from professionals or family. Stigma also impedes the recovery process, making a person feel excluded from society that has no wish to understand their needs. This is the true impact of ignorance. And there is no excuse for it. Poor horror writing is a countermeasure to hope as it perpetuates stigma. Take the following paragraph from Finding Jericho: “No matter what we choose to call those with mental illness―nutters, head-bangers, psychos, crazies, idiots, to name but a few―never forget these are not, and never will be, terms of endearment. There isn't any affection attached to such labels. They're only brands that serve to de-humanise and isolate.” Like it or not, when it comes to the depiction of mental illness and madness, horror writers have responsibilities. Not only to their readership but to those who must endure these terrible illnesses. We can advocate for the person, or we can contribute to the stigma, the choice is ours, be it conscious or made in ignorance, through a lack of research or wilful, hackneyed writing. If writers make that conscious decision to depict mental illness in a one-dimensional, sensationalist narrative, then this article is perhaps not for them. Just like their work will not be for me should I happen across it. For those who want to make a difference with their work and take the time to write tales that are sensitive of the issues, then perhaps the following considerations may prove useful. From a mental health professional standpoint, stigma reduction has basic components that, if applied to the narrative, will support the development of tales that will not perpetuate misconceptions and myths traditionally associated with mental illness. These components are
For a writer, awareness means research, it means being clued up on how different illnesses affect people, not just in terms of symptoms, but how these symptoms can impact on day-to-day living. There is a wealth of information from mental health charities (MIND, RETHINK MENTAL ILLNESS, SANE, etc) that can give writers an insight into the true influence mental illness has on the person and their family. Many of these sites also contain examples of people’s lived experience of mental illness and its implications. Real stories, real horror, of loss and despair but ultimately a testament to recovery. I’ve already mentioned about being responsible when writing about mental illness, but this next piece of advice is underlined in triplicate. There is NO established link between mental illness and a propensity for violence. Statistically, those who are mentally ill are more likely to be victims of violence, given the socio-economic decline often associated with deteriorating mental health. Using mental illness as an excuse for characters committing heinous acts is not only inaccurate, is also highly offensive. Give characters another reason, think about the influences society has on decision-making, be that good or bad, benign of maleficent. The writer is in a unique position where, if there is an established readership, the characters can inform and raise awareness. Having characters who overcome their mental health crisis, even if this is in some small way, demonstrates a sense of hope, and hope is key to recovery. I understand that characters must reflect society in order to ground them in the real world and make them relatable to readers. You may well have characters who, as part of their worldview, use some of the less favourable definitions of mental illness already discussed here. What I would say is let’s have some other characters who challenges their statements from time to time, putting forward a counterargument for such perceptions, challenging the stigma. If nothing else, this can add tension and interesting dynamics to the scene and, in truth, is more in keeping with 21st century mental health initiatives. Think about the recent Time to Talk campaigns, let’s, as writers, challenge the silence associated with mental health. Good writing is the art of provoking emotions unique to humanity, stoking the fires of interest and intrigue, each the building blocks of human curiosity. No more so than in the horror genre, where the most basic concepts of fear and thrill are aligned. The act of telling tales requires nuance and, above all, a will on the behalf of the writer to be more than schlock, more than a cheap shock at the expense of the most vulnerable people in society. I will end this article with a plea to all creatives working in the field of horror, irrespective of the medium, and it is this, when it comes to depicting mental illness, don’t be lazy and ignorant, don’t be cheap. Be informed. Be better. Dave Jeffery, January 2020  Madness is relative... Jonathan Dupree knows this all too well. He’s moved in with his mother to look after his uncle, a life-long sufferer of mental illness. When school kids target Jonathan, he makes a pact with a local gang to fit in, a pact that will see him betray his family and seek redemption from a most unlikely source. The question is, will it work? As found on the BBC Headroom Recommended Reading list. “Jeffery has created a fantastic text that is useful for adolescents who are either carers or service users themselves. Wonderful.” – Madness and Literature Network.   Comments are closed.
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