Drugs, guns and the whole bloody mess

I really, really didn’t want to write a blog about the massacre at Virginia Tech. 

However, I have a couple of bees buzzing around in my wee bonnet that need to get out.  I’m allergic to bees.

I’ll try and keep it brief.  Well, kinda.

I found out today that Cho Seung-hui was on antidepressant medication at the time of the massacre.  

Why does that not surprise me?  

It had already occurred to me that he might be.   In fact, I was just waiting for confirmation.

The reason it doesn’t surprise me, is that I am well aware of the statistics regarding violent and suicidal behaviour under the influence of SSRI’s.  (Selective Seretonin Reuptake Inhibitors).  SSRI’s are the most commonly prescribed type of antidepressant.

The following is a sample of school shooters known to have been taking antidepressants:

• May 21, 1998, Springfield, Oregon: 15-year-old Kip Kinkel murdered his own parents and then proceeded to school where he opened fire on students in the cafeteria, killing two and wounding 22. Kinkel had been on Prozac and had undergone “anger management” classes.
• April 16, 1999: Notus, Idaho: 15-year-old Shawn Cooper fired two shotgun rounds in his school narrowly missing students; he was taking a mix of antidepressants.
• April 20, 1999, Columbine, Colorado: 18-year-old Eric Harris was on the antidepressant Luvox when he and his partner Dylan Klebold killed 12 classmates and a teacher before taking his own life in the bloodiest school massacre in history. The coroner confirmed that the antidepressant was in his system through toxicology reports. Dylan Klebold’s autopsy was never made public.
• May 20, 1999, Conyers, Georgia: 15-year-old T.J. Solomon was being treated with a mix of antidepressants when he opened fire on and wounded six of his classmates.
• March 7, 2000, Williamsport, Pennsylvania: 14-year-old Elizabeth Bush was on the antidepressant Prozac when she blasted away at fellow students wounding one.
• March 22, 2001, El Cajon, California: 18-year-old Jason Hoffman was on two antidepressants, Effexor and Celexa, when he opened fire at his high school, wounding five. Hoffman had also undergone an “anger management” program.

Smells a bit funny, dontcha think?

I have vast personal experience of SSRI’s.  I was on them for five years and they cost me almost everything, including three attempts on my life.  I never would have thought in that entire time I was on them, that it was the prescribed drugs making me ill.   I only stopped taking them because I thought they weren’t working, after my last suicide attempt.  Not for a second did I expect that they were the cause of it all.  

I’m still putting my life and myself back together.  It has been devastating.  I only went to my GP once with a complaint about my arm and I happened to mention I was having a hard time at work and that I was very stressed.  She wrote me a prescription.  Boom.  Hello drugs and hello psych ward!  I had no history of mental illness or depression.  

But enough about me.  I’m just telling you this, to put my passion regarding the subject in context.  I am not in favour of these drugs.  They may work for some, but there is no way to tell what is going to work and how.  There is no way on earth to measure brian chemistry.   It’s all hypothesis and guesswork.  

Would you want people playing with your brain, knowing that they’re just guessing?

If only I had known.  I was so naïve.

There have also been a number of celebrity deaths linked with antidepressants: 

• Phil Hartman’s wife was on them and complaining of adverse side effects just before she shot and killed her husband. There is now a law suit against Pfizer, the makers of Zoloft, claiming it was the cause of her violent rage that induced her to murder her husband, before committing suicide.
• Michael Hutchence was taking antidepressants at the time of his apparent suicide in a hotel room.
• Del Shannon shot and killed himself on Prozac.
• Elliot Smith was on a cocktail of psychiatric drugs, including Avanza when he died from a self inflicted stab wound to the chest.   I mean, who the hell in their right mind does that??

I could go on…

Here are a few  more handy facts:

Dr. John Zajecka reported in the Journal of Clinical Psychiatry that the agitation and irritability experienced by patients withdrawing from one SSRI can cause “aggressiveness and suicidal impulsivity.” In Lancet, the British medical journal, Dr. Miki Bloch reported on patients who became suicidal and homicidal after stopping an antidepressant, with one man having thoughts of harming “his own children.”

Selective Serotonin Reuptake Inhibitors (SSRIs) can cause anxiety and agitation, bizarre dreams, and akathisia. It is estimated that between 10% and 25% of SSRI users experience akathisia, often in conjunction with suicidal thoughts, hostility and violent behavior.

A 1998 British report revealed that at least 5% of SSRI patients suffered “commonly recognized” side effects that include agitation, anxiety and nervousness. Around 5% of the reported side effects include aggression, hallucinations, malaise and depersonalization.

In 1995, nine Australian psychiatrists reported that patients had slashed themselves or become preoccupied with violence while taking SSRIs. “I didn’t want to die, I just felt like tearing my flesh to pieces,” one patient told the psychiatrists.

5% may not seem like many people at first glance, but when you consider that there are approximately 1 million people on Antidepressants in Australia, that’s 50,000 people suffering adverse effects of these drugs.  That’s a LOT of people, and some are going to be worse than others.   Goodness knows what the figures are for America.

So, do ya think prescribed psychiatric drugs might have played a part in sending Cho Seung-hui off the deep end? 

I reckon so. 

At the very least, it’s worth investigating.

I keep reading about the media furore in the US, with everyone looking for someone to blame.  It’s obvious there are too many factors at play to point the finger at one entity, although I am utterly convinced that this would never have happened if it wasn’t for that young man being on antidepressants.

I see American gun laws as the other major player. 

Being an Australian, I find American gun culture a most curious thing.  It’s just so alien to what I know.  We don’t ‘do’ guns here.  After the Port Arthur massacre in 1996 (which is still the world’s worst.  Something to be proud of, eh?) the Australian government spent $500 million on a gun buy-back scheme.  640,381 personal firearms, including semi-automatic .22 rifles and shotguns, were handed in.  Now, some types of guns are banned altogether and you need a strict licence to own one, which involves background checks and giving a bloody good reason for needing a gun.  Such as being a farmer, law-enforcement officer, or sports shooter.

The only other people who have guns in Australia are the occasional well-off criminal, who can afford to buy one on the black market.

I don’t get the impression Cho Seung-hui was terribly well off.

I do understand that the psychology of gun ownership is far more complex in America.   I mean, just look at the Wild West.  The culture is way too ingrained to ever hope of pushing through legislative changes like Australia did after the Port Arthur massacre. 
 
I don’t want to go on and on about this, but I’ll leave you with some brief statistics:

Gun ownership in Australia is 5.2%. 

Gun ownership in the US is soomewhere between 38-50%.

Here is a comparison of US gun homicides to other industrialized countries:
In 1998 (the most recent year for which this data has been compiled), handguns murdered:

373 people in Germany
151 people in Canada
57 people in Australia
19 people in Japan
54 people in England and Wales, and
11,789 people in the United States

Note that these numbers account only for HOMICIDES, and do not include suicides, which comprise an even greater number of gun deaths, or unintentional shootings.

Even if you put the population of all the other countries together, which would roughly equate to the population of the United States, the death toll doesn’t even come close. Do you suppose it’s because the other countries have gun control laws?

Just, maybe.

Lastly, a disturbingly humorous video to lighten the mood:

Watch as this DEA agent shoots himself in the foot in front of a class of students.   Literally.  My favourite part is when he pulls out the bigger gun.  Oh, and when he says “I am the only one professional enough in the room to carry one.”   That’s a cracker.  I am however slightly disturbed that there are children in the room.  Check it out:

In other news:  Over 200 people killed by suicide bombers this week in Iraq.  Just thought I ought to mention it….

Other Sources: Citizen’s Commission on Human Rights, ICHV.org

Song Of The Day: Pop Will Eat Itself – Wise Up Sucker!

Beware the Phantom Knicker Nicker

This is the first in a line of stories about my adventures with perverts and freaks.  I have an impressive track record.

“Freak Magnet” is one term I’ve always used to describe myelf.  I just wish there was some way to demagnetise…

This fellow was up there with the freakiest of them all:

When I was a teenager, my mother and I lived alone together in a townhouse near my highschool.  It was a relatively small block of 10, with a small private courtyard, backing onto a laneway that stretched the length of the suburb.

We lived there for 5 years and over time, it became apparent that we were running out of underwear. 

We both noticed it. 

“Where are my undies?  I’ve only got a few pairs left.” 

“I don’t know, but I’m sure I have more than this, too…”

“When did you last do the washing?”

“You know when.  It was last Wednesday.”

“Well, that’s wierd.  I should have more than this.”

“Lemme check mine…….. No.  This isn’t right.  I should have more than this, too.”

“I think someone’s stealing our underwear.”

“Noooo…. Surely not.  Look at the size of our courtyard!  It’s tiny and the clothesline is right under my bedroom window.  Why would anyone do that?”

“I don’t know, but we are definitely missing underwear… I’m sure of it.”

“No.  God, do you think?  How?  No…”

“I don’t even want to think about it.  How do we find out?”

“Call the cops.”

“Do you think?  Would they care?”

“No harm in trying… Call them.”

“Let’s just give it another week or so and see what happens on the next washing day.”

“Okay, but I seriously need some new underwear…”

“Yahh…Me too.”

We waited. 

Next washing day came around and we hung out our smalls as usual, along with the rest of the load.  Sheets, clothes… We let everything dry overnight.  We both knew something wasn’t right and we were worried, but we had to test our theory before calling the cops and potentially wasting their time.

The next day after school, I took the basket outside, to bring in the laundry.

I saw immediately that there were gaps where our panties had once hung. 

We were now down to about two pairs each.

It was pretty clear we were being targeted by a snowdropper.  We bought some emergency underwear.

The very next afternoon, I took a walk to the shop up the road to buy some bread.  Whilst I was wandering along, I heard a bird chirping in a tree.  I looked up, and saw a pair of undies hanging from one of the lower branches.

Sorry, what? 

I looked closer. I recognised them. They were my mother’s underpants. They were low enough for me to reach.  I grabbed them and put them in my pocket. 

I quietly started freaking out, but kept walking and looking up.

There was another pair, a couple of trees up.

I couldn’t reach them.

I arrived at the shop and bought my goods.  On the way home, I took a different route and walked down the laneway behind the block that lead to our house. 

I tend to live in my own little “Vanessa” world when I’m on the street.  I look around and drink in my surroundings.  Many things catch my eye.

Like, the beauty in a bloom.

Or..

A pair of knickers.

As I was looking down, trying not to think about what I had in my pocket, I saw a piece of cloth on the ground.  I looked closer.

My breath went a little bit funny and I started to feel a bit panicky, but not in a very serious way.  Just a little bit.  Honestly.

I scooped them up and kept walking, keeping an eye out on the way.

A few metres down the lane later, more undies on the ground.  My hand went over my mouth.

Mine.

Then, more again… Mum’s.

Okay.

I started to look up.

There were tree’s above me and as far as I could see, there were three pairs of panties hanging from high branches.  Higher than I could reach.

I grabbed what I could reach and ran the rest of the way home.

“Muuummm!!!”

“What? What?”

I spilled all the item’s I’d gathered on the dining room table. 

“I.. I found these… IwaswalkingupthelanewayandIsawtheseonthegroundandinthetreeandwhen Iwascoming backthey wereintheSTREET!!!!!”

“WHAAAAAT?”

“I’m not joking.  They were hanging in the trees… and strewn everywhere…”  I started crying.

“That’s it.  I’m calling the police.”

The police came to our house.  They took us seriously.  So seriously, they organised for surveillance to be set up in our tiny, little courtyard.

They cut a hole in a box of laundry detergent and put it in the laundry window, which overlooked the washing line.  Poking through the hole was a camera lens.  The laundry window had no covering and if you were in the courtyard, by the back door, you could see right into the loungeroom.  This had Mum and I really worried.  Had someone been watching us?  If so, for how long? 

On the ground, after we put out the next load of washing, we were instructed to drape a bed sheet on the ground, under the washing line, to look as though it had fallen off the line.  Under the sheet was a mat.  To step on the mat, would set off the camera in the window.

We were freaked out. 

We were two women alone (I was 14).

Somebody was watching us and now the police had set up this trap.  We were pretty sure we were going to catch whoever it was who was doing this.

We did a load of bogus washing, hung it out and waited until the next morning. 

I don’t think either of us slept well that night.

The next morning, I was first to leave the house on my way to school.

I opened the door.

A smell hit me.

It wasn’t pleasant.

I looked down and saw something on the doorstep. 

It was brown.  A brown lump.

It was shit.

Someone had done a shit on our doorstep.  A big, fat shit.  In our little gated courtyard. 

He (assuming it was a “he”), had entered our space yet again, stepped around the trap, pulled down his pants and left an enormous, smelly shit on our doorstep.

I put my hand over my face to block the pungent odour and looked around. 

It was then I saw that our friend had taken a two pairs of my underpants off the line, wiped his arse and had left the soiled garments under the clothesline, in the middle of the courtyard.  In fact, he’d left them on top of the sheet, under which was the mat that was supposed to set off the hidden camera.

He was onto our trap. How much was he watching??

“MUUUMMM!!!!”

“What??”

“COME HERE AND LOOK AT THIS!!!”

As she made her way downstairs, I ventured further.  I looked at my bike, which was in its usual spot against the only tree in the small area. 

I nearly choked.

It was covered in shit.

I rode my bike to school nearly every day.

My bike had shit smeared all over it.

There was shit, everywhere.

We were speechless (except for this):

“MY BIKE!!!”

Neither of us knew what to do.  The trap hadn’t worked.  Obviously we needed to call the police again…

They didn’t quite know what to do either. 

They told us they’d work on it.

A close school friend of mine Justine, lived in the next suburb, but not too far away from me. 

A week or so later, Justine’s mother was in her backyard hanging out her own washing, when she heard a strange sound coming from the yard nextdoor.

Really, quite a strange sound.

She ventured over to the fence and peeked over to her neighbour’s garden.

There, she saw a young blond man over the fence, who was naked apart from a pair of women’s panties’ on his head, standing under the washing line, masturbating in full glory.

She tried not to disturb him/puke and snuck back inside to call the police.

The police arrived quickly and caught him.

Meanwhile, at our end, we cleaned up the shit and replenished our supply of underwear.  We also lived in fear that our pervert was going to return.  Leaving the house was a trial on a daily basis.

A couple of weeks passed…

We never found out for sure who the phantom knicker nicker/shitter was, but after Justine’s mum caught that man, we were never bothered again…

MORE PERVERT STORIES TO COME

Song Of The Day – Elbow – Any Day Now