Mental Health Training.

The art school is starting to offer a 2 day / 12 hour certification program of “Mental Health First Aid’ training, in order that people who suspect that someone has a mental health problem learn how to productively interact with that person and get help for them, if needed.

I signed up right away, since it’s not only something that I’d like to know, but it’s an easy way to get to know more faculty and staff at the art school and an easy line too on my CV, and might even leap off the page at someone at some other school when I go apply for jobs later on (you never know how those things are).

Training was good – some photography faculty, some academic advisors, some admin and IT and facilities people (facilities people interact with students a lot, esp. in helping to set up and break down exhibitions).

Three highlights:

1) When at first generally discussing substance abuse, someone wanted to know how much was too much, and one (younger) (black) (female) IT person was like, “In moderation, it’s like fried chicken, you know, some is good sometime, but if it’s all you’re eating everyday, then you’re in trouble.”

2) When at the beginning of the depression unit we were asked what we thought about this Powerpoint photo of an older unkempt (white) woman with a blank stare looking out through a rain-covered window, one of the photography profs – this shorter transgender (white) male with a very forward personality – was like, “You mean as an image?”, and everyone laughed.

3) For a true-false exercise on self-mutilation, the presentation coordinator would read out a statement, and everyone would have to say whether they thought that statement was true or false. 

“Mutilation is always harm,” she was like.

“False!”, said the one photography prof sitting next to me – an (older) (white) woman in her 60s with shoulder-length curly white hair and a simple tribal tattoo encircling her left wrist.  “Body modification.” 

Then, she said that many students proposed self-mutilation as parts of their projects, and they almost always got shot down by the school review board.

“Good point,” someone was like.

Then, at the slight ensuing pause, I raised my hand a bit and was like, “BDSM,”  and at that everyone turned their heads to me, pursed their lips, and nodded approvingly, and then the presentation coordinator leapt in to say that that was all correct, and that on top of that mutilation like cutting could sometimes serve a useful function for the mutilator, in that it served like self-medication and could alleviate otherwise dangerous and disabling feelings like severe anxiety.

. . .