Guest Post: A Chronic Madness: My Path to a Healthier Existence

Many thanks to Whitney for writing this post!

CW: sanism


To whom it may concern,

I am a mad woman. I believe I was born a mad woman. When I was just a zygote the madness was brewing. Nobody knew it was coming. To be honest, as it was creeping in year by year, no one believed my desperate cries for help. My first memory of my madness was when I was around 4 or 5 years old. I saw what I believed to be God while I was playing in my Aunt’s backyard. That image would follow me and shape my beliefs for years to come. At 5 years old, anything you hallucinate tends to be viewed by others as a vivid imagination. I did not mention hallucinating again until I was 12. The abrupt mood swings began to get out of control when I was 9 years old. I would fly into a rage and run out of my 4th grade classroom in search of the school counselor. I wonder now why no one thought that to be unusual. Nobody seemed to think any of my behavior or claims of being crazy were anything more than the dramatic efforts of a young girl to get attention. That is, until it all spiraled out of control on December 26, 2001. I was 16 when my life as I knew it and that of those close to me changed forever. The madness took hold that day and strangled me. Panic set in and I collapsed into a kitchen chair following several hours of screaming, crying, throwing objects, and desperately seeking solace. I looked up from the table at my mother and simply stated, “I think I need some help.” The help came, but slowly. In 2002, mental health parity was not what it is today. I waited for doctors. I was denied hospitalizations. I was drugged into such a stupor I have few memories from that year or the one after it. The madness ebbed and flowed for a long time as I tried different treatments.

Flash forward. I am still a mad woman. I live with bipolar disorder. Madness is a life sentence for me. After years of trying different medications with varying degrees of compliance, I feel mostly healthy. I believe the combination of medications and talk therapy I have utilized over the years has allowed me this state of being. I put in WORK to get where I am on this Madness journey. My choices about how to deal with bipolar disorder may seem conventional, but for me, it works. Kay Redfield Jamison said, “People go mad in idiosyncratic ways.” I believe we also find our healing and coping similarly. Friends I have with the same Madness, throughout the years, have chosen different paths. Some believe substance use, what society calls illicit drugs, are the answer to the pain and suffering their Madness causes. Some believe that god made them Mad and that is the way they are supposed to live. Others believe eating specific foods and getting regular exercise can help them overcome the Madness. Everyone has their own journey. There is no right way to be or treat Madness. That is what I’ve learned working as a mental health therapist.

I am very open about the state of my brain. I do not mind telling people I have bipolar disorder. I do not mind sharing my choices for treatment. I am firm in my choices though. My current therapist disagrees with my choice to take medication for the rest of my life. She asked me if I’d ever thought about using other coping strategies to manage my Madness. I explained that I use a lot of coping skills along with my medication, but that when I’m not taking meds, the pain is too great and I suffer. In my Mad mind, I should not ever have to suffer unnecessarily. If I have something that allows me to have a job, a partner, feed my cat, and take care of my hygiene, I am going to take it!

Most days, strangers would never know just how Mad I really am. Generally, I like it that way. Sometimes having an “invisible illness” is challenging. I do not look sick. It’s difficult to tell my supervisor at work that I’m feeling fragile or agitated when I look perfectly fine. It’s hard to explain to new friends who have never seen me in my dark days that I can’t hang out because I’m too depressed and anxious to get in the shower. These things do not happen as often anymore, but when they do, I feel like a burden from the stigma. I am a healthy person with a chronic Madness. I am a fully functioning adult 95% of the time. When the Madness breaks through the Abilify and the Zoloft barriers I put in place, I am no less worthy than I was before. Madness, while part of my identity, does not define me. So, yes, I am a Mad woman. I am a Mad woman who chose to live. I chose to live true to myself. I sincerely hope you do, too.

With the deepest love,

Whitney H. Applebaum

Guest Post: Trust me, I have already thought about their feelings

A huge thank you to Karlie Ebersole for contributing this guest post!

CW: sanism, ableism


A couple months ago, I decided for the third time in my life that I needed to begin to see a therapist. As someone with an anxious and often depressive neurotype, there are generally two options posed to me: talk to a therapist or take meds. Since I feel like so much of my experience with Madness is linked to my experiences and social position in society, I generally feel reluctant to reflexively take the latter option and am more inclined towards talk therapy. I LOVE to talk… even when I often hate myself after I do it a lot. Perhaps subconsciously I truly believe that talking can solve all of my problems. While that might not be exactly true, I do believe that there is a lot of power in trying to confront our emotions and past traumas when we have the resources and/or desire to do so.

The first time that I tried to see a therapist was a process. A game of writing the number to call on my to-do list and watching weeks and weeks pass by without having called to make an appointment. I had recently moved to college and was becoming distant from many of my friends back home if I had not already lost them altogether. I felt scared and alienated from my peers and was coming off from a period where I used alcohol to cope. Because I was beginning to understand and recognize my worth as a disabled person and was beginning to name my queerness, I was only able to start peeling at the outer layers serving as barriers to my self-understanding once finally finding someone to talk to. After all, my therapist was at a short-term clinic and it felt incentivized to make my problems seem tangible and concise. I was able to fool myself into feeling I reached some sort of resolution towards the end of my sessions, completely unaware that resolution and closure should not have been the goal.

The next time I tried to see a therapist was maybe a year later. I decided to go to an affordable clinic. In the college town where I live, this meant that I saw someone who was still in training. Objectively I was fine with this. After all, I really just wanted someone to listen to me and validate what I was saying. Well, she listened to me alright. I found myself just going in there and talking and talking sometimes feeling like I forgot to take a breath. I felt validated but upon reflection I think this might just be because she did not do anything to overtly invalidate me. She laughed at all my jokes including the ones I made to avoid confronting how shitty I felt about things in my life, but I appreciated that validation at the time too. To her credit, she did give me lots of worksheets to help me evaluate my values and she helped me practice mindfulness a few times. I felt like I was being offered tools that would help me in the real world outside of our sessions. Unfortunately these sessions expired around the time that I am assuming my therapist was completing her program. She made me feel like I had accomplished something, but that feeling did not last long. A few more layers were peeled.

Fast forward another year or so to this year and I am realizing that all my past therapy experiences have sufficed merely as band-aids to underlying issues. I am not going to pretend to have a complete understanding of what these issues are, but I do figure they reside somewhere in my unprocessed trauma. And as most disabled folks with able-bodied parents probably know, much of this trauma lies in (or becomes exacerbated by) these familial relationships. More than that, there are nuances to having any relationships with non-disabled people that solicit deep reflection and self-care work; the latter not being really possible without the former. This dynamic is not exclusive to any specific marginal identity, as I have learned by listening to other marginalized folks that this is a common experience. What is important is acknowledging that marginalized folks are vulnerable to their oppressors whether or not the oppressor intends to cause harm. So where can we go to receive the care that will validate our position? Where can we feel safe to express what society wants us to keep silent about– our oppression, often the very core of our problems?

I was inspired to write this because of my most recent experiences in therapy. Right as I begin to make myself vulnerable, expressing basic grief over all the pain I have experienced born out of living and interacting with the world as anomaly, clinicians seem to have a knee-jerk reaction:

“Have you thought about how [insert name of person other than myself] must have felt?”

Here’s the thing about being multiply marginalized disabled person: it is normal to feel like we take up too much space even when we take up a fraction of most others. I was socialized to feel like a burden, to feel lucky if someone decided to pay attention to me in any way that seemed remotely positive. I was made to feel like I should thank people for treating me with the basic respect that is expected to be afforded to white, able-bodyminded, cishet folks. And there are of course layers to this, but even if there is a respect that is not afforded to non-disabled folks, it will never be because of their ability status.

What is it that I am trying to express? In a lot of ways, I am still working through that but a theme has come up a lot lately for me in spaces where I would hope to feel safe and receive care. This theme relates to the pressure to empathize or sympathize with those who have caused me harm, whether that harm was intentional or otherwise. Let me be clear. It is not therapeutic to encourage me to consider how my existence and intrinsic behaviors make other people feel, especially when their feelings are often rooted and/or influenced by ableist/saneist notions of normality. I do not need reinforcement that I am a burden to everyone around me, that I need to prioritize others before myself. I already do this. It is natural for me, reflexive. It is in these moments where I realize how easy it is to slip through the cracks, how critically misunderstood so many marginalized people are and how urgent it is to have more therapists who are informed about vast human complexity. Informed feels like an understatement. They just need to….. give a shit. Our lives cannot be reduced to stereotypical narratives and all of our problems are not going to be directly related to our marginal identities. However, if a fundamental mutual understanding our material experiences cannot be reached, if there is no space for that to be heard, how can we truly benefit from these interactions at all?

I hope that by speaking my truth and connecting with other folks who are marginalized, I will begin to find channels where I can be cared for in ways that will allow me to heal from trauma, or at the very least can allow me to find peace. More importantly, I hope that I find the space within myself to feel worthy of receiving that care.

Reblog: Can the suicidal (academic) speak? Personal reflections on depression, suicide and research.

Want a taste of the future of Critical Suicide Studies? Check out this blog.
CW for suicide, suicidality, sanism/ableism.

Compulsory Able-Mindedness II

CW for sexual violence, psychiatric violence, suicidality.

If you have experienced the suicide of someone close to you, it might be best not to read this post.

In my last post with this title, I talked about the nature of compulsory able-mindedness and how there is a ubiquitous expectation in our society that we all will pursue this, do our best to achieve this. I pointed out that this expectation is sanist/ableist and that Mad and neurodivergent people should not have to conform to normative ideas about how we should or should not behave/move/think/act. Beyond this, I suggested that ‘care/treatment’ in its current manifestation is designed for the benefit and improved wellbeing of able-minded people, not for Mad and neurodivergent people.

A lot of people had strong reactions to this; it was clear that many disagreed with me. As far as I could tell, virtually none who disagreed with me identify as Mad/neurodivergent/otherwise non-neurotypical. As far as I could tell, it was able-minded people rejecting my stance that Mad/neurodivergent people should be free to be/live/die as we wish. As far as I could tell, the people most adamantly protesting my view that non-Mad people should not define, prescribe, and administer (without consent) care/treatment of Mad people are not, themselves, Mad. It seems to me that the people who find the idea of Mad/neurodivergent self-determination most offensive are able-minded people. In other words, the neurotypical people who were angry at my rejection of ableist/sanist ‘care’ were enacting the kinds of normative expectations I mentioned within the concept of ‘compulsory able-mindedness.’

Here’s a thing: no one disagreed that our society expects Mad/neurodivergent people to (want to) seek care/treatment.

Here’s another thing: Most people agreed that ‘care/treatment’ of Mad/neurodivergent is often implemented without consent. Most people agreed that some Mad/neurodivergent people cannot consent, at times. On this point, we all agree: non-consensual ‘care’ of Mad/neurodivergent people is normal in our culture.

I must say that it surprised me that neurotypicals readily agreed that some Mad and neurodivergent people aren’t capable of giving consent at times. It surprised me, in part, because many (especially progressive/liberal) Americans subscribe to a ‘rights’ model of humanity: human beings are special and our rights should be protected; we should have individual liberties; we should have bodily autonomy (a concept foundational to the anti-rape movement); and so on. Rights-based thinking leads many Americans to accept that, in most cases, it is wrong to do something to someone who has not consented to that thing (be it sexual contact, medical treatment, etc.).

This is not the case for Mad/neurodivergent people. When we venture into certain territories—in particular, ‘A Danger to Myself or Others’ territory—we suddenly lose many if not all of our rights. I suspect this is because, to some degree, we lose our humanity. Neurotypicals can expect to hold onto their rights until they have actually harmed someone or something. Mad/neurodivergent people, though, can have our rights taken away by neurotypicals if we are suspected of being ‘a danger’—that is, before we’ve harmed anyone or anything. There is a chicken-egg dilemma here in that it’s hard to know if our rights are being taken away because we are seen as less human, or if we are dehumanized because neurotypicals have seen ‘the need’ to take our rights away. Either way, ‘It’s for our own good.’

All of these thoughts on bodily sovereignty, rights, humanity, and so forth have been leading me to a particular realm of thought: suicidality. It is possible that I’m drawn here partly because of my own morbid inclinations, but more likely that conversations of bodily sovereignty inevitably turn to ‘the most extreme’ beliefs about the body and our entitlements.

There are books to be filled (and that have been filled) about bodily sovereignty. I don’t want to write a literature review here. I want to talk about the everyday effects of neurotypicals casually accepting the violation of the Mad bodymind while vehemently rejecting assertions of Mad autonomy and self-determination.

Before I delve into the connections between suicide and bodily sovereignty, I want to say a few things about perceptions of suicidal people.

One paradox of suicide is that thinking and talking about it makes one crazy and irrational, yet avoiding or preventing it (and healing from ideation) often hinge on our ability to discuss it. In the neurotypical imagination, to admit that I’m thinking about killing myself precludes me from partaking in potentially life-saving discussions about suicide.

Perhaps stemming from this, another weird thing is that if I don’t mention suicide/suicidal ideation, neurotypicals assume that I’m ‘not extreme’ or even that I’m ‘on their side.’ But the minute I do mention suicide/ideation, suddenly my opinion is crazy, irrational, and devoid of merit. This is evidence of the ways that Mad people are alienated from discussions of our own needs, problems, desires, and strategies for (not) living with Madness. The void created by the absence of Mad voices is filled by sanist and non-Mad voices telling us ‘the facts’ about suicide and sane-splaining how to prevent it. David Webb discusses the striking absence/exclusion of Mad people from suicidology (the study of suicide) in the piece “Thinking (Differently) About Suicide.” Webb explains that because suicide and suicidal ideation are heavily pathologized in our culture, neurotypical suicidologists assume that Mad people who think about, plan for, and/or attempt suicide are irrational have nothing to contribute to the study of these topics, which is primarily science-based.

I do take issue with an aspect of Webb’s piece, though, which is its focus on the notion of ‘prevention.’ Thinking about the Western obsession with ‘prevention’ guides us back to the links between suicide and bodily sovereignty.

‘Suicide prevention’ is a collocation in English, indicative of anti-Mad and anti-suicide beliefs that run deep in Western cultures. If I’m suicidal, it’s assumed that I am crazy and also that I should get ‘treatment.’ If I discover that someone else is suicidal, it’s assumed that I should prevent it. This prevention should happen regardless of the suicidal person’s wishes; intervention and prevention should happen by any means necessary, up to the point of violating the suicidal person’s bodily autonomy and forcing ‘treatment’ upon them.

Here is another paradox of suicide: sometimes feeling suicidal means simultaneously feeling out of and in control. Suicidal ideation is empowering for some us precisely because it is a means of taking control, even when we feel out of control.

Violating a suicidal person’s bodily autonomy can have the effect of reinforcing that person’s feelings of disempowerment. Forced ‘care/treatment’ reifies our experience of not being in control.

Even for those of us for whom suicidal ideation is never empowering or does not make us feel in control, non-consensual ‘care’ is rarely empowering. Feelings of being out of control are often accompanied by feelings of disempowerment, fear, hopelessness, and worthlessness.

There is a connection between violation of bodily autonomy and subsequent depression and suicidal ideation. This is not remotely surprising to anyone who has experienced and/or studied sexual violence (i.e. experiencing sexual violence is a risk factor for suicide), medicalized trauma, imprisonment, or other instances in which a person experiences bodily violation or loss of control over the self.

Considering this, it seems antithetical to frame intervention/prevention as ‘caring’ when it entails a lack of consent. It seems odd to take for granted that we must intervene on the suicidal person, and that we do so under the guise of ‘care.’

So we live in a sanist culture where non-consensual ‘care’ of/intervention on Mad people is normalized (even when Mad people experience it as harm), while Madness and the exercise of Mad autonomy is pathologized. Not choosing treatment is a non-option; ‘treatment’ is narrowly defined within the range of the neurotypical imagination (and obviously does not include suicide). The very rejection of treatment is, itself, pathologized: when we are told something is ‘wrong’ with us yet we do not choose ‘treatment,’ the neurotypical assumption is that such rejection is symptomatic of our ‘mental illness.’

If Mad people reject treatment, we do so because we are crazy and this opens the door to non-consensual enforcement of ‘care.’ Therefore, not only is able-mindedness a standard expectation in our culture but ‘treatment’ is mandatory.

I think I should make it really clear that I do not think suicide is wrong or bad. Sometimes it is sad, devastating, angering, terrifying— suicide pings the range of human emotions. Suicide is also extremely personal and context-dependent. I will probably write more about this some day, but I don’t want readers to get the impression that a) I’m over-the-moon happy about suicide all the time or b) all suicidal people are the same. In fact, that is a sanist perspective: all suicidal people are the same, which is why there are only a tiny handful of approaches for dealing with us. Suicide and suicidal people are complex, and the sanist temptation is to boil us down into the least complex terms imaginable. The sanist imagination strikes me as a lack-thereof. If you are reading this as a binary (“they didn’t say suicide is 100% bad, therefore they are saying suicide is 100% good”), then you hold a sanist perspective.

One of my goals with writing about this crazy stuff is to try to imagine new ways of thinking about and approaching Madness and Mad people, and to get sane people to be more imaginative about life, death, in/sanity, un/wellness, care, and community.

In that vein, mine is not the only perspective. If you feel like you have something to say about this stuff (madness, mental illness, suicide, bodily sovereignty, psychiatric care, disability, sanism/ableism, etc. etc.), I would love to give you a platform for talking about it—this blog could be a place to start. If writing appeals to you, I am happy to serve as an editor if you so desire. If you want to post something here on my blog, you can do so under your name or anonymously. Consider this an open invitation. ^_^


References and Further Reading:

Webb, David. “Thinking (Differently About Suicide.” Searching for a Rose Garden. Edited by Jasna Russo and Angela Sweeney. UK: PCCS Books. 2016. Link:

“Victims of Sexual Violence: Statistics.” RAINN. June 22, 2016.

The Icarus Project.

Compulsory Able-Mindedness

CW for sanist/ableist BS and a reference to suicide.

I have noticed this trend lately where people talk about Madness (or usually they’re calling it ‘mental illness’) as a thing that obliges treatment. That is, if you have mental health struggles or neurodivergence of any kind, you are expected to seek treatment once you recognize that you ‘have a problem.’ Almost as if care/treatment is compulsory.

There is a theory in feminist studies known as ‘compulsory heterosexuality,’ forwarded by Adrienne Rich circa 1980. According to this theory, as Americans we live in a heteropatriarchal society that assumes human sexuality is hetero and binary, and thus our baseline of understanding is heternormativity: intimate relationships are (or ought to be) between ‘men’ and ‘women’ only; this is what is normal/natural/good. This understanding is so pervasive that anything contrary to heteronormativity is framed negatively or rendered invisible altogether (Rich was particularly concerned with the erasure of lesbian identity and existence).

More recently (2006), disability studies scholar Robert McRuer has identified a parallel phenomenon that he calls ‘compulsory able-bodiedness,’ which he ties in with the erasure of both queer and disabled existences. In our ableist society, the norm is ‘able-bodiedness’ (or as others of us call it, able-bodymindedness); if you are in any way outside the norm, the expectation is that you will seek to fix it in order to become as able-bodied as possible. For some of us, our ‘unwellness’ or disability or disfigurement is such that it cannot be ‘fixed’ or ‘cured,’ and in this case this means such bodies (or bodyminds) should be hidden away from public view.

“Like compulsory heterosexuality, then,” McRuer explains, “compulsory able-bodiedness functions by covering over, with the appearance of choice, a system in which there actually is no choice”(2006, 92). This lack of ‘choice’ arises from the fact that our ableist culture defaults to a question with an assumed answer: Wouldn’t you rather be normal? Able-bodied people (aka ableds) tacitly enforce the question (“[W]ouldn’t you rather be more like me?” [McRuer 2006, 93]), and assume the answer— everyone wants to be able-bodyminded, no one wants to be disabled/crazy/neurodivergent.

Mad Studies scholar Margaret Price extends on this analytic of compulsory able-bodiedness in her piece “The Bodymind Problem and the Possibilities of Pain” (2013), arguing that hegemonic US settler colonialism is also infused with a tacit assumption of compulsory able-mindedness. I am partial to Price’s use of the phrase ‘bodymind’— which points to the intrinsic interconnection between body and mind (that is, they’re really one and the same, there is not one without the other, GTFO Descartes). However, I wanna write a bit about the notion of un/wellness in relation to the ‘mind’ to show how, for many of us, living with a ‘different mind’ is stigmatized and pathologized in particular (albeit parallel) ways from living with a physical or bodily disability. Of course, many people experience both because they have various Madnesses, disabilities, and/or neurodivergences; and/or because one affects the other— for example, some people with physical disabilities (e.g. cerebral palsy) experience cognitive impairments (e.g. ‘delayed language development’) as a result of their physical disabilities, and some people with mental health issues (e.g. depression) experience physical disability (e.g. chronic pain) as a result of their mental health issues.

I want to focus on white culture’s particular disdain for differences of the ‘mind,’— there’s even a word for this disdain, it’s called sanism (or saneism). Sanism is beliefs and practices predicated on the idea that there is such a thing as a ‘sound mind,’ leading to harm of all kinds being directed at those determined to be of ‘unsound mind.’

Sometimes, this harm takes the form of ‘treatment’ or ‘care.’ How can care be harmful? you may be wondering. Care is frequently harmful when it is a response to something perceived as a deficit, disorder, or deviance. This is often true for those of us who are Mad/experience mental health struggles or neurodivergences: non-Mad/neurotypical folks view our lives as suffering, and the ‘natural’ response to suffering is to end it. Do they necessarily inquire of Mad folks if we are, in fact, suffering? Nah. Do they necessarily get our consent before initiating ‘care?’ Not always.

Even when consent is supposedly present, we have to remember how consent truly functions: we cannot assume that a ‘yes’ is, in fact, a ‘yes’ when there is a power differential, when there is fear of retaliation, when (a history) of coercion or violence exist, when internalized ableism/sanism exists, etc. We need to be critical of that ‘yes.’ When I first consented to take medication to ‘remedy’ my madness, I was guilted into doing so. They called up my history and reminded me of how scary things could become, how much of a failure I had been, and how I had (at times inadvertently) hurt people. I didn’t start taking medication because I believed it would help me feel better or improve my overall wellbeing, I started because I was afraid of the consequences of not taking it— which, the psy folks assured me, would be devastating (joblessness, friendlessness, maybe even homelessness or, lolz, lifelessness).

The funny thing about ‘care’ of Mad and neurodivergent people by able-bodyminded people is that it often exists to make the latter feel better. Many psychiatric meds, cognitive control meds, and even some non-pharmacological therapies exist to mediate Mad/neurodivergent behavior. Perhaps those behaviors are deemed disturbing (the silences of a depressive), disruptive (an ADHD person not ‘following directions’), frightening (a schizophrenic person hearing voices), or frustrating (an autistic person not making eye contact). Whatever it is about a neurodivergent person’s way of being that is considered ‘atypical’ or ‘disordered,’ the treatment of that thing is regularly mandated by neurotypicals whose discomfort comes from being in proximity to that person. It’s less about the Mad/neurodivergent person being disturbed than it is that we are disturbing to neurotypicals. If there is one thing I hope we clarify about ‘care’ of Mad/neurodivergent people in the near future, it’s that much existing ‘care’ is intended to tamp down on Mad and neurodivergent ways of being, doing, moving, and thinking in order to help neurotypicals feel better. I’ll say it again: most ‘care’ of neurodivergent people is actually intended for the comfort and peace of mind of non-disableds and neurotypicals.

That is not to say that care and treatment are never helpful for crazy/neurodivergent people. I, myself, have found some forms of care tremendously helpful— most of them outside mainstream care, though. But a great deal of care/treatment is developed and implemented without including us, the recipients, in the creative process. Until care/treatment is reimagined and regenerated with the consent and inclusion of Mad/neurodivergent participants, it is going to continue to harm many of us. It doesn’t matter how ‘well-intended’ it is.

A final comment, for now: Mad, disabled, and neurodivergent people— including manic depressives, OCD people, autistic people, addicts/substance users, people with PTSD, depressives, borderline people, and all the rest of us— have the right to seek care and/or treatment on our own terms. We have the right to help shape what that care/treatment looks like. We have the right to refuse care/treatment. Others do not have the right to say we ‘must be treated.’

Addendum: Here is Part II of this piece.


McRuer, Robert. “Compulsory Able-Bodiedness and Queer/Disabled Existence” in Disability Studies: Enabling the Humanities. Edited by Sharon Snyder, Brenda Jo Breuggermann, and Rosemarie Garland Thomson. The Modern Languages Association of America: New York, 2002. Read it here:

Price, Margaret. “The Bodymind Problem and the Possibilities of Pain.” Hypatia X(X): 2014.

Rich, Adrienne. “Compulsory Heterosexuality and Lesbian Existence” in Feminism and Sexuality. Edited by Stevi Jackson and Sue Scott. Columbia University Press: New York, 1996. PDF here:; read Rich’s reflections (2004) here: