Orgy at the McMansion

I’m going to start this, my first post in my 3rd decade around the sun, by sharing more information about psychology. My cousin asked me how therapists view the DSM-V, which is the manual we use in the US to diagnose clients with mental disorders. There has been no lack of controversy around the concept of mental “disorders” or “illnesses”. Firstly, there is no cross cultural agreement as to what constitutes the mind. It’s not the brain, otherwise neural imaging would reveal physiological differences between “disordered” brains and healthy ones. While there are some physiological and biological differences visible in certain disorders, there is hardly any clear cut agreement as to what those differences mean. The same alleles that signal a possible vulnerability to depression are also tied to bipolar and schizophrenia—which is to say quite a wide range of disorders affecting not only mood but cognitive ability. And scientists don’t know exactly why or how, just that there is some genetic element. However, the genetics only show a vulnerability, and that vulnerability may amount to nothing more than a latent whisper if environmental stress isn’t present to coax “abnormal” development. The “mind” is a metaphor we have created to explain what we observe in behavior.

There have been a variety of “mental illnesses” that were removed from the DSM-V due to changing cultural concepts of normal behavior. Being gay, trans, overly emotional, and escaping from enslavement have all at various times been categorized as mental disorders. Even now, the whole category of “gender dysphoria” is in question as gender politics break down the binary. Not all trans people experience significant gender-based distress. Some trans people are gender abolitionists. There’s a running joke in the queer community that the primary group of people who get gender affirming surgeries are cis people. Cis people get a disproportionate amount of cosmetic surgeries to correct non conforming parts of their bodies, hoping to abide by societal norms of masculinity or femininity.

There have been other critiques of the DSM manuals. One is that some disorders do not account for cultural differences in acceptable displays of expression, personality, and other human traits. Some cultures are loudly emotional, while others are reserved. In some cultures, individuality and self-determination signal mental health. In other cultures, adherence to a communal sense of identity and submission to authority is the ideal sort of behavior. Some cultures embrace mysticism and invite the supernatural into daily life, while others abhor such displays as “irrational”. In the DSM-V, there are now instructions to only diagnose according to cultural concepts of normative behavior, with emphasis on cautious self-evaluation of bias. Even so, in the US for example, we see bias in the percentage of BIPOC diagnosed with things like Conduct Disorder as children, and later Antisocial Personality Disorder as adults—disorders that are characterized by their complete disregard for rules and the rights and safety of other people. It is hard to imagine that BIPOC are more likely than any other demographic of people to fit these criteria, but that’s how bias in the medical field works.

Critics have also been arguing since its advent that the DSM and other diagnostic manuals are diagnosing people with the problems of a sick society. Are people really anxious and depressed, or are they coping naturally with the damaging effects of poverty, bigotry, white supremacy, homophobia, environmental catastrophes, economic and social inequality, or any of the many other issues we face as humanity right now?

On a more micro scale, there is the issue of stigma: many cultures still view mental illness as a shameful thing. Disclosing a mental illness can affect your employment, housing, interpersonal relationships, insurance coverage, and other crucial things we need to survive and thrive.

Considering the harm diagnoses can cause and the lack of agreement as to the validity of diagnostic manuals, why do we still use them? First and foremost in the US, we diagnose people for insurance purposes. Many clients are unable to access things like therapy or medications without insurance coverage, and most insurance companies won’t cover anything without a diagnosis on the books. Some therapists try to diagnose less stigmatized disorders over ones that bear higher degrees of stigma, just so that clients are able to access the therapy and medication they need without getting something dire stuck on their records for life. Another reason we diagnose is because we have elaborate manuals with specific, detailed instructions for treating every disorder listed in the DSM-V. These manuals focus on peer reviewed treatment plans, which are the kinds most likely to be covered by insurance. These treatment manuals are limited, largely because of the emphasis on peer reviewed treatments, which doesn’t usually include indigenous healing or other traditional forms of therapy. Additionally, newer treatments are constantly being developed, and reaching peer reviewed status takes time and multiple studies to verify the efficacy. It is a slow moving machine in a fast-paced world. The final reason why we diagnose is because of the personal and interpersonal understanding a diagnosis can help to create. A kid with numerous outbursts who makes weird noises and randomly twitches in the middle of class is not received with much empathy or care, but a kid diagnosed on the autism spectrum is more likely to receive accommodations and understanding from their teacher, peers, and family. A diagnosis can give people an answer as to why they have always felt a little different. It can give families a sense of meaning if they have had to deal with troubling behavior that never quite made sense. It can give teachers an opportunity to educate about neurodiversity, as well as give them access to ADA certified specialists trained to help kids with special needs.

Diagnosis has its place, and right now, the process is more collaborative than ever. Many therapists ask clients how they feel about a proposed diagnosis before writing anything on their medical charts. I’ve been encouraged to share what the manual says with clients and ask them if they feel like the description fits with their experience, so that they can feel included rather than imposed upon. Our relationship to diagnostics is changing, although I am not sure if I can say whether or not for the better.

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And now for a story about an orgy.

My lady friend, V, and I attended an orgy not too long ago. The theme was Great Gatsby, and the location was a mansion tucked away in the hills of Topanga Canyon. I don’t have any attire to match such an occasion, because I do not glorify fashion eras characterized by classism and white supremacy. The theme was particularly ironic due to the fact that two of the lead organizers were Black, but even Black people can have problematic taste. We arrived at the gate and were greeted by a smarmy white man who directed to a table with stacks of NDAs. We would not be allowed to take pictures, aside from in front of the step-and-repeat at the entrance. A woman in a cage crinoline skirt (wrong era), decorated with plastic champagne flutes, welcomed us to the party and handed us our first drinks. Huddled together by the stairs was a gaggle of stiff looking white women, tittering nervously in sequin-covered dresses, fluffy feathers wrapped around their wilted pin curls. Men scanned the room, hawkeyed, in conventional suits, looking like uninspired ads for Brooks Brothers. I tried to imagine these people fucking, but found it elusive to conjure. It was easier to imagine everyone sitting in some casting studio, waiting to audition for a Coke commercial.

The McMansion itself was also uninspired. It could have just as easily been a cleared out Cheesecake Factory, were it not for the remote location and lack of parking. Out front there stood what appeared to be an original Jeff Koons balloon dog monstrosity beside rave-ready golf carts. In the back, there were stolen rides from a traveling amusement park, the lights off indicating that orgy-goers were not invited to fuck on the machinery.

A light skin woman with a plump bottom climbed onto the dining room table and laid face down, setting stage as events began. We were invited to use icing to draw on her nude body. I couldn’t help but think of myself as a young, sexually active teen, trying edible body chocolate for the first and last time. It was messy, definitely not sexy or even tasty for that matter. The experiment ended as quickly as it began, and I vowed to leave food out of the bedroom once and for all. For a moment, I considered breaking my rule to doodle on the woman’s back, but couldn’t think of anything I wanted to draw or write. I imagined the icing clogging the shower drain, colors coagulating into an unsettling greenish brown mess.

This play party series was allegedly created to unite the erotic and artistic—to invite daring expresssions and erotic explorations. I’d considered applying to be a performer, hoping to get a free ticket, but stopped as soon as I was informed that performers only received a slight discount. I was not about to pay to attend and perform. I resigned myself to the role of spectator, hoping my anxiety fluttering in my chest would abate after enough drinks.

V frowned. She stood at least a full head taller than most of the men at the party. Earlier we had set intentions for the orgy. Mine was to go with the flow. V had wanted to get some boy dick, but none of the men present seemed capable of serving adequate D. The haircuts were too crisp, their bodies too chiseled and petite.

“Have you ever fucked a man shorter than you?” I asked.

“I’ve been spoiled,” V snorted.

A petite Black man with fresh cornrows grabbed a microphone, “Everyone! Excuse me, can everyone gather ‘round! We’re about to start.”