“Thanks, Evie. I may well just do that.”
I handed out my sheets to the girls, and began my meeting.
“Statistically,” I started, “women are crazier than men. If you look at the numbers, the simple act of having a vagina makes you more likely to have a depressive illness, post-traumatic stress disorder or be unipolar, and we’re more likely to self-harm. Now, you could blame our DNA. You could blame our hormones. You could criticize the statistics themselves. But I think this…” I paused for dramatic effect. “We are not just a crazier sex. I believe the world, our gender roles, and the huge inequality we face every day MAKES US crazy.”
I took a deep breath and Lottie and Amber took the opportunity to whoop, clap and cheer. “Wooooo, go, Evie.”
“Shh,” I smiled. So glad they were here. So glad they were my friends. “I’m only just getting started.” And I stood up and pretended I was in a TED talk.
“Madness and femininity have been linked throughout history. By the mid-nineteenth century, records show the majority of patients in mental health wards were women. We were considered more vulnerable to ‘madness’ because of our biology. Actually, the term ‘hysteria’ comes from the Latin word for womb, hystera. I.e. if you’ve got a vag, you’re hysterical.” The girls smiled. “The thing was, these women being shoved into asylums weren’t always ‘crazy’. They just didn’t fit the repressed notions of how women were ‘supposed to be’ at that time. You were called ‘mad’ and chucked into an institution if, say, you had a temper. Because women are supposed to be docile and meek. If you were sexual, you were mad because women back then were supposed to be pure… Think things have changed? Think it’s all better now? Think again. Just look at the language we use when we talk about women…”
I had drawn some cartoons for this bit so I handed them out. Lottie and Amber took them, and giggled at my shite art. “Think about it, today a girl gets angry about something completely legitimate, and she’s called a ‘mad bitch’. A girl gets upset about something upsetting, and she’s told to ‘calm down, dear, you’re hysterical’.
“The other week, Guy called me ‘mental’ when I dared ask him if he was only interested in sex. Girls get called ‘mental’ all the time.” I smiled sadly. “Yes, in Guy’s case, he may’ve been onto something…” I looked around my little room again and Amber and Lottie laughed nervously. “But…he wasn’t having a go at me for being mental because I have OCD. He called me mental because, again, I wasn’t playing the part I was supposed to. Because…now…women are also ‘mad’ if we want boys to treat us properly and with respect. We’re called ‘high maintenance’ or ‘psycho exes’…”
I trailed off. Mainly because Lottie and Amber were elbowing each other and giggling.
“Are you finished?” I asked, sounding like a school teacher. “You know, you could give the sectioned person a bit more attention.”
“You weren’t sectioned,” Amber said, still smiling. “That Sarah lady told us you’d try and say that you were.”
They dissolved into giggles again.
“You tell her.”
“No, you tell her.”
“What are you guys talking about?” I said, worried they were laughing at me.
Lottie coughed and stopped herself laughing. “Sorry, Evie, this is interesting, really it is. It’s just Guy…” And she burst into peals of giggles again.
“What? What about Guy?”
Lottie was laughing so hard she couldn’t talk. Amber took over.
“We…er…umm…well Lottie and I…we swapped his weed for some kitchen herbs and he’s not noticed and still pretends to be stoned.”
Then they were both unreachable for a good two minutes. I laughed too, in disbelief. “You did what?”
“It was stupid,” Lottie squealed, tears running down her face. “But totally worth it. Jane helped actually. She really wants to visit, Eves, you should let her. I think she’s pretty worried, and she was amazing with the prank. God, Guy’s a loser.”
I smiled, with a warmth in my tummy that porridge advertisements would love to be able to describe.
“You really did that, for me?” I blinked back some threatening tears.
Amber beamed at me. “Of course,” she said. “We’re not going to let some dickwad get away with treating you like that.”
“We’re here for you, Evie,” Lottie said shyly. “If you’ll have us, we’re so here for you.”
“I’ll have you.”
“Good,” Amber said loudly. “Now, before we all start blubbing – Evie, finish your talk.”
I sniffed and attempted to pull myself together. “Right,” I started. “So it got me to thinking – women are always thought of as the weaker ones, the ones more prone to craziness…and I was trying to work out why. I came to two conclusions. One, being a woman, in this world, ultimately makes you crazy. And, two, you’re more likely to be labelled crazy anyway if you’re female.” I pulled out some sheets from the World Health Organization. “Look, these guys are in charge of the health of the entire WORLD. And they’re basically saying gender is the cause of loads of mental health problems. People don’t wake up one day and think, Oooh, I think I’ll go completely gaga. It’s usually a case of spiralling circumstances. And, if you’re a woman, think about it, we have a shitload of spiralling circumstances. We’re paid less, we’re told we have to be beautiful, and thin, but we’re also told to eat chocolate all the time otherwise we’re not ‘fun’, and we’re constantly being objectified and told to calm down when we care about something… Isn’t all this likely to make us a little mental? Isn’t being subjected to daily inequality going to be a spiralling circumstance?”
“Here here,” Lottie called through her hands. “Evelyn for prime minister.”
I took another deep breath. “And then we go to the doctor for help and, because they’re all warped by our twisted worldview, they’re more likely to label us mad too. You know, they did this study and, say a boy and a girl both go to a GP’s surgery about depression – the girl is statistically much more likely to get prescribed antidepressants than the boy.”
“No way.”
“It’s mad, isn’t it? And that’s not just hurting girls. It’s hurting boys too. Feminism is all about equality, right? But how is this helping men? How is a society so broken helping anyone? I looked at the Samaritans website…” I handed them both a printout. They were both so engrossed I could’ve jumped on them with love. “Boys are more likely to die by killing themselves. Forget fast cars, forget cancer, forget getting attacked by a gang. Every boy at college – if they die – it’s statistically most likely because they took their own life. Sorry, am I talking too much? Sometimes a side-effect of my medication is mania – tell me if I’ve gone manic.”
Lottie rolled her eyes playfully. “You’re not talking too much. It’s interesting, honestly. CALM DOWN, DEAR.”
“Oi!”
We all cracked up laughing. “So, anyway,” I continued. “See how it’s hurting everyone. How we’re told to behave as boys and girls is breaking all of us. Girls are under extreme strain and are more likely to be diagnosed and labelled as mad. Whereas boys aren’t allowed to open up and talk about their feelings because it isn’t ‘manly’ so they bottle it all up until they can’t take any more. Something needs to change.”
Amber took a bite out of a party ring and sprayed crumbs all over the floor as she spoke. It actually didn’t bother me that much. “So what’s the answer, Evie? What do we do?”
I pulled a face and scratched my head. “Er…yeah…I’m not so sure. Maybe riot on the streets, raise a revolution and overthrow the entire system?”
“Careful now,” Amber replied, spraying more neon pink icing crumbs onto the floor. “Talk like that gets people thrown into psychiatric institutions.”