Today, in the first in
an occasional series of longer form pieces, Peter
Kinderman reflects on the interaction between his genetic inheritance and
his personal experience, and considers what they mean for his own mental
health.
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| ‘Very nice dear, now, do you want baked beans on toast for breakfast?’ |
My
wife once came with me on a Saturday morning visit to a psychiatric hospital. I
was collecting data for my PhD, and she met me in the car park of a large
psychiatric hospital after I’d conducted my interviews. As I drove away, she stroked the back of my
hand and suggested that I could relax my knuckle-whitening grip on the steering
wheel. I really didn’t like leaving the residents behind. I wanted to rescue
them.
