'That's Not My Name' by Sammy Trotman - one woman's middle finger to psychiatry
Burning and rejecting the DSM one hilarious performance at a time.
The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders was first published in 1954 and was, in part, an attempt to give a medical framework to the spectrum of human suffering. Over its nearly 70-year lifespan, five versions have come out, and it feels safe to assume that Sammy Trotman, the star and creator of the theatre show ‘That’s Not My Name’, isn’t a fan of any of the revised texts.
Her opinion is made crystal clear in the quasi-play, which I caught at the Camden People’s Theatre last week. During the show, Sammy reveals that she has four different personality disorders and once persuaded a doctor she was a sociopath. Being scant with the details of the who, what, when, where and how feels intentional as the show asserts Sammy and the rest of the ‘mentally ill’ are more than.
“Using a variety of different sensory and physical cues, Sammy navigates a range of different guises and topics. She speaks to the flawed utility of system psychiatry and labels by attempting to illustrate the mechanisms behind what are commonly known as ‘personality disorders’ in the hope to illustrate the complexity of trauma and destigmatise ‘madness,” this is how the show, which made me laugh out loud despite the heavy themes, sells itself.
Sammy achieves all she sets out to do in an entertaining, fresh and commanding way. Uniting her amusing and heartbreaking musings, she argues that doctors, in their expensive clinics with fancy degrees and lofty educations, who only see you at your worst, cannot tell you who you are. Their pale, male and stale descriptors do not possess the ability to figure people out, and it's what is broken.
Pain will not be quelled by being slapped with an incredibly stigmatising label. Some professionals see it as a black mark, a sign of a hopeless case. Ragging on psychiatry is a noble pastime. Doctors, armed with authority, can pass off societal norms as fact. Deviation can be controlled through their power. For example, in 1973, homosexuality was removed from the DSM, no longer deemed an “illness”. This revision largely responded to political pressure and evolving social attitudes, which say, cancer doctors are not. This could be because oncologists treat actual sicknesses, which same-sex attraction has never been, that can be confirmed by blood work.
My views on psychiatry are mood dependent. Being told you have a personality disorder, unlike pithy public health campaigns say, is nothing like a broken leg. However, having a name for what you are going through can be incredibly validating. Like any other chronic condition, seeing your problem as something you manage can be helpful. A doctor’s note can be a shorthand. It can explain your symptoms and map out a DBT treatment plan. Language is limiting, so neatly tucking ourselves inside the box of diagnosis can comfort millions.
However, it feels wrong; in a way, I probably lack the vocabulary to express eloquently, to tell people there is something that needs to be “fixed” about them. People should reflect on their behaviour. Sometimes, you are just the Tony Soprano of the situation (toxic lol), but when class, race and gender are such significant factors making you more likely to be called mentally ill, maybe our brains aren’t the problem, you know!
In this interview, spotted on my TikTok For You Page (like all groundbreaking scientific research), the comedian Taylor Tomlinson asks living legends Lily Tomlin and Jane Fonda if everyone was similarly depressed and anxious back in their day as we are now. The ‘9 to 5’ stars are like, “umm, there would be something deficient in you if you weren’t depressed or anxious because we live in a burning misogynist, racist, capitalist hellscape”.
These conflicting realities - the liberation and the injustice of being called mentally ill - aren’t going anywhere, so there is a sort of peace in accepting its push and pull. Regardless, I do veer towards cynicism, agreeing with Sammy. Instead of pathologising our pain and problems, we should channel our well-founded anxiety and despair into changing macro and micro conditions. We are not sick. We are agents of change. We are powerful, and pretending otherwise is a disservice.
A caveat is that this relies on, and can only flourish with, solid support networks in all our personal and political endeavours. The collective must be at the heart of this. Attitudes must decenter neoliberalist individualism. Making positive change requires a thriving community, big or small.
Also, as I mentioned last week, a lot of it, the cruel diagnoses that brandish you as a ‘nightmare’, seems to often be neglected neurodivergence, especially in women.
Throughout the performance, the nosey bit in me was gagging to know what of Sammy’s work is autobiographical. I’d be lying if I said there was no pull to grab a pint and swap war stories, pick over the rubble of the horrible things done to and by us, the battles that have led us here. Regardless, the audience is not entitled to that. We must respect the boundaries and purpose of the work. It’s an incredibly personal show, but it's just that; a show.
It first piqued my interest at an open mic night at the Pen Theatre, a great, little venue in the hinterlands of South Bermondsey, hidden in an industrial estate, the kind of venue you have to text your friend a picture and be like, “Am I in the right place?”. Her stint on the stage was an excerpt of this piece, and I wanted to talk to her afterwards, but due to shyness and the knowledge that because you saw someone bear their soul doesn’t mean they want to see yours, you know.
Even without the distinction of fact versus fiction, the show is excellent; this purposefully shocking kaleidoscope of memories plucked from her life (or so I assume). Stops on the crazy train include her time in the psychiatric hospital, her expensive boarding school, and two catchy musical numbers. One boasts two of the most enthusiastic but untrained male back dancers, who I wanted to yell “work” but restrained myself because it’s not ballroom.
There is something liberating about seeing and feeling intense emotions and how playful triggering themes can be. Sammy audibly intends the audience to be like, ‘What the fuck is going on? What is she doing? Is she acting? Is she just riffing off the cuff? Who knows? Who cares?’
Another well-done element is her ‘poor little rich girl schtick’, which can go wrong without a sense of humour. As a self-described expert, there is much scope to mock. In my work, I’ve found it’s an excellent mine to extract shiny self-deprecating gems. Aside from the gags, there is a lot of tragedy too; the oppressive conditions of the upper middle class, with their stiff upper lip and childhood torture methods like British public schools, which create an array of emotionally stunted people lacking the sort of compassion that doesn’t help you run a brutal empire the sun never sets on.
If you care about ideas about mental health and good art, see it! I recommend it! You can catch it at Brighton Fringe at the Rotunda on the 9th and 10th of May and the 2nd & 3rd of June at 7.45 pm.
For my London people, it’ll be at The Golden Goose Theatre on 19th and 20th May at 8 pm and the Camden Fringe at 2 Northdown: on 2nd and 3rd August at 8 pm.
I’d suggest giving Sammy a wee follow on Twitter for further dates.
Some things I’ve found interesting on attitudes to mental health
Hannah Jane Parkinson’s June 2018 Guardian column, ‘It’s Nothing Like a Broken Leg: Why I’m Done With The Mental Health Conversation’
Nathan Flier’s book ‘This Book Will Change Your Mind About Mental Health’
Beth McColl’s book, ‘How To Come Alive Again’