To me, 'tough love' is NO love, the vile 'invention' of petty minded, vengeful and spiteful people, who really only wish to punish and hurt some unfortunate victim who they consider has 'let them down'!
Unfortunately, my family is riddled with ignorant, mean spirited and supremely intolerant specimens, for instance, my father. His 'remedy' for my chronic, treatment resistant depression, whose worse symptoms are eternal fatigue, exhaustion and suicidal weariness, requiring me to stay in bed night and day, only capable of watching TV or listening to the radio during my few, scarce hors of wakefulness. This he sees as being 'bone idle' (which is true I suppose, but hardly my choice!), and the ideal remedy would be some 'Full Metal Jacket' style Boot Camp, where vicious, intolerant and psychopathic NCO's would soon "bring you into line", and thus cure me. Absolutely no need for medication or 'therapy', those are for namby pambies and girls!
I pointed out, politely, that this was effectively like ordering someone with no legs to "pull their socks up!", which produced a cruel, smug leer and delighted chuckle.... "you don't know the half of it laddie - you'd soon learn a bit of DISCIPLINE! Me and your mother were far, far too soft with you!"
Not a good idea to point out that when I was a child, I spent four miserable, dread filled years at a ghastly school, at the mercy of psycopathic, paedophilic (luckily for me, the little creep was straight, not gay), bullying maniacs... and they were the teachers. You see, I "had a happy childhood!", and that is official, not to ever be questioned or even mentioned. True, I didn't suffer from clinical depression back then, that came later, following a head injury. However, that "pathetic excuse" is another matter never to be mentioned, it seems my father is a highly talented amateur neurologist, who knows very well no harm could come from a "little bump on the head", even if it does required a dozen stitches, and leave a half inch deep skull fracture, still there after 38 years....
Bad move too to have the insolence and disobedience to arrange an MRI scan (last year), then have the temerity to produce a neurologists report, mention atrophied brain damage in the frontal lobes, and a fractured skull. No comment or discussion of course, just a surly sneer and angry mutters of "hypochondriac", "excuses!", and "paranoia!", followed by a dire warning to keep quiet and not upset my 'poor, sick mother...', before I was dismissed.
And so its 'happpy family time' once more, and that is an official pronouncement, which means any attempt at discussion will no doubt end in swingeing reprisals, and stony silence. Sorry to go on about this, rather selfish - but something I need to get off my chest.... and out of my "feeble, idle mind".
What I will mention is what would inevitably occur, were any attempt to 'Boot Camp' me.... and this is an absolutely accurate prediction. Unlike 'Full Metal Jacket', the scenes of training camp would be over by lunch time, as soon as I got hold of a knife. Were the sergeant and corporals be unwise enough to issue me with a rifle, all would be over by breakfast, as would be their lives and careers. Under no circumstances would I take my own life, I tried that once a few years back, and the havoc, misery and pathetic self-pitying 'how could you do this to us?' are still fresh in my mind. No mention of 'how could you sink this low?" or 'why didn't you ask for help?' of course... my parent's carefully organised and treasured 'age related' amnesia seems to have erased any memories of me begging, pleading and desperately requesting help, and their callous, careless dismissal of said, because "it was for my own good!" - "you need to stop taking those drugs!".... oh, the wonders of 'Tough Love!'
Anyway, when I failed to die, I decided to get on with it and suffer, hoping against hope that the medical profession might come up with something.... fat chance! Suicidal, anergic day by day misery is their only answer and prescription. Maybe, like me, they hoped it would just go away? Well, after four years it has.... though not because of my father's insistent advice... "you have to make an effort, pills are not the answer - you're just lazy and have to try harder!", followed by a dreary list of people with incurable ilnesses, lost eyes and limbs, etc etc.... yawn! I did point out that "I am not them, and would willingly surrender an arm or leg to get rid of this depression?" Insolence AND weakness, unforgiveable!
It was not of course this sanctimoneous, patronising crap which helped me of course, though he had a point in a way. True, pills were not the answer.... but powders were.... hmmmmm? And no need to sacrifice any body parts, only my freedom an clean criminal record... possibly, if unlucky or silly. And when an unexpected opportunity to 'help myself' occured one night, the temporary ability to actually 'try harder' allowed me to 'make an effort' at last! No stupid 'tough love' required, just a bit of luck, and the real, true and caring LOVE of an ex-, and her new guy...
I follow no religious 'faith', but have a very precious spiritual side, which leads me ro positively state that god IS Love, and Love is the Key. All I have to do is be patient, share, give and distribute my LOVE, and the Key will turn up!