The Actual, Official Diagnosis

I received my actual, official diagnosis of bipolar disorder about a year after Lexapro made me crazy. I had resisted seeing a psychiatrist, because I believed no good could come from it. I was right. No good came from it. But I had to do something. The Lexapro had triggered a malevolent and persistent process in my mind, I kept crashing into vicious and non-functional depression. Finally I made an appointment with an academic psychiatrist, Dr. M.C. Big mistake. A truer biological psychiatrist never lived. She interviewed me for about one hour and twenty minutes and then casually tossed the words "bipolar disorder" and "lamotrigine" at me, and then she rushed off to her next appointment.

Dr. M.C never had a real conversation with me. When I tried to get some explanation at our next appointment, she merely said "you have an illness of the brain." I'll never forgot those words. She was dismissive. There was no explanation an no support. I walked out of our appointment in a daze. And it never got any better after that. The doctor that cut up my knee spent about an hour and a half explaining everything to me. He answered all my questions. The doctor that labeled me "bipolar" acted put upon when I tried to ask her for an explanation.

Nobody ever has talked down to me like Dr. M.C. and her colleague Dr. Mo. I encourage every person who contemplates seeing a psychiatrist to think about the implications. Chances are you will be labeled, with very little evidence, your health care will suffer because of the label, you will have to live in a society that disparages you because of the label. In my experience, nothing good will come of allowing yourself to submit to psychiatry. Think about it. Think about it some more. And stay far, far away.