Robin Lopez2 said:I agree, though personally, I’d rather just be thrown into a cell so I know exactly where I stand.
On another note, how are those of you on antipsychotics managing your weight? I’m 6'0" and usually hover around 180 lbs, but once I started the medication, I shot up to 225 lbs. About ten years ago, I decided to stop taking Risperdal on my own and managed to get back down to 180 lbs. However, after an inpatient stay at the psych ward and restarting the Risperdal, I hit 225 lbs again almost immediately. It feels like my appetite hasn't changed. Two years ago, I quit smoking and gained another 33 lbs, putting me at 258 lbs. Currently, I'm sitting at 251 lbs and the weight is really starting to bother me. I need to lose some pounds. Is that even possible while staying on 1mg of Risperdal a day?
The real danger lies in being miscategorized from the start, because once you're placed in the wrong box, the entire course of treatment follows that flawed logic.
Take the case of Dr. Bianca Vuksan Ćusa; she’s currently working in a department at Mayo Clinic, but back in 2002 and 2003, she was with the 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline. When I went to see her for my third appointment—mind you, I went there entirely on my own volition, nobody had to "push" or coerce me into seeking help—she handed me a diagnosis of intellectual disability. To make matters even more harrowing, she didn't have the decency to tell me that diagnosis to my face during the exam; instead, I suffered the shock alone while walking away from the hospital complex toward the bus stop for Saint Jude's.
Can you imagine being told you have cancer, only for the oncologist to lack the emotional fortitude to look you in the eye, dropping the news without offering any comfort during that initial, devastating shock?
She simply couldn't, wouldn't, or perhaps didn't deem it necessary to confront me directly and provide support while I processed the news, even if it was just for five or ten minutes to let the reality sink in. And here is the critical distinction: an oncologist isn't necessarily a specialist in human emotion, whereas a psychiatrist is supposed to be. One might find such a lapse excusable in an oncologist, though even then, it would be hard to forgive; but for a psychiatrist, it is fundamentally different.
Despite that initial failure, she remains the finest psychiatrist I have ever encountered. None of the others have measured up to her. In fact, I recommended her in the psychological recommendations just a few moments ago. Once the initial shock subsided, I continued seeing her, yet I found myself unable to truly move past that moment. During one session, I finally blurted out, "You know what's new? I'm leaving." A psychiatrist shouldn't show surprise when a patient makes such a statement, but she couldn't hide her astonishment. By the very next session, after having issued that diagnosis, she corrected it and wrote a different one. She didn't treat me as if I were intellectually disabled.
But honestly, she had only seen me three times before throwing that diagnosis at me, despite all the circumstances suggesting otherwise—the only thing I could do during that third session was laugh, albeit unwillingly, while describing a conflict at work involving a child.
Naturally, I hoped for better therapy from other specialists, but what I experienced with two of them was so bad I won't even mention it. Now, I am seeing someone who is neither the pinnacle of the profession nor the absolute bottom; she is quite average. Yet, Dr. Vuksan knew how to treat me best, regardless of that initial diagnostic error.
So, Robin Lopez2, there is actually a significant benefit to not being "pigeonholed" right away. It forces clinicians to remain vigilant and meticulous when forming a diagnosis. Once that label is applied, however, a rigid treatment protocol follows, leaving very little room for nuance or adjustment.