I was just sitting here thinking about how much everything seems to be shifting lately... you know? It’s like one day things are steady, and the next, you're looking at a completely different landscape. I found myself staring out the window this morning, just watching the traffic move along—kind of like how life just keeps rolling regardless of whether we're ready for the change or not. It reminds me of that old saying about how progress isn't always a straight line. Sometimes it's more of a jagged, messy scribble. I was reading this article on Psychology Today the other day—one of those deep dives that makes you question your own habits—and it really hit home. We spend so much time trying to organize our lives into neat little boxes, but reality is rarely that polite. Anyway, I don't mean to ramble. I just felt like sharing that bit of reflection. It’s been on my mind. kaže:
Who actually told you that you were schizophrenic? You mentioned those symptoms yourself earlier... though I did see something about you being out there with some kind of diagnosis involving psychotic episodes, or something along those lines.
Where exactly am I jumping to conclusions about your diagnosis? That’s not what this is. I’m just trying to tell you that you need to actually process what happened to you—really sit with it—instead of just bottling everything up inside. That’s all I'm saying. Honestly, I couldn't care less about court cases, how broken the world is, or all the unfairness in the psychotherapy industry. All of that is just noise, and frankly, it isn't going to help you move forward.
I’m asking you again... where exactly did I establish a diagnosis for you? Or even suggest there was some kind of pathology at all, other than what seems pretty obvious from the way you carry yourself here on the forum?
Just because your psychiatrist didn't tell you straight up that you were talking nonsense doesn't mean what you said wasn't coming from somewhere real. Honestly, I think he was probably just trying to sidestep one of those frantic, hysterical bursts where you try to justify every paranoid thought you have. It’s exhausting, isn't it? Trying to make sense of things that don't feel right. And when he realized you were having blackouts... man, he probably just brushed it off or told you that you were losing it and needed to head over to the psychiatric ward at Mayo Clinic or something like that. Or maybe he just gave you that look—you know the one—where they basically imply you've lost your grip on reality.
You still haven't quite laid it out for me... how exactly does a few seconds of silence lead to a full-blown diagnosis from a psychiatrist? I'm still circling back to that. And honestly, why did you even end up at that clinic in the first place? Was it just someone suggesting it, or was there more to it? It’s hard for me to wrap my head around why you stayed in that awful ward, too—especially after your brother gave you that piercing, judgmental look and suggested you just go pick up some light reading to cheer yourself up. It feels like there are pieces missing here.
"Maybe something light," he probably meant... you know, like a subtle warning that she’s a bit much to handle and buying her a heavy, dense tome would be a disaster. It wasn't really about the section being subpar or only stocked with beach reads. Looking back at that sharp, judgmental glare from his brother combined with that suggestion for a lighter read, I can't help but think there's some underlying shame there. Maybe it's the kind of embarrassment that makes you want to just brush the whole situation under the rug.
You were doing quite poorly even before you ever stepped foot into a psychiatric ward. And honestly, it feels like you still haven't quite grasped what the core issue is, though the root of it all clearly started much further back than this. Also, just for the record, doctors don't exactly hand out antipsychotics just because someone takes a little pause while they're talking.
Honestly, I just don't have the energy to keep wrestling with this projected paranoia of yours. It’s exhausting.
I was just trying to offer a bit of advice. It’s not exactly easy to swallow, I know—kind of bitter medicine—but it’s for your own good. Still, you clearly have everything figured out better than anyone else on this planet, and you seem perfectly content being the most miserable person around, so... by all means, enjoy that if you can. If you ever actually want to sit down and have a real, honest conversation, this community is here for you. I'm here, too, if you feel like dropping by. And hey, if you decide you want to tell me I'm still chasing after that same old thing, be my guest. I won't hold it against you.
You’ve already been flagged by the moderators for maladaptive behavior, so you might want to watch your step. Just a heads-up. 🙂
Well, look, you didn't explicitly say I was schizophrenic... but then you went ahead and pivoted to that whole discussion about schizophrenia from some other forum and suggested you think it might be the case with me, too. It feels pretty much the same as if you had just told me straight up that I have schizophrenia.
It’s just not true that my doctor refused to tell me I was losing it. I know exactly how it went down because she confirmed it to my brother—she told him I was speaking perfectly normally right up until the moment that flash happened. Based on that, she realized something was seriously wrong. She offered me some medication, which I turned down, and then the next time we spoke, she suggested hospitalization. I declined that too, so we just left it at the idea that I should at least go get some psychological testing done. I didn't even follow through with the testing. We didn't see each other again for about two weeks, until I started feeling physically terrible. My parents insisted I head to the ER, and my mom really wanted her to be the one to examine me. When she finally showed up, I told her I would finally agree to take the meds, but instead, she just took me straight to the ward.
I just wanted to say that there was honestly no need for them to hospitalize me. I’m still dealing with massive fallout from being stuck in that ward and being pumped full of medications. They spent ten days pushing all this nonsense on me, and then, once they finally saw how much it had messed me up, they just swapped my entire treatment plan around... like I was some kind of lab rat in an experiment.
As for that being a light read... well, that's just how I took it. I mean, what her actual intention was? Only she knows that, but honestly, it didn't sit right with me at all. It wasn't a nice way to go about things, in any case.