I don’t know how many criticisms of psychiatry are on this blog, but I do know that if anyone is in the position to criticize it, it’s me. This is going to get kind of raw and will not be flattering to me, but it’s gotta come out.
I often carry on with the assumption that my audience has been reading my various posts, but in case you haven’t: I was having a dark bipolar episode about 2 weeks ago, with the kind of existential despair that’s enough to make a man throw himself away. Something had to be done, and I remembered being on the SSRI called Zoloft a few years ago with some decent results, so my doctor prescribed it to me. These things take a few weeks to work, so now here I am 2 weeks later.
Now, I’m textbook hypomanic and crazier than a bedbug. What the fuck, literally a multi-hour compulsion to stay up all night on internet pornography, despite the fact that the other side effect is rendering my male equipment null and void. Like, why would the brain have you binge-watch smut when you can’t even get physically aroused? What a circular mindfuck. All hypersexual and inappropriate, I hate myself like this, it’s not me.
I’m going to tread lightly in this mind state. I might go get a sandwich, but I’m not going to run around lower Manhattan being grossly promiscuous with these horrible dating apps, spending money like I just signed a deal with the New York Knicks, and offending people for no reason. I have therapy today, and I’m going to report that I’m an absolute fuckshow.
Don’t worry, there will be no drug orgies on my watch.
