The following is a letter written by a student to the psychiatrist he had been seeing for several years.
My name is J.K. I have been in and out of your office many times over the years, starting when I was about 12 or 13 years old to when I was 19 years old. You may or may not remember me, but when I began seeing you, you diagnosed me with clinical depression and prescribed me a medication called Zoloft. Over the period of time that I was seeing you, I was prescribed Wellbutrin XL, generic Atavan, and generic Klonipin. These were prescribed for bipolar disorder, anxiety, and unstable emotions, respectively. Each of these medications were prescribed on the basis of maybe 10-15 minutes of discussing symptoms and possible treatment, and then the rest of my appointment would be spent discussing which pill I would be prescribed that would “manage” my disorder. Never were my symptoms cured, or even helped. In fact, they worsened. Not once before being prescribed Zoloft, did I have suicidal thoughts or tendencies. I had experienced the natural emotions that are associated with being a teenager and also life in general, but I was told by physicians and psychiatrists that there was something wrong with me.
After being prescribed Zoloft, I was switched to Wellbutrin XL. I attempted to kill myself by overdosing on that medication, and would have succeeded had my mother not been home that day due to snow. After Wellbutrin I was prescribed Ativan and Klonopin, which also caused me to attempt suicide by overdose. Again, I was almost successful.
At this point, I began to develop the idea that everything I ever felt was wrong with me could be treated by a pill or a substance. Most times, these substances could be found in my own home, inside little orange prescription bottles. I began developing addictive personality traits by turning to street drugs, like marijuana, cocaine, and pain killers to numb my emotions. Why?
Because, essentially, I had been told that having emotions is a disease that requires treatment, or “management”.
I am now typing this letter from a Life Rehabilitation Facility called Narconon Riverbend in Denham Springs, Louisiana. The reason I am here is because I had let drugs take over my life to such a huge extent that I was no longer able to take care of myself or those around me. I regret that I have been lied to by a multi-billion dollar Psychiatric industry. I regret that I tried to end my own life twice. I’m angry that these events were the “side-effects” of psychotropic medication. I especially regret the effect that these events had on my family.
I have been suppressed by the Psychiatric machine for many years, and I am proud to say that I am now someone who is totally opposed to ingesting any sort of mind-altering substance whatsoever – whether I get them from a dealer on the street, or a dealer with an office and a degree.
I’m still angry. I’m still experiencing the product of your so-called “side-effects”. However, my life is no longer the effect of a pill or a prescription. The biggest difference between now and then? It’s not the scars on my arms, it’s not the mental images I’ll carry with me for a lifetime. It’s not spending four months in a rehabilitation facility away from my home and my girlfriend. It’s not two suicide attempts, seizures, and a damaged family.
The biggest difference is, I am now 100% in control of my life, and no pill, prescription, or psychiatrist can ever take that away from me again. The real difference is, I’m myself. I’ve told you my story. What your pills have done to me. Next time you hand out a prescription for the latest fad in psych meds, remember that your signature could be the worst thing that ever happened to your “patient”.
Sincerely,
J.K.
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