Kirkkitsch’s Blog

I signed myself into the ‘Psychiatric Institute’ assured that since I was over 18, I could leave of my own volition at any time. I thought to myself “Whew! At least there’s an escape clause.” Yeah, right. I soon discovered that I’d basically been thrown into a modge podge of group disorders that had absolutely nothing to do with my situation. But by then it was too late. It turned out I couldn’t leave until I’d “successfully” completed the program. As it turned out, “completing the program” translated into “when your insurance runs out.”

I was placed in the east wing, which was the ‘suicide watch’ side of the floor. This meant I couldn’t do anything or go anywhere without constant supervision. Luckily I was allowed to go to the bathroom alone, but that was only because there was no lock on the door. I shared a bedroom with one other guy, whom I vaguely remember. I mostly kept to myself, with the exception of mandatory “group sessions” and other regimented encounter sessions scheduled throughout the day. (more…)

As the school year progressed, ‘C’ and I got to be better friends. I say ‘friends’ though there was very little exchange going on, that I can remember. I was just happy to orbit him anytime I could. As my Freshmen year turned into my Sophomore year, I’d started dressing more in the vein of how I’d wanted to dress towards the last years in high school (mostly black). I’d never made the wardrobe change in high school because black usually sent the message ‘tough’ or ‘depressed’ and I was neither one. Though, now that I was in junior college, the latter seemed to be seeping in more and more.

At the time, I still hadn’t “come out” yet, so dealing with that and the fact that I had a major crush on someone I couldn’t have, yet was tortured by being around, all added to the mix. And though I had friends, most of them were busy when I wasn’t and vice versa (that’s school schedules for you), so I spent a lot of time alone…dwelling on things. This all led me to the decision to start seeing a local psychiatrist. I knew I needed someone to talk to, and my parents were more than accommodating, though notably concerned. Seeing a psychiatrist turned out to be a monumental mistake. I was prescribed the new ‘it’ drug, at the time, Prozac, but it didn’t really have an effect on me. Ironically, it actually made me feel more depressed. As far as the therapy aspect went, it ran the gamut: my individual session, sessions with my parents, then a combined session with both me AND my parents. The only thing it seemed to be accomplishing was causing my parents’ overactive imaginations to work overtime. (more…)