The other day I had some sour grapes over my experiences in Psych. My feeling was disappointment over the disconnect between what I read from folks in the field and what I experience clinically. For those that don’t get the chance to surf as much, The White Coat Rock has two excellent posts today:
“There is nothing lamer than people who live a sort of drug-filled, hedonistic lifestyle, then come to see the light and become crusaders against what they once enjoyed. You find this occassionally, former hippies or scenesters who suddenly find religion and then go around telling everyone ‘Yeah, I did this stuff, and really enjoyed it too. But I realize now it was wrong, and you all shouldn’t do what I did.’ Hey, you had your fun, so keep your fuckin’ mouth shut and let others find their own paths.
That is my brand of anarchism: don’t let anyone tell you what the limits of your experiences on Earth should be. It’s your right to fuck up. Just don’t whine so much if you find yourself down and out.”
“I’ve been in a pissy mood recently. Inexplicable. Need to remember to leave my knife at home. Can’t afford to get into any knife-fights.
Anyway, I’ve been thinking about personality disorders recently, since we talk about that a lot on the psych wards. I don’t like the idea, never have. As far as I can tell, the personality disorders were invented by psychoanalysts who got frustrated by patients they couldn’t pin on a discrete diagnosis on, but who had enough indiosyncrasies for the therapist to suspect they ‘just weren’t right.'”