My 10-Hour Psych-Eval or: How I Learned To Stop Worrying And Accept I’m A Mental Headcase

Good Morning, My Peeps.

What’s New In The Clean World, As They Say?!

Yeah.

Sounds About Right To Me.

So…

…As The Title Of This Piece Suggests…

…Or States…

…Or Whatever…

…I Spent 10-HOURS Of My Monday Sitting In An Office…

…Answering Question After Question…

…With Each Answer Spawning More Questions…

…And More Questions…

…And More Answers…

…And Yet More Questions…

…And On And On And On.

๐Ÿ˜

We Talked About The Hot, Horrid Mess That Was My Childhood…

…Focusing Mainly On Traumatic Experiences That Have (likely) Shaped The Man I Am Today.

We Talked About My Inability To Conform.

My Struggles To “Fit-In” Anywhere.

The Friends I’ve Made.

Why I Made Those Few Friends In The First Place.

The Friends I’ve Lost.

Why I Lost Said Friends.

We Talked About My Plans For The Future…

…Or If I Honestly Had Any Real Plans For Any Type Of Future…

…And On…

…And On…

…And On And On And On.

๐Ÿ˜

We Talked About My Time In The Navy.

The Good Things About It.

The Horrid Things About It.

Why I Was Discharged Early.

How I Felt About That.

How That (likely) Did Shape The Man I Am.

My Sleep/Insomnia Issues.

The Eval, Honestly, Seemed To Drag On…

…And On…

…And On And On…

…More Questions…

…More Answers…

…Begat More Questions…

…Begat More Answers.

๐Ÿ˜ฆ

Honestly, My Peeps…

…I’ve Never Felt More Internally Exposed.

My Life History…

…Broken Down Before Me…

…Into 10-HOURS Of Q&A.

It Was, By FAR, The Most Comprehensive Mental Evaluation Of My 30’ish-Year Existence.

When It Was Finally Over…

…I Was So Drained I Could Hardly Stand-Up.

Lucky For Me…

…The Eval Took Place About 10-Blocks Away From My Home.

I Felt Sick.

I Was Nauseated.

I Had A Headache Direct From Hell’s Half-Acre.

I Felt Torn-Open…

…All Of My Guarded Skeletons Now Released Out Into The World…

…And Now A Part Of Record.

You Can’t Sincerely Know How It Felt Until You’ve Done It.

You Simply Can’t, My Peeps.

๐Ÿ˜ฆ

It Was Grueling.

It Was Embarrassing.

It Was Humiliating.

It Was Irritating.

It Was Exhausting.

It Was Enraging.

It Was Draining.

It Was Helpful.

It Was (HOPEFULLY) Worth It.

๐Ÿ˜

It Really Was The Most Difficult Q&A Session Of My Life.

Half-Way Into It…

…You Can Easily Imagine…

…I Was Ready To Get-Up And Leave And Just Go Home.

She Pulled Things Out Of Me…

(Mentally And Emotionally Speaking)

…I’d Been Repressing Most Of My Life.

She Got Me To Admit I’d Been Molested By A Former Neighbor.

She Got Me To Admit I’d Suffered Multiple Concussions From Major Head-Traumas.

She Got Me To Admit My Lack Of True Emotions In Some Cases…

…And Truly Overt Emotions In Others.

She Got Me To Talk About How I Used To Get Into Fights With My Peers In School…

…And How People Started Leaving Me Alone Because I Was Too Unpredictable.

She Got Me To, As I’ve Said, ย Talk About Why I Was Discharged Early From The Navy…

…And How I Was Hazed/Bullied/Pressured Into Signing My Name To The Confession I Was Prompted To Draft At The Time.

She Got Me To Admit How I Felt When I Was Sent To The Brig…

…Placed In Solitary Confinement…

…And Put On Rations Of Bread And Water For THREE (3) Days.

She Got Me To Actually Talk About My Auditory-Hallucinations.

My Extreme Paranoia.

My Lack Of Sympathy And Empathy Toward Others.

The Woman Was Very Good At Her Job.

In The End…

…However…

…In Handing Down Her Diagnosis…

…She Told Me Nothing I Didn’t Really Already Know.

A.D.H.D.

Depression.

Schizophrenia.

Personality Disorder.

Underlying, Unresolved Trauma.

Sociopathic Tendencies.

ย All Things I Could Have Just Told Her When I Walked Into Her Office.

BUT…

…Her Job Was To Confirm The Diagnosis Of Other Doctors…

…AND To Make Her Own Diagnosis.

And Boy OH Boy Was Sheย Thorough.

๐Ÿ˜

Needless To Say…

…I’m Just Glad It’s Over.

I Was Honestly Hoping Beyond Hope I’d Sleep Better Tonight.

As You Can Easily See…

…That Didn’t Happen.

Another Night Of Around 3’ish Hours Of Actual Sleep.

BUT…

…That’s Why I’m Writing To Y’all Right Now.

I Figured MAYBE If I Got All Of This Out Into The Open, My Mind Would Calm-Down…

…Relax…

…And Possibly Allow Me To Get Back To Sleep.

Is This Helping Me Relax?

Yes.

Some.

Do I Feel As Though I Could Get Back To Sleep?

No.

Not Really.

Am I Glad I’m Sharing This With You?

Yes.

Somewhat.

๐Ÿ˜

Why Just “Somewhat”???

Because One Never Knows How Others Will React To Hearing Certain Things…

…And I Don’t Want Y’all, My Peeps, To Be Uncomfortable With What I’m Saying.

This Really Was Something I Sincerely Wanted To Get Off Of My Chest…

…So Perhaps I’m A Touch More Than “Somewhat” Glad I’m Sharing This With Y’all.

You Cats And Kittens Are Okay By Me…

…And I Wanted To Try (potentially) Connecting With Y’all A Bit More.

๐Ÿ™‚

Am I A Mental Headcase?

Yes.

Is That Now A “Fact” Of Record?

Yes.

Am I Going To Let It Affect What I Do Here?

Hopefully Not.

Do I Love Being Able To Talk With Y’all?

More Than You’d Believe.

Are My Eyes A Touch Weepy, And Do I Need To Shut-Up For The Moment?

Yes AND Yes.

Am I Willing To Answer Some Questions From Y’all?

Sure…

…Some.

Will I Be As Open And Honest With Y’all As I Was With Her?

I Don’t Know.

Is This A Good Place To End This?

Yeah…

…I Think So.

L8r L8r, My Peeps.

And Thank You Again For Listening Reading.

๐Ÿ™‚

6 responses to “My 10-Hour Psych-Eval or: How I Learned To Stop Worrying And Accept I’m A Mental Headcase

  1. Oh my sweet friend, I still love you. No matter the diagnosis, I still believe you are a good man. We all have our demons, our mental problems. If we didn’t we wouldn’t be here. We wouldn’t be sharing them with the world. You are still okay by me. More than okay.

    Like

  2. Can I just say ditto to what Rheath just said? It was beautifully expressed. Normally I check out your stuff in the order it hits my inbox, but this was clearly so important that I saved it for last.

    Brad, you are a unique person with a unique gift for the world. I’m not blowing smoke up your ass–if I didn’t believe it, I’d just click “LIKE” on this post and be done with it.

    Yes, you battle mental illness–but is that really a knock against you? You can’t help the illness, but YOU CAN HELP YOUR REACTION TO IT. Your struggle to entertain, inform and reach out, while at the same time wrestling with your illness and history is a beautiful thing, Brad.

    I know that, like me, you are a great admirer of Abraham Lincoln. It has been alleged that he suffered from some form of mental illness. I am a great fan of Sir Winston Churchill, who most definitely battled severe depression. He was subject to “Black Dog Days,” which would leave him paralyzed with despair. And yet, in Britain’s most precarious hour, this broken man remained indomitable.

    I don’t know a whole lot about mental illness and trauma, Brad, but I do know that, to a greater or lesser extent, this will be something with which you struggle all your days. But your illness doesn’t make you any less of a person. In fact, the honorable and honest way in which you meet it, makes you more of a man in my eyes.

    Like

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