RE: Psychiatry Exposed
July 8, 2014 at 10:15 am
(This post was last modified: July 8, 2014 at 10:23 am by The Grand Nudger.)
@overprescribed
RGR that, I ended up with fistfuls of pills when I was in the service - not so much as a means to help me - as it was a means to stamp me RTD, return to duty. There wasn't anything in my symptoms that might be directly addressed by any medication they ended up putting me on, the thought being that my symptoms were just side effects of some form of depression and a dis-associative disorder. I would have offered that any depressive tendencies I had were pretty well rooted within my experience and reasonable. Terrible shit hadn't -happened to me- terrible shit was -continually happening around me-, and I found myself the cause of terrible shit on a daily basis as part of the requirements of my job. I don't see how anyone would have felt differently in my shoes. I'd propose that anyone who didn't feel like shit in my situation probably ought to be looked at under a microscope. I didn't want to sleep for fear of dreaming, and I couldn't eat for the abject disgust I felt. It was a palpable, physical presence in my stomach - constantly. Crackers made me vomit. My hands and face would tremble, mostly in response to sudden cracking noises or rapid drops/increases in pressure (doors in a heavily ac'd room opening or closing, a big storm blowing in fast, explosives being set off in my vicinity, small arms fire, etc). I absolutely did dis-associate, both from my own actions and from other groups of people who didn't wear the same type of hat as I did - exactly as I was trained to do. Never understood why they called that one a problem in the context of my service. Would be hard for me to imagine being able to carry out my duties and be an effective soldier if they hadn't conditioned me in that regard.
Did the drugs help? My general state of mind, yes. I was a smiling fucking lunatic - I'd sing shit like "criminal" (the fiona apple ditty) and time my breaths to the gaps in my firing pattern - blissfully unloading into equipment and people in an attempt to keep the rhythm of a song intact as my primary concern. I'm told that the effect was unnerving for anyone within ear and eyeshot. The people whom I was charged with training and leading kept a distance from me and essentially regarded me as fundamentally unfit and casually violent. My symptoms? No. They didn't even lessen until I left the service but I had to continue taking the medication so long as I was in or risk being turned into a desk jockey - which eventually happened anyway when an injury to my knee, thighs and groin made me useless as infantry (my daily regimen got even bigger after this, btw).
As soon as I got out I threw the pills away in favor of a little ganja and sleeping on the beach in W. Fl, lots of fishing- which I'd known from experience both to help me eat - and help me sleep. Was I prescribed drugs I didn't need? I'd say so, I understand why, but clearly it didn't help, and I'd never felt that their explanation was better than my own - in either case the drugs didn't do what any of us hoped they would - even though they "did something"; see above.
RGR that, I ended up with fistfuls of pills when I was in the service - not so much as a means to help me - as it was a means to stamp me RTD, return to duty. There wasn't anything in my symptoms that might be directly addressed by any medication they ended up putting me on, the thought being that my symptoms were just side effects of some form of depression and a dis-associative disorder. I would have offered that any depressive tendencies I had were pretty well rooted within my experience and reasonable. Terrible shit hadn't -happened to me- terrible shit was -continually happening around me-, and I found myself the cause of terrible shit on a daily basis as part of the requirements of my job. I don't see how anyone would have felt differently in my shoes. I'd propose that anyone who didn't feel like shit in my situation probably ought to be looked at under a microscope. I didn't want to sleep for fear of dreaming, and I couldn't eat for the abject disgust I felt. It was a palpable, physical presence in my stomach - constantly. Crackers made me vomit. My hands and face would tremble, mostly in response to sudden cracking noises or rapid drops/increases in pressure (doors in a heavily ac'd room opening or closing, a big storm blowing in fast, explosives being set off in my vicinity, small arms fire, etc). I absolutely did dis-associate, both from my own actions and from other groups of people who didn't wear the same type of hat as I did - exactly as I was trained to do. Never understood why they called that one a problem in the context of my service. Would be hard for me to imagine being able to carry out my duties and be an effective soldier if they hadn't conditioned me in that regard.
Did the drugs help? My general state of mind, yes. I was a smiling fucking lunatic - I'd sing shit like "criminal" (the fiona apple ditty) and time my breaths to the gaps in my firing pattern - blissfully unloading into equipment and people in an attempt to keep the rhythm of a song intact as my primary concern. I'm told that the effect was unnerving for anyone within ear and eyeshot. The people whom I was charged with training and leading kept a distance from me and essentially regarded me as fundamentally unfit and casually violent. My symptoms? No. They didn't even lessen until I left the service but I had to continue taking the medication so long as I was in or risk being turned into a desk jockey - which eventually happened anyway when an injury to my knee, thighs and groin made me useless as infantry (my daily regimen got even bigger after this, btw).
As soon as I got out I threw the pills away in favor of a little ganja and sleeping on the beach in W. Fl, lots of fishing- which I'd known from experience both to help me eat - and help me sleep. Was I prescribed drugs I didn't need? I'd say so, I understand why, but clearly it didn't help, and I'd never felt that their explanation was better than my own - in either case the drugs didn't do what any of us hoped they would - even though they "did something"; see above.
I am the Infantry. I am my country’s strength in war, her deterrent in peace. I am the heart of the fight… wherever, whenever. I carry America’s faith and honor against her enemies. I am the Queen of Battle. I am what my country expects me to be, the best trained Soldier in the world. In the race for victory, I am swift, determined, and courageous, armed with a fierce will to win. Never will I fail my country’s trust. Always I fight on…through the foe, to the objective, to triumph overall. If necessary, I will fight to my death. By my steadfast courage, I have won more than 200 years of freedom. I yield not to weakness, to hunger, to cowardice, to fatigue, to superior odds, For I am mentally tough, physically strong, and morally straight. I forsake not, my country, my mission, my comrades, my sacred duty. I am relentless. I am always there, now and forever. I AM THE INFANTRY! FOLLOW ME!
