Message in a bottle (psychiatry & Feminism): personal writings


I was the kid who would walk alone in recess if their one friend was absent. I was the last one picked in gym class. I was a straight-A student who would cry over a B. I became suicidal at fifteen. In high school, I was fat-shamed and began obsessing over food. I started to see the social worker in our school. She told me that suicide is selfish. After graduating, I hit my lowest point ever and my parents finally agreed to take me to a psychiatrist, Dr. X.

Dr. X diagnosed me with depression and anxiety. He prescribed an anti-depressant and a mood stabilizer. I saw him once per month. Three months later, he added me on Facebook and we started texting. He would tell me that he loves me and that we should be in a relationship. He would ask me if I shave down there. I thought it was weird but I was afraid to tell my parents. I didn’t know what to do until he hugged and kissed me in his office. I payed him his 100,000 LBP and left and never came back. I was eighteen.

A few months later, I consulted Dr. Y . He wasn’t able to diagnose me. I stopped seeing him because his secretary scared the hell out of me. She was mean and reminded me of my school principals.

Meanwhile, I was seeing a psychologist in college. She would vent when I am venting but the service was for free so why not.

The XXX center was my last hope. I booked for a consultation with Dr. Z. He prescribed an anti-depressant and a mood stabilizer. I was suicidal but he chose to ignore my suicide ideation. Until one morning, I helplessly called the psychiatry department telling them I am planning for my suicide. The nurse asked me to come to the ER urgently. I was admitted into the psychiatry inpatient unit for three days.

It was during my stay in the hospital that I met Dr. A, a psychotherapist. Once I was discharged, I saw her in her clinic twice before I was hospitalized again for suicide ideation for three days.

Dr. A. did what everyone else failed to do. I was diagnosed with borderline personality disorder, depression, social anxiety and an eating disorder. I was finally doing some real therapy.

However, things started to worsen after my third hospitalization. I was admitted in an eating disorder programme, something I wasn’t ready for. I got triggered, hated myself for staying trapped in the eating disorder curse and chose to ditch everything.

I miss Dr. A. terribly. I feel like crap. A disgusting fat creature unable to get rid nor live with its mental illness. I just want it to end.

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