I’m far from a drill sergeant, but don’t have a wet nurse spiel to coddle him with either. I can actually relate to 18 being a bit of a difficult time for me as well. It did cross my mind that a drill sergeant might do some quite a bit of good though. I know of many who did come from broken homes and/or bad neighborhoods, and enlisting in the armed forces turned many of their lives around. Not saying it is for everyone though.
I believe the vast majority of us are all going to have serious rough spots in our lives that are going to come our way, at some time or another, and if one is looking for a label they want to define themselves with, that field certainly has plenty it can hand out. I’m currently taking care of my dad full-time now that lives with me every other month, who is in the latter stages of Alzheimer’s, so I am dealing with someone who has lost much of their mental faculties.
And if that isn’t personal enough for you, to hear a mental professional tell it, when I was 18, I was labeled a manic-depressive. I remember well, a folder, with my name and “manic depressive” right beside it. So I must have a mental illness, after all, they are doctored professionals, and what does an 18 year old kid know, right? I was puzzled at how doctors had somehow came to this conclusion with this diagnosis for me actually before I had seen the doctors themselves, but through a questionnaire the nurse had me fill out, that couldn’t have had more than ten questions on it, with multiple choice answers it had me circle. Immediately they started meds on me which they also determined I was probably going to have to be on the rest of my life, along with them too, after all, you need them to refill the prescriptions.
The medicine actually caused me nightmares and other problems, and I just knew it wasn’t helping my situation. I was going through a tough state, no doubt; I certainly wasn’t as functional as I could have been at that time in my life. But Jesus Harold Christ, I think they were laying things on a bit thick, even as a 18 year old, I wasn’t so far gone that I couldn’t still reason some things out, and circling lack of sleep, loss of appetite, mood swings, and what others I forget, but gosh, that certainly started a chain of events of which I wasn’t prepared for.
The end of my last school year was coming up, wasn’t sure what I wanted to do with my life, and trying to find a positive direction to go in wasn’t so easy with me at that age. I had the mood swings, not really depressed though, but more manic, some manic states keeping me up for 4-5 days and nights straight with no sleep. Even resorted to reading the bible, thinking that might comfort me, but only made things worse and me more withdrawn. I pretty much almost stopped eating altogether which I really couldn’t afford to lose any more weight since I was already skinny as it was. I had a strong dislike for school, at least my school at that time. It was a time when classrooms were out of control, most teachers couldn’t control the students, drugs were openly being used in the classroom, and also a couple of years into racial integration, there was plenty of tension going on and fights breaking out on a frequent basis. I grew up in a rough older neighborhood where there really wasn’t many friends my age, and those that were, were already into some serious crime even during their teenage years, so instead of me spending that much time with them, I became more withdrawn and an introvert.
I was a walking skeleton, and am embarrassed even today to say how low I let my weight get on this 5’10” frame. I knew I had to start eating again as simple as that seems now and for everyone else; I literally had to make myself eat. That in turn eventually started giving my body and mind back the nourishment it so desperately needed. I was able to start getting my sleep back on tract too along with my mental state being much more relaxed. I was determined to not ever let me get myself in that situation again and nearly forty years later never have.
I quit their medication after about a month or two, never sought out any more of their help. I’m 56 now. Had a few more minor bumps along life’s road, we all do, but probably no more or less than anyone else. I’m stronger and happier now the last twenty years than I’ve ever been, although I was pretty content before that time too though, despite part of age 18 being a bit of a rough year for me. I have great relationships with family and some friends (always have), and my business is quite strong and has been for some sixteen years or so. Even if it was to go belly up, I know I can survive and will make it.
If a mental health professional has truly benefited you or another in some way, you will get no grief from me. But still pardon me, If I’m a bit skeptical of the mental health community, and how correct they are in their diagnosis having experienced it first hand on what they tried to do to me, and other ones I know as well who have similar stories about how they were told too that their condition was going to need medicine the rest of their life, of which they seem to magically determine fairly damn quick. I’m leery of much of the process, and the labels that many of them put on people to help define them especially our young people who are already at an impressionable age. I realize there are truly some that are in dire need of mental help, and help can maybe come in the way of therapy and/or medicines, and that mental professionals can do some good, especially if you don’t have a supportive family cast of loved ones and friends that are capable of helping you. Getting a correct diagnosis is a good starting place, and I hope others don’t let the labels stigmatize and define who you are.