WACK JOB: My adventures in the mental health industrial complex

I recently had a minor health issue, and while talking to my doctor, he mentioned that “stress and anxiety” might be contributing to my problem.

Probably a lot of patients at doctors’ offices hear this. Unless you have a broken leg or tennis elbow, doctors can probably link your health problems to “stress and anxiety.”

Did I ever think: ‘The steering wheel of my car has too many buttons. I should probably just kill myself’?

These days, this is probably a reasonable assumption. You’re constipated. You have headaches. Your stomach hurts. Stress and anxiety probably play a part.

When my doctor first suggested I contact the mental health department, I politely declined.

But when my health issue persisted, he mentioned it again, and this time, I agreed to check it out. Who knows? Maybe he’s right.

Head case highway

At my health care provider, it sometimes takes several weeks before you can see someone. But if you have mental health concerns, they get you right on the phone with a mental health specialist.

It seems like health care providers currently put an emphasis on getting everyone signed up for some kind of mental health regimen.

You let a dentist inspect and clean your teeth twice a year. Why not let a mental health expert have a regular look at your brain? And maybe suggest some tweaks and adjustments?

To be or not to be

I spent an hour on the phone with different people as I did my mental health intake. During these phone calls, I was asked repeatedly if I wanted to kill myself.

Had I ever imagined killing myself? Had I ever made plans to kill myself? Did I think about killing myself with a knife? Or a gun? Or by hanging?

Did I ever think: “The steering wheel of my car has too many buttons. I should probably just kill myself”?

I assumed this was done for legal reasons. But it was alarming how thorough the questioning was. And how many times I had to go through it.

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Brain candy

And then came the moment of truth: I was asked which kind of mental health care I sought. There were two choices: 1) therapy, or 2) drugs.

They didn’t say it quite so bluntly. It was more like “counseling” or “psychiatry.” And of course, my primary care doctor would be consulted as well.

But ultimately, this was my personal choice. Did I want to talk? Or did I want to take drugs?

I opted for talking since I don’t know anything about the drugs and was told as a child to “just say no” to them.

No, I played it safe and chose “therapy.” An appointment was made for me right away — with a therapist who had a Vietnamese name, which I think is female. (But I’m not sure.)

Positive feelings

By now, I felt good about this plan. I felt a sense of relief just admitting to the intake people that I might have a problem with stress and anxiety.

Of course, I had a problem with it. I’m an intelligent person living in a once great country that seems determined to ruin itself.

Forget about me committing suicide. My whole country was committing suicide! Why wouldn’t I be a little stressed and anxious?

The great therapy problem

Then, I thought about my new female Vietnamese therapist who I’d be visiting next week. What would I talk to her about?

That’s when I remembered the great therapy problem, which is that 90% of therapists are woke. The whole field is woke. Sitting around, discussing how you feel about things — instead of acknowledging how things actually are — is essentially the basis of all wokeness.

The publication’s own Josh Slocum has talked about this. What if you’re a Republican and your therapist is a democratic socialist? To that therapist, everything you think or say might be hate speech. If you were outside the office, this person would want you arrested.

OK, I thought. I’ll just be careful what I say. And make sure to avoid certain subjects. We’ll probably be talking about “therapy topics” anyway. Like my family. My upbringing. What parts of my life cause my anxiety.

This way to the rubber room

BUT ALL OF THOSE THINGS ARE POLITICAL!!! At least nowadays they are. My family? Split by politics. My upbringing? I grew up conservative, and now I’m stuck in a blue city. The cause of my stress and anxiety? The insanity of present-day society!

I’m trying to visualize my first session with the Vietnamese therapist. She’ll probably be very young. Everyone at my health care facility looks to me like they’re in high school.

What on earth am I going to say to this woman? I have no idea. This might be a bad idea. Maybe I should have just gone for the drugs. Drugs don’t care who you voted for.