Why is it so many people don’t like and don’t trust Psychiatrists?


Why is it so many people don’t like and don’t trust Psychiatrists?
                [a short story from   ~burning woman~   by Sha’Tara]

This is so cool, I’ve been wanting to tell this to someone since this morning. Where to start.  Oh, yeah, my psychiatrist has an office just across from the Lilly labs.  It’s convenient, so why not?  His rent, he told me in a rare moment of true confidentiality, as he was ogling my legs and I wasn’t trying to hide them, is very reasonable.  The building belongs to Lilly, and they offered him a great lease.  That’s of course confidential but I know I can trust you not to spread that around, although why the big secret?  What’s wrong with a doctor getting some help from a drug company when he needs the drugs to help his patients?

There’s a spare room behind the examining room in his offices. It’s for special cases, like mine, the really, really difficult ones.  I can’t tell you much of what goes on in that spare room, of course, but it does have something to do with adjusting my underwear so my body will feel relaxed.  The bed is very firm and comfortable.

 I can tell you my doctor’s name, that’s not confidential. He’s a real hunk, with smooth dark skin, short black hair and a great six-pack – I peeked under his shirt when he was massaging me – and his fingers are expert at making you feel good about your whole body.  That’s Juan Lupe Carvello.  But he dropped the Carvello.  He said it didn’t fit his new American image.  Dr. Lupe is from Mexico City.  He told me, also in confidence, that psychiatrists in Mexico have to take a course in chiropractic, hence why he’s certified to work with cases like mine that require a lot of body work, massage and so on.  Makes sense to me; you can’t fix everything with words and drugs after all.

Me? Oh, I’m Doris.  I’m married, no kids.  My husband’s a lawyer so I have a good life, mostly.  He’s hardly ever home, and when he does show up, I don’t think he notices me much.  I try not to get in his way, he’s so fussy and fretful.  Me, I wouldn’t have to work but I got bored one day, so I asked Andy (that’s my husband) if I could get a job at the office.  It was so funny, he looked at me as if he’d never seen me before.  He works with a bunch of lawyers, dozens and dozens of them in this high-rise downtown.  They got so much staff there, I thought they could fit me in, no problem.  How about it, Andy?  He continued to look at me as if I’d just landed on earth from some distant planet, or from, what’s that place called… Afghan something.  That’s funny don’t you see?  I’m a typical, all-American blue-eyed blonde that all the guys went nuts over on account of my tits.  Uncle Jerry paid for the implants, a birthday present, but oh, never mind, that’d be telling. 

 Andy? He shook his head, looked at me some more, told me to get some business suits and to meet him at the office in a couple of days, for lunch.  Then he went to his office and that was that.  I got a job with a junior level lawyer, Dick’s his name.  I like him, he’s so easy to tease.  He’s totally in love with some eastern girl who looks like a real live doll, about half my size.  She’s cute, and Dick’s six foot three, if an inch.  They stick out in a crowd, don’t you know.  I notice things like that,

My job’s easy. A bit of computer search, fielding in-house calls, filing papers, but mostly it’s making sure there’s always coffee on, goodies in the fridge, and hand delivering stuff, office to office.  I get to do a lot of that.  I’m not suspicious by nature but I think the guys are still getting turned on by my tits and they like to see me walking around, my top bouncing, so I make sure there’s a lot of cleavage for them to look at.  Hey, I get paid, what the heck’s wrong with that?

 But I was talking about Juan, my shrink, only he doesn’t like me saying that – he says it’s disrespectful. I dunno, I don’t get it.  So anyway, he says we should be on first name basis, makes it easier to talk.  He likes to talk and his accent is kind of sexy, but me, I don’t have much to talk about.  He says, that’s ok, just say whatever comes to my mind.  So, he’s a shrink, right?  I tell him all about my sexual fantasies, some of them are pretty wild.  He takes notes.  Sometimes he interrupts and asks really dumb questions like, how does that make you feel?  It’s just fantasies, who cares how they make you feel?  So I make stuff up just to keep the talking going. 

So yesterday morning during my session – that’s what they’re called he says – he comes over as I sit in the chair and he puts his hands on my shoulders and feels me a bit. I get a shiver when he moves his hands around my neck and pushes down on my shoulders a bit more then around my throat and down a bit.  You’re tense this morning, Doris.  Maybe you should lie down and let me give you a massage before we talk.  So I say OK, and I feel a bit of a fluttering in my stomach.  And I start having a fantasy about him.  I’m imagining him slowly taking my top off, then my bra, then sliding his hands around my tits… then I get really daring with the fantasy and he’s undoing my skirt, then sliding my panties off until I’m completely naked, facing up, and his face is almost touching mine.  Then impulsively I reach for him and we start kissing.  Well, before I know it, that’s exactly what happens.  So I get up off the bed and I unbutton his shirt and pull it off.  I’d never seen him topless before.  Oh… gorgeous… and now I want to see the rest of him, so I kneel down in front of him and undo his pants, then slide them down.  Then I slip off his briefs.  Now we’re both naked and he’s well, holy shit, like wow! 

 It was a great session. The absolute best.  Then we take turns in the washroom, get dressed, and I’m back in the chair again.  He’s sitting at his desk, sorting his notes.  What he says next kind of baffles me, but he’s the doctor.

Doris, he says, now I know what your problem is. You have a rare affliction which hasn’t made it into the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, but it will probably be included in the next edition.  Your condition would be labelled CNPS.  It’s quite rare.  So I ask what that means and he says, we call it Completely Normal Person Disorder.  Well, that doesn’t sound so bad to me Juan.  I’m completely normal? 

 It’s not so simple, Doris. What is normal?  The problem is, we don’t know and that’s the frightening part.  You have an undiagnosed and untreated condition and until we start treating it we won’t know how much damage it can do.  In fact we don’t know how much damage it has already done.  You’re not on our medical radar you see?  Any idea how dangerous that is?

 Well, and I thought I was normal all along, with a rather normal life, doing my normal things and now I realize that’s all wrong. I begin to cry, right there in Juan’s office.  He comes over with a box of Kleenex and starts comforting me, explaining that Lilly has some new, experimental drugs he’s going to prescribe for me and not to worry, my normalcy will be taken care of in no time.  Just three or four pills a day Doris, and you’ll be good as new, well better in fact: you won’t have to worry about being normal any longer. 

 Do I have to do anything different, I ask? And he says, oh, don’t worry, you will, and you won’t have to think about it, it’ll be so natural to you.  So, same time Friday then?  I’ll have those pills for you then, I promise.  So I nod and walk out feeling really weird.  Imagine that, me, having this rare condition called normal.  Actually, I’m in shock.  But now, try to imagine where I’d be if it wasn’t for Juan, for psychiatrists, huh? I’d be another untreated normal loony, that’s what I’d be and nobody would be none he wiser, not even me. 

So I ask you, what is it people have against shrinks anyway? They’re here to help, just like Juan is helping me.  I’m so, so thankful, you have no idea.



4 thoughts on “Why is it so many people don’t like and don’t trust Psychiatrists?

  1. Sha'Tara Post author

    Yes, well, my mother committed suicide at 46 and after going back over her trials and tribulations – all hush-hush then of course, I laid the blame solidly on her shrinks. I’ve positively HATED that fake profession since then. They’re slimes, everyone of them. There’s been a lot of research done on psychiatry since my mother’s days, and it doesn’t have an ounce of credibility. It’s a front for legalized drug peddling. If you’re not on their radar and you happen to fall in their hands, there is no way you’ll escape without being labelled with a “condition.” Women are their primary target. You should read what Jon Rappoport has to say about them. (nomorefakenews.com) “Taking apart psychiatry: fraud-kings of the mind” and quote: Promoting diabolically false science, psychiatry creates a gateway for defining many separate states of consciousness that don’t exist at all. They’re cheap myths, fairy tales.” (The Underground, Jon Rappoport)
    USA Today, January 26, 2016: “Primary care doctors should screen all adults for depression, an expert panel recommended Tuesday.”
    —Let’s screen everybody to find out if they have mental disorders. Let’s diagnose as many people as possible with mental disorders and give them toxic drugs—“


  2. Lisa R. Palmer

    I’m with you on this, Sha’Tara! At least the drug peddling bunch….

    Therapists who listen and guide healing without drugs are much more helpful…

    Funny story, though: my last therapist kicked me out for being “too sane.” I took that as the compliment it was intended to be… 🙂


  3. Imran Ali

    Don’t measure others by your own standards. You’ll end up disillusioned, disappointed and frustrated. Remember each one of us is different.



Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.