Psychiatric Social Bubble Burst

I’m not a psychiatrist -- I see a psychiatrist. Admitting that to myself is hard to digest, and unfortunately, I admitted this to a room of former high school “acquaintances” and others during a get-together at my boyfriend’s friends’ girlfriend’s place (say that three times). The conversation was brought up during one of my spontaneous, sarcastic jokes. This particular joke mentioned the dilemma of growing up with an absent, angry parent and in turn having to go see a psychiatrist, so you don’t also become an absent, angry parent.

Oh, the joy of having to battle your internal conditioned patterns you were embedded with as a child.

The room quickly fell silent, and I was utterly embarrassed for myself and everyone else. I presume, at that moment, I wanted so deeply to believe that everyone else sought help when they needed it. Or, I assumed that seeking psychiatric help was a norm. Unfortunately for myself and everyone else in that god-forsaken living room with pictures of Frida Kahlo and a sequenced heart-shaped pillow, it’s not. Not in casual conversation, and definitely not at a young 20-something year old party where everyone isn’t even slightly buzzed yet.

A lesson was learned about sharing my personal life in that context. Yet, I don’t feel bad for seeing a psychiatrist, and I’m sure I’ll forgive myself again if I were to spout my personal life in a room full of fellow young adults who may or may not have had trauma. I’d also like to believe that maybe I’ve implanted a seed in their unable-to-speak minds. Perhaps in their most vulnerable moments, that I’m sure we all have -- especially at this point in society, they will think about my sudden, uncomfortable outburst and come to terms with the fact that seeking help is okay. Perhaps, maybe, they will seek help during those vulnerable times.

Or, maybe they do agree with me, but at the time they didn’t know how to respond to me in the moment. Nonetheless, I’m sure my irresistible spout of unwanted social commentary will strike again. I’ve always found my way into perfectly casual conversation and embedded a satire subject into the mix in some way or another. Despite the discomfort that night, I’d still like to believe that we all reach a point in our lives where we need a grip of support to help us manage our persons. Despite someone’s class, race, sexuality -- I’d really like to think that the idea of seeking help for the mind is universal (as it should be, because psychiatric help is healthcare). We’ve all got these conscious bodies, and like fixing a broken bone, we also have complex amygdala’s and a prefrontal cortex in addition to others that need some fixing, too.


“I’d really like to think that the idea of seeking help for the mind is universal”

- Kelsey Rust

In any case, thank you for joining me on this ride analyzing my consciousness regarding my embarrassing moments of the inside!