Writer. Poetry & reviews by David C. McLean & texts by his wife Jennifer S. Chesler, including collaborative work with McLean. Chesler writes avant garde, postmodern and innovative texts that explore the social & psychological preconditions of modern life. Collaborative work focuses on comedic philosophical topics combined with deviant sexual expression.
Friday, May 25, 2018
Bungling Psychiatrist as Rape-Enabler
I am a patient at The Anderson Center in Indiana. I have been seeing the same psychiatrist to medicate me for bipolar I since 2011. In 2016 I was told by my psychiatrist that I basically had to be medicated for my mania, with either lithium or Depakote. Since Depakote causes hair loss and weight gain, and being somewhat vain, I chose lithium. I have been on it since then. My mania is now under control. I have not been depressed in seven years also.
In the latter part of 2015 (though I have no memory of why this occurred) Bukkkles, my psychiatrist, put me on a second antidepressant, Prozac. I became completely manic. As the gentle reader may know, antidepressants cause or exacerbate mania in bipolar patients. As my mania increased with the use of Prozac, I felt a great need to smoke pot, most likely as a way to self-medicate for the manic state I was experiencing.
I had no way of procuring pot, and joined Tinder, the phone app for hookups, to find someone to get pot from. I was contacted by a man whose name I don’t remember. He said he would sell me some pot. I have night blindness. He lived 45 minutes away. I let him pick me up. He tried to drug me with an unknown substance, a powder of some sort, and took me to his house, all under the assumption that I was buying pot.
Once in his house, it became clear he had no intention of selling me pot. I said I wanted to leave. He had said he’d call Uber for me, but this did not occur. He picked me up and carried me into his bedroom. He ripped my clothes off me and raped and beat me. I said I’d call the police, but he said he’d throw me out of his house, which was in a somewhat unknown and remote subdivision, without my clothes on. It was cold and late at night by this time.
I told Bukkkles about this when I went in to see him next. He said he would be willing to testify that I was too mentally ill to have given consent, having received numerous crazed phone calls from me on the center’s medication line.
I never told Bukkkles that he was responsible for mismedicating me, throwing me into a worse manic state, so that I ended up bruised and bloody at an unknown location, by a man whose name I have still repressed.
Bukkkles said it was not the fault of two antidepressants that I became so manic that I was raped. He did tell me to go off Prozac immediately. He obviously knew it was his fault and was eager to exculpate himself.
I had no option but to continue to see the same psychiatrist, since there is a dearth of psychiatrists in my town, even though I know him to be a rape-enabler, since I take medications that it would be very dangerous to quit cold turkey.