It’s Really Easy to be a Bad Psychiatrist
A rundown of how not to treat people with mental illness.
I’ve had three psychiatrists in my life, plus my current nurse practitioner. My NP is amazing, and I’m really glad I have her. The last two psychiatrists…not so much.
Let’s start from the beginning, though. When I was first diagnosed at age 12, my parents took me to see a man by the name of Dr. Byrd. He was a child psychiatrist in the 90s, which was an up-and-coming time to be a child psychiatrist.
I haven’t seen him in years, but I vaguely remember him looking a bit like Dr. Phil. Bald, push-broom mustache, deep voice, slight southern accent, kinda chubby face. Fairly endearing to 12-year-old me.
He would go on to be my doctor through my early 20s, staying with me for over a decade. He watched me grow from an unstable pre-teen to a stable, successful adult. He’s the one that told me that originally, they weren’t sure I’d be able to function in modern society without the supervision of my parents.
I left Dr. Byrd because he was nearing retirement and stopped taking my insurance. Even though I only saw him every three months, it was still $125 a session, which hurts when you’re starting your career.
