Mental Health Madness: Psychiatry Has Lost Its Mind

Psychiatry, the fantasy of a slightly mad neurologist

Did you know? Sigmund Freud was a neurologist. It was faced with the impossibility of explaining human behaviors that he developed psychoanalysis, convinced that one day, technological advances would allow neurology to confirm his conclusions. Meanwhile, neurology confined itself to visible organic pathologies: tumors, strokes, epilepsy. It studied brain anatomy while neglecting its connections to the psyche, as if emotions and behaviors were disconnected from biology. Western medicine never stopped developing what I would call a pseudo-science that was supposed to be ephemeral, giving it ever more importance to the point of making it a major element in controlling people with mental suffering.

Today, what happens in our heads, in our guts, can depend in turn on neurology, psychiatry, psychology, neuropsychiatry, neuropsychology. We face a fragmentation of disciplines disconnected from one another, much to the detriment of people who are suffering.

The Beginning of Wandering

My first experience with psychiatry dates back to when I was 7 years old. Since I was a turbulent, noisy child, the teacher advised my mother to consult a child psychiatrist. I have very few memories of this experience. Mainly that I played, maybe we talked. We never spoke about domestic violence, and he probably had no reason to think about it. I wasn’t there for that, but because I was a little brat who got on the nerves of the teachers and my mother. Many years later, as an adult, my mother would tell me: « when you were 7, I had to take you to a shrink because your teacher couldn’t take it anymore. His conclusion was that you needed a lesson in humility ». That set the tone.

When I was in my twenties, and had been independent for three years, I decided to see a shrink. I had no idea what psychiatry really was at that time. All I knew was that I was suffering, and that it wasn’t physical. So I made an appointment with a psychiatrist at random. I was treated, it seems to me, for four years. I’ve understood, since then, that he was a psychoanalyst, rather of the Lacanian type.

I still remember how, after each session, with a knot in my stomach, I more often felt like ending my life than having the energy and hope for a favorable outcome in my life. After four years, with about 30 sessions per year, with nothing concrete except my persistent suffering, I asked this question:

Since the time we’ve been seeing each other, what do you think?

And there, dear female reader, dear male reader, visualize the most beautiful shrink cliché that could come to mind: a man in his fifties, bearded, pipe in his mouth, notebook on his crossed knees. You got it? This man looked at me attentively, took his pipe in his right hand, bringing his left hand to his beard in a pensive manner, and answered me:

And you? What do you think?

I was stunned. That day, I could have committed murder. I never went back there, and I never paid my last bills. Surprisingly, he would never ask me for them.

The monster within me

Then my life took its course. As team leader of Swiss Support at Dell, then Escalation Manager in charge of managing the quality of support provided by Germany and France to our clients after its relocation, I set aside my suffering. I continued to develop my skill, unconsciously it’s true, of masking, until one day, leaving the office, as I was passing by the reception and our very dear receptionist said to me: « Are you okay Akim? You don’t look well », I burst into tears. As often, it was just before my vacation. This would erase the exhaustion, the despair, and I would come back, as each time, to put my nose to the grindstone. However, aware of a disconnect with the world around me, I started searching for help again. Still somewhat randomly, I found a young psychiatrist barely out of school, a mistake if there ever was one, I would learn this at my expense.

You will have understood, dear female reader, dear male reader, I am an open book of full and rare authenticity. If I express myself, it’s not to sugarcoat things or be politically correct. In the same way, if I’m going to pay a professional to find help, it’s not to tell her half-truths and beat around the bush. Thus, from the very first appointment, I dove right in: « I’m coming to see you because I feel like I’m surrounded by incompetent people and I’m worried about whether I have a superiority complex or if I’m actually more intelligent than the people around me ».

And here, I owe a parenthesis to my colleagues and subordinates from that time, because I wouldn’t want them to feel insulted if they were to read this article. Years later, when I would take the WAIS IV (IQ test) and obtain a result of 146, everything would become clear. With such a result, I am a high-potential individual among high-potential individuals. With 146, I am one standard deviation above, which means that I feel the same disconnect vis-à-vis high-potential individuals with an IQ of 130 as they might feel vis-à-vis neurotypical individuals who are in the median. So please don’t see this as an insult. This justification actually illustrates what follows.

I therefore spent this interview explaining this feeling, this disconnect I was experiencing daily, and expressed my suffering faced with this worry about lacking modesty. And it’s only in writing these lines that I realize today the connection with my first experience, when I was 7 years old. At the second interview, I wanted to come back to her feelings, because I had sensed uneasiness. I asked her point-blank: « During our last session, did you find me pretentious? ». When she answered « Yes », I knew she wouldn’t be able to help me. I never went back.

Try again!

It would be some time before I started searching for answers again. In the meantime, I would attempt to join Mensa, an association for high-potential individuals, and would fail by one point, enough to give my ego a little blow to the back of the neck, bringing me closer to the fear of being an egocentric mythomaniac, then I would dive back into my routine, into my life, into my suffering, with my disconnection and without answers.

In a relationship with a chronic depressive, I made an appointment with a new psychiatrist some time later. We would have, and this was a first for me, an initial appointment « to get acquainted. » I told her about myself in broad strokes, about the violence, about my homosexuality, about my feeling of being out of step. I still smile at the memory of one of her reactions:

Sir, if you come to me to understand why you are homosexual, know that this doesn’t interest me at all

That worked out well. Neither did I. I then began a follow-up of almost fifteen years with her at about one session per month. During this period, she never made any diagnosis. Today, understanding better the complexity of my case, I am grateful to her for that. I would have liked to have had more concrete answers earlier in my life though. I might not be in my current situation.

In 2003, after finally finding the strength to break up with a depressive person I couldn’t save, I would fall in love with a handsome businessman during my business trips to Athens. For a year, he would use my emotions, my expectations, to take one step forward, two steps back, giving my psychiatrist, who was then beginning her work on the theme of toxic relationships, the opportunity to say to me for the first time the expression « narcissistic pervert. » Years later, she would write books on toxic relationships, helping, I’m sure, a large number of victims of narcissistic perverts. But at that time, it was a bit early. For her, as well as for me. And we didn’t delve deeper into the subject. The relationship with my handsome Greek (if it ever existed) ended at the same time as my business trips to Athens.

End of 2010, after a 5-year relationship with my new lover, building a house, a marriage, I would be destroyed by a breakup as unexpected as it was abrupt. Me who was very down-to-earth, not understanding the despair of a friend who regularly suffered from her unbalanced relationships, I found myself devastated, crushed, thrown away by the man I loved, and who, I believed, loved me just as much in return. It was on this occasion that I took anti-depressants for the first time.

I’ve always been resistant. Medications, too little for me. This time though, it was essential to react. I also discovered a peculiarity of my body then: With medications as with everything else, I’m incapable of doing like everyone else. As my mother used to say: « You always have to show off ». The antidepressant didn’t help me. And it had a most inconvenient side effect for a deployment engineer who has to give presentations and training sessions: I was yawning every 3 to 4 minutes, practically dislocating my jaw:

Sorry, excuse me… [yawn] I’m taking a medication that makes me… [another yawn] …constantly yawn

Needless to say, after three weeks, I gave up.

First concrete answers… but still no diagnosis

Some time later, in 2012, while I was browsing in a bookstore, a book, written by Christel Petitcollin, practically jumped into my arms with its title: « I Think Too Much », subtitled « how to channel this invasive mind ». In the secret hope of finally finding peace there, I bought it and, going on vacation alone for the first time in my life, I devoured it from my RV while crossing Yosemite. And I recognized myself page after page. This time, it was certain, I was gifted, and the greatest part of my suffering stemmed from it. I believed it.

When I returned, I spoke about it to my psychiatrist who, in turn, read it. She then told me:

I think you’re not depressive, but rather hyperactive. I suggest we try a treatment for hyperactivity

That was the only time in our relationship that she would speak in quasi-diagnostic terms. Still resistant to the idea of medication, I would nevertheless accept, and begin a stimulant treatment, without having any idea or understanding of what ADHD was at that time. Once again, after a few weeks, I would stop the treatment, worried by the cardiac arrhythmia it was causing.

The common denominator

In 2013, I no longer remember how, I found myself researching narcissistic perverts and toxic relationships. That’s when I understood that my last partner had this personality. It explained the violence of the breakup, and the level of devastation that followed. The very day of this realization, I had had a surreal email exchange with my manager at the time, an exchange that had left me with a knot in my stomach, overwhelmed by shame, guilt, and incomprehension. I suddenly had an epiphany, painful, yet liberating: I redirected my research toward the professional domain, and I discovered that I had a toxic manager, and that this exchange was the absolute caricature of it.

And the common denominator was me. The one who kept repeating his victim status was me. I then asked my psychiatrist for help and she referred me for short-term therapy to a behaviorist who himself referred me to a psycho-pedagogue, the former regularly intervening unexpectedly in our sessions. And for six months, I took pedagogical slaps. I will always remember the most violent ones. Those that left me most stunned, and yet brought me answers:

Mr. Sissaoui, are you comfortable in your current position?
No.
Then why do you stay?

Another day:

Mr. Sissaoui, your ego is even more excessive than that of your narcissistic pervert boss

That one, I admit, almost knocked me out. And he continued:

You are so convinced that you’re the one doing right, so sure that you’re doing what needs to be done, so expecting that one day someone will see it and defend you, that you hold onto your position with all your strength. Meanwhile, they can do anything to you. You won’t bend, because after all… You’re the one doing right. But really, we don’t care who’s doing right or wrong. If you’re not well, leave!

Then during another session to tell me:

Mr. Sissaoui. Try to do something wrong on purpose. You’ll see, we don’t die from it

Just at this evocation, I had hot flashes, I felt a terrible shame, deep in my gut. Of course, I never did it. And it was revealing of the core of my problem that I understand today, linked to the violence suffered in childhood: If I make a mistake, I’m going to be rejected, even beaten, and maybe even die. This therapy helped me move forward. Thanks to it, I took a position. I gained a little confidence in myself. And in mid-2014, while this manager was crossing the line, I would refuse to continue reporting to him, which would earn me a dismissal. I left with my head held high, because I knew I had done what was right for me.

Shortly after, my psychiatrist will gently tell me that she has reached her limits, that she has no idea how she could help me further, and will urge me to find another therapist. I never held it against her because from my point of view, it takes a lot of courage, honesty and benevolence to admit one’s limits, and to share them like that, as hard as it may have been for me. I wish many more healthcare professionals had this bravery. In truth, while we’re somewhere in 2014, maybe 2015, I still have no answer. No diagnosis. I have high potential, that’s obvious, but on its own, it doesn’t explain everything. And I have nothing else. Up to that point, psychiatry had failed.

Who am I? Where am I going?

So I was unemployed starting from mid-2014. For three years, I looked for a permanent job without success (like now). However, I had better luck back then, and I did freelance missions for about half the time, which allowed me to narrowly escape the end of my unemployment benefits. During this period, disgusted at not finding permanent employment in tech, and far too anxious to become my own boss or establish myself in freelancing, I looked for a career change path, and coaching naturally presented itself as the best option. Indeed, since childhood, I’ve always been a good listener to others, and people have often confided in me almost accidentally, drawn to my attention, my kindness, and my lack of judgment.

This was the period that was richest in terms of personal development. In search of answers, I read numerous books, I participated in seminars, then, determined to try this new path, I enrolled in an NLP training that I would begin in 2016 in Belgium. At the same time, I would finally decide to measure my intellectual discrepancy by taking the famous WAIS IV, the IQ test, and I would receive the unsettling result mentioned above, which would explain my feeling of being out of step even compared to other high-potential individuals. In search of an identity, a path, I would initiate an autism spectrum diagnosis on the impulse of a friend. This would prove negative, certain traits of very high potential being able to cause confusion.

In 2017, I would finally find a new job, while doing my second year of NLP and at the same time, a coaching training. Needless to say, this first year of employment was very active. And yet, rich and satisfying.

The Collapse

In 2019, in a state of total exhaustion, I went through a long period where I couldn’t string together a sentence without desperately searching for simple words. Frequent travel took its toll on the little sleep I managed to get. I still remember the embarrassment when I said to my partner every day who asked me « Hi, how are you? »: « Tired ». That was my only response, day after day. And I was ashamed. I hadn’t understood how serious my condition was. In reality, no one had understood it. I would have the opportunity to speak with a sleep specialist about my chronic insomnia, and we worked together for 3 months, which allowed me to regain my ability to fall asleep, giving me a reprieve. Then COVID arrived. The world stopped. From exhaustion linked to travel, to projects, I shifted to exhaustion linked to inactivity, and the guilt that accompanied it.

In 2021, in front of a computer saturated with open tabs and applications, I took, somewhat by chance, an ADHD test. Given an unequivocal result, I then undertook an ADHD diagnosis with skepticism… Skepticism that quickly vanished in light of the result. But I wouldn’t do much with it. No follow-up. No treatment. Caught up in my job, and probably overwhelmed by my exhaustion, I would continue my life, as before.

Starting from February 2022, everything accelerated. While I had struggled with weight problems my entire life, which I now know are related to ADHD, I had managed to maintain a more or less stable weight for several years. And suddenly, this weight started climbing. Between February 2022 and February 2023, I would gain 20kg. Aware of a real problem, and worried about finding myself in morbid obesity as had been the case in the past, I then began searching for a new psychiatrist. I was looking for a trauma specialist this time, conscious that despite all the answers I had been able to find up to that day, psychiatry had never addressed this, or at least, had barely skimmed over it. I would be recommended by my general practitioner to a psychiatrist who would turn out not to meet my expectations.

If you want something done right, do it yourself

I nevertheless took the opportunity to take control of my destiny. Tired of never having received the support I truly needed, I took advantage of a psychiatrist who was unable to help me directly, but pleasant enough to grant my requests: I set up a healthcare network. I tried to have all the disciplines concentrated in the same university center: ADHD, eating disorders, sleep disorders. Somewhat naively, I hoped that they would all communicate with each other, and make the connections between my different difficulties. I would learn with despair that this was not the case.

In the middle of 2022, I will request sick leave, which I will cut short out of guilt towards my employer and my client, only to be laid off under the guise of position elimination a few weeks later. Like my breakup in 2010, this layoff was yet another devastating trauma. Of the same violence, leaving the same scars on my paper-thin self-esteem.

Psychiatry, that impostor

I would then resume my fall. A descent into hell masked by overwhelming denial, slowed by extraordinary resilience, despite taking an antidepressant supposed to stop weight gain (this would be a failure), until February 2023. Still without answers, I dive back into the subject of ADHD. I devour entire books, listen to conferences, delve into neuroscience, and discover that everything is neuroscience. A constant emerges from all this enlightening content: In the case of adult ADHD, medication is the first resort. Despite my concerns, I decide it’s time to retake the test, this time with full knowledge. I convince my psychiatrist to give me stimulant treatment for ADHD. The cravings disappear, thoughts slow down, days slowly organize themselves.

Understanding the significant limitations of my psychiatrist, I look for another one, who will adapt my treatment. Things will increasingly fall into place. My dopaminergic circuit will start functioning almost normally. Yet, everything won’t be resolved. Recruiters’ rejections were still as many stab wounds. Meeting new people still just as difficult. My fears, of disappointing, of being disappointed, of getting it wrong, of being inadequate, were still just as overwhelming. It will take me almost 2 years to befriend new people, now very dear to my heart. Psychiatry will still not have provided answers.

At each stage of this journey, I found fragments of answers, pieces of the puzzle, without ever being able to have a complete picture. Something was always missing. And lacking other elements, I continued to dig deeper. Very high-potential and ADHD being described as bringing their share of problems: Hypersensitivity, hyperesthesia (sensory hypersensitivity), acceleration of thought, both positive and negative, everything was there, within reach. It had to explain my suffering… and yet.

30 years of wandering resolved in a few months?

Then came Adrien Zerbini’s podcast from RTS: « DINGUE », a science popularization podcast on mental health. Episode after episode, I would learn more and more. Then ChatGPT, Claude.ai, with whom I could exchange ideas, dig deeper into subjects. And I would finally have, after having changed therapists three more times, the missing pieces of the answer I needed. The picture was finally becoming clearer. As was its complexity.

Finally, since 2024, I have established two distinct diagnoses concerning myself:

The first, innate, is ADHD (Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder). A genetic neurological characteristic, considered in our society as a defect of the dopaminergic circuit, yet the source of hypervigilance, creativity, risk-taking, exploration. It is therefore to people with these characteristics that we owe the greatest innovations, the most important discoveries, the insane risks, which, sometimes, have moved this world forward.

The second, acquired, is a Complex PTSD, or complex post-traumatic stress disorder. A progressive destruction of self-esteem and self-confidence, through violence, denigration, reinforced by toxic relationships and managers throughout my life and career. This condition is responsible for my current paralysis. Fear of commitment, fear of doing wrong, fear of disappointing, of being disappointed, of being rejected, of being judged. Fear whenever I am in direct or indirect interaction with other people, known as well as unknown.

Throughout this tumultuous life, I have reached significant levels of exhaustion and despair several times. Burn out when work was exciting, bore out when it was under-stimulating, without any of these diagnoses being made or treated. I have, however, permanently suffered from generalized anxiety, without being aware of it, convinced that this was just life.

The failure of a system – Death to psychiatry

My story is enlightening, and yet I am far from being a unique case.

The numbers are clear: psychiatry is massively wrong. According to the American Psychiatric Association, DSM-5 trials show that two psychiatrists reach the same diagnosis in less than one case out of two. Work from Columbia University had already shown that agreement could drop to 20%. In other words, in the real world, diagnosis too often comes down to chance.

These errors translate into years of wandering. In France, an Inserm study indicates that ADHD diagnosis takes an average of nearly three years. In Europe, research published in BMC Psychiatry shows that the average delay reaches 20 months, with extremes of more than 30 months in the United Kingdom. For autism, Swiss research published in European Child & Adolescent Psychiatry estimates the delay at more than two years. Meanwhile, lives are deteriorating.

Institutional resistance makes the situation worse. In Sweden, the Karolinska Institute has shown that women are diagnosed with ADHD four years later than men, and present twice as many anxious and depressive comorbidities. As for complex PTSD, it remains largely ignored: the World Health Organization only officially recognized it in 2018, even though it affects a considerable portion of victims of repeated trauma.

While psychiatry is stagnating, neuroscience is advancing. Investments in brain imaging and neurogenetics are already opening up solid avenues. However, as Stanford University points out, it takes an average of 15 to 20 years for neuroscientific discoveries to be applied in clinical practice. This gap leaves millions of people trapped in an obsolete system.

These statistics align with my lived experience. Uncertain diagnoses, cascading comorbidities, ignored trauma, haphazard treatments: thirty years lost, while a few months of neuroscientific approach finally brought me answers. My case is not the exception. It’s the rule. And as long as psychiatry refuses to evolve, others will continue to sink.