The last psychiatrist I saw would've liked for me to be on neuroleptic drugs the rest of my life. I had to agree to his every demand to get off the treatment order. Being on neuroleptics meant little more than four waking hours a day. Not really a life! Psychiatry has offered me no hope of recovery, no avenues for rehabilitation, just forced treatments with drugs that harmed me horrifically. Communities like poetry open mic nights in contrast offered me something to live for. Mental health peer-support organisations offered discussion, understanding and ways of coping, and studying art therapy meant I could start articulating what really was going on and how little sense psychiatrists' chemical imbalance theories made, and, how horrifically wrong my government was in allowing psychiatrists to force me to take drugs that harmed me.
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