The Inner Monologue

Let’s take a moment to appreciate the modern miracle of psychiatry, where any behavior that annoys, inconveniences, or challenges the status quo can be neatly repackaged as a symptom. Forget demonic possession or witchcraft—today, we have something far more sophisticated: the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM), the ever-expanding bible of “what’s wrong with you.”

Historically, if you were a woman with opinions, you were hysterical. If you were part of an unpopular religious sect, you were delusional. If you were the “wrong” race, well, science (or what passed for it) happily declared you mentally deficient. The methods change, but the game stays the same: pathologize the people you’d rather not deal with.

Fast forward to today, where the DSM has ballooned into a sprawling catalog of human experience. Don’t like authority? Oppositional Defiant Disorder. Grieving “too long” after a loss? Prolonged Grief Disorder. Kids being kids? ADHD, ODD, or whatever acronym sells the most pills this quarter.

Now, don’t get me wrong—mental illness is real, and for those who genuinely suffer, proper diagnosis and treatment are life-changing. But when we slap clinical labels on ordinary human behavior, we do two terrible things:

1. We trivialize actual mental illness. If everyone is mentally ill, then no one is. When “disorders” are handed out like participation trophies, the people drowning in real suffering get lost in the noise.
2. We weaponize psychiatry. Suddenly, dissent isn’t just disagreement—it’s symptomatic. Uncomfortable emotions aren’t part of life—they’re disordered. And the second we decide someone’s behavior is a diagnosis rather than a difference, we’ve given ourselves permission to dismiss, medicate, or ostracize them.

The DSM should be a tool for helping people, not for labeling them into submission. But when we keep stretching the definition of mental illness to include being human, we’re not advancing medicine—we’re reviving the same old power plays with a fancy clinical veneer.

So here’s a radical idea: Maybe some things aren’t disorders. Maybe some people are just difficult. Maybe some emotions are supposed to hurt. And maybe—just maybe—the solution isn’t always in the DSM, but in learning to tolerate the messy, inconvenient reality of other people.

But hey, what do I know? I’m probably just narcissistic for writing this. Or histrionic. Or passive-aggressive. Or… well, I’m sure there’s a code for it.