**WARNING** I am NOT a: psychiatrist, psychologist, psychoanalytical philosopher, Freudian scholar, Freudian expert, . . . well . . . I trust you get the picture.
When I was twelve years-old, I had dreams of being a psychiatrist. I mean, I didn’t know at the time that I would need to attend undergrad, graduate (PhD), and medical school! I just thought I’d go to this place called ‘college’, become a psychiatrist, and then be able to help people. Oh, and then I could solve my own problems, too. Being my own best resource was my only course of action because, in my view, the supposed resources around me were the cause of my problems: white supremacy, poverty, familial chaos. You know, the usual.
I eventual decided I would double-major in history and psychology. However, I became increasingly frustrated with psychology classes because they seemingly weren’t preparing me to “fix” myself. It was mainly just a bunch of talk about experiments with seemingly little real-world applications, especially relative to Black people. I think I completed half of the major courses in psychology before I settled into a history degree with an emphasis in sub-Saharan Africa. My passion to “fix” myself, ever-burning, meant my continued interest in psychology which took on a more personal autodidacticism.
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