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People Share the Worst Advice They've Ever Taken

"I'd pull over, puke, and get back in my car; pull over, puke, and get back in my car."
Photo by Cameron Whitman via Stocksy

Once when I was feeling anxious, a ex-boyfriend suggested I try electroconvulsive therapy. The controversial treatment can do wonders for some conditions, but as confirmed by my doctor, my anxiety was not one of them. Thankfully, I did not heed the gaslighting entreaties of my former flame, but other times, I've been less savvy. Whether it's coming from our partners, our therapists, our family, or our friends, bad advice is everywhere. These are the stories of times we have listened.

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Marriage solves everything

I'd been in a three-year relationship founded on phenomenal sexual chemistry when our political and lifestyle differences began stretching before me like that chasm Indiana Jones has to walk across. (He also made me especially insecure about his ex who he'd broken off an engagement before we met.) Close friends (who were married) said a wedding would be a glorious gesture of commitment for developing the relationship. "Marry him and everything will fall into place," they said. I guess moving forward by tying the knot seemed like a potential fix to all the uncertainty, so I went with it. They were wrong. We got divorced not long after. –Ana*

Read more: Shrinks Who Kink: When You and Your Therapist Love BDSM

A man of the Lord

My neighbor, a close family friend, once told me that, "Even if he's not always nice to you, you'll never regret being with a man of the Lord," after I confessed to her that my religious boyfriend of three years was constantly mean to me and had terrible mood swings. It turns out (who knew?) that being religious has virtually no correlation to being a decent human being. He'd say things like I was "unsaved" by his very narrow Christian definition, so I was going to hell, and made me go to his weird, cult-like church. He also told me if we didn't get married I would be alone because nobody else would put up with me, and he would call my parents and tell them how crazy I was (although thankfully they didn't give him the time of day). Regardless, as we often do, I listened to my neighbor and tried to make it work way longer than I should have. We eventually broke up. Alicia*

Bad therapist #1

I've understood that I have an anxiety disorder and insomnia since high school—I'm constantly anxious, will go a week without being able to sleep, and have crippling panic attacks. Psychiatrists who actually know what they are talking about have confirmed as much. The medication I should be prescribed is anti-anxiety medication—I'm naturally quite amped up, for instance, so the dosage of Klonopin that would put a normal person to sleep sort of just levels me out. Regardless, upon moving to New York City when I was 22, I found a new shrink via Zocdoc. Right off the bat she described her methods as "out of the box" and proceeded to tell me that I actually had severe undiagnosed ADHD, and my anxiety, panic attacks, and insomnia were side effects of the condition not being medicated. She then prescribed me 10 mg of Adderall to be taken twice a day. My first day of heeding her medical advice, the Adderall made me go completely berserk—I was writing emails at work that made so little sense my boss pulled me aside and asked what the fuck going on with me. That night, I had agreed to join my boyfriend at his ex-girlfriend's birthday party; she happened to be an insanely hot dominatrix so I was intimidated as fuck by her. The party consisted of her, her husband, her mother, myself, and my boyfriend. Needless to say, my Adderall comedown did not make the mood of an already uncomfortable night any easier. Grace*

Bad therapist #2

When I went to college I cut ties with my mother—my entire family, really, but my mother's the only one who is still alive. She was verbally, physically, and emotionally abusive to me in childhood and nearly killed me once, and she offered me nothing in terms of quality of life. But when I moved to New York, I had a very Freudian therapist who insisted that I reach out and make contact as that would be the "only way" I'd "truly heal." My girlfriend at the time agreed, and what happened was nothing short of being stalked for a year. Packages would show up at work, I'd break down mid-day from a random email or a phone call she'd make just to "say hi," and a solid portion of my emotional and mental armor needed to make it through the day was dedicated to constantly being on edge and ready in case she reached out. I finally quit my therapist via text one night after such an instance, and I'm now married to someone who also keeps her family distant (mostly) and has no desire to see me reunite with my abuser just because she birthed me. Russ

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Basically? Just never do drugs

At one of my first jobs post-law school, I was working as an associate at a big fancy firm, and every summer they had huge parties at a hoity-toity country club, a scene I was not used to. Another associate's roommate was at the party and brought this massive bag of cocaine. Everyone else was doing it, so despite having to be in court the next morning, I did it, too. It was getting late and I thought I should go home to try and sleep it off, but my best friend there said that the best thing to do was more coke, since I probably wouldn't be able to sleep anyway. That way I "wouldn't even need coffee!" I took his advice.

As the sun came up and I was driving to court, the comedown started, and I had to pull over my car and puke. Over and over. I'd pull over, puke, and get back in my car; pull over, puke, and get back in my car. When I finally got to court and it was my turn to argue my motion, I had to throw up more, and also must have still been high, because I started arguing super fast so I could get to the bathroom as soon as possible. My friends were in the back of the room watching and giggling the whole time. It was horrible advice—but the judge ruled in my favor! After he said, "OK, you win," I went running out of the courtroom and into the bathroom and puked into a urinal like four times. It got all over my tie. –Nick


*Names have been changed.