Buckle up kiddos, because this is the kind of paper you take if you know you have something fucking wrong with you, but uni student wages don’t allow you to get therapy. It’s kind of a genius way of cheating the system, to be honest. I’m pretty sure by the end of the lecture I had diagnosed myself with social anxiety, half my mates with narcissism and the blokes putting on some major antics last weekend as bipolar in the middle of a manic episode.
It’s your classic psych lecture: the same two enthusiastic prospective clinical psychs answer every question, mature students love sharing a few anecdotes, and every now and then you hear “TAURANGA HERE” barking out of nowhere and cutting the lecturer off mid-sentence. I will say this: the lecturer is an absolute