advertisement

Blogs

At nearly 300 pounds, psychotic and impoverished, many doctors and associates had written me off just seven years ago.  Getting back on top wasn’t easy.  It took a lot of work, help from a good doctor and a lot of determination on my part.  Through this I have discovered what I thought what was once impossible, that I could take control of my life despite having schizoaffective disorder.
I’m an impatient patient. When I was first diagnosed with depression seven or so years ago, my doctor prescribed me an antidepressant medication, warning me that it might take 2 to 4 weeks before it made any difference. Boy was that an understatement.
Only 33% of teens who were in an abusive relationship ever told anyone about the abuse.~Liz Claiborne Inc., Conducted by Teenage Research Unlimited, (February 2005). Two of three teens being abused tell no one about their abuse. They don't tell parents, mentors, or friends. The victim's shame and hope that the abuser will "see reason" and either leave them alone (bully) or love them (dating abuse) become barriers to his or her communication with people who want to help. Although I would like to think my child is the 1 in 3 who report bullying or dating abuse, the odds are stacked against me. So, last night, as I hugged my 15 year old before bed, I asked him if anyone had bullied him at school or online. Surprisingly, he said, "I don't know." And then, more surprisingly, he said, "I don't know what that would be like."
If you’re “funny in the head” like me, you’ve had to learn how to self-regulate – that is – evaluate your own behavior to determine whether you’re merely “in a mood” or riding the downtown express to Cookoopantsatopolis. Outsiders cannot understand, to them the answer will always be obvious. We know better. Frequently the dividing line between eccentric and incarcerated is only a few shades of gray, and one doesn’t even notice the point at which fun has turned into funkachunkabagooboo. To help all of you out there cursed with the responsibility of being one’s own strictest supervisor, I have devised this simple quiz which can be self-administered whenever needed. If you answer “B” to more than 5 of these questions, you’ve been boodoogelized and should get help as soon as you retrieve your clothes from the dishwasher.
Self-harm is mentioned below. When I was at university earning my degree I was a busy girl. I was attending school full-time, working three part-time jobs and skydiving on the side. There wasn’t a lot of time for dilly-dally. And, of course, through this I was also getting treatment for bipolar disorder. This was at a time when treatment has started becoming successful but we were still tweaking things to try and get the most from the medication. As most lab rats know, this means upping the dose. And, one day, I was at work and suddenly found myself needing to excuse myself to the lady’s room so I could slice open my ankle. Drat.
“The most important relationship you will ever have is the one you have with yourself.” Author unknown Each year, Valentine’s Day seems to draw attention to the notion that love is indeed a mystery.  For some, it is a day looked forward to eagerly as they await their chance to acknowledge or be acknowledged by those they love.  However, for many people with adult ADHD, their own inner struggle with poor self-worth, lack of self-acceptance and low self-esteem, limits their full appreciation of the abundant love from those around them and for themselves.
Easier said than done! I recognize a pattern in my posts: I seem to be telling you what you probably already know. I write that recovering from mental illness is exhausting and that taking psychiatric medication leaves something to be desired. But these topics are important and they need to be discussed. So, let's talk about sleep.
Before I decided to share them here, I hadn't read my old personal blog entries chronicling Bob's two inpatient hospitalizations in 2008 since writing them. As I read them four years later, the confusion, hurt, anger and hopelessness are just as palpable. Amazing how the past can provide perspective into the present.
"Cowards die many times before their deaths. The valiant never taste of death but once." William Shakespeare, Julius Caeser It was February 1977.  We tumbled out of our wooden paneled station wagon, returning home from Indian Princesses, a YMCA craft and activity program to enhance relationships between fathers and daughters.  
This is a hard piece for me to write because it involves recognizing emotional abuse and the events leading up to my diagnosis of borderline personality disorder (BPD) and complex post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). It may be triggering to fellow survivors of emotional abuse. If you aren't in a place where you can read about it, don't read this piece. It's okay not to be ready to face your past by hearing about mine.

Follow Us

advertisement

Most Popular

Comments

Tali
I look forward to being unconscious for 4-6 hours every night (if I'm lucky). I don't dream. It's the only relief I have. I used to enjoy video games, but my husband hated me playing them so I gave them up. I had my own business but my husband told me I had to stop, so I did. He walks out on me whenever I don't do what he wants. He's allowed to have hobbies and I better not complain, just take care of the kids. My whole life had to be given up because it suits him and I've become nothing more than a maid and a babysitter. I love my kids but I just don't think I can take him finding some new thing to take away every September when he starts ignoring all of us because of the fair he acts in every year that time. He straight out told me this year he loves fair more than me. I don't have anything left to try for, I'm not a young lady anymore. I don't want to die, but I don't want to live...live...survive anymore. I doubt what I've been doing can be qualified as living. Thing is the rest of the year he's good to us. But somehow it's always me, I'm the problem, he just turns it around. Always carry on, carried on before, like a machine. This time I don't have it in me. I swear if he says one more time to me if doesn't get to do one of his many hobbies he'll get depressed and kill himself I'm just going to lose it. He doesn't care what I've been carrying these past 12 years. Doubt he noticed. He didn't notice when he left for fair with me fresh out of abdominal surgery to take care of a newborn, 1 year old, and 3 kids under 10. Apparently it interfered with him so much he was annoyed with me for not being fully healed from it after only one week. Not sure who told him people heal from major surgery in a week, but whatever. I doubt he even notices unless it inconveniences him, but he'll only get mad if it does. I wish I had some helpful or inspiring words, but I don't. I'm just existing with no reason anymore. I had reasons before, but they don't make sense anymore. I want to cry, but even that is too much effort.
Roxie S. Mitchell
Exactly what I needed to read right now. After all, I've grown up being abused and then screamed at for crying afterwards, so this article is very insightful because it helps us realize that crying is actually a normal part of being a human. Thank you for this!
Sandy G.
To Kelly Torbitz-Your parents punished you properly by making you wear the diaper and rubberpants.As a mom,i have heard of older girls being punished with diapers and rubberpants and i think it helps shape them up.The diapers and rubberpants are not only worn for punishment,but also to make girls feel cute and little girlish.
Word Warrior Mama
On the other hand . . .

I read this book many years ago, just as I was entering the turmoil of remembering, questioning and doubting myself all the way (as I'd been covertly taught over a lifetime). I happened to mention to my two sisters one day, "This is so strange but I've been diagnosed with PTSD." Both my sisters surprised me by responding, "Me too."

THEN I happened upon an old book manuscript that my now deceased father had written (not published), wherein the protagonist was obviously based upon himself and he rapes his "fiancee," who had my unusual name. Yes, truly.

Then I made myself look at the peculiar memory I always had where he violently threatened me but somehow I had never been able to recall what came before or after the episode. I had to admit that was a bit strange.

The pressures and powers to forget sexual abuse are great, both in family and society. In fact, I've come to the sad conclusion that the vast majority of survivors never really deal with their childhood wounds (a neglect for which there are always repercussions).

To critique an encouragement of people trusting their intuition in such matters is really getting the prescription dangerously wrong.
Christina
I hear your voices. Can you please help me let me know what medication you’re on. You could save lives with this information. My email is christinacrawford555@hotmail.com
Thanks!