I will be 49 years old in February 2017. All my life, I always thought I was just too emotional, had anger issues, and was just destined to live a life of hell. I finally sought psychological help in 2011, trying to find help for my crazy, constant thoughts and other issues I was having.
I was misdiagnosed several times, and put on so many different medications that I lost count. Some would help for a while, but underneath the surface, I never felt “right”.
In 2013, after years of living in hell, the bottom fell out for me. My illness got out of control, and I began the life of living in and out of in-patient mental facilities. Of course, those were always a joke. They would put you on new medication, and after three days, home you would go. This cycle went on for many months.
I believe many of the medications made me worse. Psychological medications are to be taken very seriously, as they can cause severe symptoms, and alter your mind to the point you cannot function. At one point, before I was finally diagnosed correctly, my husband would not allow me to drive, in fear I would not remember how to get home. My mother had to come stay with me while my husband worked. I was a heavily medicated ball of mush.
I was committed to the State Mental Hospital by a Judge’s Order in January 2014. I was released after a 14 day stay, with an agreement that I would have out-patient therapy and follow all the the rules set forth. That lasted less than 30 days, at which time, I was sent back to fulfill my 90 day commitment as a ward of the State.
I was finally diagnosed correctly during this time. My medications were still not right for me, and it wasn’t until I was released and sought the help of my family doctor, that I was placed on medications that actually worked, the best that any medication can with this disorder.
I battle daily, still, even though I know I am on the best course of medications for me. I will leave this, and the rest of my story will come, in posts, as I feel comfortable telling the ugly truth of being me.