- Advocacy, Anxiety, Depression, Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, PTSD, Recovery, Schizoaffective Disorder, Schizophrenia
Help, Hypocrisy, and What it Took for Me To Ask
I shocked my psychiatrist recently. I have never seen her more surprised than when I asked, “do you think a third session every week would be helpful?” It took her a moment to process. “yes,” she said, “I think it would.” Today she explained her surprise. In the nearly 8 years she’s been working with me, I’ve done just about everything to avoid asking for help. And suddenly, I am determined to get it. Let me give you some background My childhood and teen years were spent trying to convince myself that my obsessive-compulsive disorder was quirkiness and that I was being overdramatic by thinking I was suffering from depression.…
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What facing my trauma really looks like
Trigger Warning: Mention of sexual assault/rape and suicidal ideation Don’t let him rule your life. Everyone who offered those words meant it in support. I told myself I could do it. I tried. But when the man who sexually assaulted you moves into your apartment building, it’s going to have an impact. The trauma became inescapable. It felt like an invasion of privacy. I felt safe in our location. It was a fair distance from where I last knew of that he lived as well as being away from where he and I lived together. For me this was a new city, new space, new outlook on life. The building…
- Anxiety, Depression, Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, Perfectionism, PTSD, Recovery, Schizoaffective Disorder, Schizophrenia
The Weight of Mental Illness – The Invisible Burden on a Lifelong Struggle
Trigger Warning: Mention of Self-Harm From a young age, I began finding things along my path. I’m not sure which came first – depression, anxiety, or obsessive-compulsive disorder, but they clung to me. And over the years, they swelled and shrunk at varying rates, but I could not shake them altogether. Each in turn flourished, multiplying symptoms. It became too much to carry in my hands, out where people could see. I felt the need to keep them out of sight, and tucked them into a backpack. Through the highs and lows of my childhood, this weight remained settled heavily on my shoulders. In junior high I found myself so…