EverOnly358
Platinum Member
I don't even know what to say. It was a mess. I didn't punch anyone though! There's the good news. I was on my best behavior. This is a doctor that has been told my history TWICE, and today, I get "Why do you think you have PTSD? I see signs of OCD, I hear you saying you're bipolar, but..." Well, maybe because I've been diagnosed PTSD in the past. Maybe because I spent the time from age 2-1/2 to 20 being beaten every month, being thrown around, being punched, being slapped, being screamed at, being told by my father (the only family I had around) how much he wished I was dead and how he was going to make it happen!
Then, when I tried to escape to my mother's house at age 12, that lasted exactly 6 weeks and 2 days before her husband (stepfather #5 (or is it #6?)) raped me. And then my mother accused me of seducing and stealing her husband. I was TWELVE! Jeez... I didn't even know what she meant until years later. So then it was back to my father, to be his punching bag, and absolutely no one who cared. I was just there, for him to punch and hurt again and again until I broke and I screamed "Somebody Help Me" and then he would throw me on the ground, pin me and choke me until I passed out. But apparently, look, I don't have PTSD. Hahaha! I'm cured! Isn't that great!? I don't have PTSD. I haven't suffered enough yet. In the end, after giving my history for a THIRD time, this doctor made it clear she couldn't help me. Now, I'm just going down a list of other therapists, making appointments. But really, I'm just on auto-pilot... I was determined to seek help. God, I just feel really hopeless about it all. But sure, I've got to get ready and go, and smile and say nice things and gossip with all the stupid, vapid moms at my son's Cross Country meet today. And no one understands and no one will help me.
Then, when I tried to escape to my mother's house at age 12, that lasted exactly 6 weeks and 2 days before her husband (stepfather #5 (or is it #6?)) raped me. And then my mother accused me of seducing and stealing her husband. I was TWELVE! Jeez... I didn't even know what she meant until years later. So then it was back to my father, to be his punching bag, and absolutely no one who cared. I was just there, for him to punch and hurt again and again until I broke and I screamed "Somebody Help Me" and then he would throw me on the ground, pin me and choke me until I passed out. But apparently, look, I don't have PTSD. Hahaha! I'm cured! Isn't that great!? I don't have PTSD. I haven't suffered enough yet. In the end, after giving my history for a THIRD time, this doctor made it clear she couldn't help me. Now, I'm just going down a list of other therapists, making appointments. But really, I'm just on auto-pilot... I was determined to seek help. God, I just feel really hopeless about it all. But sure, I've got to get ready and go, and smile and say nice things and gossip with all the stupid, vapid moms at my son's Cross Country meet today. And no one understands and no one will help me.
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