Hello everyone,
I thought I was fine. "Yes, I was withdrawn, often sad, and avoidant of social situations," I would admit to myself. I didn't think much of the fact that I had considered various ways to kill myself. I casually dismissed my heavy drinking - often leading to blackouts - as nothing more than a youthful activity. The frequent dreams I had where I was being attacked I would dismiss as just bad nightmares - even when they'd be so intense that I would jump out of bed with my heart racing. I ignored all these things. I was in denial.
Then, this past year, after living like this until my late twenties, the levee broke. I entered into my first serious relationship, and thats when the anger started. I was captive to obsessive thoughts of betrayal, neglect, and abandonment; I would accuse her of not really loving me; I would yell at my friends that they didn't care about me. This would often lead me to storm out, to walk until the panic passed. After one episode in which I punched my own face bloody, I accepted that I had a problem and started therapy. Couple sessions and I was diagnosed with severe depression and prescribed medication. I thought the ordeal was over.
Not one week after beginning the medication I snapped. In a fit of rage I destroyed my apartment. My girlfriend then messaged me that she was leaving me - she couldn't handle this anymore. Feeling like all hope was lost, that nothing was going to change me, I attempted suicide. My roommate found me in time and I was hospitalized. I was kept for psychiatric evaluation. I then began to talk about the things I had been hiding from others and from myself: the physical abuse I had endured as a child from my father, the emotionally unavailable mother, and the drug addicted brother who was violent toward and allowed a man into our home that did things to me I can't bear to write. I was then diagnosed with PTSD.
It's been six months since my hospitalization. I'm in therapy and taking medications. I don't know if I'll ever be able to repair the relationships I damaged, and I know I will never get back the years I lost to this illness. I'm ready to heal from this wounds that have controlled my life.
I thought I was fine. "Yes, I was withdrawn, often sad, and avoidant of social situations," I would admit to myself. I didn't think much of the fact that I had considered various ways to kill myself. I casually dismissed my heavy drinking - often leading to blackouts - as nothing more than a youthful activity. The frequent dreams I had where I was being attacked I would dismiss as just bad nightmares - even when they'd be so intense that I would jump out of bed with my heart racing. I ignored all these things. I was in denial.
Then, this past year, after living like this until my late twenties, the levee broke. I entered into my first serious relationship, and thats when the anger started. I was captive to obsessive thoughts of betrayal, neglect, and abandonment; I would accuse her of not really loving me; I would yell at my friends that they didn't care about me. This would often lead me to storm out, to walk until the panic passed. After one episode in which I punched my own face bloody, I accepted that I had a problem and started therapy. Couple sessions and I was diagnosed with severe depression and prescribed medication. I thought the ordeal was over.
Not one week after beginning the medication I snapped. In a fit of rage I destroyed my apartment. My girlfriend then messaged me that she was leaving me - she couldn't handle this anymore. Feeling like all hope was lost, that nothing was going to change me, I attempted suicide. My roommate found me in time and I was hospitalized. I was kept for psychiatric evaluation. I then began to talk about the things I had been hiding from others and from myself: the physical abuse I had endured as a child from my father, the emotionally unavailable mother, and the drug addicted brother who was violent toward and allowed a man into our home that did things to me I can't bear to write. I was then diagnosed with PTSD.
It's been six months since my hospitalization. I'm in therapy and taking medications. I don't know if I'll ever be able to repair the relationships I damaged, and I know I will never get back the years I lost to this illness. I'm ready to heal from this wounds that have controlled my life.
