The Black Phoenix
Bronze Member
Hi everyone,
I usually skip the introduction part of forums, and pop right into posting. But something tells me that in this case, that isn't fair to anyone. In writing what I'm going to write, you will know more about me than anyone who knows me in "real life" does. In the words of Kurt Vonnegut, "So it goes".
I was diagnosed with PTSD about 3 years ago, after I got out of a bad relationship with my ex boyfriend. It had done damage, but I had to started to come out of it once he moved to another state; then he moved back. I had gone to a therapist because I was feeling suicidal and I didn't really want to die. I was prescribed Prozac.
Within a week or so I had a bad reaction to the meds and became manic. At first I was deliriously happy, even so, I knew something was wrong. I went to my therapist, and we agreed that ceasing medication immediately would be prudent. Even with the cessation of meds I didn't come out of mania, which had become an unbearable state of constant aggravation and irritation. After a month I was on an anti-psychotic, an anti-depressant, a benzo (anti-anxiety), and a mood stabalizer. Due to a loophole in the DSM IV which is used to diagnose mental illness, my single manic episode was considered a sign of "underlying" bipolar so I was diagnosed with it.
The PTSD was pushed aside, and never discussed again. I knew though that it was much more of the problem than my therapist knew. The truth was, I didn't remember most of my childhood but I knew enough from the nightmares and what I remembered that it was hell. I have four older siblings who range from 17-20 years older than me and the ones who have been able to talk about it have told me things that up until recently I didn't believe. Because I was raised as an only child, and the majority of my family was banned from seeing me, no one really knows what happened and the only people who could tell me are my parents. My father is dead, and my mother only admitted to some things when she was sick and thought she was dying.
I will say that we all lived with extreme abuse. Mutulation, being locked in closets for sometimes full days, neglected and dirty, sexually abused, made to sleep on floors, starved, and beaten, to name a few.
A few months ago my diagnoses of bipolar disorder was reversed and my medications have slowly begun to be tapered down.
I haven't visited home in a long time, but recently a relative died and I sucked it up and went. After a week of being exposed to the environment in which I suffered, and talking with my sister, I had my first bonafide memory. Then the nightmares can back, and they horrified me so much I don't know if I will ever tell anyone the content of them, and my first reaction was that I would take them to my grave. I still don't have much a memory, but the few things that reemerged made me realize that it was so much worse than I thought. For years I had convinced myself that my sister was lying, even though my dad had corroborated what she said; he loved to brag about it to others.
Everyone tells me how "strong" I am, even if they don't know about my past, and I want to punch them in the face. I didn't survive, I exist.
The last month has been the worst, and my PTSD seems to be back in full force. I guess I had fooled myself into thinking it was gone, but now everything triggers me. I've always been able to turn myself off. Turn off physical pain, emotion, etc. But when the PTSD strikes, it is the worst attack I have ever experienced because it is mind, the only place that is truly unescapable.
So here I am, for better or worse. I remain hopeful that recovery is out there, and I try to remind myself of that on the tough days. I'm hoping to join this board will give me the opportunity to find a level of understanding I don't have from most, and to maybe in a small way help others.
I usually skip the introduction part of forums, and pop right into posting. But something tells me that in this case, that isn't fair to anyone. In writing what I'm going to write, you will know more about me than anyone who knows me in "real life" does. In the words of Kurt Vonnegut, "So it goes".
I was diagnosed with PTSD about 3 years ago, after I got out of a bad relationship with my ex boyfriend. It had done damage, but I had to started to come out of it once he moved to another state; then he moved back. I had gone to a therapist because I was feeling suicidal and I didn't really want to die. I was prescribed Prozac.
Within a week or so I had a bad reaction to the meds and became manic. At first I was deliriously happy, even so, I knew something was wrong. I went to my therapist, and we agreed that ceasing medication immediately would be prudent. Even with the cessation of meds I didn't come out of mania, which had become an unbearable state of constant aggravation and irritation. After a month I was on an anti-psychotic, an anti-depressant, a benzo (anti-anxiety), and a mood stabalizer. Due to a loophole in the DSM IV which is used to diagnose mental illness, my single manic episode was considered a sign of "underlying" bipolar so I was diagnosed with it.
The PTSD was pushed aside, and never discussed again. I knew though that it was much more of the problem than my therapist knew. The truth was, I didn't remember most of my childhood but I knew enough from the nightmares and what I remembered that it was hell. I have four older siblings who range from 17-20 years older than me and the ones who have been able to talk about it have told me things that up until recently I didn't believe. Because I was raised as an only child, and the majority of my family was banned from seeing me, no one really knows what happened and the only people who could tell me are my parents. My father is dead, and my mother only admitted to some things when she was sick and thought she was dying.
I will say that we all lived with extreme abuse. Mutulation, being locked in closets for sometimes full days, neglected and dirty, sexually abused, made to sleep on floors, starved, and beaten, to name a few.
A few months ago my diagnoses of bipolar disorder was reversed and my medications have slowly begun to be tapered down.
I haven't visited home in a long time, but recently a relative died and I sucked it up and went. After a week of being exposed to the environment in which I suffered, and talking with my sister, I had my first bonafide memory. Then the nightmares can back, and they horrified me so much I don't know if I will ever tell anyone the content of them, and my first reaction was that I would take them to my grave. I still don't have much a memory, but the few things that reemerged made me realize that it was so much worse than I thought. For years I had convinced myself that my sister was lying, even though my dad had corroborated what she said; he loved to brag about it to others.
Everyone tells me how "strong" I am, even if they don't know about my past, and I want to punch them in the face. I didn't survive, I exist.
The last month has been the worst, and my PTSD seems to be back in full force. I guess I had fooled myself into thinking it was gone, but now everything triggers me. I've always been able to turn myself off. Turn off physical pain, emotion, etc. But when the PTSD strikes, it is the worst attack I have ever experienced because it is mind, the only place that is truly unescapable.
So here I am, for better or worse. I remain hopeful that recovery is out there, and I try to remind myself of that on the tough days. I'm hoping to join this board will give me the opportunity to find a level of understanding I don't have from most, and to maybe in a small way help others.
