Hi everyone. I'm new to this forum and will not deny I'm a bit aprehensive about it. I'm a 21 year old college student who got diagnosed about a year and a half ago. I was studying International Relations but recently switched to Psychology. I love learning foreign languages and studying different cultures. I also enjoy riding horses and learning karate. When I'm not listening to music and wasting time on my computer I am usually either in class or tutoring kids.
So then, what am I doing on a PTSD support forum? I have been known to talk too much so please forgive me if this subsequent explaination seems long winded.
I was the youngest, and therefore the smallest and weakest, person in my family. Everyone else in my family; my brother, my father, my stepfather, my mother, everyone was carrying around pain and bitterness from their own abusive childhoods, and it ultimately all got taken out on me. My parents divorced when I was three and no one ever explained to me what had happened. All I knew was one day daddy left and he didn't come back. For a long time he was my only friend in the world but he emotionally abandon me when I started Middle School when he realized that I was not going to be the valedictorian/star athlete/student body president of my school. My stepfather was sexually, physically, and verbally abusive. My mother was very verbally abusive. My older brother was physically, verbally, and emotionaly abusive. My constant outbursts of anger at elementry school caused me to be alienated from the other students. I was seven years old when I first contemplated suicide.
Between all that and my father's relentless criticism I started having symptoms of sever anxiety when I was in 9th grade. I never did anything illegal as a child, but started hanging out with a group of kids who did and had no qualms about emotionally manipulating me to get what they wanted. When I was in 10th grade and my mother decided to take me out of the school I'd been in since kindergarden, I snapped. I started cutting myself with a knife. It became obsessive, out of control. I finally confessed it to a teacher who in turn told my family. Let's just say it was not handled terribly well. They sent me to see a counselor who I didn't get along with. I eventually told everyone I had stopped cutting myself. I was lying. It had diminished, but it had not gone away.
When I left for college, it only got worse. I discovered a sharper, stronger type of knife. When I was once again cutting myself at least once a day I went to the school counselor. In all fairness to her, she, I believe, genuinely cared about me, but she had very few resources to work with at that college. She took me to the closest hospital and had me placed in the psychiatric ward. I was there for three weeks. It was a combination of one of the best and the absolute worst experiences of my life. The psychaitrist who was "in charge" spent all of maybe twenty minutes talking to me before he diagnosed me with 3 different things and put me on 3 different medications. I'm inclined to think they only released me in the end because I started having severe panic attacks. I went back to school with very little in the way of support. A month later I tried to kill myself by overdosing on asprin. It was an act of sheer impulse and after the initial shock wore off I told a nurse at the wellness center and was taken to the ER and subsequently, much to my dismay, locked back in the psych ward. I was essentially kicked out of my school and sent home. The following several months were marked by more run ins with my family, not the least of which was my father telling me, "sometimes I look at you and I feel like I did something wrong," and several months of counseling with a nurse who was a little better than my very first counsoler, but not by much. I was able to stop cutting myself but had another very near suicide attempt.
I did call another nurse about getting financial assistance for starting counseling again (my insurance went away when September roled around and I was not employed or enrolled in college full time since I couldn't be on my parents' policy anymore, so I had to stop taking medication and counseling) but she only gave me threats. She told me that either I went and told my mother that I was feeling suicidal and gave her the knives I had in my room while she stayed on the phone and listened so she could make sure I told my mother exactly what she wanted me to hear, or she would have to put me in a hospital. Neither of those options were in any way attractive to me and I was fortunately able to talk my way out of both of them, but it made me extremely jumpy about talking to mental health professionals for a while.
Something did change though. My mother, she found God. When she found God an incredible change came over her. She was far less quick to anger, much more at peace with herself and her surroundings, and much easier to talk to. I finally felt like I had someone in my family I could turn to when I was in need and trust with anything.
I applied to transfer to a different university, a larger and more diverse one. My mother, because of the tremendous changes that had taken place in herself, was supportive of me and my desire to continue my education. January of 2009 I left for a university in sunny California and from there everything took a VERY big turn. I thought I could cope at first but when all the beginning-of-the-year stress I felt the impulse to cut returning. I went to the wellness center at the university which was much bigger and equipped with a range of mental health specialists with a breadth of experience. When I told the therapist I met with there about my history, I honestly expected him to say what everyone else had said, which was essentially, "So what do you want me to do about it?"
Quite the contrary, he wouldn't hear of it when I told him I wasn't sure if I wanted to meet regularly. He was going to help me and he wouldn't take no for an answer.
I'll confess, because of the experience I had with the psychiatric nurse over the phone, I was extremely reserved at first. I would sit in the waiting room of the wellness center before my appointments feeling very much like I was going to vomit because I was so nervous. Thank Heaven I stuck with it though. My therapist paired me up with the school psychiatrist who spent an hour with me before prescribing me one medication that has helped tremendously. He had me see another psychologist in addition to seeing him who was trained in psychological assesment. It was she who, after 6 hours of testing, diagnosed me with PTSD. The psychiatrist had me see the school physician who discovered I had a hypoactive thyroid and started me on hormone replacement therapy. After I was diagnosed with PTSD my therapist had me registered with the office for students with disabilities he deemed that it was effecting my memory and ability to process information. I eventually found myself surrounded by a tremendous network of support, both at the wellness center and outside it.
So, here I am, two years later. I have improved tremendously if I do say so myself, but PTSD continues to challenge me on a daily basis. I'm constantly frustrated by it's effect on my memory and concentration which in turn causes me to struggle with my classes. I'm always being told by my teachers and coaches, "You're doing good, but I feel like you could be doing so much better." I have no words to describe just how discouraging that is.
So, there you have it. Again, I hope that wasn't too long. My deepest gratitude to anyone who took the time to read the whole thing. I feel less nervous now that I've gotten the introduction out of the way. I look forward to getting to know all of you and hopefully adding this forum to my toolbox for coping with PTSD. Thank you for listening.
So then, what am I doing on a PTSD support forum? I have been known to talk too much so please forgive me if this subsequent explaination seems long winded.
I was the youngest, and therefore the smallest and weakest, person in my family. Everyone else in my family; my brother, my father, my stepfather, my mother, everyone was carrying around pain and bitterness from their own abusive childhoods, and it ultimately all got taken out on me. My parents divorced when I was three and no one ever explained to me what had happened. All I knew was one day daddy left and he didn't come back. For a long time he was my only friend in the world but he emotionally abandon me when I started Middle School when he realized that I was not going to be the valedictorian/star athlete/student body president of my school. My stepfather was sexually, physically, and verbally abusive. My mother was very verbally abusive. My older brother was physically, verbally, and emotionaly abusive. My constant outbursts of anger at elementry school caused me to be alienated from the other students. I was seven years old when I first contemplated suicide.
Between all that and my father's relentless criticism I started having symptoms of sever anxiety when I was in 9th grade. I never did anything illegal as a child, but started hanging out with a group of kids who did and had no qualms about emotionally manipulating me to get what they wanted. When I was in 10th grade and my mother decided to take me out of the school I'd been in since kindergarden, I snapped. I started cutting myself with a knife. It became obsessive, out of control. I finally confessed it to a teacher who in turn told my family. Let's just say it was not handled terribly well. They sent me to see a counselor who I didn't get along with. I eventually told everyone I had stopped cutting myself. I was lying. It had diminished, but it had not gone away.
When I left for college, it only got worse. I discovered a sharper, stronger type of knife. When I was once again cutting myself at least once a day I went to the school counselor. In all fairness to her, she, I believe, genuinely cared about me, but she had very few resources to work with at that college. She took me to the closest hospital and had me placed in the psychiatric ward. I was there for three weeks. It was a combination of one of the best and the absolute worst experiences of my life. The psychaitrist who was "in charge" spent all of maybe twenty minutes talking to me before he diagnosed me with 3 different things and put me on 3 different medications. I'm inclined to think they only released me in the end because I started having severe panic attacks. I went back to school with very little in the way of support. A month later I tried to kill myself by overdosing on asprin. It was an act of sheer impulse and after the initial shock wore off I told a nurse at the wellness center and was taken to the ER and subsequently, much to my dismay, locked back in the psych ward. I was essentially kicked out of my school and sent home. The following several months were marked by more run ins with my family, not the least of which was my father telling me, "sometimes I look at you and I feel like I did something wrong," and several months of counseling with a nurse who was a little better than my very first counsoler, but not by much. I was able to stop cutting myself but had another very near suicide attempt.
I did call another nurse about getting financial assistance for starting counseling again (my insurance went away when September roled around and I was not employed or enrolled in college full time since I couldn't be on my parents' policy anymore, so I had to stop taking medication and counseling) but she only gave me threats. She told me that either I went and told my mother that I was feeling suicidal and gave her the knives I had in my room while she stayed on the phone and listened so she could make sure I told my mother exactly what she wanted me to hear, or she would have to put me in a hospital. Neither of those options were in any way attractive to me and I was fortunately able to talk my way out of both of them, but it made me extremely jumpy about talking to mental health professionals for a while.
Something did change though. My mother, she found God. When she found God an incredible change came over her. She was far less quick to anger, much more at peace with herself and her surroundings, and much easier to talk to. I finally felt like I had someone in my family I could turn to when I was in need and trust with anything.
I applied to transfer to a different university, a larger and more diverse one. My mother, because of the tremendous changes that had taken place in herself, was supportive of me and my desire to continue my education. January of 2009 I left for a university in sunny California and from there everything took a VERY big turn. I thought I could cope at first but when all the beginning-of-the-year stress I felt the impulse to cut returning. I went to the wellness center at the university which was much bigger and equipped with a range of mental health specialists with a breadth of experience. When I told the therapist I met with there about my history, I honestly expected him to say what everyone else had said, which was essentially, "So what do you want me to do about it?"
Quite the contrary, he wouldn't hear of it when I told him I wasn't sure if I wanted to meet regularly. He was going to help me and he wouldn't take no for an answer.
I'll confess, because of the experience I had with the psychiatric nurse over the phone, I was extremely reserved at first. I would sit in the waiting room of the wellness center before my appointments feeling very much like I was going to vomit because I was so nervous. Thank Heaven I stuck with it though. My therapist paired me up with the school psychiatrist who spent an hour with me before prescribing me one medication that has helped tremendously. He had me see another psychologist in addition to seeing him who was trained in psychological assesment. It was she who, after 6 hours of testing, diagnosed me with PTSD. The psychiatrist had me see the school physician who discovered I had a hypoactive thyroid and started me on hormone replacement therapy. After I was diagnosed with PTSD my therapist had me registered with the office for students with disabilities he deemed that it was effecting my memory and ability to process information. I eventually found myself surrounded by a tremendous network of support, both at the wellness center and outside it.
So, here I am, two years later. I have improved tremendously if I do say so myself, but PTSD continues to challenge me on a daily basis. I'm constantly frustrated by it's effect on my memory and concentration which in turn causes me to struggle with my classes. I'm always being told by my teachers and coaches, "You're doing good, but I feel like you could be doing so much better." I have no words to describe just how discouraging that is.
So, there you have it. Again, I hope that wasn't too long. My deepest gratitude to anyone who took the time to read the whole thing. I feel less nervous now that I've gotten the introduction out of the way. I look forward to getting to know all of you and hopefully adding this forum to my toolbox for coping with PTSD. Thank you for listening.
