Tell Your Story

To sue or not to sue. I welcome any thoughts . . . lay and/or psych opinions about the following matter. Most of the following was taken from a statement written by the patient’s daughter. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . my mother and I took my father to the emergency room at Hospital due to concerns regarding his diabetes. He had not taken his insulin for several days and was having uncharacteristic confusion along with large thirst for water . . . when the woman who checked us in learned that he was diabetic, he was checked in and taken immediately to one of the rooms. My mother and I accompanied him. . . . a nurse took his blood sugar and measured it to be 485, which she said “wasn’t bad.” While in the emergency room, he continued to behave strangely, but seemed to be in good spirits. He was in good spirits and conversed with several members of staff and told them that someday he would be on TV. ...

I have had a severe depression since I was in high school. I’ve never had a bad life. I have had heart break and not very many good friends. I lost my virginity to a guy after three dates at 21. and i don’t love him or anyone else right now. I dont’ want to talk to him. I don’t want to see him again. I don’t want to have sex again. I’ve been raped in another country, in that i was so freakin drunk that i was about to have sex on a bench, but ,managed to get up and wlak away and he let me. Now, I drink and i feel the need to cut myself. I feel so alone, so scared of this feeling inside me and so embarrassed. I thought i had overcome this in my depression \but my leg is cut up and my hands and i don’t know where else to turn. I don’t want help from ‘professionals’. I got drunk one time and threatened to kill myself. I got beaten by the police and taken to the hospital. The next day i feel fine, and i know i should stop drinking, but I’m 21 and I JUST WANT TO BE NORMAL. It hurts me to know this is inside me and i hate it. The blood fades but the scars never do, and they’re on show for everyone who looks. What then? How do i explain this to other people? My shame, my skin, my depression? I do love my life and i always think that i make this great big progressions in my depression, yet here i am, cutting myself. Is it my subconscious telling me no i’m not okay or is it my depression acting out against my own happiness. Every time that i try to go out with friends, soomething happens to make them cancel, or not be able too. And here i am, cutting myself because i dont’ think that no one loves me because i’m worthless, fat, ugly, not fun, depressing, needy, scary, boring. Whatever. I’m alone, and they don’t see it. If they did, they probably wouldn’t even want to be around me or associated. I hate myself, because no one else seems to like me. I miss having fun and being surrounded by people. ...

My name is vishalatchi arunagiri, I am a 22 year old girl diagnosed with a learning disability and schizophrenia. I am now recovering very well and have written many articles and published a book online. I am now forming my own meetup group. During the illness i was sleeping and studying makeup which helped me and i started making progress in focusing. ...

I was searching Google for effects of propaganda on the human psych, and stumbled upon this site. After reading a few stories, I felt I had to share my own. When I was in high school I was depressed. To the point where I was a walking text book definition. Failing grades, poor hygiene, isolation. All the signs were obvious.I had to go to rehab for drinking too much cough syrup.When I went to the doctor he diagnosed me with ADHD. I have never been a hyper person. always rather slow and calm.Than he tells me that he is going to just experiment with multiple drugs to see what works, and than diagnose me with whatever that drug treats.First drug was Vyvanse (lisdexamfetamine dimesylate)Its a new “abuse-free” amphetamine. Due to a coating of protein, the chemical can only dissolve in your stomach acid. Injecting, Smoking, or Snorting would not activate it.However the prescribed dose taken once a day was enough to make me a full effect of amphetamines, and I began losing alot of sleep. After having multiple panic attacks on this medication, I demanded the doctor take me off of it.He than gave me Focalin (Dexmethylphenidate Hydrochloride)Another new “abuse-free” drug. During my younger years I experimented with MDMA, and I would compare the feeling of Focalin with that of Extacy.When I got into college my doctor pulled me off of it saying that college kids are more likely to sell it, and that he must change my prescription.Next drug was Strattera (atomoxetine). I threw up every time I took it. It gave me intense piriods of happiness followed by extreme bursts of anger for no reason at all.I stopped going to the doctor, I stopped taking medications. I no longer trust the medical system, the pharm companies, or even the government. I’d rather suffer the depression untreated than go through what I went through in high school.On a side note, The experience made me drop out of school, and get my GED. That year, my school experienced a higher drop out rate than ever before. ...

I’d been seeing an NHS clinical psychologist for thirteen years. Let’s call her Marie and me Sarah (all names are changed in my story). We talked about what had happened to me and how it had affected me, we looked at what I found difficult. We considered strategies to manage my distress that sometimes manifested as profound anxiety and dissociation, and at others as depression. We used relaxation techniques, grounding techniques. She offered phone support between appointments if she had space, set up a good plan with the GP for their support and for me to use three days of low dose diazepam if I was become overwhelmed and exhausted, just enough to get me back on track. I had some art therapy. We thought about all aspects of my life and how I could best look after myself within my friendship/family groups.But I began to struggle more as we wrestled the most traumatic episodes of my childhood. I started to feel increasingly suicidal for more of the time and the self-harm increased. I needed more help. I lived alone. We’d often thought that were there a safe place to go, a restful, peaceful, caring place, that would have been so good. Marie and the GP (rightly) suggested hospital would not be that and reviewed what could be done. With some persuading, the Crisis Team began to offer me some support from 2005. They were mixed. One CPN, Matt, was fantastic; most saw me as ‘hysterical’ or a bottomless pit. But they didn’t know me. Then the Trust axed Marie’s post at a crucial point in my psychodynamic therapy. I was in turmoil. A new clin psych was found, Simon. It took me a time to trust a man, but eventually work became possible and we got back to exploring the part of my past that so often caused me to feel I was a nothing and a no-one with no right to life. I felt I was fighting this beast called suicide who was sucking me in such that only my toes were sticking out of its clamped jaw, jaws my arms could not prize open. I just had to hang on, to not be swallowed, for 2 days until the appointment with Simon, and then there would be help. ...

i have been very depressed three or four times. always it was the same cause. i’ve never had the experience of being depressed for no reason. i’ve never gone to bed feeling fine and woke up feeling depressed.i think i’ve acquired enough sophistication to say:i can’t imagine anyone under the same circumstances not becoming very depressed, crying constantly, hating himself, thinking of killing himself.i also think the circumstances are new to human experience. that is, in the past my guess is such circumstances were very uncommon.what were they every single time: a beautiful girl or woman who was unavailable. but not because i was ugly or boring or whatever.because of my family background.i live in the us. despite college entrance exams above the mean for admits to all of america’s best universities. despite the same for its graduate school entrance exams, i never had a chance of getting in. my parents divorced. my dad hit me, fornicated, was a loser.and so am i. social reproduction is reason enough to top yourself.the pills didn’t work. the psychiatrists and therapists were idiots.my solution has been alcohol.i’m in the following study believe it or not https://www.cog-genomics.org/.but i have no prospects and never will.anyway, blah, blah, blah…it is a fundamental tenet of the american ideology, so to say, that the locus of pathology is the individual, never his society and never the two together. ...

Good afternoon I live in São Paulo, Brazil, I’m 35 years old, single, and always said I had depression. Was considered slow, sad, spoke little, called donkey and cold, and all this time I thought it was true and should see a psychiatrist. I searched, the psychiatrist asked a few questions, and used antidepressants, Pristiq and others. At first I was very excited, since it was a more cheerful and talkative person, but two months later went and had the effect of increasing the dose and use lamictal,the remedy worked a little, changed my personality and was a person different, but felt did not want this all my life. ...

I and my daughter are both victims of false sexual abuse allegations. During , the now, five year long ordeal I have witness abysmal and unethical behavior by the psychologists and psychiatrists involved in my case.The behavior witnessed includes the withholding of retractions by the Social Services hand-picked psychologist The professionals act without regard to the child.The psychologists/psychiatrists that are used by Child Protective Services are essentially a tool used by Social Services to win their case. The professionals do not care for the children or the parents. They want to ensure that they testify to exactly what Social Services expects of them.Unfortunately, most attorneys do not know how to critically and effectively question a mental health professional.I have no doubt that some professionals are sincere but in my specific case I have observed very troubling behavior.I would be very skeptical of any diagnosis or testimony of any professional who testifies on behalf of social services. One must remember to distinguish between science and pseudoscience. ...

Can.you tell I have a cat just by looking at me? Can you tell I have a mental illness just by looking at me?I began to change in my early teens, be it hormones and my shifting brain chemistry, or the stress of my parents seperating. Something stressor from the outside flipped on the switch to a new life filled with major mood swings out of my control.Low self extreme kept me from meeting or caring about being social. I only went to school because I had to. Luckily one day two high school girls came to my 8th grade health class and talked to us about everything from Stress to Smoking to Sex even Suicide. They asked us to write thrm a question about these topics and others. I wrote “I want to die"It was the first time I admitted to myself or anyone else that I had these thouhts constantly. When class was over the girls kindly asked if I would like to talk to the counselor.That day was just the beginning of my journey towards understanding mental illness, and ultimately accepting mental Wellness. Over the next few years I spent time in psychiatric hospitals, tried medication that would hopefully be the missing puzzle piece of chemistry my brain needed. Most of the medications tried their best but caused the worst. I never once stopped taking the medication I was prescribed, for I never wanted to feel so completely out of control again. I realized I was accepting my chemical imbalance and each day I began to understand myself and my issues in a much lighter, hopeful way.The support I recieved on my journey towards wholness helped me acknowledge I was a person not a problem. My mother was my life support at times. She learned all she could about mood disorders and educated our family so as not to judge me, but be very proud. I also met some peers within the mental health community that I still keep in touch with regularly. It was a blessing to know I was not alone in the issues I faced. And that I would be accepted by my peers, for they had experienced similar challenges.I knew I had a message and a story to tell. I wanted to share my experience From Hell to Hope with students. That is where my journey began. So , with a father whose son has schizophrenia, and I, with my rapid cycling moods we have spoken to over 4,000 high school students since 2006.My hope is to stop stigma, treating people badly because they seem different. I want to promote education of mental illness so people suffering and their loved ones will believe recovery is real. ...

I’m a 29-year-old man with a story I’ve been wanting to share for a while now. It’s not a story of misery or desperation, for which I am every day grateful. More a story of dissatisfaction, occasional crisis, and a desire to understand this whole affair of mental health.My upbringing was all a person could ask for, a loving and stable family and a fair degree of academic success. If anything was missing, it was simply the acknowledgement that sometimes people get depressed, anxious, or otherwise mad, and that madness in itself is a natural part of life, for some of us more than others. ...