My life is destroyed

Thank you, God, for destroying my life. Or is that Satan? I can’t tell anymore. Amusingly shit hit the fan after taking antidepressants for 3 days back in March, after being pressured by my GP and others who don’t truthfully understand how my brain works. I was even told by my speech and language therapist, in a rude condescending tone, “THIS IS WHY YOU NEED TO BE MEDICATED, YOU HAVE PTSD”. 

As if living with PTSD is an offence of something, that we can’t simply live as sick. Truth be told, it doesn’t matter if you have your happy moments, have all your receptors in tact (dopamine for example) and can sleep like you’re holding the trophy as the best deep sleeper in the world. So long as you’ve got depression or PTSD, this means you need to be pressured by others into chemically altering you brain. 

Although medication can improve and lead to saving lives, well… my brain has been fucked up because of medication so my views right now are critical. I just hate how medication can be forced into others, and that person doesn’t get given a choice between medication or… say, specialised trauma therapy. Just like me, when I was being severely bullied in school, had no teacher to come to my defense, was psychologically manipulated by social services that were involved as the school didn’t like how I wouldn’t attend class. Hm, I wonder why? It isn’t like my mental health collapsed under the weight of being bullied and left to process it while the teachers pretended it never happened, thus becoming too sick to endure further torment in class. 

But yeah, while the trauma was happening. Who was on my side? Well my parents were, but unlike authority figures they couldn’t stop social services from destroying our happiness or prevent the bullying at school. CAMHS didn’t bother picking up on any of this and instead resorted to shoving pills down my throat. 

And if my parents refused to let me have pills, then CAMHS would give them a firm lecture and remind them how awful they are. So from a young age, my brain was chemically altered and once when I used to have a sharp imagination and could draw without any struggle, it was corrupted. No longer do I have imagination, the last time I remember being able to play with my Bratz dolls and write stories on Word was before being drugged. 

This isn’t even the worst of it. I was told by everyone who worked with me from CAMHS, that medication was the only way to treat me. Nothing else was accessible. And the only reason I apparently remained “sick”, was because I weren’t taking a high enough dose. And the many times CAMHS enjoyed labelling me as “paranoid”, after I’ve gotten so used to being bullied at school, that I genuinely believed everyone EVERYONE saw me as a pest. Well… instead of acknowledging the trauma and having some compassion, they declared that I was “paranoid” and further pressed me into taking meds. 

And each time they’d try to add more onto the pill stack, getting more aggressive when I started to distrust the services. Why are they believing we cause harm? Were the good, empathic psychologists! They must be requiring their prescription to be upped! 

Literally… they believed my lack of trust and anxiety while seeing their psychiatrists/psychologists/whomever was due to paranoia. It’s even written in my medical notes. 

Anyway, this is lengthy. But medication is finally my downfall and I believe CAMHS succeeded in neurologically damaging me, as they initially intended to do. Since taking Sertraline in March, I lost all my emotions and developed a brain tumour. And my personality has altered to the point I’m nearly unrecognisable to myself… which is disturbing. 

It stripped away what made me, me. My empathy used to be a gift, and it used to keep me going, despite having nasty depression that needed to be “cured”. I’ve dreamt about becoming a psychologist of some description, and following in Dan’s footsteps. He was the only one who was good to me. Unlike most therapists, he was human. The way he spoke to his clients, there wasn’t any power play, he honestly was there because he wanted to help improve the lives and well-being of others. And it was incredible to have met someone who CARED about others, instead of see them as numbers on a system or his money makers.

For years I wanted to be like him and do wonders for those who had given up completely on life, who didn’t believe there was anyone out there who could possibly understand. Now… thanks to being left emotionally numb and impaired cognitively by this brain tumour. I can’t. Unless miraculously I heal… 

I will never forgive my speech and language therapist for being the last voice to pressure me into restarting antidepressants. It sounds harsh, but when I paid her £60 a session for her to pretend to be a PTSD specialist (I was blind) and got told in a harsh voice that I was essentially defective and NEEDED TO BE MEDICATED, AS THOUGH I COULDN’T POSSIBLY EXIST OR FLOURISH WITHOUT MEDICATION. 

Well… all I can say is that my life is destroyed. There is no clear way on how to fix my head, and the GP surgery do not give a solid fuck. Instead of helping me, they’ve decided to botch my referral to a Trauma Centre and instead claim that a psychiatrist diagnosed I received a couple of months ago is wrong. That the lady who was trained to be a psychiatrist, who I spent £450 to get a private diagnosis after being left to rot for years, is apparently wrong for suggesting I have Complex PTSD. So the Trauma Centre is having doubts. 

You should’ve seen the role they played, when I was eventually placed under this corrupt counsellor who emotionally manipulated me, gave me a false diagnosis of psychosis and had me shoved in a mental ward for 6 weeks. She passed around this lie that I was physically “sick” and was on death’s door. That I was skin and bone, couldn’t handle eating big portions, and needed to be force fed by nurses at an inpatient unit. 

I was never sick. My parents knew this too. Miraculously when I was discharged from their services, they acknowledged my high metabolism and not once has anyone forced me to stand on scales. Unlike my GP from years ago, every SINGLE TIME. I was forced to stand on those scales. Told I was too skinny. Shamed. Not once did they acknowledge my high metabolism, they wanted to follow their agenda. But once I was discharged from CAMHS… well… things suddenly alter. 

Let’s leave my emotionally charged, incoherent rant at this. I’m now incapable of feeling love, but once I used to love so much. I used to have a lot of compassion and had I been lucky to enter a relationship, I would’ve done so much to make it worthwhile. Now, I can’t feel a single fucking thing. 21 years old and I’ve never held hands, kissed, gone on a date… This is going to be impossible now, as being anhedonic means I have no emotions or empathy or anything. SHITTTT.