#I still remember when I was in the mental health inpatient I was the only virgin there and they even thought it was odd lol

[the-sappho-of-lesbos]

It’s not a need but it certainly is a massive flaming hot want lol

[riot-rose-recovers]

I am so proud of myself for finishing my stay at inpatient EDU. I can’t believe I did it. I was only there a month, and it went so quickly. I gained a lot of weight, but more than that I gained skills, insight, hope, and some amazing friends.

I am so grateful that the program catered to me as an ethical vegan (the first hospital to do so in my state, perhaps even the country, and I was their first fully catered to vegan patient, which is an honour), as I have never been accepted into a program before. I have been needing escalated care since I was a teenager, and I’m 27 now, but I would never give up my veganism for a program, so this was a huge, huge deal. For me, and for my vegan community. I am so proud of myself. It was so scary, but I did it!

I went from inpatient treatment to outpatient day program, but my depression got really bad, and I’ve ended up in a psychiatric hospital. I’d like to say I’m doing my best to follow my meal plan 100% but I’m not quite there right now. But I’m doing better than I usually would be right now! I’m not purging, I’m not exercising, I eat breakfast… I don’t want to lose all the progress I made in EDU. Both physically and mentally. So I need to make sure I’m keeping up with the nutrition and weight restoration. It’s hard because I don’t get weighed here. I could ask to be, but I’m scared. I’ve made a deal with myself. There is this dress I really want, but I’m only going to get it once I reach a certain dress size, a size up from where I am now. So I need to gain weight :) and I need to remember that right now weight gain is necessary for my health. That idea is less scary than it used to be. Still terrifying! But a bit less so. I am planning to do an eating disorder day program when I’m out of hospital, to make sure I’m still on the right track for recovery. I know I lost weight when I got out of EDU. I don’t know where I sit right now, but I think not knowing will be good for me. Hopefully I gain weight without really noticing and then when I get home I can buy that dress! And be another step healthier too!

Anyway. EDU was great. Incredibly hard, but so worth it. I gained so much from my time there.

If anyone is looking for a sign to get help, this is it. It is never going to be linear, but it is always worth it. The best things often are hard. You can do this. I believe in you.

Stay safe x

[emetogirl]

IRL story: I'm a physical therapist at an inpatient rehab facility, working mostly with the geriatric population. Patients come to us after hip surgery/falls/illness, etc. and we try to get them stronger so they can maximize their independence/mobility and return home. We have what we call "care conferences" with each of the patients' families where our director of rehab, the head nurse, the OT, myself, and sometimes an SLP all go over our recommendations for when they leave our facility.

All this to say, we were having one of these care conferences when I noticed my boss (the director of rehab, I'll call him Greg), push himself a little bit away from the table and wrap an arm around his stomach. I noticed immediately that his color was off, too, and he kept looking toward the doorway like he was calculating an exit.

No one else seemed to notice, so we kept giving our recommendations to the family. As the OT was going over her part, Greg hastily stood up his chair and said, "excuse me," and started making his way out of the conference room to the hallway, presumably to get to the bathrooms. He stopped at the doorframe, though, and kind of slid down to one knee. Later he told me he'd thought he was going to pass out.

Everyone else had caught on that something was wrong by this point, but I was way ahead of them. While they all started to ask Greg what was going on and if he was okay, I leapt up and grabbed the trashcan in the corner of the room and took it over to him. I was pretty sure I knew what was going to happen. He was green.

He threw up in the can instantly (I had to help him get his face mask off), and I felt so bad for him. Everyone made kind of a disgusted noise and I did my best to block him getting sick from everyone's view.

He was so embarrassed. He's a pretty young guy (we're the same age) and had only been the director of rehab for about two months. I could tell he was mortified that he got so publicly ill in front of his entire team and a patient's family. He kept apologizing even as he continued to throw up.

When he was through getting sick, I helped him stand up and walked him to his office where he could recover from the spectacle in private. He was in tears over what happened and I tried to reassure him that it was okay.

He threw up again after he tried some water I'd gotten him and I just kind of hovered awkwardly and patted his back.

It was definitely a weird, intimate, vulnerable interaction with my boss. But he was so gracious and thanked me profusely for helping him. I offered to drive him home (he only lives like 5 minutes away), but our SLP ended up doing it because she had finished seeing patients for the day and I still had a couple on my schedule.

Fast forward a couple of days, and lucky me must've caught his bug, just in time for the holidays, too. (This happened in December.) I woke up on Christmas Eve morning feeling SO nauseous and ended up spending my holiday camped out in the bathroom and throwing up like every 30 minutes. Landed myself in the hospital on Christmas Day to get fluids.

Good times all around.

Greg felt so bad that he got me sick that he went out and bought me flowers the day I returned to work. LOL. He's a pretty great boss.

OH MY GOD this one is my favorite one yet!!! Holy shit what a story, I feel so bad for both of you! I also work in healthcare and have a sort of similar story, this was the time that I was working in a mental health hospital, and me and the guy that were teching together were the only two people on the floor besides the nurse, so our patients really needed us. I could tell he wasn’t feeling well and he kept leaving the floor suddenly without telling me and then coming back, I assume bc he was getting sick or felt like he was gonna throw up. We were really good friends and so I just made him sit down and rest at the nurse’s station while I did rounds and everything. Once all our patients were asleep in their rooms I remember coming back to the nurses station and the poor thing was just sitting there with his eyes closed and I reached out and rubbed his back for a moment before I had to start my shitloads of paperwork for the night😂

[feminist-minimalist]

Psychiatric Wards & Hospitals, My Experiences

I've been diagnosed with PTSD, depression, a few other things that seem to have been merged into these diagnoses after further context and I've had some odd experiences as psych patient.

First, let me say this: sometimes, they *can* help. They *can* be a way to decompress and stabilize. Everybody's experience is different as is everybody's mental health team and psych ward/hospital rules. This serves as a disclaimer to say that I am not a licensed mental health professional.

That said, I have to say, they are not the best and have served me more bad than good. Let me explain.

The first time, I called the cops on myself. I was angry and distraught that I had tried to seek him out for support because I was feeling really suicidal and depressed about my time with a hostile and toxic work environment. Even though I left, I still felt the effects. The cop was professional, caring, and receptive, to be fair. But..also, a Jordan Peterson follower. So....eh. Not great, but not terrible. I kind of just tuned out. I had a chef's knife to my chest, but called the cops before I took irreversible action. I still can remember how sharp it was, with the tip brushing up against me but also how annoyed I was that I didn't think I could press down hard enough.

So, the hospital. Honestly? I had a mixed experience, but in some ways, kind of was really...all right. I called the cops on myself to get help, and I really did feel connected to the patients there. Food was fucking amazing. I slept a little better. Had some meds. The only bad parts? An annoying conspiracy theorist for COVID as well as a misogynist, and a few other people that I just...honestly felt sorry for but still were these angry balls of addiction. They calmed down after awhile and though they were still struggling, were ok conversationalists. The only bad part? One of the employees there kept saying "he's still your dad", which didn't help though it was meant in a loving way and I took it in the spirit they were implying. Still was invalidating though. The experience after coming home sucked. I was going through it with a bad landlady. I got her fired though. Still sucked to go through.

Next! So the next hospital. Really not great. It was an inpatient/outpatient facility and they knew me on an outpatient basis. Or I thought they did. I never felt respected by them as an abuse survivor. While I did CBT shit, they kept trying to diagnose me with something that was obviously untrue. Doesn't matter what it was now though since I ceased services and really made it clear I wasn't happy with them. This was in Florida during COVID. So. Yeah. That caused some problems considering I was definitely one of those "mask up and vaccinate" types and everyone else really wasn't. It literally caused so much stress with their neglectful attitude towards my very real complaints and concerns that it brought up this trauma from BEFORE Urissa. I had body memories of my Uncle Scott tackling me out of nowhere when I was a toddler. Big drunk guy who was a careless idiot. There were witnesses but I never went to the hospital and no charges were filed even though I was crawling around. I barely could stand after he tackled me. We weren't playing football and I wasn't interested in sports. So...yeah. Anyway.

That was probably the most directly damaging one. The way they framed me was acting out. But I had been repressing this shit FOR YEARS and unsafe people and places were essentially a "get over it" thing for the people I went to for help. They also misdiagnosed me. I had to argue with them to change it. It sucked. I got blamed for things that weren't my fault.

Again though, food was fine. People mostly fine except for some annoying patients and caregivers. But the reasons why I was there was dumb. I felt like I was heightened into a psychotic break *because* caregivers weren't caring. I came back a little better with a new perspective with my trauma finally jostled, but I was gobsmacked by the mistreatment there and at UNF. Wasn't suicidal on admittance, but definitely was in a position to have a full blown PTSD flashback, turned psychotic break. I was there to get permission for a medical withdrawal, which turned out to um...not be needed. Also, UNF campus security was attempting to silence and dismiss my issues. They did that.

Next!

Moved to a different state. Felt the walls closing in after I failed my truck driving skills test and didn't have a plan to return to uni (back at uni now of course though). Confronted poor family support, financial support cut off. Emotional support always nonexistent. So. Here's the thing with that. I had tried to kill myself by starving myself and not drinking water. I went to Lovelace and they said "eh" and threw me out. I tried again. I went to my uni hospital. They checked me out. Did find my vitals to be off and a thyroid problem. Gave me fluids. Sent me to psych hospital. Guess what happened? They turned me away when I called them out on giving me an inappropriate medication! They basically told me "yes, I think you need help, but no inpatient.

Hmmmmmmmmmmm. I still don't know how to feel about that. I mean. I'm glad I could have my sleep apnea device at home. I'm glad I got some food (still dealing with food insecurity due to being a student and not eligible for food stamps). I'm glad I could masterbate in the privacy of my own home. But still. Food good. I felt really bad. And I was hoping for three square meals til I felt better after my suicide attempt since I had no money, but I had Medicaid!

Anyway, I think the takeaway here is that, yes, in some cases, they can help. But all I can think about are the injustices and annoyances of some of them. I'll say this much. I wasn't comfortable as a sexual assault and rape survivor forced to spend time around other people with no fucking privacy. Other people definitely exposed themselves on purpose and seemed to kind of prod me over that fact. It was deeply violating. Fuck you that One Florida Mental Hospital.

Now there was one time where I went to a psych ward just to get away from Urissa. And I really was having a major dissociative moment where I was like "what the fuck is this chick doing"?!! And that really was just a floor. No privacy. No bed. Just a fucking chair with a table like in a school. Now. I will say this. I loved being away from Urissa. I loved being able to sleep (albeit in a chair like Grandpa Simpson). The burgers and fries for food was good. Really good. But I still was just...not having any space for myself. The caregivers were overworked. But I got some time to decompress from my abusive rapist.

And that's that.

No. You are unlikely to be 100 percent comfortable and unbothered in a psych ward. I wasn't allowed electronics in any of the places I went to, which made it worse, or have any space for myself. I hated not being able to masturbate. But I never just fucking jacked it in the open like some of the other patients I was with. Sometimes you'll deal with people that will not help you get better. The only reason why I'm saying that wellllllll yes, they can be helpful is that if you are someone that has always kind of self-parented, was neglected, but still figured it out, you'll have a space to ponder without those family members that don't help and no school or work to work through it on your own. With That One Florida Mental Hospital, I literally had a psychotic break to help me through it. I've never had psychosis before or after. It was literally just my brain going "LISTEN TO ME, YOU ARE TRAUMATIZED WORK THROUGH IT!!!!" But the fact that they just kind of diagnosed that instead of straight PTSD always irks me.

Also, if you are obese and short, good fucking luck if you went in involuntarily without allowable clothes on the floor. Because when I went in, the scrubs kept breaking and actually exposed me involuntarily and that's not great for people who have been sexually abused and raped.

They really are a mixed bag. And if you wanna get better, you really have to advocate for yourself and make good faith attempts to plead your case if you are unheard.

Good luck with them! You deserve a therapeutic relationship with your caregivers and to be heard on your concerns!

[reviviscencegruiform]

//YOUR NAME IS JERVIS [redacted or nonexistent] Tetch.

You might be from England, but DC can't make up it's fucking mind so we don't know. You are an old fuck man, by Tumblr standards. 40's 50's oh maybe even 60's if we're feeling spicy, ho ho.

Your entire life you've been bullied. Be it for your big fucking head or being small or being bucktoothed or weird or- look, there's a list. The list is long. Very few things on this list are things you can actually control. You were unpopular and in a traumatizing way.

Your home life is entirely undetermined, but even if it was good your trauma entirely outweighs it. You might not even remember it or know if it was real or something you dreamed the fuck up.

Your mental health is a fucking nightmare. Your worst day is every day and it is a constant unending battle of "is that real? is that right? is that safe? are they safe? where am i? who am i? am i who i think i am?" and so so so much more and every day you wake up you are an entire different version of yourself and those questions. Doctors have failed you at every fucking goddamn turn and so has every medication.

They simply make you feel bad. Maybe it's because of the trauma, maybe it's depression, maybe it's just realizing what you've gone through and done, you don't know. You can't tell. It just makes you feel bad and so you don't necessarily want to take the medicine when you can even remember to take it. You do sometimes though. You want to be good.

And that's what's important here. You want to be good.

You try! You really do. You fucking try so hard and over and over and over again you fail. Sometimes it's your fault. Sometimes it's not. Sometimes people use you and hurt you and betray you to get something or just to see you cry. Sometimes it's not anyone's fault, but every time you suffer for it. You feel so guilty. Even if you don't hurt anyone you feel guilty. Like bread without water it gathers in your throat and chokes you. Guilt. Guilt when you're sane enough to even recognize it. Something to run from when you aren't.

Your personal fucking Jabberwocky, the failure and guilt of your own actions and there is nothing you can fucking do to stop it. There's nothing anyone else can do, but lock you away and that traumatizes you more and makes it worse the next time you fail.

Being thrown into a ward and having everything and every right stripped from you is traumatizing. Let's not go into too much detail here. Google mental health and the trauma of inpatient care.

Then you meet someone.

Someone who sees good in you. Good you didn't even know was there.

And they love you even with all of that guilt and failure. They don't mock you. They're soft and warm in a way you've never known. They're safe. Oh my god, they're safe. You wake up and they're safe, they don't change. They're a constant hug even when they aren't hugging you. They're the safety net.

You start failing less because you had something you never had before.

Support.

They say they love you, they love you in a way you've only ever read about and you feel it. You love them too. You love them so much that you start seeing the good in you too. Like gemstones hidden in a mine wall that you're oh so carefully digging out with your bare hands. Hands that are raw and bloody from the effort and care, but you aren't going to stop. You can't stop. You have to find all those little shiny gems they say they see so you know it's real. So you know you're real. So you know that even under all that guilt and failure there's good. After everything there's still good. In you! Of all people, there's good in you. And it doesn't magically heal you,but it makes things easier.

And then one day they just stop. They ignore you. They cross their arms and turn away. Not even a no. There's no why. Just ignoring you.

What did you do? You don't know! You didn't do anything! You've been good! You've been so good! You beg, you plead, you sob and cry and stomp your feet! YOU'VE BEEN GOOD! You've tried so hard! What did you do!? What? WHAT? WHAT!? Why don't they love you anymore?! Why weren't you enough? Why weren't you good enough?! They don't respond. Not until you're already on your knees sobbing please please love me again!

And then they laugh and say "It was just a joke."

[symptoms-syndrome]

Reflecting on. Some stuff. Possibly could be under the label of "psychiatric trauma?" But I'm still grappling with that. Talk of that, and a brief mention of suicide.

I'm struggling with this idea, an idea that I am fairly sure has mostly been implanted in me by my history with psychiatry, psychiatric treatment, special education, et cetera. It's hard to summarize or simplify.

Most of my life, I have been told that my problems should only be handled, or that I should only be handled, by trained professionals. My mental health struggles were "severe" and I "need to consider the impact I make on my peers." Of course this has been present a lot through most of my life. I didn't talk to peers or teachers about problems I was going through, because either it would alienate me from them, or I would be given a talking to about what's appropriate for me to talk about, or I'd have to sit in a little room with the school psychiatrist and talk about whatever it was that I wished to talk about with someone who was not her. But I guess I didn't fully comprehend this sort of...isolation, or treatment, until my first real suicide attempt. It was the first time I had really been sent to full inpatient, though I'd been to partial hospitalization a few times at that point. I remember being scared. I remember being lonely. I didn't have any of my familiar clothes or belongings. My first visitor was my school principal, accompanied by my birth mother. He met with me in one of those smaller meeting rooms, and he told me that I wouldn't be having any visitors from the school. He was worried, he said, that my choices could influence an already fragile school population, that I may drive others to attempt as well if they saw the state I was in.

After that I never actually went to that school again. I was only there for a couple months before the litany of partials and inpatient stays, and eventually two different special education institutions. Both were meant to be temporary. They were staffed with around three staff members, clearly psychiatric-focused, who struggled to teach us basic education between therapy groups and coping skill classes and DBT sessions. They treated us with a distance and unfamiliarity that wasn't much like teachers in mainstream schools. Cold professionalism.

For, I believe, the last year of high school, I was allowed back into one of the mainstream high schools. With supervision. I had daily class periods in the special education classroom and weekly check-ins with the school psychiatrist. In my classes with mainstream teachers, they treated me without the warm friendliness they afforded to the other students, many of whom they'd spent four years being in the same building with, or teaching in different classes. I had attendants to check in on me. I was given extra discipline for things that other students did with impunity. Other students could tell. I was sometimes treated with a cautious, almost pitying kindness by them, which I appreciated but wasn't close to the way they treated their friends. I was forbidden from a number of extracurriculars because they lacked the staff to supervise me after school. At one point I was explicitly told I was a "liability."

All of this seemed to show me that I cannot be trusted to integrate with normal folk. Not without the guidance and supervision of professionals. Like zookeepers.

Now...what am I to do? I was told not to be vulnerable with anyone but professionals. No one but the highly trained can understand or handle me talking about my experiences, or crying, or talking about the way I feel. I'm like radioactive material that can only be held with gloves or pliers.

And now I'm left behind by those professionals. Their duty is just that, duty, and once they are no longer obligated to make sure I'm properly contained their job is done and I am no longer their responsibility. No more mandatory check-ins or special education, no more being whisked away from the normal folk when I start to stray from sterile, empty behavior. I mentioned once before, I feel like an animal that's been released into the wild after captivity. I am supposed to just...be human. Be natural. Supposedly instinct will guide me. But I don't know how to be a wild animal anymore. I don't know how to hunt, I can't fit into a pack, all I know how to do is pace around the space I'm used to being caged in. And wait for orders or guidance or whatever else was offered to me by my highly controlled environment. When I try to be natural, it's like I'm being reminded of an electric fence that's no longer there. I can't share with normal folk, it's a bad influence for them. I can't cry in front of normal folk, I'm being disruptive. I can't be natural, because for some reason it was decided that my natural is bad. And I can't figure out what it could be that's different between my natural (bad) and their natural (good.) Other people cry, other people get upset, other people share things that are sometimes upsetting, other people share the ways they're feeling authentically. But I was told that when I do it, it isn't appropriate for them. It's disruptive, or manipulative, or attention-seeking, or a bad influence.

I want to know how to integrate with normal folk, and how to be natural. I'm just very, very afraid of hurting them, because I was told that's what I would do. I was told I wasn't fit for normalcy. The only place I belong is institutionalization. The only people I belong with are handlers and psychiatrists. I'm a dangerous animal that needs constant supervision. And I don't even know why.

[snugglyporos]

// oh hey mother update

So she had her first day at the partial inpatient place, and I guess that went fine, but she was an angry mess after telling me that the neighbors planted a car bomb under her car and how they were watching her tablet and how she knows she's right because she talked to cops through the walls

and that's just great but I'm trying to pay her bills and of course because she's a paranoid mess, she refused to write down any of the information, so I don't have her account numbers, and of course she can't remember them, and when I tried to call them for her because she wrote what she did write down wrong, they only wanted to hear from her

okay, they need to hear the last four digits of her social and they need to her it confirmed, and when I said it she flipped out and started kicking doors claiming the neighbors have it now, and I still don't have the information to pay the bills that need paying

Oh, and she also clawed my arm hard enough to draw blood, so now I'm bleeding because she sunk her nails into me, and she's just furious and angry and paranoid

and I'm like 'you know, perhaps the mental health system should actually be more aggressive because people like her literally cannot keep themselves together anymore, and being let on their own under their own power is literally only going to end in tragedy.'

[summerofsmiles]

Do you think that Jimmy had anxiety or an ED? Obviously we can never know for sure, but what do you think?

Hi!

I’m not sure. This is a really personal topic, and unless Jimmy himself says anything about what he was going through, there’s no way for us fans to be sure. And I’m not Jimmy’s doctor or therapist so I can’t make diagnoses. All I can do is draw conclusions based on what those who knew jimmy personally have said about him and his behavior.

In terms of anxiety, many people, Jimmy included, have said that he had stage fright and performance anxiety (which of course are both very different than having a genuine anxiety disorder, but could be interpreted as such). He was said to be very hard on himself and dealt with a lot of imposter syndrome—Robert said that he was very insecure about his playing, I matter how much others complimented it, he was very insecure about his appearance, specifically his body, and was a massive control freak who never liked to appear like he didn’t have everything under control—all signs of an anxiety disorder. He also didn’t trust easily and pushed people away when they tried to get close to him. He was very paranoid to the point of ripping the phone of the hinges in hotel rooms so nobody would spy on him, and was also very socially awkward. He’d get roadies to approach girls for him, he often looked uncomfortable in social situations, and was a known introvert, again, all signs of anxiety.

As per having an ED, according to Unity MacLean, he was sent off to rehab multiple times to ‘fatten him up’ which I’m assuming means some kind of inpatient program to recover from an ED/malnutrition, and the evidence of not eating is very clear on his body starting 1977 onwards. Jimmy himself proudly announced in some interview in ‘77 that he hadn’t eaten in three days and that he was on a liquid diet where he only had smoothies. In 75, he was totally ‘off eating’ and was trying to ‘photosynthesize’ like a plant (how one survives doing that, I have no idea) and I know there was one era where he only ate French fries. He also had serious body image issues. I remember reading somewhere that Neal Preston asked Jimmy to go through the concert stills he’d gotten and tell him if he liked them, and he sat there pointing out some flaw in his body for each and every picture, the most common being ‘belly’ and ‘crow’s feet’ (this was in 77 so I don’t know what belly he was seeing, but nonetheless). There’s also the infamous story about Jimmy refusing to talk to the director of TSRTS because he was upset that some of the shots included showed a roll of fat over his stomach and that his butt looked too big in his fantasy sequence. He also claimed he was off eating because he was trying to get from 130 pounds to 120 (which is just going from underweight to more underweight).

Ultimately, it’s very possible he had an ED or anxiety, but it’s up to Jimmy to publicize that or talk about it. Which, bar any unforeseen circumstances, he won’t. I can’t ever see him sitting down and opening up in an interview about mental health struggles, and he shouldn’t have to if he’s not comfortable. So unless he releases that post-Mortem memoir he keeps saying he has, we will never know.

[3dayweeknd]

heres another stupid vent. very specific kinda graphic at some point(s) pretty much for my eyes only. tw: themes of s/a or sexual trauma, themes of body image/insecurity, depression, s/h, hospitalization, mental health, immplication of violence ?? idk

why does my brain choose the most random times to remind me of literally the worst memories i have. like not even related to each other or related to what im doing. im gonna write it here cuz i dont feel like telling anyone here's all the worst memories my brain posses a) the worst fight i can remember my parents having i was in elementary school probably not older than like 7 and they were fighting in the car and my dad said something that really made me scared and i've never told anyone what he said because its really scary and i think that was one of the first times i remember being terrified of him. i fear being with a man because any man could say what he said to my mother that day any man could do what he said and its terrifying because we were in a moving car too so if i was ever in that situation i wouldnt have an escape. i've been scared watching my parents fight plenty but the fight in the car is something i am too afraid to tell anyone about. b) my ex sticking their finger inside me without my consent. i closed my eyes and was in so much pain and they took my writhing in pain as a sign of pleasure. so when they were done they said see you liked it. so you must not be asexual. because i thought i was asexual at that time and my ex thought it was appropriate that they be the person to try to convince me otherwise. c) same ex. begged me to suck them off. i said i was scared. and i said i was scared i would choke. i did not get any reassurance and i did not get any "okay we can do something else". i got a shush because what if their mom hears me talking about head and then more pleading. followed by head pushing. in which i tried to resist because I was terrified and i was disgusted and i tried to force myself back up but could not and they kept going. i wish i did choke. i wish i choked and threw up and scraped them and cried and let someone hear. d) being pressured into allowing head and then being told i "really stank". ok bitch i didnt want you in my pants in the first place i was 15. e) im literally still talking about the same partner. was asked when the last time i shaved or waxed my peach fuzz was. my peach fuzz is my #1 insecurity like ever since i was in kindergarten. i said i havent in a while. i was severely depressed and was not taking care of myself. they said yeah its obvious and i was overdue for a shave or wax. f) being talked to about buying condoms because ex said "i assume we're going to have sex eventually". still, i was 15. i thought i was asexual. i was severely depressed. i did not want to have sex. but i was not asked. g) ex pleaded me to masturbate over facetime. when i was 15. living at an inpatient hospital. because of how depressed i was. i was so fucking tired i was so tired of faking it. i pretended and i was bad at pretending at that point i just wanted it to stop. and they said why do you look like that. oh maybe because im tired of pretending for you. maybe because i was where i was because i couldnt find comfort in you and found comfort in cutting myself maybe because you were the worst partner ever i dont care if we were just kids. many other 16 year olds have been better partners. these memories are mostly about my 1st ex and i know its been years but i still hurt. i'm better than i was but i still hurt and im still angry and i still feel 15 and scared sometimes. anyway. not sure why my brain decided to remember all of these at the same time stupid fucking brain

[gabbagepatch]

It was my new birth control 3-11-2

I have not been in a good way, as anyone can tell by my previous blog posts, but things are looking up finally!

I blame nearly all of this on the birth control I was prescribed two weeks ago, Tri-Lo-Marzia. I cannot shout this enough:

IF YOU HAVE A HISTORY OF ANXIETY OR MENTAL ILLNESS TAKE TRI-LO-MARZIA WITH EXTREME CAUTION.

I stopped taking it after Friday, March 8th. It is now Monday and I feel so, so much better. I had a bad feeling about it for some reason, did some research and found hundreds of reviews from other women describing how it absolutely destroyed them with anxiety. I have not had a panic attack since I stopped taking it, although I still have some residual anxiety.

The crazy part is that my endo prescribed this birth control to me virtually, did not really discuss it at all. It was just, "I want your periods to be more regular, here's a birth control." over messaging on Healow.

Just to recap:

Two weeks ago I began feeling anxiety almost constantly. This was after the death of my family dog, who I had since I was seven years old. I thought it was some kind of delayed grief and I have had other traumas so far this year so I figured I was just having a dip in my mental health.

I began to be terrified of taking any medications, having intense panic attacks after I would take any pill. This was a huge issue because I am now experiencing daily pain and vertigo which I felt I could not medicate out of fear. I was also terrified of OTC medications, afraid of overdosing even if I only took 200mg ibuprofen.

Throughout the day I would feel short of breath, getting chest pains. When I was home alone I would just count down until someone came home because I was terrified of being alone. I was worried I was having a medical emergency and nobody would be around to help. I could not eat because I felt like I was choking constantly and had constant nausea. I would only eat if others were in the house because I was scared of choking. I lost more than ten pounds in two weeks.

At night it would be at it's worst, all I could do was sit on the couch late into the night playing Tetris trying to distract myself from the full body terror I was experiencing. I got sick (possibly viral, not so sure anymore) and began vomiting constantly and experiencing intense hot flashes.

[TMI incoming] I specifically was having the most intense sensations in my groin area, the first time it happened I was so terrified. I thought I had wet my pants the heat was so intense, I thought something was so wrong with my body I lost control of my bladder. It is the most fear I've ever felt and I've nearly drowned before. The heat flash and/or panic attack so intense my teeth began screaming in pain and my tinnitus shot through head like an arrow.

My lovely mom drove me to the ER were they treated my anxiety with Ativan, the rest of that day I cannot remember. Ever since then I had to cope with intense paranoia, daily panic attacks, heart palpitations, chest pain, a rattling within my body that would not leave, random twitches and muscle spasms, and the worst anxiety I have ever experienced. I have been in two weeks of hell.

I was a functional, healthy 20y/o girl before this. Even with the death of my dog and a new illness I was coping well. Tri-Lo-Marzia knocked me on my ass in three days, and I have to relearn how to be normal after two weeks of constant fear.

Guys, I'm being vulnerable when I tell you I thought I needed to check myself into the ER and get inpatient mental health treatment because of how debilitating this anxiety was. I was having dark thoughts, tired of being terrified for two weeks straight after the loss of my dog and a developing vestibular disorder that pulled me out of school.

Take this as a vent, PSA, whatever, but for the love of all that is good if you get prescribed Tri-Lo-Marzia please look out for this and talk with your doctor. It feels criminal that I was prescribed this medication for a nonemergent issue, with absolutely no preparations or warnings from my doc when there are hundreds of women reporting symptoms just like (or worse!) than mine.

I'll be telling my endo about this and encouraging her to remember this next time she prescribes it. Especially for patients who have a history of GAD or other mental illness. Stay safe and informed, ask your doc questions.

[cranialgames]

Found myself needing something like a diary last night to help work through some feelings that are resurfacing now that Tom is gonna be 1 next week

And then I remembered I’ve got this blog, so…

I don’t know how much to write and how much to leave out. I guess writing more detail will help with the processing, but it’s gonna be difficult to recall a lot of the stuff that happened.

For context, Tom and I were admitted to a mother and baby unit (a psychiatric ward for the birthing parent and baby) when he was 13 days old because by that point I was so terrified of him I couldn’t stand to be in the house. I vividly remember hating my partner because if he had been the one to need inpatient care, he wouldn’t have had to take the baby with him too. That kind of thing. It dug up a lot of old issues for me like SH and suicide ideation, and the nights were exceptionally hard. To give some idea of how serious it was: Wales has a population over 3 million, and the single MBU here (which opened in 2021) only has six beds. After I was admitted, the sixth room was still unoccupied.

I was told that in the MBU I’d be given space to recover in my own time while Tom and I were looked after. In retrospect, the only real relief I had at was that the staff looked after the baby during the night.

The unit, and by extension the staff, had apparently had at least one autistic patient before me. The local health board autism service also had an office or clinic or something in the same building as the MBU, so I hoped this meant they would know how to look after me or manage me or whatever you want to call it but unfortunately it really was not the case. I remember struggling to speak on more than one occasion and being treated by staff as if I was being spiteful or that I was doing it from choice, to give some idea. In the end I was the one who came up with a system to help the staff understand what mental state I was in if I couldn’t speak, which also gave me a way to ask for help which wasn’t as stressful as pressing the Call Nurse buttons in my room. The times they had bothered to take notice of it, it was really helpful. Largely though, for whatever reason, it went ignored.

The most difficult event is still like, white hot in my head. Just starting to recall bits of it made my whole body tense up. You know when you just know something doesn’t want to be disturbed? It feels like that still.

Anyway. After six weeks of me really really trying, and many relapses that could have been helped if staff cared enough or were willing to learn about an autistic patient, I had improved a little bit but still couldn’t look after Tom at night. My medication was too strong, and even though I was being told the dosages would come down it just didn’t happen. I couldn’t concentrate on anything that wasn’t Tom; the most I managed to do to distract myself was kind of obsessively play picross on my switch. I was having constant quiet meltdowns, huge mood swings, and I was incredibly overstimulated. The consultant in charge said that they’d set a date for my discharge to be 4 weeks away. To say I spiralled out massively is an understatement, but after a day or two I managed to regroup and decided to just try really fucking hard and hope I was actually ready to go home in 4 weeks.

Except they changed their minds, and decided to transfer me immediately to an acute mental health ward instead. I was given absolutely no warning, and neither was my partner (who now suddenly had to bring Tom home and look after him by myself, when 3/4s of Tom’s life had been spent on the MBU and my partner had never had him alone before). I just had to pack my stuff and be driven away.

For those who haven’t had the privilege, an acute ward isn’t exactly One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest but it’s not exactly unlike it either. It did actually end up being better for me, but that’s just because i was able to visit home for a few hours during the day and also be completely by myself if i chose to for the rest of the time. Being suddenly transferred out of the MBU like that was horrific though, enough that i still struggle with it.

The thing is, for the better part of a year, I’ve had some kind of plausible deniability. I’ve been thinking that if I’d done xyz differently then I could have stayed there, and I’ve been having my standard “they all hated you” feelings but I’d been brushing them off with some kind of faith that I was catastrophising what had happened.

Except they hadn’t treated anyone else like how I was treated. My own community psych nurse openly agreed that they’d failed me, and I still thought it was my fault. There was another patient in with me with similar symptoms, and because her CPN had warning that they intended to discharge her when she was still severely unwell, they was able to raise enough hell in time for her to be allowed to stay. She got better with their support and intensive therapy; I was sent to a place that felt like prison, with four or five times as many other patients and so many staff I didn’t know anyone’s names, where they just medicate you until you’re stable enough to leave. I was there four around 4 weeks until I felt backed into a corner enough to just suddenly ask to be discharged because I couldn’t stand it anymore, and if I was going to be depressed and suicidal with nobody doing anything to help then I might as well be at home. That was around the beginning of May iirc. Everything since then has been so incredibly hard, but at least I’m still at home.

Something that really knocked me on my arse was at the start of December, one of the staff at the MBU had a Christmas party and invited past patients, including a mum who had only been at the unit 2 weeks and argued with them the whole time.

I wasn’t invited.

I wouldn’t have been able to go if I was, but by not being invited, it like validates all the shitty self-critical things I’ve thought about myself since then. It reinforces my belief that it was my fault they didn’t help. I’ve never had any real answers as to why I was kicked out like that, and I don’t think I ever will. I’m friends with the mums I was in there with and to see them all singing the MBU’s praises and treat the staff like family is so fucking hard because why could they be helped and not me? Why did I have to go through what happened when everyone else’s experiences were so different? What was it that I did that was so bad that they just got rid of me as fast as they could without any care about what happened to Tom?

And yeah, that’s what I’m struggling with right now. It hit me last night that this coming week will be exciting (Tom’s first birthday) but because of the way he came into the world it might also retraumatise me. It’s like I’ve been going along since then with blinders, and occasionally I stop and think and I get a glimpse of everything that has happened so far and everything we have yet to come and I get so overwhelmed, and it feels like that now.

[chaosvents]

A post about my ex who fucked me up so bad hahahaha.

Tw this guy is literally pro-hitler so like. If any or the isms and phobias bug you don't read any of my posts about him lol

So anyway one of this guy's wildest beliefs was that your personal politics should be actively NOT self serving. Like he told me that I shouldn't be pro-birth control/plan b/abortion even though I had been sexually assaulted and relied on those things to avoid pregnancy, because my attacker was white. So he was like honestly you would've been worth more in the world if you had his kid. For the greater good or whatever.

And he would lecture me for hours and hours and hours at a time about how I should basically chemically lobotomize myself with mood stabilizers until I had no opinions of my own, because I was a white woman and should really not do anything but repeatedly have kids. And I was expected to be like yep this is the life I want.

When we moved to phoenix, he was aware of my heart condition. I have POTS, which mixes horrifically with heat like that. We lived there for 3 years and most of that time I was in bed sick because the heat made my illness so much worse. I relied on him for everything.

I developed a bunch of shitty coping skills that probably have fancy psychology names like cognitive dissonance (which is like doublethink, which I did constantly for all 5 years and I'm sure it caused brain damage or something tbh) but it all boiled down to me completely buying that he was the only person on the planet who could tolerate me and that I had to bend to his will or be alone forever. It's been years since I even saw him and I still haven't dated seriously or gotten close with anyone.

I hold everyone at arms length, barely text my friends and am disconnected from everything and floating through life atm. Still trying to reverse all the damage he did. I have no self worth and no metric for what it feels like to be loved instead of just owned and controlled. I don't know what I want out of my life.

I don't understand how I could have let myself be so controlled by him. Why did I move across the entire country with him? Why did I let him push all my friends out of my life, change my career (he didn't approve of me being a barber because it was "basically like being a stripper"), and cross 8 states to get away from my life? To be... with him? Why did I let him convince me I was a docile, sweet, straight woman who wanted nothing more than tradwife and babymaking duties?

Even after I came out as what I thought was lesbian at the time, he still demanded sex from me multiple times a day and wouldn't take his computer stuff out of the second bedroom so I could sleep there. I had to sleep next to him and let him do whatever he wanted to me because he was paying the rent. I was forced into it so often that I convinced myself I liked it. Which is probably why now I'm so confused by my sexuality. What's a trauma response? What's genuine attraction? Who knows.

In march of 2020 I lost my job. He immediately kicked me out and I had to find an apartment alone, with no job, across the country from my family, in the middle of a pandemic. I've never had a worse mental health situation in my life and I've been inpatient 4 times. I barely remember any of 2020 because guess what? It isn't like I was allowed to stop having sex with him and showering with him because we didn't live together. He showed up constantly. Stole my spare key and made a copy so he could come in whenever he wanted to.

So why didn't I call the cops or something? Idk. I didn't really register that it was a problem at the time, he had been torturing me with stuff like this since I 19. By the time I was living alone in a shitty studio during a pandemic with no friends and my family a $400 plane ticket away, I just assumed that my life was being forced to perform a blow job, then let him fuck me, then showering in my tiny apartment shower with him while he leered and stared and grabbed my body, and then watch him play video games on his PC afterwards while sitting in silence on the bed.

One time he took away all my birth control pills and made me watch while he flushed them all. Going off of them suddenly made my lamictal way too strong (and of course he was force feeding me the lamictal so there was no such thing as adjusting the dose) and I got what I'm assuming was serotonin syndrome. I was blacking put, vomiting, hallucinating, terrified, and completely alone. I was calling him because he took away everyone else in my life and all I had was him. I drove to his apartment and begged for help. He ignored me and let me lay unconscious in my car outside his apartment for hours and hours in the middle of the day. In phoenix, in July.

I don't know what happened that day. I don't know what he did to me, but eventually I woke up at home. I found my car in the parking lot of a nearby grocery store.

I'm lucky I got away alive and without a baby. No one deserves to inherit half of my shitty genome and half of his. I'm lucky I got away at all, but not until he broke my spirit, took away all my support, dragged me across the country to a climate that made me severely ill, repeatedly forced me into sex after I came out, gaslit me, made me homeless mid pandemic, then continued to abuse his power until it literally almost killed me.

I met this guy when I was in high school. We were together from when I was 19. We moved to phoenix when I was 22 and he controlled me until I moved back home in July of 2022 when I was 26. The final straw was when I went out on my own for the first time in years and the bartender put drugs in my drink. I woke up alone in a swanky downtown apartment and when I called him to pick me up he told me if I was going to behave like a slut he wasn't going to bail me out.

Problem is I'm really REALLY allergic to both alcohol and roofies so I was horribly dehydrated as well as missing medication doses at this point, so I walked in the 100° heat to the ER. I got a sane exam where they found semen, a plan b pill, and a lengthy interview by about a dozen police officers. I couldn't bear to be alone in my apartment after that so I had the cops drop me off at a psych hospital.

I got my meds switched, went home, cleared out my apartment, broke my lease, and went home to my family. I'm safe now. But he's still haunting me. I don't know if I'll ever be okay.

Sorry.

[borderline-gays-club]

It’s officially been over a year since I tried to get help for my BPD thru the medical system.

I tried to do an inpatient program that was 5 days a week for like 3 hours a day or something. And it took me like 4-5 months to even get in bc bitches weren’t picking up the phone or unresponsive. And after months of perseverance I finally got in and I was so excited to start.

But ofc it was a hot mess bc any mental care thru my insurance is hot garbage. Had I stayed longer I prob wudve been more fucked up tbh. I was only there for like 3 weeks max lol.

Like they literally wud treat u like ur a threat the moment u walk in. Also cold as hell. Clinical, not human to human. And straight up was like ya btw we work very closely with the police just so you know <3. Like just that comment Made me want to fight this bitch lmao. And one of the therapists literally said “that’s hot” when one of the patients disclosed with him that she thinks she’s a lesbian…like is this even real.

Ugh there was so much more fucked up shit (too much to write rn) but I left as soon as I realized how bad it was. And I thought oh Mayb I’m just giving up, Mayb it’s part of the process blah blah. But like there were too many concrete fuckery things going on I couldn’t stay.

That whole experience was so infuriatingly frustrating but honestly that was the last thing to finally seal in my head that this system cannot help me. I’ve tried so much in a decade and ultimately was only able to get help through alternative ways. Like my therapist doesn’t even take insurance and I hav to pay out of pocket but it’s worth it for sure.

So as awful as it all was I’m glad it happened bc now I kno for a FACT that this medical system is simply not here to help me and many many others. In fact they want us all dead.

Anyway I feel like this is why ppl w/BPD have such high suicide rates . Bc I kno compared to NPD or ASPD ppl w/BPD tend to actually seek help on their own. But the system is literally so hostile and there’s only so many tries in you especially when you’re already down.

But u kno what, I remember feeling so hopeless after that shit didn’t work out but over this past year I can confidently say that I’m better than ever. I still have years and years of work to do to ultimately get into remission but I feel hopeful. I think when all ur expectations just fully crumble, u have to be creative in order to move on after that initial shock. And finding ur own solutions can be empowering in its own ways.

And just to b clear I’m not promoting fixing urself alone without any help ever. But I’m more so saying that the medical system does not have the tools to support us and in fact they are actively harming us.

Mayb this is more of a warning rant. Everyone stay safe. Even tho it’s hard to trust ur own emotions and thoughts, find ways to vet ppl out that are mental health professionals. Bc there’s a lot of scummy bitches out there..

And in case anyone reading this is in nyc. DO NOT GO TO CITPD. HIGHLY DO NOT RECOMMEND!!!!

K that’s all folks lol nite

[littleapocalypsekitten]

A follow up to what I posted below...  Just because there is so much virtue-signaling on this site, people who worry about everything being “problematic” and being very serious about what kinds of humor people can use:   If you don’t like dark humor, unfollow me now.   Seriously.  There are so many people who ask “what if you were a victim of this / adjacent to this?”  Let me tell you, sugar, I’m an old fart and I’ve lived through more bullshit than you would believe, both in terms of “my people” and myself personally.   Historical stuff:  I was alive for 9/11.  I was going to community college, in fact, right after failing to make the cut at being in the Air Force due to health issues. (Dodged a bullet there). My parents were shouting about stuff happening on TV when I was trying to sleep before having to drive to class.  When I heard “THEY HIT THE PENTAGON!” I was up like a bolt and watching on live TV as the Twin Towers burned and heard reports of people leaping out of the windows to catch themselves a hopefully better death through falling than to suffer one through burning.  I lived in Arizona at the time and did not know anyone, personally, in that area, although I was concerned for some online friends and checked a message board I was on, suffering through the dial up I was using.  The board leader / founder was a New Yorker and he wasn’t on for a long time, so I was worried about him.  My future fiance’ was Pennsylvanian, but was in the wrong part of the state to be affected by the plane that crashed there.  Anyway... the nation was shocked - to see a foreign terrorist attack succeed with mass casualties of civilians on our own soil.  And, of course, I lived through the pomp and patriotism that happened after that, the excuses the government used to curtail liberties that came from it.  The utterly assinine “Freedom Fries” thing because France criticized America’s foreign policy and President Bush.  NO ONE made fun of what had happened then.  GENERAL humor shows were suspended.  Old shows that showed the Twin Towers were taken out of circulation / reruns.  (There’s an episode of The Simpsons - a very funny one, that features the Towers as a plot-point that was done about 10 years before the event and wouldn’t run again in reruns / as part of collections until 10 years after).   But Time... has happened.  Even though there are survivors of the event today and people who get genuinely triggered by old images of the Twin Towers or any mention of the event... comedians will make fun of it.  Usually, it’s in relation to the reaction of it, and how it was used as a martyrbation point by the Republican Party, the “9/11″ invoked to get a critic to shut up or “terrorist win!” Family Guy had a joke about that.  I’ve probably told such jokes and don’t remember.  Pandemic.  Dudes, me and my household were making fun of that when it was still going on (and not how it’s still lingering now) but like, in the thick of it, before vaccines were a thing.  We kind of had to to keep our heads together.  My fiance’ / partner works retail, at an essential job and he has heart and lung problems.  He also had customers who’d cough in his face and he’d make fun of it like how “I totally must have it now!” - much to MY WORRY, PALE FACED AND WHITE KNUCKLED because I DON’T WANT YOU TO DIE, DAMMIT! - but it was his way of coping with his underpaid job and a deadly situation he was put in for our survival.  We didn’t catch Covid - when he usually catches everything that comes down the pike because he has to handle a lot of register-cash as a manager.  Makes me wonder if we have some sort of weird rare genetic glitch that kept us immune.    Personal stuff:  I’ve been to crayon-prison.  That’s what I call it. (mental health inpatient).  It was kind of like being in kindergarten, milk and cookies given out as snacks and such, only you’re around a lot of people with very serious problems, you’re there because you’re having a bad time and most of the staff care less about you than they would about zoo animals and make it very clear that they see you as subhuman.  I’m okay now.  Calling it Crayon-Prison helps me deal.  I also will readily accept cartoons that make fun of things like straight-jackets (even though I’ve never had to use one).  There is one episode of Disenchantment that I watched once but can never watch again due to being unsettled by it, but I could also appreciate the humor and won’t whine that people are “diminishing the experiences of people like me” because they like something funny.    Making fun of hospital stays for physical stuff.  Heart-attacks used as comedy.  Never gonna escape that.  Been witness to the real thing.  Not going to whine about it used in media or people making jokes and memes about “whoa, you almost gave me a heart-attack!” or jokes about an overage of bacon-consumption.   Life’s too short.   I’m really not going to worry about the “problematicness” of everything.  

[eaglesnick]

Second-rate Britain 8

When the Royal Family lock away their own children because their learning disabilities are an embarrassment to the Monarchy what chance for children with learning difficulties from ordinary families?

“The Queen's hidden cousins: They were banished to an asylum in 1941 and left neglected... Their last reported visitors were in the 1960s, and although it was an open secret at the Royal Earlswood, and in the local community, that the asylum housed close relatives of the Royal Family, to the wider world their existence had been obliterated." (MailOnline: 11/11/11)

Children with learning difficulties from families more loving than the Royals are suffering the same fate, not because their parents have ceased to care but because successive Tory Governments have abandoned them.

People of a certain age will remember the scandal of Romania’s orphans that came to light after the 1989 Romanian revolution. Whereas it is true that the physical conditions the Romanian orphans suffered were far worse than those in British institutions, the mental damage inflicted is the same.

In Romania many families could not afford to care for their children and they were encouraged to give them up to the State. Healthy children went to orphanages but:

“...those with disabilities, illness, of physical differences were despatched to separate facilities: Homes for the Deficient and Unsalveable."  (mamamia.com: 01/07/20)

Horrifyingly, our Tory government is doing the same thing. When will we stop seeing headlines like these?

‘My son has autism and a learning disability but was locked away somewhere that felt like an asylum from a Dickens novel’  ( inews: 21/03/19)

'My autistic daughter was held in a cell for two years' (BBC News: 01/11/19

“The government's failure to reduce the number of autistic people confined to mental health units in England is a "national scandal", a charity says.” (BBC News: 14/07/21)

  “In the U.K., Autistic People Are Locked Away in Modern-Day Asylums “ (The Mighty: 23/07/21)

This problem isn’t new. In 2015 a commitment was made to close 35-50% of inpatient beds for autistic people and to develop suitable community support by 2019. But that promise was never kept. Instead, Britain saw a RISE in the number of autistic people admitted to mental health units not a fall.  The promise to develop suitable care in the community  didn’t happen because successive Tory governments have been obsessed with implementing their ideologically driven austerity policies regardless of the human cost.

Health Secretary Steve Barclay, the man who for weeks and weeks refused to talk to striking nurses, said he recognises:

“… that for people with learning disability issues often inpatient care is not the right care for them so we're investing more in this.” (ITV.com: 31/03/23)

All very vague.  In the meantime, the practice of detaining people with learning disabilities and autism under the Mental Health Act continues, and the longer it goes on the more damage it does to those incarcerated. 

It was found that Romanian orphans adopted by British families still suffered mental health problems into adulthood, with only one in five being totally unaffected by their experience under incarceration. There were also physical differences between the brains of young Romanian adults who had been incarcerated when compared to English adoptees of a similar age, the Romanian’s showing a brain size 8.65% smaller.

The Romanian orphanages were known as “slaughterhouses of the soul”. I wonder how history will judge our government’s policy of continuing to lock up children with learning disabilities and autism?

ITV has been investigating this shocking British scandal and askes this poignant question:

“If you judge a society by how it treats its most vulnerable then what does it say about the UK when people with learning disabilities are still locked up indefinitely. We are talking about people who are not locked away in secure hospitals for years on end because they’ve committed a crime - they’re incarcerated because there is a lack of funding for appropriate care for them in the community?”  (Peter Smith, ITV :03/11/22).

However you answer that question, it really is time Tory governments put the needs of the people before those of their rich friends.

[chaoscoining]

rant:

I hate it when my ptsd makes me feel like I'm 80yo with Alzheimer 😭 I forgot a lot of good things(but I still remember a lot of bad and embarrassing things) even the name of my imaginary character the worst part is I cannot get help because mental healthcare here is a joke instead they'll traumatize you even more , I'm scared that my ptsd will cause me Alzheimer in future and it's terrifying :'(

Oh yeah, me too. I'm on the dissociative side of traumaspec disorders and it's weird to me when people talk about repressed memories and dissociative amnesia mostly affecting bad memories. I remember everything even slightly awful that's happened to me but I forget all of my joys.

I really wouldn't write off mental help entirely, though. There's a lot of fearmongering about how mental healthcare will only make things worse, but if you are in a privileged enough area (as in, one with any proper mental health infrastructure besides inpatient) you absolutely can get help that makes things better for you. The important part is knowing how to stand up for yourself and figure out when things are sketch, and to know what kind of help you need.

Mental healthcare is healthcare. It is still incredibly new and unstable, and stretched quite thin, but it is healthcare. It's meant to help you be and keep you healthy.

(As for the Alzheimer's, I can't really help with that fear unfortunately. I can't really see that far into my future.)