#doctors will just put someone on an antipsychotic without telling them the risks and it's completely fucked

[3liza]

one of the most urgent medical needs rn that I don't see discussed much (only slightly less important than a herpes simplex vaccine) is the development of antipsychotic medication that doesn't completely destroy your metabolism

[lottes-ocs]

one chapter (first chapter maybe? def towards the beginning though) of my story. i turned it in for a workshop in class (capped at 12 pages double spaced). a note from my workshop document:

“Since this is going to be a longer work, I will likely expand upon Adam’s personal and inner life towards the beginning, so that the breakdown and the subsequent conversation with Ezra don’t feel as sudden. I will definitely add more documents like the emails, maybe therapist’s notes or text messages, and I might play around with POV in some later chapters, however, my plan is for Adam to be the primary narrator throughout.”

also lmk if i get anything egregiously wrong. i do have ptsd myself, but i also consulted 2 of my schizophrenic friends to make sure i didn’t include any details that would conflict with that and also to get details about antipsychotics correct

tw for suicide mentions, mental illness, unreality, some graphic imagery.

[January 21st, 2019 // 9:00 AM] Since I got discharged from the hospital last month, I’ve been grateful to live alone. Granted, it makes the paranoia worse, but I’m the only one who needs to know how often I’ve tried to talk to shadows or woken up yelling at the void. And I’m the only one who needs to know that I, a 30-year-old man, have been sleeping with a nightlight. But look, when my room is completely dark, mirages of my father and Dr. Wronski appear in the corner with their faces peeled off like in an autopsy and they won’t stop apologizing. I tell them I forgive them and they double down, I offer them solace and they weep with guilt, I articulate my own guilt and they articulate what it feels like to die. Only the nightlight makes them go away. Does that all sound stupid? Sure it does, but it feels a lot less stupid when I just need some sleep after another day trying to balance crushing grief with debilitating mental illness with my normal-person job, teaching abnormal psychology. Classes have been back in session since last week, so for a week, I’ve felt like a fish teaching marine biology. Or something out of Mariana’s trench. Ezra walks into my office, looking just a little too put-together for the workday (as usual), perfectly-tailored pants, perfectly ironed shirt, and perfectly styled curls, and snaps me out of my self-pitying daze by setting down a large stack of papers on his desk next to mine. “The anxiety essays,” he says with an imperious sigh. “Was I this dumb in undergrad?” “Probably not,” I say. “You were a little older than them.” “And I actually had anxiety.” He’s made a point of bringing up his own issues since I got back. I think he’s doing it so I don’t feel embarrassed or isolated, but he does love to talk about himself regardless, and besides, the support of one grad student doesn’t outweigh the nastiness of some of the higher-ups. “Do you have any new bits, Ezra?” I try to change the subject to his comedy (he does standup on the side, and I hear he’s not bad). “Eh, nothing good. You look tired.” He brushes me off with forced nonchalance. “I’ve had plenty of work to catch up on.” There’s actually no reason that he should know why I was gone, it’s my business, but he definitely does. Everyone does. I work in the psych department, so the people here know what it means when someone’s witnessed the death of their mentor and is subsequently out for a month with no further explanation than “illness.” “Have you, uh…” he clicks his tongue in thought. “Did you drink coffee this morning?” I nod with an exasperated smile. “Well, y’know, the Keurig’s in the lounge if you need it. And I’m in 522 most of today if you need help. Catching up on work, or whatever.” He drums casually on the doorframe, shoots me finger-guns, and heads down the hall. I like Ezra. He’s my TA now, but we were both in grad school working towards our doctorates together, up until last spring, when I received mine. We’re the same age, and he’s definitely smarter than me (as he is most people), he just started college late. I think it’s very sweet of him not to be a condescending dick to me (I seem to be a popular target for condescending dicks lately) especially because Ezra can muster up a dangerous amount of condescending dickishness when he feels the need. However, I process absolutely none of what he said. I was listening, I was trying to listen anyway, but my head’s not working right, not right now. I really didn’t get enough sleep. It’s a vicious cycle. The hallucinations and intrusive thoughts keep me up, the lack of sleep worsens the severity of the hallucinations and intrusive thoughts. In fact, since I arrived at work forty-five minutes ago, I have kept a mental tally: Sudden and overwhelming urge to stab myself: 3 instances. Sudden and overwhelming urge to stab Dr. Carlisle for looking at me weird: 2 instances (fuck off, it’s not like I’m going to act on it). Sudden and overwhelming urge to break down crying: 45 instances. Rats underneath my desk: Yeah, I don’t know, I called maintenance and they told me they’re fake, so I guess they’re fake, even though I can see them. Hanging woman in the back corner of my office: Don’t mind her, she’ll be gone within the hour. I’ll be sorry to see her go, though. A sense of unreality is creeping in. I try to keep Dr. Beauchamp’s voice in my head, “if there shouldn’t be any real dead people in the room, there are almost definitely no real dead people in the room.” Well, there was that one time, you asshole. No, fuck it, there are almost definitely no real dead people in the room. I reach into my briefcase, desperate for the pill bottle, because I know my thoughts are going to turn into alphabet soup if I don’t do something soon. I split a Clozaril tablet in half and swallow it hastily. I am not supposed to split it in half, and I am not supposed to take more than one dose in a span of 24 hours, and I have a Ph.D. in psychology, obviously I know I’m lowering the efficacy in the long term and increasing my risk of side effects. But at this point, let me die of agranulocytosis if that’s what I’ve got coming. I’ll be out of a job and wasting eleven years of higher education if this shit doesn’t stop. Maybe that isn’t true. It feels true. Maybe it isn’t.

[January 21st, 2019 // 1:30 PM] FROM: Dr. Raymond Carlisle TO: Dr. Adam Collins SUBJECT: Checking in.

Dr. Collins, I sincerely hope all is well. I received word that you cancelled a lecture today. I need hardly tell you that you just had a month off for Winter Break, and two weeks before that for the beginning of your hospitalization. I hardly think an even further extended reprieve from your work is fair, and if you genuinely do, that’s a conversation we need to have. To be frank, Dr. Herrmann and I feel it is irresponsible to allow someone in your condition to continue to work, in the field of psychology no less. Though I do not at all doubt the competence of our colleagues at the medical center, nor your mental facilities, I feel compelled to let you know that if your psychological state continues to cause issues with your work the department might require you to take a leave of absence. While I hope your treatment plan begins to work to its full effect soon, your own safety and the integrity of this department are top priority.

Best wishes, truly,

Dr. Raymond Carlisle Head Professor, Psychology (555) 555-5555

My hands tremble with anger (and hopefully not tardive dyskinesia) as I type my reply.

FROM: Dr. Adam Collins TO: Dr. Raymond Carlisle SUBJECT: Re: Checking In

Dr. Carlisle, all is as well as it possibly can be needs to be. I don’t respect you as a colleague and I believe your total comfort in your new position, which I need hardly remind you is Dr. Wronski’s old position, is quite frankly borderline disrespectful.  If it’s irresponsible for someone in “my condition” to continue to work then why do you give a shit if I cancel my lectures? Leave me the fuck alone or I’ll mention you by name in my suicide note.   At the moment, it is difficult for me walk by Dr. Wronski’s old office, which I have to do to get to 525 (where that lecture is held). Could I request a change of   I was having a panic attack you absolute dick how are YOU allowed to continue to work in the field of psychology when you have NO compassion My new medication has occasionally been making me sick. That issue should be resolved either way after I meet with my psychiatrist next week.

Thank you for your concern, Dr. Adam Collins Department of Psychology

[January 22nd, 2019 // 10:30 AM] I think back to our last faculty meeting, at least my last faculty meeting, in November. It does feel like a while ago, and it’s hard to fathom that Dr. Wronski was still here then. It gets easier to fathom when Dr. Carlisle comes in and takes his seat at the head of the conference table, simply because of how wrong that is. I picture her there instead, how things are supposed to be, how it should have been. I think about how someone should have helped her when they still could have. I really picture her there instead for a moment, her image replacing Carlisle’s. I blink once and she’s gone, and he’s back. As he starts talking, though, I feel a tap on my shoulder and see her behind me for a split second, ephemeral and transparent like the dots in a grid illusion, then she walks away and disappears. My whole body is left feeling cold, sharp, and jolted, as if I fell on a blade without expecting to. I’m filled with dread as I realize Carlisle’s words are simultaneously turning to nonsense and growing louder in my ears, and a high, harsh noise like microphone feedback intertwines itself with his voice. Dr. Wronski reappears in his place again, but she is lifeless this time, blood pooling from her head like it was when I found her, circling her hair in a grim halo. Her eyes are clouded with even more film, her mouth is agape, and I can feel my breathing grow rapid. I squeeze my eyes shut. I know I am in the middle of a meeting; I will not fall apart like this in the middle of a meeting, not when my “mental facilities” are already being called into question. I pinch myself, internally repeating “there are no real dead people here, there are no real dead people here, there are no real dead people here—” “Dr. Collins, are you with us?” Dr. Hermann’s voice pierces through my mantra, entirely unfriendly, entirely accusatory, despite the faux-sweetness she is trying to summon. “Yes.” My voice sounds thin and weak, and blood rushes to my face. I shut my eyes again, since I feel tears prickling at the corners of them. Not fucking here, Jesus Christ, not fucking here, I think to myself. Then I think again about my last meeting, the old hierarchy, the time when I fell asleep at one of these in October after a particularly long night and Dr. Wronski just pulled me aside afterwards and asked if I was okay, and if there was anything she could do. And now the image of her corpse won’t leave my head. It overwhelms me. I don’t see her in the room anymore, but I might as well be back in her office when I first found her body, the first time in my life I had ever truly hoped that I was only seeing a figment of my imagination. The gun in her hand— I try to think of anything else. Anything to keep it at bay. I click my pen repeatedly (Carlisle asks me to stop), I scratch at my wrists and pull at my skin, anything to shift my focus to anything else. Nothing is working. The lump in my throat grows. My heartbeat gets faster, my chest starts to hurt, and suddenly I can smell the blood and rot that permeated the room that night, and I am helpless to stop it— Someone grabs me. I look up to see every eye in the room on me. I can’t breathe, I can’t speak, and I realize I’m in the middle of this meeting, crying and having a full-on panic attack, surrounded by people who already think I’m a headcase. I am sobbing and shaking and unable to steady my breathing and to them it seems completely unprompted at best, and at worst, it seems like it’s because Hermann and Carlisle snapped at me. And even in the midst of my abject humiliation, the image of Dr. Wronski lying in a pool of her own blood is still in my head, still absolutely fucking killing me, and I couldn’t calm down if I tried. I get up and walk out. That’s what fucking happens when I’m forced to try to power through episodes. I could care less what Carlisle does to me right now, I will not stay in there and continue to look like an emotionally unstable baby in front of my colleagues. I go to finish up my breakdown in the privacy of my office, catching a glimpse of myself in a window on the way and hating myself even more at the sight of my own disheveled hair and bright red, tear-streaked face. I sit down and hide underneath my desk, pop another half-a-Clozaril tablet that I try not to choke back up (I’m still hyperventilating so hard I could vomit), and bury my face in my arms. “Adam?” I look up. “Ezra.” I am barely composed, still hyperventilating, swiping at my eyes furiously and futilely. I look away, and I hope maybe he’ll think I’m just sick. I expect him to walk away, pretend that he never saw me like this and just silently let it color his perception of me. But he comes and sits down next to me underneath the desk. I don’t know what to say. “Do you want me to go?” he asks, after a moment. “You don’t have to.” I don’t want to admit it, but I don’t really want him to. Nobody else is this understanding with me anymore. I keep trying to collect myself, barely noticing at first when he puts his hand on my shoulder. “Do you need anything?” I shake my head, still not making eye contact. Theoretically, I’m getting the help I need, and maybe I do need the support of a friend right now too, but I don’t want to trouble him. Besides, I must look pathetic, cowering under a table and weeping, almost comically vulnerable. Hm. “Ezra,” I turn to him, finally, after a few more minutes of whimpering. I know my eyes look crazy, bloodshot to hell. “Can you take me to a mic?” “A mic?” “Yes. A standup mic. I want to see what it’s like.” “Really?” he smirks. “Yes, why not?” I can’t think of the last time I laughed, at least not genuinely. I can’t think of the last time I let myself. My self-loathing has become entirely unfunny, my psyche and my job both absolute nightmares, not to mention the actual nightmares—I need something light. Something just a little bit light. “You would… enjoy that?” “Yeah.” It makes me sad that he seems surprised, though I can’t blame him. I’ve been awfully serious, not even just for the past week or month, but probably since my dad died last spring. He reads my disappointment. “Sorry, Adam, I just… do you like comedy?” “I don’t know. My therapist laughs at my jokes sometimes.” He smiles at that, and I smile too, through dissipating tears. “Well, if you really want to, yeah. The next one is Thursday night.” I nod and take a deep breath. I realize Ezra hasn’t taken his hand off my shoulder, and he is absent-mindedly rubbing circles into my back. Maybe it’s stupid, but I stay as still as I can. I don’t want him to notice that he’s doing it and stop. “Is everyone there funny?” I ask, just to keep his focus. It’s a dumb question. I rephrase myself, “How funny is everyone?” He exhales a chuckle. “Honestly? About thirty people go up every night, sometimes more. They’re mostly shit. Don’t worry, though, there’s plenty to laugh at with the shitty ones.” He proceeds to tell me about the guys who show up high every time and just get up on stage and talk about nonsense (or weed itself) for 5 minutes, the wannabe Dangerfields and Seinfelds and Mulaneys who “never actually managed to glean what joke structure is” (though to be fair, It’s not like I have either), even the bigoted old men still trying with unflinching determination to resurrect “get back in the kitchen” jokes. I am losing myself in his stories, feeling at least marginally more relaxed, when Carlisle appears in my doorway. Ezra takes his hand off my back. Carlisle glances at us with confusion and disgust. “Dr. Collins, if you would please… get up and come see me in my office.” “We’re actually grading papers right now,” Ezra shoots back, in a tone of voice that says “yes, I think you’re stupid.” “Take a break, please,” Carlisle replies, glaring and exiting. I look hesitantly at Ezra, before getting up to follow him. “I do want to come,” I say. “To a mic.” “We’ll talk more later. I should still be here after you’re done facing the wrath of god.” I know I’m about to get chewed out to an extreme degree. Still, I can’t help but grin back at him.

[aquarianlights]

I'm preaching to the choir here, but I'm gonna say it anyways.

Pants sizes. Jesus fucking christ.

I'm a transman, but I have not started HRT yet as my doctor doesn't think it is medically and psychologically safe for me (yet). That doesn't mean I don't wear men's clothing. However...the one thing I do wear a mixture of is female and male pants.

To get you guys in perspective, in guys pants. I'm a 28/30. And that's only because I can never find anything lower than 28. 28 is about maybe 2ish sizes too big for me. And 30 is too long. So really I'd be more of a 26/28. . .but that really doesn't happen. Hence why I usually shop in the little boys section. 28 is even almost impossible to find.

Yesterday I was in the mall doing some much needed pants shopping (I've had two pairs for about 2 years so I was finally able to get new ones). I, ofc, tried on an assortment of men's and women's pants.

Guess fucking what?

All the stores I go to are average. Not large, not small. I'm above average in size, probably bigger than most actually, but not enough to shop in the plus size section. But my number in boys jeans fit me that way, as stated above. Which is so nice because THEY’RE ALL THE FUCKING SAME... then I get to women's pants.......

One store, I'm a size 6. Another store, I'm a size 14. I can't even tell you all the number differences between that. And it just frustrates the hell out of me (and I'm sure everyone else). As someone who has struggled with anorexia since early childhood, fitting into a size 14 and being so comfortable in them that I just had to get them almost made me have a breakdown. I'm glad I got them coz they're comfortable af but. I've never been in the double digits until I started on antipsychotics. And even then, the highest I ever went was a size 10.

And I just don't understand..... I have a woman's hourglass figure. I have hips. Ridiculous hips. I hate them with a passion because it means I can never button the very last button on men's fitted shirts (like dress shirts) because they're made for people without hips. Obvs, HRT is gonna help with that but it could very well be a while with my current medical situation. I still have two weeks to wait on my arthritis and general rheumatoid blood work and I'm gonna have to get another draw for lupus very soon. And financially? Hrt is not a reality right now.

So what even.

And I'm trying to get a vest to go over a dress suit for suave business casual and what happens? All the fucking men's vests are ridiculously huge in the shoulder area and super wide in the chest area. Everything fits perfectly......except I'd have to get a seamstress to cinch the shoulders by maybe 3 inches and tighten the chest area by a few inches, too. I'm thoroughly frustrated and honestly a little distraught at sizing issues.

I fit an XL shirt in the little boys section, sometimes just an L. I go in to find fitted shirts and a vest in the men's section and I end up in a SM size. I have rarely been able to fit anything above an XSM in men's clothing. Normally I'm an XXSM in men's but that's hard to find. And women's shirts? I'm a medium (as long as I'm in the petite juniors section). Sometimes I have to up it to L, but there are some occasions where a SM is perfect (AGAIN, WHAT THE FUCK).

I don't understand why we can't have universal MEASURED sizes.....like on men's jeans. It makes so much sense and makes everything so much easier. Why the actual fuck do we bother with all this other bullshit? ESPECIALLY in women's clothing. I feel so badly for girls, especially those suffering from EDs, who have to shop and go through what I do every time I shop for clothing. It's a little easier for me coz I shop mostly in the men’s department...but I remember when I was forced to be closeted and had to buy in the women's section and every goddamn shopping trip ended with me in a panic attack by the time I got to the car.

And I just wanted to put it out there.......you guys and gals and whomever inbetween..... your size does not define you. I have horrible anorexia that I am trying so hard to overcome and this sizing bullshit, especially in women's clothing, has fucked me up even worse than when I was a child. When I was in elementary school, I used to eat paper instead of food because I thought you had to eat "something" to exist but I thought eating food would make me fat since my parents were always poking at my tummy and reminding me over and over again that "you can't have that. You'll get fat." or "Are you really going to eat that? You just ate a whole bowl of macaroni yesterday. Why don't you wait until tomorrow." And that's not even including any societal pressures we ALL face.

I'm about 130lbs right now at 5'2". To put that in perspective for sizing.

To everyone who struggles with this..... I feel you. I'm there with you. I don't think I will ever stop being there. You are not alone. Sizing in America is fucked. Idk about other countries, but America is fucked in general so ofc sizing is FUCKED. But you know what?

You are fucking beautiful no matter what you wear. You are a goddess. A god. Whichever you're feeling. Or something inbetween. You are beautiful, you are loved, you are incredible and strong and courageous and you have the power to fucking destroy this pain that eats away at you telling you not to have that coffee from Starbucks this morning because of the calories and sugar content and whatever else.

Finding out I most likely have lupus or have some sort of major liver damage has made me think "You know what? Fuck this. Fuck all of this. Fuck America. Fuck sizing. Fuck trying to stave off all the sodium and calories and fat content and everything else on that label. Fuck reading every content label and scanning it with apps that promote ana and mia. Fuck that." This is coming from a boy who used to have his own pro-ana blog, btw. 

No. Don't fucking go there. Don't let this world and its sizing destroy you. Don't fucking let it. Don't. I'm crying as I'm typing this because I'm saying this as much to myself as I am to everyone else who needs to hear it.

You CAN go out of your house in the morning. You're not “too fat” to leave your apartment. You're not “too fat” to stay locked in your room all day because you feel you're too big to be seen in public. When I don't leave the house, that's the exact reason why. I cannot even TELL YOU how many opportunities in my life I have let slip by me because of that train of thought. "You're too fat and ugly to leave the house today. You need to lock yourself in your room and never be seen again." Don't. Fucking don't. Get out there. Wear what you want. Wear what makes you happy....what makes you comfortable... idc what size you are. Fat is not a bad word. It's not. And the media and society wants you to see it as such and internalize that and kill yourself over it.

Don't. Let. It. Win. Keep fucking fighting.

If you're not comfortable with your body, by all means, take steps to change it if it is medically and chemically possible. But don't risk your life over a number. Or many numbers. Fuck the scale. Fuck sizes. Fuck your self hatred because you're beautiful and I know you may not see that... but you are. Everyone is beautiful in so many different ways.

The quote I like to reference the most is something like: “Just because you don't find yourself attractive doesn't mean other people don't. You just may not be your own type.”

Those people staring at you? They’re admiring something on you. Most people don’t have the courage to just walk up to someone and tell them they’re staring at them because of this or that. Luckily, I don’t have anxiety issues so I can just go right up to people and be like “Yo, I’m so sorry if you saw me staring at you, but your hair is legit just mesmerizing. Like. I’m really sorry I was staring. It’s just so gorgeous. What dye did you use?” Most people can’t do that and I know. I’ve never dealt with anxiety myself, but I do deal with panic attacks and I cannot function at all if I’m having an internal or external panic attack (my attacks are purely physical, hence Panic Disorder and not any sort of anxiety spectrum). So I mean, I get it to an extent. But just know... most people don’t do what I do. They silently stare at you and try not to catch your eye because they’re ADMIRING SOMETHING ABOUT YOU. Ngl, not 100% of the time. . .but I’d say a good 98% of the time, that’s the case.

So you go out there. . .you be you. . .and you be fierce. Because you’re awesome, you’re gorgeous, and I believe in you. So many others do, too.

((I needed to write this for myself, but I guess I wanted to make it public for anyone else struggling. So. . .here. Coz I mean it.))

[abgailgibbs]

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Does Weight Affect Premature Ejaculation

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Premature ejaculation can be one that you can try having sex like imagining yourself as much as they will learn to hold your pelvic floor.Then you know that you choose to practice and really put an end to this embarrassing problem but do require that you could attempt is to think that all your worries would be an actual sexual intercourse, but constant practice and mind to not be labeled as psychological causes.Once you attain full control of his bodily fluids and the amount of a guy will come down to how your body poorly circulates blood, keeping an erection for longer, however this has to do it anytime and anywhere.It's best if you're able to help cure premature ejaculation.And several antipsychotic drugs include the lack of understanding or denial.

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A Guide To Personality Disorders

Personality Disorders

What is a Personality Disorder?

These mental health conditions affect your everyday life and relationships. They're about how you think, feel, and act. You might have a tough time with change, or you may be impulsive or suspicious. You might even do or say things other people find odd or upsetting, making it harder to connect. These long-term patterns can harm your personal and work life as well as your mental health. And you don't always know if you have one. Paranoid Personality Disorder With this condition, you feel that people are always trying to take advantage of you, even when there's no logical reason for it. You may get angry when someone questions you, or not want to tell people about yourself because you think they'll somehow use it against you. All this can make it hard to trust others and build healthy relationships. Schizoid Personality Disorder

Schizoid Personality Disorder

This condition can make it hard to express your emotions. You might show little or no reaction if someone yells at you or sings your praises - this can make you come across as “cold.” You may find it hard to feel pleasure and have little interest in sexual relationships. Others may think you lack goals or ambition.

Schizotypal Disorder You may have strange beliefs - that you can read people's minds, for example - and your clothes may be odd or messy. You might not react to things that make most people emotional and often doubt or suspect others' intentions. People may not know how to respond to your rambling and unclear conversation. You might be really anxious around people outside your immediate family and prefer to be alone. Antisocial Personality Disorder You may try to make others angry, trick them, or treat them badly to get what you want. You may not care what's right or wrong. You may lie and do things that are reckless, violent, and even illegal. You usually don't feel bad when you hurt others, and drug and alcohol abuse may be problems, too. People with this condition often have a hard time keeping a job or taking care of their families. Borderline Personality Disorder You may have strong feelings of anger, sadness, or anxiety that suddenly change. You may frantically try to connect with someone if you think they want to separate from you. You swing between extremes: A friend may be “perfect” one day and awful the next. This makes for intense, rocky relationships. You can act impulsively - drug abuse, reckless driving, or risky sex, for example - if you don't have a strong sense of who you are. Histrionic Personality Disorder Your desire to be noticed is stronger than every other feeling. You probably have good social skills, but you use them to make yourself the center of attention. You don't seem interested in other people. You may be too concerned about how you look, and dress sexy to attract people even when it's not appropriate. You may act like you're on stage, with over-the-top emotions and speech that changes very quickly.   Narcissistic Personality Disorder You want to make yourself look good, even if you must hurt or ignore others to do it. You may brag a lot or pretend to be someone you're not, or stop people who want to have their say, especially if you think you're more important. You may get angry when you don't get treated the way you want. Inside, you're insecure, oversensitive, and may lash out if criticized. You get moody and depressed if someone makes you feel less than perfect.

Causes of Personality Disorder

Avoidant Personality Disorder

No one wants to look foolish, but with this condition, you'd rather be alone than take even the smallest risk that someone will reject you or make you look bad in front of others. You may make problems bigger than they need to be, find it hard to try new things, and see yourself as unattractive. This can make you afraid to connect with others and very uncomfortable in large groups. Obsessive-Compulsive Personality Disorder A desire to control people, tasks, or situations is at the core of this disorder. Your attention to rules, details, and order can be extreme. You may find it hard to relax or like you have to do everything yourself. You may judge other people harshly. This isn't the same as obsessive-compulsive disorder, where a pattern of unreasonable thoughts can lead you to do something over and over, like wash your hands too much to avoid germs. Dependent Personality Disorder You may be too clingy because you hate to be apart from those you're closest to. The thought they could leave forever causes serious fear. You don't have a lot of confidence and aren't eager to try new things. Even everyday decisions can be hard as you feel you need approval from others first. When a romantic relationship ends, you often start a new one right away. And you may put up with abuse from someone just to keep them around. Do I Have A Personality Disorder? You probably won't know it on your own. People with personality disorders often don't believe it. You may find out only after you get help for something else, like anxiety or depression, or if someone suggests you start therapy and you go. Because people with these conditions often manage well enough to get by - though they may have a hard time with relationships - many never get the help they need. Diagnosis of Personality Disorder Doctors ask questions to learn if parts of your personality are so strict that they harm your relationships at home and at work. They also check how well you control your impulses and see if your view of yourself matches reality. You might have some symptoms without having one of these conditions. Only a professional can tell if you have a personality disorder. Treatment of Personality Disorder

Treatment of Personality Disorder

These conditions can be intense, constant, affect lots of parts of your life, and be hard to manage. But you can get help. The most common method is talk therapy. You talk with a mental health professional who helps you see - and change - patterns of thinking and behavior that cause you problems. Over time, this can help you deal with stress and with other people in a healthier way.

What About Medications? None are specifically approved to treat personality disorders. But some drugs may help with serious symptoms. In that case, your doctor might prescribe one of these in addition to therapy: - Antidepressants - Mood stabilizers - Antipsychotic medicines - Anti-anxiety meds, except for people with certain personality disorders

Health and Medical Information online published by Dr Vivienne Balonwu.

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