#mental health therapists pittsburgh | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

vizthedatum · 2 years ago

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I am not my family's savior. I am a person who doesn't need to save nor do I need to be saved.

Note: I wrote this last night (I have since had my interview and made my arrangements) CW: ALL the content warnings and also a self-declaration for my own growth

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I am so depleted right now.

I have an interview in the morning, and I think afterward, I’m gonna get a hotel or Airbnb or something. I’m coming back to Pittsburgh on Friday and then going to Houston on Wednesday to visit my best friend.

My declarations:

- I’m glad I came to help my mom and speak to her and to be authentic with her. No regrets. I was finally true to her, and we both needed that. Plus I’m glad I could be there to help with medical stuff.

- She can figure stuff out. She can get a medical translator or someone. She can get therapy if she wants. She can respect my boundaries if she wants. If she wants, she can stick to her meds (she has a tendency to stop meds and not adhere). Not my responsibility.

- It is never “abuse” or what it visibly looks like all the time. Abuse isn’t what you see in the media. It’s insidious. It’s a mindfuck (and when I was a child, it was that and rampant physical abuse). It doesn’t matter if you handled it and are fine now. It doesn't matter if this is “Indian culture.” It doesn’t matter if you don’t believe me. It doesn’t matter if my trauma led me here or whatever. I wish it didn’t happen. It did, it messed me up, it fucked up my thought patterns leading me to be raped (or psychologically manipulated) constantly by people I thought I could trust. It led me to toxic relationships in all sectors of my life. It made me think I was a monster and ugly and stupid - and I still do. I can’t stop. Almost every thought is tinged with self-deprecation. No matter how many compliments I get or how much I dress femme/masc/whatever/more whatever… it’s not enough. It is so hard for me. I have to deal with this my whole life. I have to manage my mental/physical health and it’s not just a luxury or anything - I have to prioritize MY HEALTH and MY JOY now. I can’t put it on the back burner anymore.

- My dad can also respect me if he wants or even respect my mom and bro… but he chooses not to.

- My bro (don’t feel bad please) cannot keep using me as his second therapist. If you’re gonna spiral and if we are gonna have the same conversations, then I’m done. If you die, I already gave you my all - I really did. So I’ll mourn you (like I do in my nightmares when you finally kill yourself… nightmares I’ve had since you lit yourself on fire behind your high school… and then the countless attempts after that) if it happens. But it’s not my fault. I am not the cause. I’ll be devastated ofc but it is not my fault.

- Being here is bad for my health. I’m letting my self-respect and standards slide. I’m shutting down. Physically and mentally.

- All three of them are adults. They have resources. They have internet access and phones and some money and etc. I’m not their savior, and I refuse to be anymore. If they die, it’s not my fault. If bad things happen, it’s not my fault. It is not family, if family makes you feel this way.

- I think I’m gonna keep cutting and pruning ALL unhealthy relationships (unhealthy for me, mind you) MORE now.

I want to really live for me and my chosen family. If I’m gonna have a baby/babies, then I want to set a good example.

I am cutting myself off from my family tree and starting a new tree. It is far from selfish. A lack of support combined with so much disrespect has brought me here. I want to truly be healthy and happy. I deserve it.

I’ll say my goodbyes after the interview.

Leaving at around 3pm and my brother will help me. My parents will protest, and I will straight up tell them if they don't allow me to leave, then it's imprisonment.

#declaration #declarations #self love #self care #relationships #healing #trauma #love #harm #childhood abuse #domestic violence #maladaptive behaviors #coping mechanisms #breaking the cycle #generational trauma #new tree #new life #new family

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makinwellness-blog · 5 years ago

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Mental Health Services in Pittsburgh, PA - Counselors, Therapists & Life Coaches

New Post has been published on https://makinwellness.com/mental-health-services-in-pittsburgh/

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wkemeup · 3 years ago

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ok i am so glad you said that about therapist/power dynamics in fics!! i’m a counseling student (applying to masters programs in the fall if you have any advice for me ? :-)) and i’m only okay w therapist tropes as long as it’s specified that like…. in reality, a therapist really should not engage sexually with clients because it’s a huge ethics violation and an abuse of power that can be extremely damaging to clients. it doesn’t vibe well w me to read either because it just hits way too close to my real life/career goal, so it’s nice to see that i’m not alone at all in that! and i respect how you said that/worded your response :)

but fr if u have any advice on masters programs or applying…. please please please

Ya it just really bothers me because I could never imagine being in that position. I’ve had to transfer patients who have expressed romantic interest in me and it’s really messed with their therapeutic alliance when it can’t be worked around and it’s so hard to watch that. It’s a tough position to be in as a therapist. Especially for some patients who are experiencing true support and validation for the first time and then interpret it as deeper romantic feelings. It can be really messy.

As for masters programs- congrats!! Depends on what you’re getting the degree in. I did mine in social work because you can do more insurance wise and apply the degree to a wider range of job types than mental health counseling degrees. I went to Boston University and loved the program!! I was really close to going to Boston College and University of Pittsburgh too. Both great schools as well! If you want to chat more about it feel free to dm me!

#inbox

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myonlybasket · 3 years ago

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T1 - three days.

rTMS. Repetitive transcranial magnetic stimulation. “Waking up” parts of the brain that have lied dormant for too long.

By the middle of July 2021, I was left deep in a year-plus-long depressive episode, full of anxiety that I couldn’t totally manage without making my depression worse, unemployed, living with my mother, 27 years old, completely void of identity and purpose.

In every one of the hundred treatment steps, I knew where to go for help. But this time, all of those options came up dry. I knew anxiety and I knew depression, I knew people who had had them and people who were being treated for them.

I didn’t know that there was a decent percentage of people for whom medications didn’t really do anything. And when I found myself in that percentage, I was at a loss.

I don’t remember how TMS got on my brain. A family friend did a course probably almost a decade ago and he’d given me an information packet on it. Treatment consisted of a large number of sessions where you sit in a chair and they shoot magnetic pulses at your brain to try and “wake up” areas that have been known to go dormant in people who are depressed. Back then, it was still considered experimental, extremely expensive, and the closest available chair was a two and a half hour drive away in Pittsburgh. It wasn’t an option.

I’d googled it in the spring and was filled with hope for once in my life when I found out that my psychiatrist’s office did TMS treatments. I talked to him about it, and after they shut down for covid, their tech left and they had no immediate plans to refill the position. So there went that hope.

I was a model patient who should be in recovery, but I was nowhere close. There weren’t more meds to try. There weren’t more jobs to quit. TMS in Pittsburgh was in the back of my mind as a last resort, but it started looking like my only option. But something told me to go back to my insurance website and look again. And lo and behold, there it was: a TMS tech in State College, only 84 miles from home. I called, did an intake appointment, and got approved for treatment. I start Friday.

I decided to start this blog because while I knew people in therapy and people who were on meds for their mental health, I didn’t know people who didn’t respond to those treatments. When the diagnosis was, “More or different meds aren’t going to help because your life situation sucks,” I changed my life situation. But I still needed help. I got out of the environment that made me ill, but simply leaving didn’t heal me. I was out of options. I didn’t know anyone who went through something like this. I had no one who could empathize.

As an educator, I try to be fairly transparent when it comes to mental health. Hiding the fact that I see a therapist doesn’t help my students. Selectively sharing my experience when empathizing with students is one step I can take in dispelling the stigma. I don’t want my students to go through school without anyone investing in their mental health the way that I did.

The overwhelming odds are that TMS will change something. But I’m tired of the constant poke and hope of medication, and I’ve failed enough meds that I’m done trying to find new ones. I will continue seeing my therapist because she is a great support; she’s even recommended me for a psychological evaluation (which I’ve never had, only psychiatric evaluations) which I’ll have later on this month to dig a little deeper and see if the broad, broad label that was slapped on my mental health in 2011 is still the most accurate diagnosis.

My options have become fewer and fewer over the last decade. I’m trying not to put all my eggs in one basket, but right now, I have to.

This is the only basket I have.

#tms #transcranial magnetic stimulation #tw #trigger warning #depression #medication #medicine #anxiety #unemployment #psychiatry #psychiatrist #counselor #therapist #therapy

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rosy-cheekx · 4 years ago

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"Don’t do that. don’t shut me out” and / or “We can talk through the door” - from the trauma sentence starters :)

Okay so this started as a one-off but, as usual, it spiraled outwards! The actual line will be in the next chapter. (That’s right, this bitch has two chapters! AND A PERSPECTIVE SHIFT)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28201191/chapters/69105681

It had been hard for Martin to adjust, after the Lonely, after the months of spiraling into the quiet, cold dark, imprisoned in an ever-expanding labyrinth of his own isolation. A therapist he had years ago told him it takes three weeks to manifest a habit, and in the months without his mum, without Jon, Sasha, Tim, god without even Elias to irritate his last fraying nerve, he had time to form hundreds of new habits, his habits of loneliness.

When Peter had given him Elias’ old office, under the guise of space, focus, and mental health (Martin could spit at that looking back, the cruel irony), the room had been rearranged. The desk, which had previously sat in the center of the room, with two slightly uncomfortable chairs positioned in front of it, chairs Martin had been eager to burn in celebration of his new space, had been rearranged. The room was starkly empty, the chairs removed on his behalf, and the desk had been moved to the side of the room, out of view of the door and in fact behind the hinges, so the door swung open in front of his desk, blocking anyone who may sneak a peek in his office a view of him at work. After a while, it was natural to be in the corner of a room closest to the hinges; where the coatrack or a rubbish bin would typically be, there instead was Martin Blackwood, comfortable, solitary. Alone.

The habits expanded outside of the office. Soon enough he was shopping at markets in the quietest hours: during the airings of football matches, at the early-morning markets, at two in the morning because he couldn’t sleep, couldn’t get warm under his duvet. His warm conversations with cashiers and barkers turned to solemn nods and gruff thank-yous, the refreshing smiles they associated with the sweater-clad figure reduced to slow blinks and nods of acknowledgement, and then not even that. They didn’t even wonder what had happened to that nice auburn-haired man who worked “down the street at the old spooky building, did-you-hear-about-those-worms?” Even takeout was too much to bear. The nights where leaving his flat was unconscionable, his delivery requests would always add, “leave outside the flat, tip is under the doormat.”

His neighbors didn’t remember him after a while. Mabel, the kind woman who lived across from him, introduced herself to him, asked when he moved in. Eventually she stopped noticing this new auburn man she hadn’t seen before. Hadn’t seen at all, actually. No one lived across the hall from her, not in her memory. And she had an excellent memory, didn’t-you-know? It was all those crosswords.

Martin started locking his doors. That had been after Jon had returned. He knew that distinctly. Most of these habits loomed over his life slowly, like an ever-expanding fog, until he didn’t realize where they had begun, but the doors? That was a choice.

He wasn’t one for locks overall; his childhood home had forbidden them, save for the exterior doors. It hadn’t bothered him back then, though, and as he grew up and out of the shadow of his mother it never occurred to him that he could just shut people out like that. So easy, so simple, but so unnecessary for so long. Martin was the one breaking down those barriers, especially at the Institute. Getting Sasha to talk about her anger when they first moved into the Archives, her quiet confession that she had wanted that job for so long, had been told by Gertrude she was a promising candidate. That had been fixed with a cup of tea and the promise that he would support her if she wanted to quit, but that it seemed like Tim needed her, Jon too. Getting Tim to open up about Danny, his sorrow that had been simmering so long under the surface, a grief Martin didn’t quite know how to fathom. But he tried, with comforting touches and warm voice, trying to ease Tim back from the precipice over which he had been hovering. Not enough. Never enough. Even Jon had begun to be kinder to him, after Prentiss, after Martin had proven he wasn’t a waste of space in the Archives, begun to be honest and open about his take on the weird things they experienced here. He had even texted him rather frequently, towards the end, updating him on his trip to America and of the occasional sights that caught his eye (‘In Pittsburgh they put chips on sandwiches and salads, Martin, look at this! Image_0102 attached’ Even in text, his grammar was impeccable.) But after Jon recovered from his coma, lapse with death, whatever it had been, Martin had been too far gone. He couldn’t risk Jon bursting in, bothering him, worrying and fussing. So he’d called in a locksmith to install the simple bolt, enough to stop a distracted, harried Archivist (who had never quite learned it was polite to knock) from bursting into his office at all hours.

But after all that, after the Lonely and Peter Lukas and “look at me and tell me what you see,” it was hard to break the achingly comfortable habits. For the first few days in Scotland, Martin didn’t really remember what had happened. While out of the domain itself, he was still trapped in its cloying embrace, and everything felt too real, too looming, too much; it had been easy to slip into silence for hours in Daisy’s safehouse. Too easy to pull the fog around him and watch himself sit, drawn up behind the door, as he watched and listened and waited for Jon to forget about him. It had never happened though. No matter how many hiding places he found, cold and dark and solitary, Jon always found him, blanket and tea in tow (always a little too sweet for Martin’s liking), and his scalding embrace was enough to drag him back to reality, shivering and sweating, whispering apologies.

They needed supplies. Daisy had left behind plenty of MREs in her pantry, stuff they could theoretically rely on, but it was all very basic nutritionary needs and both Martin and Jon were vegetarians, (more or less, Martin had stopped eating red meat as a teenager and Jon entirely after working in the Archives) and the dehydrated pasta alfredo was gone, seemingly the only vegetarian item in Daisy’s stock. Martin hadn’t even tried to touch the canned fruit, the orange-yellow of the peaches haunting him.

Martin suspected it was also a desperate attempt for the pair to practice feeling normal again. To be just two friends? Companions? Coworkers? Boyfriends? people stocking up their fridge and going on with a normal, non-horror filled life. A secluded, bare safehouse was certainly not helping them adjust any quicker, though neither man had dared leave quite yet, be it the risk of losing what little security they had accrued here or the inability to leave the other alone quite yet.

“Is-Do you know if it’s busy today?” Martin had asked, trying desperately to shape his voice into calm curiosity.

Jon considered the question for a minute, expression soft, and dear lord Martin wasn’t sure he would ever get used to the way Jon’s shadows seemed to darken and solidify when he Learned, his whole form shifting in and out of focus imperceptibly like the background was blending into him and not the other way round, the way Martin was accustomed.

“Mm, not bad. No one interesting. A couple families shopping for the week, twelve customers, four employees, total-oh, fourteen, mum and son just walked in…” Martin’s eyebrow was raised. “Ah,” Jon cleared his throat. “Sorry. Fourteen people. If that’s too many, I can go by myself, you know. I’m not going to force you.”

“N-no, no. I should go. Exposure therapy, right?”

Jon had smiled warmly and tentatively rested a hand on Martin’s shoulder, before sliding the hand, scarred and calloused, to squeeze Martin’s own cold one.

The grocery was small, a locally run place playing tinny jazz through the speakers. As Martin stepped through the doors with Jon, he was struck by how warm it was in the store. He could feel the prickle of anxiety burning under his skin, bringing a flush to his cheeks. He could hear the whine of the electric lights piercing his skull and settling behind his eyes. He gripped the trolley’s handle tight, firmly keeping his eyes forward. He was fine, he could do this.

Martin was not fine. They had worked their way through the aisles quickly, Jon using his Knowledge to figure out where every item they needed had been located. Martin was on autopilot, quietly steering the cart and flinching when anyone came to close to him. The heat of life was radiating off everyone in the store, even Jon, and it was scalding, blinding, debilitating. He hadn’t noticed Jon asking him a question until, Jon carefully, gingerly, brought his hand to hover near Martin’s cheek, not touching, just waiting for a response.

“Martin?” he heard distantly, calling him back to reality, where fog didn’t drift over the aisles and the soft rush of waves didn’t echo in his ears.

“-mm?” The hand was gone, his skin tingled with the rush of cold returning to his face. He wished it would come back, to hold his face and promise it would be alright.

“I was wondering what tea you wanted to buy? I’m no expert and I know you have your preferences. I miss-” Jon cleared his throat. “I’ve missed your tea in the Archives. All the staff drank coffee after you left. Disgusting.”

Tea. This was something Martin could do. He took a step away from the trolley, his life raft, and studied the aisles, trying to will his mind to focus.

Tea, tea, tea. Rooibos and chamomile for sleepless nights. Herbal for variety. Jon likes caffeinated teas. Maybe some chai? That’ll be good when it gets really cold…god how long will we be here? Through winter? Forever? He could stay here forever if it meant Jon was there too.

He grabbed a couple of boxes of familiar brands, throwing them in the trolley, as well as whatever felt familiar, what he’d usually pick up.

“I thought you didn’t like oolong.”

Martin frowned, glancing down at the box in his hand. “I don’t. Uh, force of habit I guess.” He set the box back quickly, as if it was burning his hand. “M’mum liked it so I would pick it up for her. Guess its been a while…” he trailed off, uncertain of what he was about to say. He’s bought tea since she died, hasn’t he?

He thinks back, through all his months in Elias’s office and at home.

Oh. Guess not.

Had he really not drunk tea at all? God, he had really changed more than he thought under the influence of Peter. Tea had been such a staple of his life, his personality, he was the one dragging Jon and Sasha and Tim to teahouses for his birthday and insisting he make a cuppa for everyone on the days that felt too dark. The last time he could remember holding a warm cup of tea in his hands was when he was sitting at Jon’s bedside in the hospital, reading him Keats in the desperate hope he would hate it so much he would wake up, even if just to scold his assistant.

Martin knew serving The Lonely had changed him. But here, in the aisle of a Scottish grocery, he was realizing how entirely debased he had become. Was he even Martin Blackwood anymore?

Martin blinked to see the grocery around him cloaked in fog. No, that wasn’t right. He was cloaked in fog. The world was a pale blue-grayscale, slightly translucent. He hadn’t been here in a while but the cool balm over his anxiety settled like cool cloth and he felt distantly quiet. Calm. He left the store in a haze and began the slow trudge up to the safehouse. Jon wasn’t here in this place, which was probably for the best. Martin couldn’t hurt him here, couldn’t burden him with whatever pesky emotions he had felt in the grocery, whatever they had been. They were a distant memory now, oolong and guilt.

By the time Martin had hiked up the hill to the safehouse, he felt safe enough to leave the Lonely, and felt the cool numbness drift off him like steam as the world sharpened around him. With the world came the sharp sting of his realization came with it; the understanding that he wasn’t the same person he had been when he had said goodbye to Tim, Melanie, and Jon, and certainly not the same person he had been when he had backed through the doors to the Institute and let that dog in, what felt like decades ago now.

Martin Blackwood let the door swing shut behind him as he made his way inside, hearing the rumble of Jon’s car rolling up the gravel driveway. He moved quickly through the house, looking desperately for a place to escape as he heard the faint call of his name outside. He couldn’t-he just couldn’t talk to Jon right now; he didn’t know how to explain how betrayed he felt and by on fault but his own. The closest room was the bathroom, dark and clean, and pressed back against the door as he clicked the door shut, turning the latch on the door.

Click.

The bolt slid into the mechanism of the door frame, and that sound was what sent Martin spiraling.

he was alone he was alone he was alone.

#tma #tma fic #the magnus archives #tma fanfic #martin blackwood #jonathan sims #the lonely #prompt fic

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agrarianradfem · 4 years ago

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could you please tl;dr me what a medical record in the US is? i'm honestly trying to grasp the what and how of your recent posts in having a mental illness diagnosis stamped onto your file and it just... isn't making any sense. background: i'm from an eastern european country and we have nothing like that, only way a new doctor would be finding out any kind of previous diagnosis if it werent disclosed is diagnosing it themselves (or having a criminal history connected to mental illness)

Here’s sort of a brief intro to US medical records: in the US, your medical record is a file that contains all your diagnoses, previous surgeries, and recent test results. If you live in one area (lets say the city of Pittsburgh) all (or most) of your doctors work for one medical system. So your family doctor, gynecologist, allergist, surgeons, psychiatrists, physical therapists, etc. all work for one overarching company (in Pittsburgh, its UPMC). They upload all of your information to a single electronic file. Whenever you go to emergency (for instance) they open up your file (as it will be a UPMC emergency department) and can see anxiety, prior surgery on your tonsils, that you were recently prescribed an antifungal for athlete’s foot etc. If you move a lot or don’t receive all your care from one system, you have to go through new patient visits every single time and that doctor requests access to all previous medical records from prior doctors offices, so they then get the file from your family doctor from where you most recently lived, your old psychiatrist, your old obgyn, etc. I have an electronic record I’ve seen that goes back a little over a decade and I can see when I was last prescribed antibiotics for pink eye, for example, or when I had my gallbladder removed and all known medication allergies and side effects. It includes info from two urgent cares, a surgery center, a primary care physician, and a gastroenterologist. Even if you end up in an ER run by a company you’ve never interacted with they will ask you questions about if you’ve been diagnosed with anxiety, etc. Or they’ll ask your spouse/parent if you’re incapacitated. Even saying that you feel nervous to an intake doctor/nurse can mean that on your handoff chart they’ll write something like “chest pain, anxiety” which means that the physician you see can already believe that you’re just having anxiety related chest pain or will ask you questions about your anxiety history. There are also Health Information Exchanges in some states. I haven’t ever lived in one of these states, but it seems like your doctors upload your medical records to a statewide exchange that allows the doctors you see in the future to see all your medical records if they’ve opted into the exchange. California has a large exchange iirc.

Thats just the US. Idk about other countries. I always thought that countries with national healthcare probably had one central electronic medical record per patient.

People who work in medical records know more of the details. I just know from moving around a lot and having to repeatedly update records with new doctors. When the covid plan was released where I live now, I had to update all my medical records again as the electronic file is what’s being used by the major hospital network to determine who is eligible for “underlying conditions” shots so I had to call a bunch of doctors to get records sent to the network I live near now.

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pictureofsoph1sticatedgrace · 5 years ago

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So I don’t think I ever really fully explained what’s been going on my life lately, and I need to word vomit it somewhere because I’m having a night so...

You’ll remember back in July I took a job with an airline. Things did not go great there to say the least and my mental health spiraled out incredibly quickly. My supervisor was incredible and I still feel horrific for letting her down because she went out of her way to try to make things work for me, but it just wasn’t something she could fix. I unfortunately had to quit back in September.

I also turned 26 in the middle of that mess, which meant I lost my health insurance. While I had my job, I was able to pay for a plan through the marketplace. After that, though, I was put on Medicaid - which I am incredibly grateful for because it makes everything affordable - but I lost my therapist because of it.

Prior to leaving her, she (and another therapist) recommended I start an intensive outpatient program. I’ve been describing it to people who’ve seen CXG as the equivalent of Rebecca’s therapy bubble - 3 group days a week, 3 hours each day, plus one-on-one therapy and medication management. I was put on the wait list for that in August and finally got in on October 22nd. Tomorrow starts my third (full - I missed two days for Dallas) week and I have incredibly mixed emotions about it. I’m getting handouts on handouts and work pages that would make Rebecca Bunch green with envy, but I don’t feel like I’m getting the practical help that I need. I’m also very afraid to speak up in the limited opportunities we have to do so for a few reasons... one, there is one person in the group with incredibly violent tendencies who makes me very uncomfortable, so there’s that complication. Secondly, I feel incredibly guilty talking about what I’m dealing with when there are people in the group who are in custody battles over their children. One woman can’t afford non-slip work shoes. It’s hard for me not to feel like I’m just wasting time with my first world problems because I have parents who love me, I have a roof over my head and food to eat and nothing really to worry about financially. I’m trying to keep in mind that it’s still early in the process. I’m trying to keep an open mind. But it’s so hard. I want to give up already even though I know I can’t... because I don’t have any other options. No plans for my life. I’ve been hoping this program would help give me a tiny bit of clarity on that front, but absolutely nothing yet.

And as many of you know, in the midst of all this, I sustained a vestibular concussion at my first night back in the gym post-nationals. Since September 19th, I’ve been dealing with chronic headaches, dizziness, balance issues, memory fog, and basically every other concussion symptom you could possibly think of. I am thankfully working with an INCREDIBLE team of doctors and therapists (they work with the Pittsburgh Penguins and my doctor in particular treated Sidney Crosby’s second concussion) and things are slowly starting to get better. Today, we figured out it’s my right eye specifically that is the problem child, and so we’re focusing on retraining my eyes to stay in alignment. It’s been absolutely fascinating to learn about how the human body compensates when injured, I will say that, but the recovery is unbelievably slow moving and I’m naturally frustrated and ready to get back into the gym as soon as I’m given the all clear.

Between IOP and therapy and med management and concussion specialists and vestibular therapy and PCP appointments and dentist appointments and OBGYN appointments and GI specialists, my health has become my full time job. It is overwhelming and some days I just want to say fuck it and roll back over and pray that I wake up in a different, normal, healthy body. So far, no luck on that front. So I trudge on.

I also got the news a week ago today that my beloved Nana most likely has an internal GI bleed caused by some form of cancer. She left us a living will that she created when she was first diagnosed with Alzheimer’s stating that she didn’t want any kind of medical testing or intervention, so we can’t know for sure, but she has been moved to hospice. I’m devastated and frustrated that we have no way of knowing what’s happening, but I do know my Nana has been fighting this disease for close to ten years now and is tired. I’m trying to take peace in knowing that years ago when we would sit on her patio and drink iced tea, she’d say the lord could take her then and there and she’d be happy to go home because she lived a good life. It doesn’t make letting go any easier though, especially when you don’t know when that last goodbye will be.

So... that’s everything in a very large nutshell. Naturally, my mood has been in the shitter. The seasonal affective disorder hits me hard as it is, and all of this on top of it has made for an incredibly difficult few months... probably the worst few months of my life. I have relapsed. The panic attacks have lessened but not dissipated. I have had passive ideations. But I am still here. I am still trying to plow ahead and be strong. It is so hard some days, but I’m doing it. No matter what, I’m doing it. I am trying. I’m trying to get better. Maybe someday I will.

So many of you have sent encouragements or little notes of love without knowing any of this and I can’t tell you how much it means to me. Most of you are Crazy Ex fans and get the mental health side of things, and it’s just so comforting to know I’m not alone in the struggles I sometimes face. Some of you aren’t from that fandom and send your love anyway... and to know that someone is going out of their way to send a little heart or note of encouragement when it would be just as easy to keep scrolling? That’s so special. Thank you. Thank all of you so much. I save it all and look back on it on bad days.

And as always... I wouldn’t be here without my absolute rocks. @faith-trust-magic-pixie-dust, who has inspired me endlessly with her strength in the past few months, my tumblr-less friend Lindsay who is constantly texting to check in on me despite me being the world’s worst human at responding to texts, and @heartbash and @itsme-ashley-marie - my gurl group, same size burritos, my sisters. You all deserve the world and I can’t emphasize enough how much your unwavering support and love and faith in my abilities when I have absolutely none have meant to me.

If you read this far, you deserve a cookie. Thank you for reading my spewing of emotions - it feels good to get this all off my heart and into writing. ❤️

#ramblings #loooooooooong ramblings #life update #spoiler alert: things have not been good #but hopefully we’re getting there #if you believe in prayer or vibes or good energy and could send any of that stuff my way #i would greatly appreciate it #❤️

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paclinicbgh · 29 days ago

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Why Is the BGH Group So Popular?

Types of Mental Health Care for Individuals in Pennsylvania through the Services of BGH Group At BGH Group we respect the fact that mental health is an important aspect of a person’s health. Through its affiliations with leading psychiatric care providers across Pennsylvania, our experienced staff is always available to help you develop a personal treatment plan. We provide services that address the different needs of our community in line with our stated goals. Maybe you need treatment for anxiety, depression or other mental disorder, disorder, our dedicated and knowledgeable psychiatrists are ready to offer you custom solutions according to your condition. It is crucial for every human being to understand that mental health issues can be kept under control. Here at BGH Group all our treatments are proven through extensive research and all our patients are treated accordingly. Thus, our purpose is to assist you with enhancing the quality of your life with better state of mind and more balanced emotional state. Many of our clients who visit us for admission are actual patients, families of patients, or people who require admission to our center because a loved one is a patient. Whether you have a practice in Erie or Pittsburgh, Lancaster or Altoona, we have facilities in PA to help when you need it. Make the right direction to improved mental health now – dial BGH Group to get more details and hear how we can assist. Your mental health matters. And now let us help you live the best life possible.

Phone: 888-625-7432

Business email : [email protected]

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a-room-of-my-own · 6 years ago

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Four years ago, I wrote about my decision to live as a woman in The New York Times, writing that I had wanted to live “authentically as the woman that I have always been,” and had “effectively traded my white male privilege to become one of America’s most hated minorities.”

Three years ago, I decided that I was neither male nor female, but nonbinary—and made headlines after an Oregon judge agreed to let me identify as a third sex, not male or female.

Now, I want to live again as the man that I am.

I’m one of the lucky ones. Despite participating in medical transgenderism for six years, my body is still intact. Most people who desist from transgender identities after gender changes can’t say the same.

But that’s not to say I got off scot-free. My psyche is eternally scarred, and I’ve got a host of health issues from the grand medical experiment.

Here’s how things began.

After convincing myself that I was a woman during a severe mental health crisis, I visited a licensed nurse practitioner in early 2013 and asked for a hormone prescription. “If you don’t give me the drugs, I’ll buy them off the internet,” I threatened.

Although she’d never met me before, the nurse phoned in a prescription for 2 mg of oral estrogen and 200 mg of Spironolactone that very same day.

The nurse practitioner ignored that I have chronic post-traumatic stress disorder, having previously served in the military for almost 18 years. All of my doctors agree on that. Others believe that I have bipolar disorder and possibly borderline personality disorder.

I should have been stopped, but out-of-control, transgender activism had made the nurse practitioner too scared to say no.

I’d learned how to become a female from online medical documents at a Department of Veterans Affairs hospital website.

After I began consuming the cross-sex hormones, I started therapy at a gender clinic in Pittsburgh so that I could get people to sign off on the transgender surgeries I planned to have.

All I needed to do was switch over my hormone operating fuel and get my penis turned into a vagina. Then I’d be the same as any other woman. That’s the fantasy the transgender community sold me. It’s the lie I bought into and believed.

Only one therapist tried to stop me from crawling into this smoking rabbit hole. When she did, I not only fired her, I filed a formal complaint against her. “She’s a gatekeeper,” the trans community said.

Professional stigmatisms against “conversion therapy” had made it impossible for the therapist to question my motives for wanting to change my sex.

The “Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders” (Fifth Edition) says one of the traits of gender dysphoria is believing that you possess the stereotypical feelings of the opposite sex. I felt that about myself, but yet no therapist discussed it with me.

Two weeks hadn’t passed before I found a replacement therapist. The new one quickly affirmed my identity as a woman. I was back on the road to getting vaginoplasty.

There’s abundant online literature informing transgender people that their sex change isn’t real. But when a licensed medical doctor writes you a letter essentially stating that you were born in the wrong body and a government agency or court of law validates that delusion, you become damaged and confused. I certainly did.

Painful Roots

My trauma history resembles a ride down the Highway of Death during the first Gulf War.

As a child, I was sexually abused by a male relative. My parents severely beat me. At this point, I’ve been exposed to so much violence and had so many close calls that I don’t know how to explain why I’m still alive. Nor do I know how to mentally process some of the things I’ve seen and experienced.

Dr. Ray Blanchard has an unpopular theory that explains why someone like me may have been drawn to transgenderism. He claims there are two types of transgender women: homosexuals that are attracted to men, and men who are attracted to the thought or image of themselves as females.

It’s a tough thing to admit, but I belong to the latter group. We are classified as having autogynephilia.

After having watched pornography for years while in the Army and being married to a woman who resisted my demands to become the ideal female, I became that female instead. At least in my head.

While autogynephilia was my motivation to become a woman, gender stereotypes were my means of implementation. I believed wearing a long wig, dresses, heels, and makeup would make me a woman.

Feminists begged to differ on that. They rejected me for conforming to female stereotypes. But as a new member of the transgender community, I beat up on them too. The women who become men don’t fight the transgender community’s wars. The men in dresses do.

Medical Malpractice

The best thing that could have happened would have been for someone to order intensive therapy. That would have protected me from my inclination to cross-dress and my risky sexual transgressions, of which there were many.

Instead, quacks in the medical community hid me in the women’s bathroom with people’s wives and daughters. “Your gender identity is female,” these alleged professionals said.

The medical community is so afraid of the trans community that they’re now afraid to give someone Blanchard’s diagnosis. Trans men are winning in medicine, and they’ve won the battle for language.

Think of the word “transvestite.” They’ve succeeded in making it a vulgar word, even though it just means men dressing like women. People are no longer allowed to tell the truth about men like me. Everyone now has to call us transgender instead.

The diagnostic code in my records at the VA should read Transvestic Disorder (302.3). Instead, the novel theories of Judith Butler and Anne Fausto-Sterling have been used to cover up the truths written about by Blanchard, J. Michael Bailey, and Alice Dreger.

I confess to having been motivated by autogynephilia during all of this. Blanchard was right.

Trauma, hypersexuality owing to childhood sexual abuse, and autogynephilia are all supposed to be red flags for those involved in the medical arts of psychology, psychiatry, and physical medicine—yet nobody except for the one therapist in Pittsburgh ever tried to stop me from changing my sex. They just kept helping me to harm myself.

Escaping to ‘Nonbinary’

Three years into my gender change from male to female, I looked hard into the mirror one day. When I did, the facade of femininity and womanhood crumbled.

Despite having taken or been injected with every hormone and antiandrogen concoction in the VA’s medical arsenal, I didn’t look anything like a female. People on the street agreed. Their harsh stares reflected the reality behind my fraudulent existence as a woman. Biological sex is immutable.

It took three years for that reality to set in with me.

When the fantasy of being a woman came to an end, I asked two of my doctors to allow me to become nonbinary instead of female to bail me out. Both readily agreed.

After pumping me full of hormones—the equivalent of 20 birth control pills per day—they each wrote a sex change letter. The two weren’t just bailing me out. They were getting themselves off the hook for my failed sex change. One worked at the VA. The other worked at Oregon Health & Science University.

To escape the delusion of having become a woman, I did something completely unprecedented in American history. In 2016, I convinced an Oregon judge to declare my sex to be nonbinary—neither male nor female.

In my psychotic mind, I had restored the mythical third sex to North America. And I became the first legally recognized nonbinary person in the country.

Celebrity Status

The landmark court decision catapulted me to instant fame within the LGBT community. For 10 nonstop days afterward, the media didn’t let me sleep. Reporters hung out in my Facebook feed, journalists clung to my every word, and a Portland television station beamed my wife and I into living rooms in the United Kingdom.

Becoming a woman had gotten me into The New York Times. Convincing a judge that my sex was nonbinary got my photos and story into publications around the world.

Then, before the judge’s ink had even dried on my Oregon sex change court order, a Washington, D.C.-based LGBT legal aid organization contacted me. “We want to help you change your birth certificate,” they offered.

Within months, I scored another historic win after the Department of Vital Records issued me a brand new birth certificate from Washington, D.C., where I was born. A local group called Whitman-Walker Health had gotten my sex designation on my birth certificate switched to “unknown.” It was the first time in D.C. history a birth certificate had been printed with a sex marker other than male or female.

Another transgender legal aid organization jumped on the Jamie Shupe bandwagon, too. Lambda Legal used my nonbinary court order to help convince a Colorado federal judge to order the State Department to issue a passport with an X marker (meaning nonbinary) to a separate plaintiff named Dana Zzyym.

LGBT organizations helping me to screw up my life had become a common theme. During my prior sex change to female, the New York-based Transgender Legal Defense & Education Fund had gotten my name legally changed. I didn’t like being named after the uncle who’d molested me. Instead of getting me therapy for that, they got me a new name.

A Pennsylvania judge didn’t question the name change, either. Wanting to help a transgender person, she had not only changed my name, but at my request she also sealed the court order, allowing me to skip out on a ton of debt I owed because of a failed home purchase and begin my new life as a woman. Instead of merging my file, two of the three credit bureaus issued me a brand new line of credit.

Walking Away From Fiction

It wasn’t until I came out against the sterilization and mutilation of gender-confused children and transgender military service members in 2017 that LGBT organizations stopped helping me. Most of the media retreated with them.

Overnight, I went from being a liberal media darling to a conservative pariah.

Both groups quickly began to realize that the transgender community had a runaway on their hands. Their solution was to completely ignore me and what my story had become. They also stopped acknowledging that I was behind the nonbinary option that now exists in 11 states.

The truth is that my sex change to nonbinary was a medical and scientific fraud.

Consider the fact that before the historic court hearing occurred, my lawyer informed me that the judge had a transgender child.

Sure enough, the morning of my brief court hearing, the judge didn’t ask me a single question. Nor did this officer of the court demand to see any medical evidence alleging that I was born something magical. Within minutes, the judge just signed off on the court order.

I do not have any disorders of sexual development. All of my sexual confusion was in my head. I should have been treated. Instead, at every step, doctors, judges, and advocacy groups indulged my fiction.

The carnage that came from my court victory is just as precedent-setting as the decision itself. The judge’s order led to millions of taxpayer dollars being spent to put an X marker on driver’s licenses in 11 states so far. You can now become male, female, or nonbinary in all of them.

In my opinion, the judge in my case should have recused herself. In doing so, she would have spared me the ordeal still yet to come. She also would have saved me from having to bear the weight of the big secret behind my win.

I now believe that she wasn’t just validating my transgender identity. She was advancing her child’s transgender identity, too.

A sensible magistrate would have politely told me no and refused to sign such an outlandish legal request. “Gender is just a concept. Biological sex defines all of us,” that person would have said.

In January 2019, unable to advance the fraud for another single day, I reclaimed my male birth sex. The weight of the lie on my conscience was heavier than the value of the fame I’d gained from participating in this elaborate swindle.

Two fake gender identities couldn’t hide the truth of my biological reality. There is no third gender or third sex. Like me, intersex people are either male or female. Their condition is the result of a disorder of sexual development, and they need help and compassion.

I played my part in pushing forward this grand illusion. I’m not the victim here. My wife, daughter, and the American taxpayers are—they are the real victims.

#Gender critical #Gender #Transgender #Transition #Non binary #Jamie shupe #Mtf

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nomorelonelydays · 6 years ago

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Bee I just reread the not a captain au and had the saddest idea. What if nobody not even Geno finds out about why Sid is so distant from the team. They just continue to ignore him while his few friends from other teams watch and worry about him. He never asks for a trade and retires quietly after bringing the cup back to Pittsburgh a fourth or fifth time. Maybe he got hurt in the final game (a nasty check after his game winning goal) and the few people that do care think he’s just (1/?)

recovering for the next season but nope he’s done. He loves hockey more than anything but his body just won’t take it anymore (I imagine he got checked a lot because nobody cared enough to defend him) so he has to hang up the skates. Nobody tries to really keep in contact with him and the only times his old team hears about him is when some magazines try to interview him. Sid, of course, keeps up with the team because even if he isn’t playing anymore he wants them to win. Even though Sid (2/?)

was the best player in the league for years and has the highest numbers on the penguins in the last ten years nobody really cares except those asshole fans that blame Sid for all following losses because how dare he abandoning the team. Even though Sid doesn’t use social media (social media is something for people with friends, and Sid barely has any) he knows about the hate and becomes even more private. Barely leaving his house, getting all his groceries delivered etc. and only really (3/?)

interacting with his family. So a few years down the line, the majority of the pens Sid played with are still on the team or at least the league, there’s a new widely discussed hockey book on the market. Sidney wrote an autobiography. He had way too much free time anyway so he just ... wrote. He wrote about his childhood and how he was always bullied and excluded, about how that shaped him and made him anxious and shy, about that carried on into his adult life. He never writes anything (4/?)

bad about the pens though. He mentions that he always alienated himself and that they aren’t to blame. Putting all of the blame on himself and even apologizing for being such a bad teammate. He writes about how he has no idea what he wants to do now because his life was always just hockey and now his one constant was removed. He can’t really be around too many people without getting panic attacks so he can’t coach or even work in PR or something like that. He thought about doing (5/?)

anti-bullying work but he’s afraid of giving bad advice or being a bad role model because he handled his situation so bad. In the end of his book he just writes that he’s trying to focus on his mental health for a while and then maybe when it gets better he wants to help others. So of course his old teammates get asked questions about the book and Sid’s time with the pens but they’re confused at first because why should they read Crosby’s book. Until the hard hitting questions about (6/?)

bullying in the locker room start and they think hmmm maybe I should read it. Maybe a few of them do the rest just let’s their agents read through it. But slowly they start to understand. That the guy they always thought was an arrogant asshole was just too scared and shy to say something. That he wanted to be friends but didn’t knew how. That he kept away from the team because he knew he wasn’t wanted. But he still put them on a pedestal and blamed himself for everything. A few of them (7/?)

cried while reading it. Cue half the league showing up at Sidney Crosby secluded house in the offseason wanting to be friends. Also Geno coming and trying the hardest because he feels bad for being a shitty captain and not making him feel welcome on the team when he was one of the main reasons they ever even won. He tries his hardest and is nice. Which leads to actual communication (I know, I’m shocked too) which leads to Sid coming home from the therapist he’s working with and being (8/?)

greeted by his big Russian husband holding their tiny babygirl while their boys run around their legs and scream about daddy being home. (9/9)

I’m feeling so many emotions right now. I’ve always wanted to write that trope where Sidney secludes himself after retirement and writes an autobiography like he’s leaving breadcrumbs for Geno to find him because he’s doesn’t think he deserves to actively seek out Geno’s companionship, much less his love. But there’s definitely a fic like that already so i don’t want to step on any toes ; - ;

#not a captain AU #ask bee

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byome · 6 years ago

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I hate posts that say “just go get help.” Do you know how hard it is to get an appointment with a psychologist as an adult? At least for me (tricare, military hospitals bc parents) you can’t just call up and be like “can I be referred to the mental health clinic.” It took me MONTHS to get my first referral. MONTHS. It took me coming home (driving 5 hours from Pittsburgh and back) every fucking Friday for months for me to see a someone. I didn’t even see a full fledged psychologist, I saw someone akin to an apprentice. Like??? My therapist was literally in training. And from there on I was diagnosed w OCD and anxiety + an ED as the result of those two things. Nothing happened. An in-training psychiatrist put me on lexapro and when that didn’t work and I wanted to go back to change meds they asked “do you have a referral to come see us?” aND THE PROCESS HAD TO START AGAIN.

It’s not as simple as telling someone to go tell someone. They get kids in to see doctors ASAP but adults...? Nope. You have to jump through a million hoops to prove you are suffering. It’s horrific. I encourage everyone to get help but stop fucking acting like it’s easy.

#me #ed tw #mine #ana #anorexia #eating disorder tw #eating disorder trigger warning #depression #mental health #mental illness #ednos #osfed

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makinwellness-blog · 6 years ago

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Natural Remedies to Beat the "Winter Blues"

New Post has been published on https://makinwellness.com/natural-remedies-beat-winter-blues/

Natural Remedies to Beat the "Winter Blues"

Winter is a time of year we love to keep cozy, spend time with family and friends, and eat lots of good food. For some though, it can be a time of increased sadness. Comfort food is more often consumed along with decreased physical activity, which can lead to low mood and energy, increasing the risk of depression. Seasonal Affective Disorder (S.A.D) affects more than half a million Americans each year and is a recognized form of clinical depression, commonly referred to as the “winter blues” or “winter depression.” Stressful life events, family history, or other emotional issues may contribute to S.A.D. Women are more commonly reported to have S.A.D. However, it may occur with anyone, regardless of age or gender. winter blues

Symptoms of Seasonal Affective Disorder

Recognizing the symptoms is the first step in seeking the proper treatment. Symptoms can vary from person to person and range from mild to severe, usually occurring between the months of September and April. People generally experience more severe symptoms between the months of December and February.

Symptoms typically include:

Negative thoughts and feelings of sadness

Irritability

Poor appetite

Fatigue

Increased food cravings

Difficulty concentrating

Social isolation

Sleep disturbances

Scientists believe vitamin D deficiency due to lack of sunlight may be one of the causes of S.A.D. This is because of vitamin D deficiency preventing a part of the brain, known as the hypothalamus, from working properly. In turn, the disruption in the function of the hypothalamus leads to an imbalance in circadian rhythms. When circadian rhythms are out of balance, melatonin and serotonin levels can be affected.

People with S.A.D have been noted as having higher levels of melatonin, causing sleep disturbances and fatigue. Serotonin (the happy hormone) levels may decrease due to this lack of sleep, causing mood disturbances. So, what are some ways we can combat this? Consider the following natural remedies.

Natural Remedies to Beat the “Winter Blues” (or S.A.D) winter blues

Exercise Regularly – Exercise increases the brains feel-good chemicals, reducing feelings of depression. Studies have shown walking just 20-30 minutes can boost your mood!

Get some Vitamin D – Taking a vitamin D supplement can help boost mood and immunity. A doctor or nutritionist can recommend a proper dose.

Sleep – Rest is vital to emotional health. Avoid excess sugar and caffeine to promote restful sleep. Try going to bed at the same time each night and waking up at the same time each morning.

Get Outside –Take advantage when the sun does decide to peek through during winter months. Bundle up and ask a friend to go on a short walk or hike. It can do wonders for your mood and energy!

Talk It Out – Discussing your feelings with a trained counselor can help you overcome feelings of sadness. Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT) is recommended to promote positive thinking and behaviors.

Practice Self-Care – Spend time doing something you enjoy. Treat yourself to a massage. Finding ways to relax and be more mindful reduces stress, helping boost mood.

Healthy Eating – Comfort foods are easy to reach for when feeling sad. Sweets and excess carbs may produce good feelings short-term. Unfortunately, this can turn into a downward spiral, causing low mood and an imbalance in hormone levels. Leafy greens, protein, and healthy carbohydrates can help boost mood and energy, reducing symptoms of depression. Talking with a nutritionist can help guide you through a meal plan to fit with your personal lifestyle.

If you’re interested in further support with mood, diet, and lifestyle changes, Makin Wellness offers a holistic, integrative approach to therapy and nutritional counseling. Encompassing mind, body, and spirit, we give consideration to the whole person. Contact us today for a free 15-minute consultation ! winter blues

About Makin Wellness

Founded in 2017 , Makin Wellness is Pittsburgh’s premier therapy & coaching centers located in Downtown Pittsburgh and Downtown New Kensington. The company’s mission is to help people heal and become happy again. Makin Wellness specializes in depression, anxiety, addiction, trauma, medical marijuana assited treatment and relationship counseling. M

Laura Stewart, BA, CHN Makin Wellness

#clinical mental health therapist #counseling practice #depression therapist #holistic healing #licensed professional counselor #Makin Wellness #Online Counseling #pittsburgh private practice #pittsburgh psychotherapy #pittsburgh therapist #Professional Counselors #Sara Makin #Stress Management #wellness

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