I have had PTSD since the age of 4. I have suffered from bouts of serious depression on and off my whole life. I developed OCD as a coping mechanism from childhood trauma. I first sought psychiatric help after my daughter was born 39 years ago. At the time Post Traumatic Stress Disorder was not clearly understood. Even the people who loved me the most, my family, treated me poorly.
While I was seeking treatment to find out why my brain was making my life unfunctional, I was told that I was crazy like a fox, accused of being a bad mother and told to just get over it and move on. I was introduced as the crazy sister, told I was wasting my time with therapist, and told that I was faking it. I was pushed aside by those who I wanted love from the most.
But I knew something wasnt right. I knew I was not pretending. I knew somewhere there was an answer for me that would help me navigate through this life. I knew my daughters were the most precious things to me. Not only did I survive and eventually thrive with mental illness, but I survived the stigma attached to it.
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