I'm going on medication for PTSD because I'm stuck...again. And no, I don't feel like my trauma qualifies me for this diagnosis but that's exactly why I want you to know about it.
The therapy loop.
Most of my relationships with therapists go the same - I word vomit as much of my history as I can in the first 50 minutes hoping that this time I'll say it right, be understood, feel less confused, etc. but my expectations are always too high. I have a need for validation that is impossible to satisfy. No response is compassionate enough, and no reaction seems severe enough. I feel offended but it's not their fault. The perpetrator is the voice in my head that tells me no one takes me seriously.
I fill subsequent sessions venting about my "problem of the week" so that I feel like I've accomplished something, but know I've accomplished nothing at the same time. Eventually, it just feels like I'm wasting our time so I stop scheduling appointments.
Stuck. No better. No worse. Just stuck.
So...this is trauma?
The thing about trauma is that you spend most of your life trying to figure out what is wrong with you, why you are the way you are, and overanalyzing which events happened to you, which you allowed, and if any of that even matters. You wonder which things are at the root of the problem, which are symptoms, and if any of it is even real.
You think you might be too self-involved because you spend so much time thinking about you but you also can't help it because you have this inexplicable need to know why. And not necessarily why about anything in particular - it's like why anything and everything happens in life. And you come up with theories about everything but no real answers. You don't want everything to be about you, but somehow it is.
...and trauma can be passed down to future generations.
My daughters are at the ages that I was when I first experienced sexual trauma and when I started trying to cope with my confusing emotions by controlling my weight and abusing alcohol. Maybe that's why now feels harder than normal. And why I went to the doctor today to ask about medication.
I've thought about medication before but I never really felt "worthy". I know that sounds strange but I tend to think other people have "real" problems while mine are just the results of me being me.
A lot of times I have tried to identify with a disorder so that I can explain myself in a way I've never been able to easily put to words. It's like that would take all the pressure off me and put it on the diagnosis. But there is a conflicting belief I hold which is that identifying as anything other than "normal" is an excuse for not being able to think my way out of whatever "it" is because "it's all in my head". In other words, maybe I'm making it all up.
Despite my confusion, I can't risk it anymore. I can't resort to old coping mechanisms that, when needed, only allow me to keep my head above water high enough to see that I have a long way to go but no idea how to get there. I can't keep it to myself so that no one else has to carry a burden that I sometimes think I created. The stakes are higher because I have kids who are watching, and I never want them to feel alone or like they have to protect me or anyone else instead of asking for help.
So, today I went to the doctor and asked about medication.
I was prepared for my appointment with a list of symptoms. Things I have been managing on my own for as long as I can remember. They included feeling uneasy, irritable, unproductive, needing to be busy, unable to concentrate, sleep disturbances, craving alcohol, an obsessive need to control my weight, and a basic uncomfortableness with my body.
I also had a lengthy list of concerns and an even longer list of reasons why I might not need medication and could just "get through it".
I'll never forget her response.
"You're in the right place".
I've spent years in therapy. YEARS. And never felt like anyone thought I was in the right place, so this is something that stuck out to me as we began to discuss options, and later something I'd appreciate so much that I messaged her to say thanks.
We decided on a medication that would treat PTSD from my past sexual trauma and/or the resulting symptoms which she felt were anxiety, depression, and even OCD. It is a medication I have unfairly judged and even told family members they don't need. I was wrong. And think I've been wrong about a lot - especially about what it means to be strong.
A new definition of strong.
Before you get help there is a part of you that fights alone, and I think you can become attached to it. You depend on it and have this emotional bond with it. Looking outside of yourself almost feels like you're betraying yourself.
You want to believe in yourself so hard that you don't need anyone or anything else because you know you are the only thing in your life you can control. Maybe you're afraid that accepting help means you are giving up some of your control, and maybe feeling like you weren't in control is how you blame yourself for your trauma. But being in control isn't the same as being strong.
Being strong is continuing to get back up and never giving up - whether that means taking medication, going to therapy, or even just getting through it when you need to. It is doing whatever you CAN do to thrive because your purpose in life isn't just to "keep going".
My point is not that you can't do it on your own. It is that you don't have to. And if you are reading this and it resonates with you, I assure you that you're in the right place - even if it feels like you're stuck.