Death by a thousand cuts

I recently started seeing a new psychiatrist, and my first meeting was an eye-opener to say the least. Allow me to explain:

My old shrink diagnosed me with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. He seemed pretty sure about it, even though we had only spoken for about half an hour. He prescribed me an anti-depressant, and an anti-psychotic. I began taking the meds, and did not really feel any better. At my next meeting 3 months later, I explained that I still had trouble functioning, focusing, and maintaining my temper. Those who knew me 3 years ago can attest that I had a short fuse. The shrink simply raised the dose. 3 times. Over three years. Despite my insistance that I really was not feeling any better, no major changes where made to my meds, and I kept paying for, and taking meds that where as effective as TicTacs, without the fresh breath.

Flash forward to my first meeting with my new shrink. we spoke for about 10 minutes, and then the Doctor gave me a number of questionnaires to fill out. Considering this is to help determine my overall mental health, I tried as best I could to answer completely and accurately. After I finished, the Doctor took some time to go over the answers, and he seemed puzzled. As he continued, he seemed more and more perplexed. He finally set down the paperwork, and laid out what he felt was a more accurate diagnosis.

First, he told me that I was suffering from severe depression. No big surprise, I have been suffering from depression since late 2001, maybe earlier. What was surprising was the severity. The Doctor was a little surprised I was as upbeat as I was. He continues:

Next, comes severe anxiety. Huh? I have some anxiety pills I take as needed, but I haven't felt I needed them for some time, but Doc was sure from the questionnaires that it was a much more severe than I thought it was. Ok, this guys has accolades and awards from several Psychiatric organizations, so he must know what he is talking about.

Third, something I suspected since I was a child. ADHD. I recall when I was in early primary school (first-third grade) I was pulled out of classes, and tested individually. I remember taking the tests, because the tester gave me Triscut treats for cooperating on the test. No one ever explained why I was taking the test, nor where the results ever shared with me then nor later in my life. I can't help but wonder what the tests where, and if I where a child nowadays, would I be diagnosed with ADHD or some manner of Autism. Well, my new shrink also feels that I struggle with an adult form of ADHD. I asked about an Autism spectrum condition, but the Doctor disagreed. ADHD seemed to be the prime suspect. OK, I can live with that...but then came the Big One.

Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Seriously? Well, yeah. What I am about to talk about only a small handfull of people even know, and it's likely that's all who will ever know. I will say this, when my family reads this, they will think they know what I am talking about, but they will be wrong. I had a turbulent childhood, but the repressed memory that surfaced late last year relates to none of that. And I have a strict policy of "Don't ask, Don't tell" when it comes to this topic, so don't bother.

Which brings me to the "Death by a Thousand Cuts" referred to in the title. When I asked the Doctor how I could be suffering from so many severe mental illnesses, he explained that I do have OCD, like the previous Doctor diagnosed, but it was the OCD that was helping me to develop coping strategies that had masked and allowed me to function to the level I was, but it was far from healthy or normal. It had all developed so slowly that I was able to adjust as it was happening. Hence, death by a thousand cuts. So....what to we do about it?

First off...new meds as I wean off the old ones. The new drugs are working well, as I feel normal again. I have not felt truly normal for a long time. So long in fact, I had forgotten what normal felt like, and it feels slightly uncomfortable. It's been a month, the old drugs are gone, and the new are up to full potency. No more anxiety attacks, no more nightmares, no more temper blowups.

Second, the PTSD. Let me make this clear. PTSD is no joke. I had always wondered if this was a real condition, or just an excuse to put veterans on expensive meds. I'm not questioning this any longer. I never can tell if the stress or anger I feel is real, or my mind lashing out. I am in therapy to try an purge the traumatic memories, and it seems to be working, but it's way too early to tell, and for the most part, I still have a rotten feeling in my gut 99.9% of the time.

Someday I will be OK with all this, but not today, and probably not tomorrow.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.