My Mental Health

Mental health has always been an aspect of my life I was never allowed to ignore. It lingered like a predator awaiting its next strike against me. It sought out for when I was weak and would torture me in its jaws, playing with me until it grew bored and allowed me to live another day.

Mental health was not a topic in my household either. My mother, being anti-vaccination and not believing in mental health, tortured me, probably without knowing it. One day, I know I will have to forgive her. She has her own problems, probably ones bigger than mine since she will not truly admit said problems. I know she went to a psychiatrist to get diagnosed, but I know she made her life seem better than it was.

I know she would not speak about how she treated three out four of her children. Why would she? That did not seem "important" to her, not then and not now.

Recently, I escaped its domain, moving to a whole new country. In this new country, I sought out therapy. I believed the relationship I had just escaped was all I needed to worry about. I recently had a realization he nearly forced pregnancy onto me in order for me to be stuck with him! Hint: I also know he is a covert passive aggressive narcissist. With a relationship like this, I first went to a general therapist but was recommended to a DBT specialist. Turns out, he was rather minute in comparison to my entire life dealing with my mother.

First, I was diagnosed with either Borderline Personality Disorder or Psychosis due to my intense breakdowns and semi-violent behaviors. My therapist and psychiatrist leaned towards BPD. On this website, I actually wrote about facts and my personal experiences with BPD. It was something I was learning how to cope with having.

Then I had more sessions with the DBT Specialist. As he listened, he realized that my case was not as "simple" as having Borderline Personality Disorder. Some of the puzzle pieces did not fit... correctly. It wasn't that I didn't have BPD, but a major piece was missing.

That's the day I was diagnosed with Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.

The "Complex" part of PTSD means one was "stuck" in the situation. Examples could include slavery. It's a situation where you are stuck and are physically/verbally/psychologically abused.

So, I have been dealing with coping with this. It feels correct. I'm still learning, I'm still coping, I'm still finding new realizations in with my ex and that relationship, I'm still finding traumas as they re-emerge.

Recently, I got sick. I had symptoms that you normally get with the common cold, but also extreme hypotension. I could not sit up without wanting to fall over. It does not help that Mexico loves their stairs! Nearly fainting, barely able to walk, Coca-Cola isn't helping despite the doctors and nurses recommending it to bring up sugar levels.

But why was I scared? Memories, traumas were brought back to surface. I remembered getting sick as a child and coughing. I was never given medicine; I was never taken to the doctor despite having fevers and huge fits of coughing. I remember a time when I had a fever and was laying on my grandmother's couch. I faintly remember hearing "She has a temperature of 105." I felt like I was dying.

I do not remember the rest of this day. I merely remember laying down on the leather couch and struggling to breathe.

I never went to the hospital. I never received medicine. I just lay there and suffered.

Memories like this will spike. Memories like this will make me angry, frustrated, and confused by the actions of my parents--primarily the actions of my mother.

It is still going tough, but it is slowly getting better.

It has to get better.