Witch Hunt

It's comforting knowing that my doctor is ready to turn over every rock to figure out what's going on with me... but sometimes those rocks hurt a little too much.

A few months ago, in a moment of frustration, my primary decided we should explore psychological reasons for my leg pain/weakness and recommended I see the in-house psychiatrist. In an effort to try everything, I agreed. She had also prescribed an anti-depressant as possible relief for nerve pain.. subsequently taking me off of it after 5 weeks because of severe side effects.

I saw the psychiatrist a few weeks ago. Turns out it was just a consultation in order to recommend further treatment.. so I sat in an uncomfortable room with someone I didn't know, who spent 45 minutes asking me to detail traumas four days before the anniversary of my brother's death, implied that I've done all of this for attention (first from my parents, but when I told her that would have been a horrible plan since they hate the wheelchair, she switched to general attention), and got upset with me for not continuing the anti-depressant despite the side effects. After all that, she decided I was "very sad" and needed to be medicated and in therapy.

Over the years, I've had several doctors that decided on my diagnosis before they even met me. The psychiatrist tops that list because not only did she seem to have a diagnosis, it felt like she was trying to make me fit inside it. She avoided questions that would prove her wrong and steered me away from answers that contradicted her. The worst of it was when I informed her of my two least favorite things ever: doctor's offices and attention.

And the one question she should have asked? Have I ever wished this was all in my head?

Yes I have.

As a teenager, when they couldn't find anything, I hoped it was in my head. I just wanted to be a teenager, I hated my knee brace, and I didn't want to listen to my parents fight about it anymore (my dad thought it was growing pains and my mom defended her decision to take me to each doctor's appointment). At 20, it took months for me to finally go in for that first appointment because I didn't want to do it all again; then I had to do it all again.. I spent two years with "nothing" wrong, while I insisted something was very wrong. I actually felt vindicated when they found some horribly torn cartilage and ended up taking out a piece of my patella. A few years later, I once again dragged my feet on an appointment, but was happy to hear it was just scar tissue. And finally, five years ago, after being told I didn't need surgery, but couldn't run anymore, I hid my strength loss and used my cane as little as possible. It took three friends sitting me down on separate occasions to tell me I wasn't fooling anyone, it was obvious I was hiding the pain and the limp.

Fast forward to this week when the side effects from the anti-deppresant the psychiatrist put me on put me in the ER with chest pain and trouble breathing. The ER eliminated heart attack, infections, and pneumonia, but since they couldn't rule out a virus causing inflammation, they left it up to my primary to stop or continue the medication. She did. She also asked if I wanted to try another medication and I told her they were the ones that wanted me medicated; I had been a willing participant before, but I had to draw the line. All the anti-depressants I've ever taken, for whatever reason, have only succeeded in making me miserable.. especially the last two,

I am so happy for the people they're able to help, but I am not one of those people.. while on the medication, I am very obviously not me. I don't paint, I rarely draw, I rely on my sense of responsibility to do things rather than motivation or desire. Not to mention all the side effects I've had to deal with. Even now, four days off the medication, my body is still trying to heal itself. I still move/think a lot slower than I like, my energy isn't quite there, and my focus still sucks... but I'm finally starting to sleep again (and feel rested), I want to talk to people (and actually enjoyed being outside today), and yesterday I even painted a little (I hope to even finish a drawing that's been staring at me for months!).

I'm digging myself out of a hole that well-meaning doctors have put me in.. and I'm doing it for the last time. My primary promised to stop torturing me, but more importantly, I refuse to take anti-depressants on someone else's suggestion ever again. If I end up on them again, it will be on my terms and it will be my decision. I'm fine with experimentations to see what will help, but this has always felt like a witch hunt; we're going to do this horrible thing to you and if you survive, you're guilty... if you don't survive, well.... your sacrifice is appreciated and we'll make sure to write that down. Thanks for participating!