Turning Point

I was sharing my story about PTSD with Graham, a cyclist I was training next to at the LAB.  After hearing that I was laid flat for a year, Graham asked me an intriguing question:  What got me off the floor, what was the turning point?

I didn't know in that moment.  My mind searched for some profound insight that had inspired me to get well miraculously.  I couldn't think of anything.

Later, I remembered the turning point.  It was after a year of not knowing what was wrong with me.  Of all the medical tests for cancer and heart problems and diverticulitis and God knows what else . . . of being tired of being anxious and sick . . . of feeling like therapy was doing nothing but dredging up and reliving old crap . . . I said I was tired of doing this . . . to my therapist.  (Well, I was tired of being anxious and sick.  WTF!)  She marched me across the parking lot to my new doctor's office and they proceeded to ask me, in a weird calm way, if I was planning to kill myself.

Nope, wasn't going there.  (I may have thought about it but I believed in my core that that wasn't going to solve the problem.)

That's when my doctor said that I had PTSD!!  Finally!  He prescribed me Abilify and Celexa.  That was the turning point.  That's when I started to get better.  The right diagnosis and the right medication.

I'm the sort of person, maybe a bit of a perfectionist, who likes to think I could have cured myself with proper diet, exercise, and standing in the light.  I really hate to admit it makes all the difference to be on medication.  There is some thought in my mind that it's a cop out to be on medication, but after a year of being at the lowest of lows, it was and is an enormous relief to be well.

Learn more about my PTSD story.