Ok... You asked for it!

I have had PTSD on and off for many years due to being abused by my dad (he spent 12 years in prison). I OD'd on Effexor when I was 18, two weeks into my script, but wasn't put in the psych ward because the psychiatrist who evaluated thought it was a cry for attention. It wasn't unusual for me to be depressed over the years because I never got trauma treatment. It wasn't something we knew of back then and my mom was working the night shift trying to put a roof over our heads.

I had sudden onset of fibromyalgia in 2010 after my twin got violently ill while we were traveling. She almost got detained in a foreign country as a suspected drug smuggler and by the time we got home she was hallucinating and delusional and kept trying to rip out her IVs and escape from the hospital so she could "go home to die." We were told that if she had left she would have died because her kidneys were shutting down. Those first 24 hours were traumatic for me and brought back my PTSD in a bad way. I used to have nightmares as a small child about my twin dying and it has always been my greatest fear.

Last year, nearly a year into my dream job, I was diagnosed with two more chronic illnesses, adenomyosis (uterus) and interstitial cystitis (bladder). I found out if I was to get pregnant there was a chance my uterus would rupture in the second trimester. At the same time I had surgery to remove a fibroid. All of this had my fibro pain through the roof so my PCP started me on Effexor. I had used it successfully for 5 years, so I didn't think it necessary to mention I had OD'd on it. Two weeks after starting it I had euphoria and sent texts to my family gushing about how much I loved them, I felt so clear, must have been depressed and not realized it, etc. A few weeks later I was inpatient at a psychiatric facility for the first time due to suicidal ideation. Med changes, release, therapy, then at the end of September my boyfriend found me OD'd on muscle relaxers (I'm a moron, it was my brother's birthday and I don't think he'll ever forgive me). I don't remember anything until waking up in inpatient.

I had three more inpatient hospitalizations and two partial. On my third visit I was diagnosed as bipolar. It made sense. Over the years I had bouts of spending over a thousand dollars a week on crap and feeling like the most creative person on the planet. Jewelry making, scrapbooking, elaborate cake-baking, sewing, off the top of my head. "It's ok to 'invest' all this money because I can start a business and make it all back." "I'll never have to buy clothes again!" I also smelled nasty things everywhere and jammed to music no one else could hear.

Between all those hospitalizations I started cutting and had some pretty bad mixed episodes where I was highly suicidal. I also said some pretty nasty things to everyone I love. It took a toll on my relationship and on Christmas Eve, right after I was discharged from my 4th hospitalization and feeling pretty euphoric, my boyfriend of 12 years broke up with me. I was right back in the hospital for the lovely, lovely holidays. Apparently I spent the next three weeks calling and making death threats to my family multiple times a day because I thought they were conspiring to keep me in the hospital (I don't remember, and the twin is so hurt she doesn't believe me). After I was discharged my boyfriend told me he was breaking the lease on our apartment and I needed to move in with my mom. I also lost my perfect job once I went on long-term disability and was handcuffed a couple times. I once spent a couple hours hiding from the cops in some bushes and another time left the hospital barefoot in a paper gown in the rain with security chasing me until an involuntary admission was approved and the cops could escort me back. I remember thinking, "I should be disturbed by how low I've sunk, but I'm not. That's kinda disturbing."

Since all that I've done 40 rounds of TMS and not gonna lie, I've been chasing that high while my pdoc has done his damnedest to prevent it. My family and treatment team's consensus is that the untreated trauma is aggravating my depression and I've grudgingly agreed to go to an inpatient trauma program for about 2 weeks, after my insurance clears it.

Sorry that was so long and all over the place. It felt good to purge.