This is Part III of a three-part essay on Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder: understanding it, having it, writing it.
Part I: What I Did In The War. (Introduction; background; what happens during trauma; what happened to me.)
Part II: What Does A Flashback Feel Like? (My history with PTSD, what it felt like to me, and dealing with other people who
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Everybody's got her own story. That's mine.
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Then I mention that the doctor who prescribed it increased the dose to a point that made me constantly manic for months, and then increased it again to a point that made me near-psychotic. (I lasted one day at that dose, where by "lasted" I mostly mean "didn't throw myself out a window, despite the temptation". Then I called a doctor friend, asked if it was safe to quit Zoloft cold turkey, and dropped it like a hot rock.) I mention this as a lesson not in the evils of drugs but in the evils of not speaking up for yourself when an authority figure claims to be doing something good for you in a way that makes you uncomfortable or unhappy.
I'm all in favor of psychopharmaceuticals: the right ones, at the right dose.
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I still think you are one of the sanest people I know, not in spite of your experiences, but because of them.
I'm just saying: be cautious around those lines. Leave the beautiful suffering to the characters you write and read and watch. It's a lot prettier onscreen than inside you.
Yes and yes and yes.
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Also, go you, for being so awesome.
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Thank you for these posts; they have been enlightening and helpful. *hugs*
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