Today is the start of INvisible Illness Awareness Week. I already shared a post on ths year’s theme, my invisible fight, last week. This was about my fight for a correct diagnosis and treatment of my physical symptoms.
If all goes as planned, I will be participating in a 31-day writing challenge in October on the topic of mental health. I have lived with mental health problems pretty much all my life, though I didn’t get into the care system till 2007. In today’s post, I’m sharing my fight for proper mental health care.
I have had a number of diangoses for my mental health problems over the years. At first, in 2007, I was diagnosed with an adjustment disorder caused by the stress of my living independently while being multiply-dsabled. I was hospitalized on a locked psychiatric unit and stayed there for 1 1/2 years. An adjustment disorder can only persist for six months after the stressor has gone (so after I’d been hospitalized), so I had to be diagnosed with something else eventually. My new diagnosis was impulse control disorder nOS. Several years later, I got diagnosed with dissociative identity disorder (formerly known as multiple personality disorder) and post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). These finally got changed to borderline personality disorder in 2013.
It’s been a long fight to get the care I deserve and the fight is ongoing. In 2008, when on the locked unit, I was treated with seclusion or threatened seclusion whenever I acted even slightly irritable. I wasn’t told that, being an informally-admitted patient, I had to give consent for this treatment. My problems were treated like willful misbehavior, even though my diagnosis of impulse control disorder should suggest the behaviors were at least to an extent beyond my control.
I had a horribly authoritarian social worker at the time. She was mostly in charge of my care, because I was at this unit awaiting appropriate long-term residential care. At one point, when I objected to applying at a certain supported housing place because I didn’t meet half the admission criteria, she threatened to get me a guardian. Not that my parents, who would’ve been the most likely choice for guardianship, would’ve stood in the way of my making my own decisions. I have said many negative things about my parents, but one positive quality of theirs is that they allow me to be in charge of my own life.
I had to fight to be admitted to a resocialization unit in 2009. I first had to fight my social worker, who wanted to transfer me to a low-level supported housing placement instead. That was just too big a leap. I also had to fight the treatment team at the resocialization unit, who were skeptical I’d be able to cope on an open unit.
Once at the rsocialization unit, I got better treatment than I’d gotten at the locked unit. However, I didn’t get much better. Eventually, medicaiton was suggested. This was a huge step, as the doctor at the locked unit had always ignored my questions and suggestions about possibly going on medication. My antipsychotic is truly a lifesaver. Its dose had to be increased several times and an antidepressant had to be added, but now I’m quite stable.
In 2012, when I’d been diagnosed with dissociative identity disorder for some years but was noticing my psychologist didn’t have a clue how to treat it, I took it upon myself to find a suited therapist. I E-mailed around, was rejected many times, but eventually found someone. Unfortunately, by the time she had a spot for me, I’d transferred to my current institution and my diagnosis had just been changed to borderline personality disorder.
As the years passed, I got to know and love my husband and we eventually married in 2011. We originally weren’t planning on living together, but early this year, I changed my mind. We’ve been working towards discharge for me ever since. Thankfully, my psychologist and social worker are quite cooperative. The fight is not yet over. In fact, now that my discharge is coming closer being probably around three to six months away, I have to fight my inner demons. In other words, I have to fight the fear that I’ll break down again, like I did in 2007. Thankfully, my psychologist and social worker are understanding of this. I am hoping that, once I am settled in at my and my husband’s apartment, I can finally get treatment for my emotion regulation problems.
Also linking up to Invisible Illness Awareness Week 2015: Your Invisble Fight.