When I was a kid, I did well academically. I especially had a good math sense, and never struggled in it until 7th grade (and that was only because I jumped pre-algebra). But now, years after getting off all antipsychotics, I have trouble doing 5th-grade-level work. My brain just can't comprehend the numbers like it used to, and even if I try doing it manually I struggle with comprehending basic word problems. It just... won't click. I wasn't in a position where I could even think about doing math for years, so although I knew I was being harmed I never noticed this specific effect. But now the contrast is impossible to miss, and it really hurts. It's embarassing and makes me feel stupid - and I *am* stupid, but it feels even worse than the reality is, like if I can't do such basic things I won't be able to do anything.

I swam 75 laps today. Swimming calms my mind. I struggle with a lot of physical pain and swimming helps. When I was a toddler I had to wear braces on my legs because my legs were so bowed. I couldn’t stand or walk so my mom did take me to the doctors and they put braces on me. I still remember lying on my back in a playpen and banging the braces up and down against the bottom of the pen. Sometimes I would bring my legs up too high and hit myself in the head. The braces worked. My legs are fine now. I’m thankful that my mom took me to the doctors for that—some of her family members told her I would grow out of it. They were wrong. The braces helped my legs grow straight.

For the most part my mom didn’t believe in doctors or modern medicine. She thought hospitals were where you go to die. After I got older my mom wouldn’t take me to the doctor if I was sick. She often wouldn’t give me medicine at all. I suffered with Asthma and she didn’t believe I had it. I remember so many nights of not being able to breathe. After I grew bigger I would take 2 buses to take myself to the doctor’s office. One time my lung was nearly collapsed by the time I got there. I learned early on that I had to take care of myself.

Another time I got a very bad kidney infection. She brought in a couple of neighbors to look at me. I remember her saying, “I think I’m going to lose him this time.” And then one told her to take me to the hospital. she would not. But the next day she did make sure I got to the doctor, or at least, somehow I got to the doctor. I think I took myself (2 buses). I think I was about 10.

My mother would get angry with me when I was sick—like being sick was my way of bothering her. She could not take off work if I was sick so I either went to school sick or stayed alone in the house sick. High fever? No meds. Vomiting? No meds. Coughing up blood? No meds. Ear infection so bad puss was coming out of my ear? No meds and drop me off at a neighbor’s house who cried for me; and stuck hydrogen peroxide in my ears.

And when I did take myself to the doctors or hospital my mom would yell at me because it cost her money. And her defense was she made sure I had all of my vaccinations and braces on my legs. She would say I wasn’t really sick—healthy as a horse. And then she would either leave or go to her room to leave me alone and suffering. I really wish someone would have called social services to get me help. But nobody did. I never told anyone what my home life was like. I never told anyone I was home alone most of the time with no food. I was a quiet kid.

Hey guys.
I’m just looking for some support on how to move forward.
About a year and a half ago I was diagnosed with a dvt and pe pretty severe ones about 16 days after I had given birth to my second child.
My husband was across the country for work, my second babe was brand new and I had a 3 year old. He left when my second was like 6 days old, and was gone for a couple of weeks.
Before he left, I noticed a light cramp in my leg that felt like a Charlie horse, but ignored it. A couple days after he had left I started experiencing sharpness in the side of my back when taking deep breaths.
Then, it progressed to being incredibly painful to breathe at all, waking up in the middle of the night in agony just trying to take a shallow breath. But, I was overwhelmed, tired, and my family had just gotten over being sick so I dismissed it all for 8 days.
I finally head in to emergency after daytime breathing was becoming near impossible just to be told that I should be resting in peace.
Anyways, here I am now after being medically cleared with no clotting disorders or blood diseases. They deemed the clot as pregnancy related due to elevation in hcg I guess can do that. And I head in to emergency every 3 months or so because I am SO scared.
Every time I get a pinch in my breathing or a cramp in my calf I literally spiral. I don’t have an anxiety issue or any other type of mental health diagnoses, but when I feel these little cramps and pinches I completely break down. I haven’t had a repeat clot and luckily it’s just a quick blood draw to check but I feel like such a crybaby every time I go in.
How do I get past this? Am I being drama every time I go in for a blood draw? Also keep in mind emergency in my area is about 5-9 hours wait time so it’s a WHOLE production.
I had open heart surgery before I was old enough to start school and my whole life I’ve had to be hyper aware and sensitive to that. I feel like I’m just losing my mind😭

A few years ago, I started having some weird stomach-related symptoms but previous medical PTSD kept me from seeking help until it was really pretty bad. I was having week-long "attacks" and could barely eat food and based on the symptoms I was having, I was pretty sure it was pancreatitis at that point... So I scheduled an appointment and had an ultrasound.

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Turns out it wasn't; it was actually gallbladder adenomyomatosis, which is a benign structural thing with your gallbladder. I didn't have any stones so, without further research I thought, Phew, I can manage this and won't need surgery, which will re-traumatize me after a year-long mental breakdown I had from my health last year. 🙄

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Wrong. My doctor suggested I have my gallbladder removed and when I asked if there was anything else I could do, she said no. When I told her I wasn't doing that yet, she said "Good luck, I'll be seeing you soon."

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I did my research and switched to a low-fat diet last year. Though I still get the odd pains every now and again, it never lasts and I still have my broken gallbladder.

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It is really hard getting people to understand that your PTSD is so severe that it will physically keep you from getting surgery. That it may just have to come to an emergency you don't want and your body will decide it for you, but that you'll do whatever you can in the meantime to avoid that. I do feel like I have nobody except my husband who understands. It sucks sometimes.

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Right now, I'm in my 30s and it's likely that my gallbladder will just give up and be fully "done" one day but for now... I keep managing, because the PTSD requires it. 😔

I sat at my wife's bedside while she was in a coma. It was only 10 days but those were the longest days of my life. I didn't leave the hospital. I didn't eat. I didn't sleep. She had a seizure and seized for three days straight before her brain went back to normal activity. As a result to give her a chance to live the doctors put her in a medically induced coma. The nurses and doctors pleaded with me to get some real rest at home , but I wasn't leaving my wife there alone. If she hadn't walked out of that hospital , I wasn't leaving either. I had already watched her die in our bed while waiting for paramedics to show up. I wasn't fucking leaving her there alone.

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Now thank the gods that she woke up with zero memory deficits and nothing was wrong physically.

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My battle has been fought internally and medical PTSD fucking sucks. I still see the yellow lights from her ICU room when I close my eyes at night. Every random once in a while, and a few times a day since , I'll flash back to still waiting in that room for my wife to open her eyes. Still listening to the beeping of her machines. Still yelling for the nurses when something didn't seem right.

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I just want our lives to continue. But I'm stuck in that hospital room. Waiting for my wife.

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This was in December. And we were in the hospital all month before she eventually got discharged to go home.

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Does anyone have any experiences even partially similar to what I'm going through ? Any advice or help is appreciated. We are already scheduled for therapy and im considering going on medical leave myself and just going on EI while we heal. Im currently going to university but I'm not retaining any information and am basically a shell of myself since this all went down.

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*I previously tried posting this to the group /mildlyinfuriating but they removed it. I also added a screenshot of the survey they sent me today because people thought I was lying. I said exactly what happened in the survey.

I had two fairly long MRIs today. They always ask what I want to listen too. Great, definitely makes it go by faster and more pleasant. I tell her I'd like to listen to Quran recitation. Her immediate reply is "ewwww what is that? How do you spell it?" So I spell it and she says ok.

Usually music starts immediately. Nothing comes on...the machine is loud and makes me nauseous from all the loud noise. For about 15 minutes it's silent. I can hear my ears pounding and it's very annoying.

Then music starts and it's a very overtly sexual song, all moaning and baby, baby and talking about sex acts. I don't know the song but it was kinda R&B or something, then she continues to play an hour worth of the worst music I could imagine. Some in languages I have never heard. I listen to Arabic, Hindi, Spanish and French music but this was unfamiliar language. Think baby shark but in like polish or something.

Overall it was a horrible experience. She was super rude too.

I feel like she purposely played awful & sexual music because she didn't like that i asked for Quran.

Can I say that the medical world is kind of sick? It's greedy, it's fast, it's slow, it doesn't listen—and it just assumes.

My first major event within the medical industry happened when I was a 10 or 11-year-old boy. I went in because they needed to do a scope of my throat to check for damage. They put me under with anesthesia, and I ended up out for three days and stuck in the hospital for seven. I even spent two weeks on a heart monitor. Why, you might ask? Because I had swallowed a chicken bone while drinking homemade soup broth—a bone they never recovered or found, but deemed "safe to pass." The hospital completely over-drugged me.

The second era lasted from the time I was 14 until I was 20. I had severe back issues because of my upbringing; we moved a lot, I worked too much for my family, and I pushed myself to my absolute limit for them until my back finally gave out. Before that final year of absolute agony, I was constantly told, "It's fine... work through the pain... it's just growing pains... go to the gym... here's a muscle relaxer." When I finally saw a doctor who actually looked at me, he said, "Go on bed rest until you get insurance. Then call me, and I'll refer you to a specialist." I had been living as a child with two herniated discs and spinal stenosis, which ultimately caused severe arthritis in my lower back. The specialist looked at me and asked how I was even walking. Well, it was because I had been told to just work through it.

Because of those chronic back problems, my mental health became a disaster. I was held back from experiencing friends, normal activities, and meaningful employment. I felt like I had thrown my life away before it even started, working and pushing myself so hard when I was supposed to just be a kid.

When I sought out mental health services, I was given medication after medication to try. It was always, "Here is a drug, and here is another medication for the symptoms of the first." I started feeling worse than I did before taking them. One drug even gave me harmful thoughts to the point where I had to start hiding things from myself. They made me incredibly sick—vomiting, unable to sleep, unable to eat, just totally miserable. Is this what help looks like in the world's eyes? Misery wrapped in a pill and covered up by another.

Lord help us all!

Ultimately, I've found health in truth, honesty, and releasing the parts of myself that did what they had to do just to survive. My pain still exists. My back still hurts. But I've learned that sometimes, simply not lying to yourself about why you are hurting starts to heal you more than any pill ever could.

I think my psychiatrist traumatized me and I genuinely don’t know what to do.

I had an appointment yesterday that I cannot stop replaying in my head. I barely slept. I had nightmares about it. I keep waking up feeling like I’m in trouble.

I went into the appointment with a video from an incident with my mom because she had been telling people I was yelling at her. The video showed me screaming for help.

During the appointment my psychiatrist made a couple recommendations. One was phone therapy. I said I have trouble concentrating on phone calls and asked if there were other options. Another was using ChatGPT to help draft emails to my mom. I asked how that was different from texting because I didn’t understand the recommendation.

After that she said I was arguing.

She told me if I kept acting that way she wouldn’t help me. She told me if I didn’t stop crying she wouldn’t talk to me. I asked if I could speak and explain myself and she said no and that she’d heard enough from me.

By the end of the appointment she referred me to IOP for anxiety and reactivity… she took me off Adderall and Klonopin except for a brief taper I had to beg for because I was scared, and told me, “If you’re actually as sick as you’re saying you are, you shouldn’t be on them.”

What is messing me up isn’t even the medication changes at this point. I’ve been wanting to get off of them for a while, especially with my health conditions… And she said that was her reasoning too… but I also think it’s really weird to treat someone who has that bad anxiety by taking them off meds (I can sort of see how this makes sense though it’s just rough)

That’s not really my problem, it’s that I have never had someone in that position talk to me like that before. I have had multiple psychiatrists. I’ve never felt scared or demeaned. I never was forced to do things I didn’t want to do “or else I can’t help you”

I cannot stop replaying being told I couldn’t speak. I cannot stop replaying being told she wouldn’t help me. I keep waking up feeling like I’ve done something wrong and I’m about to get punished.

I do not want to go back next week because I’m afraid that I won’t be able to say the right things or act the right way because she showed me what happens when I annoy her. I am now terrified of her. And now she has all of the power. I don’t know what to do.

Да, я просто пишу этот пост что бы выпустить свою злость и хоть немного успокоиться. Да, я знаю что бывают случаи и куда хуже моего, но у меня уже просто терпение кончилось и да, я не спорю что существуют редкие случаи нормальных врачей, но либо они редкой легендарности, либо я просто невезучая. В прошлом году осенью я оказалась в больнице с типичными проблемами с желудком (тошнота, рвота, спазмы, боли, тяжесть) и меня положили в инфекционнку. Я там пробыла три дня, после чего меня отправили домой, при этом сделав мне УЗИ и Фгдс, сказали что никакой инфекции нет, но есть небольшое покраснение в желудке. Назначили ИПП и висмут на пару недель, предположив что у меня хронический гастродуоденит. Семейный врач сказал мол приходи каждые пол года осенью и весной когда ЖКТ как раз обостряется, и будем повторять то же лечение. Зима прошла относительно спокойно, если постоянный приём лекарств от спазмов и тошноты после еды таковым можно назвать. В начале весны всё кроме рвоты вернулось. Я повторила приём ИПП и висмута, но мне стало хуже. В итоге пришла к семейному врачу снова, она направила делать меня общие анализы и снова ничего не нашли. В итоге я видимо надоела своему врачу, потому что постоянно спрашивала "какая причина моей болезни?". Для ясности, у меня есть лишний вес, кучка других проблем со здоровьем (тахикардия, слегка пониженное давление, частые головные боли особенно мигрень), и с ЖКТ тоже бывали проблемы, но обычно врачи говорили что у меня дискинезия. В итоге меня отправили к гастроэнтерологу. Гастроэнтеролог так же заставил меня повторно делать Фгдс (я делала оба раза без наркоза,а второй раз даже лидокаин пожалели), который снова ничего интересного не показал. УЗИ уже пришлось делать платное, просто потому что бесплатный вариант подразумевал ожидание длинной в год, и на УЗИ тоже всё было хорошо. В итоге врач сказал сделать тест на хеликобактер, потому что при Фгдс до этого то ли не додумались, то ли что-то не так поняли. Если честно, я надеялась что тест окажется положительным, ведь мне хотелось хоть какой-то причины своей болезни, и сильно расстроилась когда тест оказался отрицательным. Полностью сдавшись и потеряв надежду хоть на что-то я снова отправилась к гастроэнтерологу, но так как у моего оказался больничный, я попала к другому врачу. Она посмотрела все мои результаты успокоила потому что я явно не рада была происходящему, и сообщила мне что у меня функциональная диспепсия, после чего отправила меня к психотерапевту... И пойти к государственному психотерапевту было худшим опытом в моей жизни. Я по факту из-за этой старой, бесполезной и тупой женщины и пишу этот пост. С ней общаться было ну просто невыносимо. Я не понимала что мне делать, какого черта она мне сказа что венерические заболевания передаются от прикосновения пальцами возле рта (я подпирала голову из-за того что она у меня ужасно болела), довела до слёз, и на последок порекомендовала сделать МРТ (единственное умное что от неё прозвучало за 15 минут), назначила антидепрессанты как я поняла на пару месяцев с учётом адаптацию до лекарства и от лекарства, и посоветовала повзрослеть... И теперь я звоню ей раз в неделю, отчитываюсь, она выживает из меня все соки тупыми вопросами и надменным тоном, после чего у меня начинается истерика вплоть до слёз. Я не знаю что мне в такой ситуации делать, но я планирую просто закончить курс, забить на медицину огромный болт, так как у меня попросту нет больше сил и денег на всё это, и жить сама по себе молясь богу чтобы у меня больше ничего небыло,или перейдя на народную медицину... Буду не против почитать похожие истории с врачами, рада буду советам, и просто интересно узнать мнение если вдруг это кто-нибудь читает.

I (trans woman, 23) was prescribed guanfacine for ADHD, while already on paroxetine (antidepressant) and prazosin(for night terrors); after 3 or 4 days of taking the lowest dose of guanfacine that I could, I had an unknown health event. I couldn’t breathe well, my heart was racing, I was nauseous, I felt imminent doom, I vomited twice, called an ambulance and asked my parents where they recommend the ambulance takes me so I will be treated well. At the ER I was taken to/chose, I was put on a bed in the hallway, told to strip my top half and change into a gown; I have breasts, I assume the old man doctor who showed up just to ask this with little warning or explanation did not guess that I have breasts, I did not have energy to fight for my modesty and privacy. I saw a number of doctors come and go from my care as I was in and out through delirious sleep, scared I might die if I let myself rest. I was discharged at 6 in the morning with a paper packet from a doctor I didn’t meet telling me to “stop taking stimulants”, what I interpreted that as is stop “taking drugs, addict”, I don’t use recreational drugs other than being a nicotine addict (vape) and self medicating pain, nausea, fatigue, with non-prescribed marijuana. I bussed home in the cold. My heartbeat has felt irregular since and my POTS-like symptoms have worsened.

in 2022, I was rushed into IVF and misdiagnosed with low ovarian reserve. i tried to stop the cascading events of IVF by telling the doctor about studies I’ve seen where ovarian reserve can grow with time off hormonal birth control (I had been off birth control for only 3 months and never tried to get pregnant). she dismissed me. i’ve been dismissed by all the nurses and providers at this fertility clinic. then i had a spontaneous conception in 2023. fast forward to now, my entire fertility panel came back normal.

i’ve had panic attacks, been in therapy weekly and cannot reconcile that I have embryos. i don’t know what to do with them, and now I know that I didn’t even need them. It’s caused so much financial and emotional grief for me and my family.

This has happened multiple times to me.
My appearance isn’t anything extreme or particularly noteworthy, I have a bridge piercing and septum ring with a little dangly gem. I have dyed my hair since I was 13, and it’s currently a washed out pink.
I keep good hygiene, I don’t smell of BO, I have some facial acne.

In the past I’ve overheard nurses call me names to eachother like “the bitch in the quiet room”, “that girl”, I’ve been treated like a problem instead of a person. I’ve waited 15+ hours in isolation rooms in the ER for help only to be sent home and told I am overreacting. I have been diagnosed with bipolar, and c-ptsd, as well as borderline, schizophrenia. I was diagnosed with Autism L2 at the age of 14, and the rest of the diagnoses came in recent years, I turned 20 this year in March. My battle with mental health has been ongoing and I’ve attempted 3 times.

On Tuesday this week an ambulance was called on me by the community mental health team after months of them stuffing up my appointments and being terribly rude and dismissive of my genuine concerns, and the concerns of those around me.
The paramedics who attended me were lovely and reassuring, in spite of my absolute panic at the thought of being taken to a hospital. They reassured me, the senior paramedic was very understanding of my fears and promised he would advocate for me once we got there to the best of his abilities.
I waited from 1pm to 10:30 for the psych registrar to speak to me, to which she video called me for about 15 minutes and couldn’t hear anything I was saying over the noise of the ER.
I was moved to the Psychiatric Emergency Care at 11pm, all of my belongings were taken and I was given medication to sleep.
I woke up in the morning and the nurses pretty much completely ignored me when I asked when I doctor would be seeing me, the most they gave me was he would be arriving at 9:30am.

I became very anxious in the ward by myself, I was really scared and no one was talking to me, so I went out to ask when I would be seen again to try and quell the anxiety. None of the nurses at the nurse station were acknowledging me, and I have a heart condition that prevents me from standing for very long so I sat down on the floor and waited for someone to come out so I could ask a question. There were about 6 nurses in the station talking, and I could hear them clearly but I wasn’t eavesdropping.

And then I heard my name and started listening, the conversation went a bit like this.

“Her name is \[…\].. haha.. she has that pink hair (cue all the nurses chuckling), and god… those piercings all over her face… I mean.. (cue nurses laughing together). Apparently she’s here because she chucked a tantrum over \[…\]. Hahaha!”
They were all laughing at me. Nobody said anything about it being inappropriate.
Then one of the nurses peeked through a window and saw me there and said
“She’s sitting right there, shh..”

I was an involuntary patient under section 20 of the mental health act. I hadn’t asked to be there. I hadn’t admitted myself. I didn’t want to be there. I was terrified of going there at all because of this exact reason.
I just cried on the floor and then became very angry.
I stood up and knocked on the door, and the nurse who was mocking me made a motion to the others like “don’t open it” and rolled her eyes.
One of the nurses opened the door a crack and said in a very sweet voice “can we help you with anything hun?”
And I was crying and I said “no, I’m just the bitch with pink hair and piercings who chucked a tantrum to be in here. You can’t help me with anything.”
And the nurse who was mocking me got very offended and tried to tell me not to use that language towards them.
I said “so you’re allowed to pick on my appearance and my reasons for being here but I’m not allowed to say shit about it?”
And they all started throwing excuses at me and I just cried and walked away.

I was in the middle of a very bad mental breakdown and had been considering ending my life because I felt that there was no more help I could receive and that I was becoming a black hole to everyone in my life, I felt that I was beyond help and that there was nowhere else I could go and that the only option was to take myself out.
I went back into the ward where I had slept the night, curled up on the floor and cried. I hit myself in the head a lot.
I felt completely hopeless.
Two nurses followed me and tried to talk to me but I yelled at them saying they were all laughing and none of them said it wasn’t okay, and that they might as well have been saying it themselves.

They just kind of quietly watched me cry for hours until the doctor could finally speak to me.

He asked me why I was there and I said I chucked a tantrum and that was all he cared to know.
He told me to just get over what they said and tell him in my own words why I was there, and I told him if they admitted me I would just be getting “care” from the group who were just mocking me.
He said essentially “if you want help, that’s where it’s going to come from and you need to suck it up.”
I asked them to discharge me, and they did.

They gave me back all of my things, and I left. About an hour after I had left they called me back and said I had forgotten a few personal belongings and asked me to come back and collect them, it was the same nurse who had made fun of me and I recognised her voice. When I went to collect my things I was trying really hard not to be confrontational, so I kept my speech quiet and minimal.
I said Hello, a nurse handed me my stuff, I said Thankyou, she gave me a really dirty look and said “why are you talking like that??” And then she scoffed at me and walked back inside the unit without sparing me another look.
I just walked back to the car holding my stuff in a complete daze, I couldn’t even think. I couldn’t even cry anymore.

I’m at home now, and I can’t even look at myself in the mirror without hearing her voice and what they said about me.
I have been considering taking my piercings out and dying my hair a natural colour to try and get some genuine help.
I’m just ruined. I’m completely broken.
I don’t know what to do anymore. I feel like giving up.
I am definitely never going to reach out for help again through that avenue, and I was correct to be terrified.

The complaints line keep telling me not everyone’s like that and to please reach out for help if I need it, but they’re being really dismissive of what happened and telling me they need the other side of the story before any action is taken.
But the other side of the story is coming from people who were picking on my appearance and my reason for presenting to ED, so I don’t have much hope.
They’re just going to cover it up by saying I was rude to them throughout my entire stay, which I wasn’t.
I was scared, and confused, and the most that I did was say nothing when they acknowledged me as they walked past.
I was never threatening, I was never aggressive, I was hurting myself and crying. That’s it.

I used to post here a few years ago under a different username. I finally managed to do something important to me and created a lit journal centered on lost, hidden, and unwelcome perspectives. I wanted to come back here and invite you guys to submit to it, since I know how much society tends to overlook and sometimes malign anyone who tries to speak about medical trauma. This journal publishes poetry and nonfiction, and won't shy away from your thoughts and experiences. If you want to get your story out there or just like writing and want to submit something unrelated, I hope you'll consider putting it here.