Sam writes on the price of misdiagnosis and the relief of the right one.
I have spent a ridiculously long time trying to get my sh*t together. That’s just the honest truth. A big part of that has to do with the fact that I was misdiagnosed as bipolar, which resulted in a six-year-long goose chase, trying medications that were never actually going to work.
I wasn’t bipolar at all. I had obsessive-compulsive disorder, borderline personality disorder, and complex PTSD. And as such, we needed a whole different approach.
I tried antidepressants for the first time. It was like the sun parting through the clouds, with a chorus of angelic voices being heard in the distance (this sounds dramatic, but seriously, it was a huge relief). I started trauma-informed therapy and I learned more about OCD (“pure…
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