A Stranger Gets To Determine How Sick I Am

Yesterday, I received a letter from Social Security. I have an appointment on January 4th, with a doctor I've never seen before, to determine if I am "disabled enough" with my TS and PTSD to qualify for Social Security benefits. Upon reading the letter, I instantly went into a panic attack. A half hour exam with a stranger could determine the rest of my life in some regards. It's a scary thought.

With some of my doctor's, I had been working with them for close to a year before I was diagnosed with PTSD. That was after years of putting all of these weird unrelated symptoms together. Prior to that, I was told I had everything from Crohn's disease to a gluten allergy to the fact that I was lactose intolerant because I got sick to my stomach when I was stressed or put in an uncomfortable situation. There were times at work, before I left, when I spent four hours out of my eight our day in the bathroom. Now that I'm not working, I don't get sick anymore.

I had to go to three different neurologist, including one at the Mayo Clinic, before I was diagnosed with Tourette's. My current doctor is one of the most respected neurologists in the United States. His resident was the doctor at Mayo that originally misdiagnosed me in May. Traditionally, Tourette's is diagnosed in patients in adolescence and not at 34. I didn't notice my first tics until age 30. It was originally believed that I had adult onset Tourette's Syndrome, which is generally unheard of. Since my diagnosis, I have had memories of childhood tics, so I realize this wasn't an adult onset disorder, but rather, decided to manifest itself full force in connection with the PTSD and stresses that were going on at the time. But my point is, it took three doctors to diagnose me. THREE. And Social Security expects someone with no prior knowledge of my situation to make a decision as to my disability within the course of a 30 minute visit. The whole situation really worries me.

NO!!! No Psych For You!!!

I was in the waiting room of my psychiatrist's office yesterday, dealing with my crisis, and there was another guy on the other side of the room I couldn't help but notice.

Him: Clean shaven, khakis, button up shirt, mid 40s, nice shoes

Me: Haven't shaved this week, same shorts and T-shirt I wore the day before, flip flops

Him: Doing Crossword in PEN. IN FUCKING PEN!!!!!

Me: Blankly staring at a picture of Matt Damon on a random page of Esquire Magazine.

He goes in before me. I walk over to his seat and notice that his crossword is absolutely correct. No mistakes, nothing crossed out. ASSHOLE. I'm so fucked up in the head my wife had to drive me here and HE'S DOING HIS CROSSWORD WITH A FUCKING PEN?!?!?

You know, I could do crossword too. With a pen. Example:

4 Across: Leo's Role in 'Titanic' 4 Letters = FUCK
7 Down: Stamos of 'Full House' 4 Letters = FUCK
19 Across: Willis of 'Die Hard' 5 Letters = FUUCK
23 Down: 16th President of US Abe 7 Letters = FUUUUCK

Get the point?

So...guy comes out from his visit. He goes to the receptionist to schedule his next appointment. He says, "I need to schedule an appointment for six months out."

"Is May 25th OK? It's a Thursday"

"Yeah. That sounds good".

"Two O'clock"?

"Sure".

"Do you need a reminder card"?

"Oh no. I'll remember it".

THAT'S IT. FUCK YOU. NO PSYCH FOR YOU.

I Am Jack's Diseased Brain

When I woke up yesterday morning, I had no intention of falling asleep in my own bed. Things had progressed to a point with my PTSD, that I was determined to check myself into a mental hospital before the day was done.

Things had gotten bad. Over the course of the previous week, I was rapidly deteriorating on a daily basis. I had always had what I had called "the monkeys" in my head: my description of the ADD type symptoms I had experienced most of my life. I had always likened it to walking into the TV room at Best Buy with every TV turned onto a different channel and each one with the volume at full blast. My brain had always expected me to try to keep up with every TV. My mind was racing at 100 mph, all the time.

This week....the TVs were gone. My mind wasn't racing. It was far worse. Instead of the TVs, it was screaming. Hundreds of people screaming. Not the blood-curdling screams from teenage girls that you hear in horror movies. These were screams you would imagine coming from Hell. From men....women....and children..from the time I opened my eyes in the morning, until I was able to finally fall asleep at night.

I have developed a very bad stuttering problem. Like "Porky Pig" bad. It has been getting to the point where most of my conversations with my wife involve charades to get my point across. She is so unbelievably supportive, but even she is reaching her limit.

I drove to Target a few nights ago. It was the first night I have driven myself in probably two months. First, while at the store, I kept telling myself, "Don't ask me if I am finding everything ok"....over and over and over....at that point, any contact with a person would result in a complete screaming meltdown. A couple nights earlier, we were in a store and my daughter shrieked. I immediately crouched down to the ground and grabbed the store shelf. As I went to the register, I was so flustered, I forgot my PIN number. This was the same PIN I have had since I was 18. And then, to top the evening off, I forgot my way home. I got lost.

I had gotten to the point where my only reaction, the only way I felt like I knew how to respond to people was to scream. It wasn't a violent thing. It was reactionary. Where my daughter had come and grabbed my leg before, my reaction was, "Don't touch me. Don't touch me". I was at the point this week where it gone way beyond that. Looking at me, touching me, talking to me, getting in my personal space came with a reactionary scream.

The worst happened Thursday with my daughter. I went to pick her up and she didn't want to be picked up. She grabbed my neck real hard with her fingernails. My reaction, involuntarily, was to grab her shoulders and squeeze inward. I realized within a second what I was doing, and set her down before I hurt her, but it scared the shit out of both my wife and I. It's hard to explain to someone that there's a difference between WANTING to hurt someone, and having a REACTION. That is when we started talking about hospitalization.

I called my therapist yesterday, and also got in to see my psychiatrist. My therapist thought it was a good idea but my psych thought I may have a hard time getting in. I called my insurance company. I was on the phone with them for an hour and seven minutes answering way too many questions. They gave me a number of options but said that it would be very unlikely that I would be accepted for "inpatient psychiatric treatment". Three reasons: I am not ACTIVELY suicidal. I am not ACTIVELY homicidal. And I am not CURRENTLY high on any narcotics. Considering I have never so much as taken a toke of pot in my life, the third one may be an issue. So....unless I decide to shoot up some heroin, start cutting, and chase my wife around the house with a cordless Black and Decker power drill, I think I'll be sleeping in my bed tonight.

I'll keep you posted........