A Drug-Pushing Psychiatrist Made Me Lose A Year Of My Life
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A Drug-Pushing Psychiatrist Made Me Lose A Year Of My Life

A Drug Pushing Psychiatrist Made Me Loose A Year Of My Life

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A Drug-Pushing Psychiatrist Made Me Lose A Year Of My Life
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He's going to kill someone.

He almost killed me.

But before that, he just made me lose a year of my life.

My mental health problems started when I was 14. And when I was 18 I went to the most beautiful place, my safe haven in Washington.

I looked forward to my appointments. Seeing the receptionists, that have helped me in a crisis and ask to see pictures of my son. And my two biggest supporters, my psychiatrist and my therapist.

My psychiatrist was the first doctor to prescribe me medication. She made me feel safe about it. I was cared for, and my opinion was taken in. She was so optimistic and loved learning. Always new ideas, and making her best effort to help. And she did, of course. She had such good patient advocacy.

She listened. I wasn't just a 10-minute appointment. If I didn't want to try it? Ok. If it wasn't working? We'd talk and see what went wrong and go from there. We were testing the waters. After a while, we had an amazing relationship. She had a pure heart, and I trusted her.

She trusted me, too. With medication and even on a personal level. I knew she was pregnant before anyone in the clinic.

I accidentally overbooked, said, “Oh sorry, see you in a few weeks."

“Sit down and talk to me."

“You can bill my insurance still if you want."

“Oh no, I just wanna chat."

And so we did. She was pretty cool if you ask me.

She is the kind of doctor you want. (No you might not find an actual relationship with them. But trust with medication is so important. I know that now.) I didn't know med pushers were around because she was good.

She knew me better than I knew myself. She knew more than my husband or friends knew. Therapy day was my favorite day of the week.

Some weeks, I'd go twice, double bonus. I loved getting better. My therapist was probably the only person who I actually fully trusted their opinion, I respected her and took it all into all possible effects. Obviously, I wasn't still perfect and listened all the time... Mistakes were made.

It took me a while to learn that stuff. I never was offended by her or bitter towards her. So unhealthy, I know, but she was my best friend at one point. She saved me through my divorce.

At one point, she was the only person in Washington I was speaking/saw for months though. She knew how to do her damn job too.

I left them both abruptly when I moved back to Michigan. Broke my heart. But I moved back to get mentally better.

Little did I know my new doctor would just be a med pusher. Only out for the cash. As many patients as possible, that books by 10 minutes. Doesn't give a fuck about his patients, or their families and loved ones. I truly don't think he has a heart. I don't think he should be allowed to practice medicine.

If you're not really invested in Mental Health, I understand if you can't understand. Here's how to explain what he does to his patients:

Imagine: 21 years old, trying to be a good mom, but most importantly, a healthy mom. And getting her health taken care of, so she's absent. But she's doing whatever she can. Her trouble is, she has stage 1 cancer breast cancer. Chemo will make it go right away, but now it's stage 4 with the chemo and radiation now..? What did the doctor do? He poisoned her chemotherapy. Her doctor was killing her. She's fighting. She's had her breasts chopped off, but they didn't get it all. She's fighting for her child though.

I came back to Michigan, while my psychiatrist and I were working on my medication. I was so scared to get a new doctor. I was nervous for him to change my medication. But I trusted the wrong man. My psychiatrist positioned me.

I came home to get better for my son. But instead the last year of my life. It's a blur. I was an elephant at the zoo, and I was tranquilized for acting out. Where did this last year of my life go? I couldn't tell you. Well actually, I can tell you how he made me feel.

“Doctor, I'm not feeling better."

*packs on meds*

"Doctor, I'm not feeling better at all."

*packs on more meds*

"Doctor, I'm not feeling better."

*packs on meds*

"Doctor, I'm not feeling better at all."

*packs on more meds*

AND SO ON. I'll explain some of the conversations later.

I went from normal borderline (personality disorder) and bipolar mood swings/depression. Manageable. So so manageable.

This man misdiagnosed and over-medicated me for a year. He took a year away from me. He made me into someone I WAS NOT.

Here are some of the things he did to me. I would suggest changing them up, I was told no. You'll probably say, “Why didn't you change doctors sooner?" Would you have expected that patient to go somewhere else because her radiation wasn't working? I was SCARED to have anyone besides Anna touch my medication. I didn't just want to doctor hop. I need constancy. I thought he was helping me. These things he did.. I thought it was actually me. I thought I was just broken forever. But I just woke up. Hello everyone, I'm back.

Here are some side effects that I thought were normal, or how I felt. I started to normalize in my brain and try and cope with them. I thought only if I had my son again, I would I be happy. I thought that's all that it was.

Not all of these things symptoms from over-medicating me happened at once. All started/ended different times. I still have BPD and bi-Polar, that's manageable. But this man was poisoning me. His miss diagnosis.. The man has some audacity.

More odd, right when I moved home. Wasn't suicidal. Just odd.

I was chronically sad and miserable for the next 6 months.

I gained around 50 pounds.

I puked all the time when I smelled stinky stuff or even brushing my teeth.

My body pain got worse and worse throughout the day. By night I could barely walk upstairs to get a drink of water. It started slowly, but one day my body felt like it was starting to die. I thought it was just depression. Still not gone.

Delayed thoughts.

I lost a year's worth of life and memories.

I developed a rash on my head when I got stressed.

The more medicine I took, the worse my moods got. So sad, sad was my usual mood after a while and it was stuck there for days. Weeks. Months/

I had shortness is breath. I thought it was just from the weight gain, but I wrong.

My hair started falling out. My hairline has gone back a full inch. I had to get bangs so it's not noticeable.


-My skin would rash or nasty break out.

-My undereyes black under them. Thick thick bags. Even with using a nice under eye corrector.


I had dead and flaky nails.

I had constant anxiety.

I had occasional psychotic states.

I couldn't sleep and was hospitalized for it.

The paranoia returned.

I became antisocial and wanted to/ had to be alone almost always.

I was scared to leave the house for 4 months.

I was scared to leave my cats for 4 months.

I lost the quality of life.

My brain was mush. Actual mush. If you asked me to write out 67 minus 29 and solve the problem, I couldn't do it. I used to cry wondering how I got so stupid. Picking up a book felt like too many words that I couldn't read.

I went from oversleeping to not being able to sleep at all, back and forth.

I was in denial with myself, thinking the doctor was right.

My mood had no baseline.

I had shortness of breath.

I had nightmares and night terrors.

I would wake up and my depression would be at a 9/10-10/10. (Now it's 3/10.)

Walking upstairs to pee was a chore. Showering was a big chore. Going to an appointment, hard. Just hard.

I couldn't keep a job and feel safe. Was on my last mental health strike at a restaurant, but I accidentally sold alcohol to a minor, so I was fired. One, I simply couldn't go to work. My mind would not let me.

I "hated" the world. And everyone other than my son and a select few.

My self-image was distorted.

Being numb was “good" and the pain was indescribable

I would cry maybe 3 hours a day. Not for fun. I. Could. Not. Help. It.

I could be outside playing with CoCo (family's puppy) and just have tears running down my face. Some days it was so bad someone could say “Matison?" with an attitude and the tears would roll. (Sometimes the complete opposite) I would cry in bed for hours staring at pictures of my son.

Why did I stare at them? I'd be crying about it already, and I had to. I had to because I started forgetting what he looked like. My mom would ask me multiple times a day, “Matison why are you crying?" “I just want my son."

Multiple times a day. I would cry in my room, balling into the blankets so no one heard me. The tears would flow sometimes for no reason. I'd be chilling, and then start crying. I'd ask myself why I was crying. I stopped wearing mascara (or any makeup when so so depressed) so you wouldn't see the black down my face. I knew better than to put it on. It all depended on the day.

I went from nothing to bam and I would imagine/ think about dying 80% of the day. No, I wasn't going to attempt because my son is my life. I want to watch him grow. I don't want him saying someday, “Why didn't my mom love me enough to live? What did I ever do to her? Why wasn't I good enough for my mom to stay alive for me? I don't think my mom loves me." EVER. He won't. He's stuck with me, haha, I love my boy. He saved me until I saved myself.

But I would obsess in my mind:

“I feel dead. Actually, death would be better. This is past impossible pain. Something is wrong with me. No one can save me. I guess this is how I'll feel forever. Just gotta live with it secretly for my son. He will take away my pain. That's the only thing that can. Without him, I feel dead."

“I wish I would just die a natural death or accidental. Won't have to let anyone down."

“This isn't depression, it's something worse. What's wrong with me? I just wish I wasn't like this. As long as I don't kill my self, I can live with it."

“My. Doctor and the courts are making me feel like I'm crazy. Are they right?"

“If I had my son right now I wouldn't even think this. (Well duh, he brings an umbrella when I have a rainy cloud over my head.) He is all I need. I'm going to be like this forever without him. But it's becoming so normal."

I lost who I was.

I wasn't Matison. I wasn't. I don't know who she was, because it seemed like a dream. Like thinking back. What the fuck did he do to me? I feel like I just woke up from a coma. I'm home.

Time to restart. Finally. Started getting amazing help again.

My goals are now: Work on reforming again. I feel so fresh and it feels nice. My head isn't being stuck in a toilet bowl anymore. Wow. I am so eager and excited to progress more and more by the day. Next, my son. Now that I have the proper care, I will get it, earn my trust back. I finally say that, and BELIEVE IT.

My boy will be in my arms soon again. And wanna know the best part? He held his mommy above water, he saved me. My baby boy saved me. That doctor had me so ill, my son was my only reason to live. But his mommy's home. She's home!!! I'm sad it took so long. I lost a year... That I was supposed to be getting better for him.

***A part of my last appointment***

“Why do you cry?"

“Because of [my on]"

“Who is that?"

“My son that I tell you about every time I come in?"

“Where is he?"

“Washington."

“Why?"

“His Dad lives there?"

“Why not with you?"

“For real? I've told you everything single appointment, this same thing. It's been a whole year."

Well maybe if he looked up and spoke to you. Instead, he books me for 10 minutes, reads the same list of questions of every time. Basically knew zero facts about his patients. Has to look up on Google stuff about medication. One time, I pointed out that I was on a max dose of medication and he denied it. I was right, and he was wrong. He felt stupid.

We're nothing but a paycheck to him. I was attached. I'm in awe and traumatized thinking about it. It's like I just woke up. A year he put me to sleep. How many other patients has he done this to? He's been in medicine for very very many years. He doesn't care. Pen. Script. Money in his wallet. Next.

Later that same day:

“I wake up having night terrors. Can I get medication for sleeping or nightmares?"

“No, we will bump up your antipsychotic."

“Seriously?"

“Yes. Don't argue with me again. You know you're not my patient anymore if you argue with me again." .... “I understand. But the antipsychotic doesn't work. Can we try to change something else?"

*Writes script*

Another conversation:

“I am still crazy depressed, even though I'm on the max dose of antidepressant. Can we try a new one?"

I asked him MULTIPLE times.

“No, we will bump up the lamotrigine [a mood stabilizer]."

“But I want to be on less medication soon. And that's the least positive one I think. Those two are. I need them completely changed or SOMETHING."

*Bumps mood stabilizer up 100mg*

This doctor, in my eyes, should not practice medicine.

He is a disgrace to the mental health community. MAKES US CRAZY. I got out while I could. I don't want to even think about not having another day of my life back.

Thank you, Andrew, for what you did. You advocated for our son. If you didn't say the words “I won't trust you with my son until you seek higher treatment." Those are the best words you've ever said to me. You helped me get my life back. Thank you for taking such good care of our boy. I'll be back to normal soon enough. Thanks for advocating for me too. Saying “Somethings not right, you need more help." UGH, I was offended. I've never been so happy fo be offended now. Made me think twice about it it.

After my last visit with her him, I was referred to a partial hospitalization/day treatment.

My doctor..... He blew my mind. Other than when I was with my son, I haven't felt that good in years. Talking to him gave me an adrenaline rush. Why? He knew.. He knew from knowing me 5 seconds that I was misdiagnosed? He later said “I see Borderline Personality Disorder from your PTSD and Bipolar Disorder in here. But I also your new diagnosis... This doesn't make sense. I believe you have been misdiagnosed and over medicated.

How do you misdiagnose a personality disorder and bipolar disorder with schizoaffective disorder, major depressive disorder, and borderline personality disorder?

Yup. He had me so medicated he had me believing him. I believed I had these “schizophrenic symptoms."

I believed my doctor. Isn't that's what you're supposed to do?

So so so shortly after I cut one dose in half, I felt like a different person. I feel like ME.

Now we have cut that bad antidepressant in half.

I'm off the antipsychotic completely.

Tomorrow I start a night terror medicine.

If that all goes well, I'll be off the lamotrigine mood stabilizer. (Fingers crossed. That's the plan, as long as my head is happier.)

My antidepressant will be a different brand. (Same dose.)

And I won't be seeing that quack anymore.

It's me again guys. I have hope again. I'm smiling again. I'm not constantly crying.

Today, I thought I was dying... Because my breathing got so funny. Ya know what? That was my breathing going back to normal. I felt a sensation. Even more, it was more clear.

I'm so happy I was pushed to seek better treatment. I feel alive. Don't take that for granted. I felt dead for a year. He was poisoning me. He knew those drugs were wrong. Or he was just that stupid?

I'm writing this for my fellow mental health friends. Don't quit fighting for yourself. It'll be scary to change. If you don't think it's right, get a second opinion. Or a third. Or even a fourth. Whatever will save you from losing any precious time.

Time. Is. Precious. And I didn't notice until I woke up. I feel either like I was in a coma or someone had me kept captive in their basement for a year. I had this year to get PERFECT for my son. And it's gone. But oddly, I'm positive about it.

I'm relieved because I feel FRESH. Like I can be who I want to be. I'm going to keep going to treatment to find myself and ACTUALLY take care of business. I lost a whole year and once I woke up, I have a fresh aspect because my life was hell.

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This article has not been reviewed by Odyssey HQ and solely reflects the ideas and opinions of the creator.
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