insomnia two months later, I found myself in the office of an NHS psychiatrist.And so began my ‘psychiatric safari’, a decade-long dance with colourful pills with seductive names like Seroquel and Lyrica.
My depression (and the original insomnia) didn’t respond, so it became ‘treatment-resistant’ depression, and the drugs multiplied and became more powerful. ‘Generalised anxiety disorder’ joined the party.
Desperate to get me the help I needed, my family eventually paid for admission to a private psychiatric hospital where the consultant said I had ‘psychotic depression’ and gave me pills normally used to treat schizophrenia.
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