My first psychiatrist visit took place when I was 4 years old. My grandparents took me because I had night terrors, and was terrified of dolls and mannequins (a child’s version of “they’re out to get me”). I was diagnosed with PTSD at the age of 16 from massive childhood trauma. You could say that my mother was the jack of all trades. I went through many years of therapy, with a 3 year, 3 month stretch in an inpatient, outdoor treatment facility for girls. I prefer not to say where. After leaving there, I spent many an hour on the couch, talking to doctor after doctor. Have you ever noticed how hard it is to find a therapist with whom you “click”? It’s as hard as finding the perfect pair of shoes for an impromptu date. Here’s the inventory: PTSD (now cleared), bipolar disorder clinical depression, and do occasioanlly have panic attacks for no apparent reason. It’s just for kicks, I guess (no more drugs for me after 13 years, at least for now). And none of those were my fault, dammit! Damn, that felt good to say :)