Betty’s Battleground Turns One turns one

Today January 23rd, marks the one year anniversary of my very first post, called Mommy Marching with PTSD, which was all about how and why I overcame my post-traumatic stress disorder symptoms to bring my elder daughter to Womxn’s March on Seattle. Read it if you haven’t yet–it’s quite raw and ranty and fun.

I wish I could commemorate the first year with a post about attending the anniversary protest, which had been the plan, but as it happens Monday was my mother’s birthday, and Saturday–when the march took place this year–was when she decided to have a birthday ge-ttogether. Which turned into a birthday linner, or dunch, or something. In any case. I didn’t go (to the protest, I did see my mom for her birthday). But I saw photos of the turnout, and many pussy hats as I met my mom for her birthday celebration so I’m glad people are still fighting. And I do pledge to keep up the good fight via articles like this  and like this and blog posts like this scripts and fictions you haven’t yet read but will someday (dear magical agent just waiting for me, please materialize and also materialize me some money). And maybe a march or two as well.

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All Roads Lead To The Nurse’s Station (or) What I Learned In The Psych Ward

What I Learned In The Psych

For the most part, the media gets PTSD dangerously wrong.

PTSD does not, generally, make a person violent. A kind, non-violent person will not acquire PTSD and then also the sudden unshakable desire to shoot up a grocery store. Sure, as within any population, you get your violent psychopaths. But psychopathy is a disorder that is distinct from PTSD and not something that comes hand-in-hand.

One thing the media got right though, is that we do have a tendency to get ourselves strapped to hospital beds and put on psychiatric holds.

I have technically only been admitted to the ‘psych ward’ once; last year, after I tried to kill myself I spent about five days in a psych unit. But I have spent numerous evenings with one hand and the opposite foot strapped down to a gurney, waiting for hours until a psychiatric professional condoned my release.

Here are a few things I learned from my experiences on psych hold:
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