I was just a young child when I developed my TMS symptoms. I remember walking around one feverish summer night with groin pain. I was probably 17 or 18. I remember searching the web for hours. I was alone. I thought I had found what was wrong with me. I spent an hour stretching. I felt oppressed; lost. It took 2 months before I saw a urologist. I was the youngest person in the waiting room by 6 decades. Cold, far from home, and alone I began to fill out the extensive medical forms before I was to see the doctor. I finally was let in.
There's some unexplainable feeling one gets when they walk into one of those vile and under maintained hospital rooms. The surroundings made me quiver, my soul shook. I felt like an alien, a freak of some sort for even having to be there. There are some people in life, who also with great trial I still cannot explain; but you just know that their basic and accidental way of living will lead to dreary conversations. I waited 30 minutes, my doctor came in. Within 5 minutes of demoralizing mediocrity he left.
I had an infection. He gave me meds. Infection supposedly stopped, symptoms did not. Nothing helped. Went back 2 weeks later. 3 months of PT prescribed. No explanation.
This experience with this doctor led me down a rabbit hole since his opportune advice came in spurts, and never actually solved anything. I gave up and kept searching for a cure. For me, this was the first professional opinion I got, which enforced that my symptoms were physical, told me it was not psychological, which I had been propagating for weeks and getting crucified for by any online form.
This doctor altered my perception of myself and made me feel like a freak. It was all too much for my young and already wounded self.
As a child I always felt sorrow for animals in Zoos. The lions looked broken. Kings of the jungle kept in little cages. Birds with wings for flying the horizons kept in such conditions. Some birds would fly into a wall and kill themself instead of to live like that. I felt the same oppression at that moment. I wanted to live, fly, and be free. Being free is naturally human, and I could no longer be human; if I could no longer feel naturally myself, why was there reason to live?
There's some unexplainable feeling one gets when they walk into one of those vile and under maintained hospital rooms. The surroundings made me quiver, my soul shook. I felt like an alien, a freak of some sort for even having to be there. There are some people in life, who also with great trial I still cannot explain; but you just know that their basic and accidental way of living will lead to dreary conversations. I waited 30 minutes, my doctor came in. Within 5 minutes of demoralizing mediocrity he left.
I had an infection. He gave me meds. Infection supposedly stopped, symptoms did not. Nothing helped. Went back 2 weeks later. 3 months of PT prescribed. No explanation.
This experience with this doctor led me down a rabbit hole since his opportune advice came in spurts, and never actually solved anything. I gave up and kept searching for a cure. For me, this was the first professional opinion I got, which enforced that my symptoms were physical, told me it was not psychological, which I had been propagating for weeks and getting crucified for by any online form.
This doctor altered my perception of myself and made me feel like a freak. It was all too much for my young and already wounded self.
As a child I always felt sorrow for animals in Zoos. The lions looked broken. Kings of the jungle kept in little cages. Birds with wings for flying the horizons kept in such conditions. Some birds would fly into a wall and kill themself instead of to live like that. I felt the same oppression at that moment. I wanted to live, fly, and be free. Being free is naturally human, and I could no longer be human; if I could no longer feel naturally myself, why was there reason to live?
