Somewhat of a relief

Hi everyone. Yesterday I survived my first visit ever with a psychiatrist, and emerged with a working diagnosis of BPD with MDD and OCD. If I'm truly honest with myself on the days when I'm screwed up, I've known I needed to go for years. But then when I go back to normal, it's like all the horrible things that just happened go away and my head says, "Nah, you're fine. You don't need to go to the shrink." Now that I've gone, though, I'm kind of glad I did. It's nice to be able to talk to someone about the things I go through and not have them look at me like I'm completely crazy.

I've never had an opportunity to go because while I lived with my parents, it wasn't an option. My parents are the type that think that all these mental problems don't exist, except for schizophrenia and stuff like that, and that people who claimed to be depressed or whatever were just being whiny and throwing tantrums to get what they wanted, and needed to just get over it. Unfortunately, ''getting over it'' isn't so simple.

When I was 10 years old, my dad went through a mid-life crisis and found God. After that, he became a tyrant. My three brothers were old enough that he wasn't torturing them (two of them didn't even live at home anymore), so I got to deal with all of it. My happy child hood turned into years of depression and drawing into myself to survive. I was by myself a lot and rarely talked, because if I said or did something that dad didn't agree with, no matter how minor, I got screamed at. I was an extremely sensitive child to begin with, so it was even more damaging for me than I think it would have been otherwise. Dad was the problem; he'd just brainwashed mom into it. I always looked forward to when he would leave on a business trip or a mission trip, because you could just feel the tension lifted from the house, and mom and I got along so much better. But then he'd come home and everything would go back to normal. I used to wish that mom and dad would divorce so I wouldn't have to be around him anymore. I had fantasies of killing him, too. But then I realized that we needed his paycheck, so I stuck with divorce.

A few years ago they someone they went to church with found my myspace and told my parents all the things I'd written on it about how depressed I was, and how I'd cut myself, and tried to kill myself, and the stuff that mom and dad had done to me and the stupid things he'd scream at me for. They were furious. They made me pull it up so they could read everything. They got done and were even more furious. But instead of going "holy crap, our daughter's tried to kill herself, we should probably get her help", they screamed at me and told me I'd disgraced the family because I'd tainted their image with their church.

Seriously, what kind of person puts a higher priority on making sure their image is pristine, instead of on their child who's attempted suicide three times? It pissed me off. But there was nothing I could do but become even more depressed as they took away what little privacy I had left so they could make sure I wasn't making them look worse.

One more thing, and then I'll stop rambling. When my fiance and I (I actually found someone who will put up with me, and I'm still skeptical) went to tell my parents that we were moving in together, they ofcourse blew up. We weren't married, so that was inappropriate, and that would make them look bad. When we went to my parents house to talk to them about it, my dad told me that my opinion didn't matter, and that I was just there to sit and listen to him. I still can hardly believe it. That was basically my entire life; I was always put down and made to be quiet because my opinion didn't matter. But that's the first time the exact words actually came out of his mouth.

Anyway, this turned out way longer than I intended it to be, but I just started writing and it kept going. My fiance's the one that finally got me to go to the psychiatrist, and now I'm glad he did. But I'm wondering what to do about my parents, and how I should tell them, or if I should even tell them at all. Because I know they'll get pissed off. I thought about not telling them, but I'm on my dad's insurance which is the only way I'm able to pay for the sessions and my medicine (she gave me Topamax, Wellbutrin, and Ativan). But I'm thinking if they find out some other way, then they might get even more ticked off and pull the insurance so I can't go anymore. But if I tell them, they might get ticked off enough to do the same thing. So I have absolutely no idea what to do.

Hey, well done on getting to the Psychiatrist. I hope things start to improve for you, I understand how it's relieving but terrifying at the same time.

As for telling your parents, I don't know the full story and I'm a bit biased (as in reading your post made me dislike them, and also i'm verrrry opinionated on organized religion) - but how about writing a letter? It gives you the opportunity to get it all it without being interrupted, you can also step back and revise it, and you're not at risk at having an angry outburst at them. You're on your way to being so much stronger - I think if you could tell them how they've made you feel, it'd be very important for you. Of course they could still react in a horrific way, as they did to your myspace - but in a letter you're giving yourself the chance to be very concise - I'm not saying you should guilt-trip them, but even if you know they may not be supportive, you could still give evidence of how real this is for you. Maybe point in the direction of a good book or website?

Do you live with you parents by the way?

I don't live with them anymore, thank goodness. I was able to move out and live with my fiance (which they didn't take very well).

I told them before how they make me feel and how much they've hurt me. That was a few years ago, and I was still living with them. That was when all the other stuff came up and we were having an argument (or rather, they were having a one-sided screamfest with me, because that's how our arguments go), and I finally got the guts to speak up and tell them. The result was them getting even more mad because I was implying that they had somehow done something wrong.

That's why I'm so worried about telling them about this. I'm worried if I tell them that not only did I go to a psychiatrist, but I was diagnosed with a mental disorder, I'm afraid they're going to go even more ballistic than they did last time.

My fiance thinks we should go talk to my brother and sister-in-law first, since my brother's a doctor and my sis-in-law's sister is bipolar, so he says they'll understand. But I don't know what to do. I don't want my family to look down on me, but I feel like that's what's going to happen no matter what.