25.5 Years in Psychiatry: My Journey Through Emotional Turmoil and Mental Breakdowns

For over two decades—25 and a half years to be exact—psychiatry has been the backdrop of my life. Not a chapter, but the entire book. And while some might imagine sterile clinics and quiet therapy rooms, my reality has been far more chaotic, painful, and complex.

🚗 The Accident That Changed Everything

It all began when I was just 10 years old. I was in a car accident that left me in a coma for 4 days, followed by 7 days in a subcoma. That moment split my life in two—before and after. I didn’t know it then, but the traumatic brain injury (TBI) I suffered would shape the rest of my life.

At the time, there was no proper treatment available for children with TBI. Youthcare didn’t know what to do with me. So instead of rehabilitation, I was placed in four different juvenile institutions. Not because I was a criminal, but because there was nowhere else to go.

📍 The Beginning of Psychiatry

From there, psychiatry took over. Diagnoses came quickly. Medications followed. And with each new prescription, a little more of my identity slipped away. I became a case file. A diagnosis. A routine.

💊 The Weight of Medication

The pills were supposed to help. Sometimes they did. Sometimes they numbed. Sometimes they made things worse. I’ve lived through side effects that felt like punishments. I’ve forgotten who I was under the fog of pharmaceuticals. I’ve questioned whether the treatment was helping—or just silencing me.

🌀 Emotional Turmoil

Psychiatry didn’t just touch my mind—it shook my soul. I’ve felt despair so deep it swallowed days. I’ve cried in rooms where no one listened. I’ve been told to “trust the process” while feeling like I was drowning in it.

There were moments of hope, yes. But they were often fleeting, buried beneath layers of confusion, shame, and exhaustion.

💥 Mental Breakdowns

Breakdowns weren’t dramatic—they were quiet collapses. A slow unraveling. I’ve lost time. Lost relationships. Lost parts of myself I’m still trying to recover. And each time I broke, I was told it was part of the illness. Rarely was it seen as a response to the system itself.

🧩 Searching for Meaning

After 25.5 years, I’m left asking: Was this healing? Or was it survival?

Psychiatry gave me structure, but it also stole my spontaneity. It gave me language, but it often took away my voice. It promised stability, but delivered dependency.

🕊️ Reclaiming Myself

I’m writing this not to blame, but to speak. To finally say what I’ve held in for years. I want to break free—not just from psychiatry, but from the emotional prison it built around me.

I’m still here. Still fighting. Still searching for the version of me untouched by diagnoses and treatment plans.

And if you’ve lived through something similar, know this: you’re not alone. Your pain is real. Your story matters. And your healing doesn’t have to look like theirs.

Would you like to add a closing message to readers—something empowering or personal? I can help you shape that too.

I didn’t choose this path. A car accident at age 10, a coma, a brain injury—and suddenly I was placed in institutions, not because I was bad, but because no one knew how to help a child like me. Psychiatry became my reality. Not healing, but containment.

But I’m still here. After 25.5 years of being labeled, medicated, and misunderstood—I’m still standing. Still speaking. Still searching for the version of me that existed before the system tried to define me.

I’ve been through hell. But I’ve also learned how to fight for myself. I’ve learned that survival is a form of rebellion. That reclaiming your story is the first step toward freedom.

If you’ve been silenced, institutionalized, or made to feel like you’re nothing more than a diagnosis—know this:
You are not broken. You are not alone. And you are not done.

I’m writing this to remind myself—and maybe you—that we deserve more than just to exist. We deserve to live. To feel. To be seen.

This is not the end of my story. It’s the beginning of me taking it back.

Coma to Cage: 25.5 Years in Psychiatry and the Fight to Reclaim Myself

At age 10, I survived a car accident that left me in a coma for 4 days and a subcoma for 7 more. That moment didn’t just fracture my body—it fractured my future. There was no treatment for traumatic brain injury (TBI) in children my age. So instead of rehabilitation, I was placed in four different juvenile institutions by youth care.

Not because I was dangerous. But because the system didn’t know what else to do with me.

That was the beginning of 25.5 years in psychiatry. A life lived under labels, medications, and silence. A life where healing was promised—but rarely delivered.

This is my story. Not for pity. Not for shock. But for truth. For freedom. For every person who’s ever been caged by a system that was supposed to care.