Naming Harm. Reclaiming Truth.

Psychiatric drug harm steals so much from us. It doesn’t just “cause side effects.” It takes our health, our stability, our very sense of who we are. It hijacks our nervous systems, rewires our emotions, and traps us in a body and mind we barely recognize...

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These aren’t small inconveniences to be brushed off or medicated away, they are life-altering wounds. The kind that shred away the lightness of being alive. The kind that leave us measuring time not in years, but in seconds– second by second, as we try to rebuild what was stolen.

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The System That Sold Us Out

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We have to name it for what it is: medical malpractice.

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Doctors handed out these drugs like bloody tic tacs– pills that could shatter a person’s nervous system, destabilize their biology, and destroy their capacity for rest and peace– and they conveniently called it “treatment.” They didn’t warn us. They didn’t listen when our bodies began to fall apart. They told us it was “anxiety,” or “relapse,” or “just who we are.”

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But it wasn’t us. It was the drugs.

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And when we begged for help, when we tried to tell them something was wrong– they gaslit us, pathologized our pain, and doubled the dose. We became medical casualties of a system that calls itself “care.”

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The Corporate Machine Behind the Curtain

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And behind it all stands Big Pharma. The machine that knew exactly what these drugs could do and did it anyway. They had the data. They saw the suffering. And they buried it under glossy marketing and ghostwritten studies.

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They sold hope in little bottles. They sold “balance” and “relief,” and built billion-dollar empires on our broken bodies.

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They stole our trust, our time, our health and then had the audacity to call it “progress.”

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The Silence That Cuts Deep

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And then there’s the silence. The people closest to us: family, friends, loved ones– who couldn’t see the invisible torment we were living through. Who said, “It’s just in your head.”

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That disbelief hurts more than most can imagine. It’s like screaming inside a burning house while the world outside tells you to calm down. That silence– that refusal to see– is its own kind of violence.

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The Truth That Heals

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This harm is real. It is theft. It is betrayal. And naming it matters. Because every time we stay silent, the system gets stronger. Every time we speak, we reclaim a little piece of what was taken from us– our dignity, our truth, our voice.

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We survived what should never have happened. We are walking proof that the human spirit is stronger than the forces that tried to crush it.

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And as we rebuild– second by second, heartbeat by heartbeat, we become something the system can never manufacture or suppress: people who see clearly now. People who know the cost of blind trust. People who will never again be silenced.

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We are the evidence. We are the truth they tried to bury. And by naming it— loudly, unapologetically, relentlessly– we make sure it can never be erased.

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One Love, 

Malissa

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