Surviving a Therapy Break

For the past couple of weeks my psychologist has been on vacation and that has meant no therapy for me. Whilst a couple of weeks may not sound like a long break it hasn’t been easy and I find such breaks difficult to cope with. The reality is that a two week break has meant I’ve had no therapy now for approaching three weeks and that is an extremely long time. 

Now don’t get me wrong I know my psychologist is entitled to his holiday and I’m grateful he only takes a two week break, I’ve had therapists who take a whole month off. Yet it is never easy for despite all the stabilisation techniques I have learnt I always seem to find myself struggling, when there is a gap in sessions.

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Now I’m fortunate in many ways as I can still email my psychologist if it’s desperately needed, though I am not guaranteed a response. Previous therapists have just gone off on a break and left me high and dry which believe me is much much worse.
The break this summer hasn’t been easy and I have tried to plan ahead in order to mitigate the impact of no therapy. So for the first week I took myself off on holiday, surrounded by family who I knew would support me if needed. Having something to distract me helped and the holiday did work for the first few days. The second week I made plans to go out for the day and took myself off to the middle of nowhere surrounded by the sound of a babbling brook and beautiful scenery. The fact it rained wasn’t an issue but despite the attempt to distract and fill my time I found myself struggling,
As more and more thoughts raced through my mind and I began doubting myself and my own self worth, I realised things were not going great. The longer the break the more I struggle or so it seems and by the second missed session I was floundering, in the end I had to resort to sending an email, disturbing my psychologist and admitting I was finding things tough. The main concern for me wasn’t a flashback or a memory as such, but the feelings of anger and frustration I felt about the abuse I had endured. I also found myself consumed with grief once again, grief about my past and grief that these things, these dreadful things hadn’t just happened to an alter, they had happened to me.

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In the end as I typed my email I realised I needed to vent, I needed to let go off the anguish that was consuming me, overwhelming me. I knew that the best thing I could do given I had no idea if or when I’d get a response and that even if I did my psychologist wouldn’t be able to rectify how I felt was to vent. So in true style I opened my car window and screamed at the top of my lungs and poured out the anguish and anger. I cried buckets in the process and I guess most of all I admitted to myself these feelings of grief that I held.
My screams and tears helped a little but they couldn’t take away my fears or concerns about messing up, or my worries that I’d get it wrong with my teen alter. Thankfully my psychologist responded the next day and his words well they kind of resonated within me. He told me not to forget I wasn’t meant to be my alters therapist, that I wasn’t in this alone and to remember we were a team. The fact that he can assist me in my sessions and help me to process the anguish, the pain and the grief is reassuring. The fact I’m not alone of this journey of recovery is a positive, the reality is I have a therapist willing to help me on my journey and together we are a team.
Yet of course the break in sessions has been difficult and I have found it at times over whelming, currently it is a team of just me and my alters for my psychologist isn’t here, he’s away. This coming week sessions will reconvene but as is normal I am likely to find it hard for the first couple of sessions after the break. I can’t help this its just a fact of life, for me a break impacts upon my trust levels and my therapeutic relationship with my psychologist.

 

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Breaks in sessions are never easy there have been times in the past when I have spiralled out of control and resorted to negative coping strategies. Yet today I find myself more able to cope and the fact I have email access is a huge benefit. The truth is being able to see myself as less isolated helps me and the stabilisation work we have done is really beneficial too. But an absence of two sessions is as much as I can cope with currently, I am so relieved that after this weekend my sessions recommence.
Looking back I’m glad I now work with someone who isn’t off a month at a time, the impact of that would I know cause me much more difficulty and hinder my long term recovery. I wonder if those therapists who choose to take a month long break realise the impact on their clients if they did maybe they’d think again.

Copyright DID Disptaches 2015

Communication breakthrough – building trust 

Trust is a key issue for me and it appears to be as important to my alters; the various parts of me. Over the last year I have been slowly trying to build a rapport with a particular part of me, a part who is clearly very fragile and who carries memories of a specific period of my abuse. Initially I spent time communicating using my one way dialogue, I talked and she I hoped listened, then with much uncertainty I began using Ideomotor signals and the dialogue between us began to build.

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Using the ideomotor signals she and I have been able to work together at having fun, so when I first went paddling in the sea I knew she was there. This part of me has tended to get overwhelmed with emotions and she was at the start much more likely to suddenly overwhelm me with tears and sadness. But the more I talked and the more we communicated using ideomotor signals the more these episodes have dissipated.
For the past year that dialogue with me speaking and her communicating using hand signals has progressed, I’ve got better at asking yes and no questions and she has begun to build up a rapport.  A  few weeks ago as I strolled on a beach I felt her around and suddenly realised that the thoughts in my head might well be hers. She was at least trying her very hardest to communicate with me in a different way. I thanked her and though she soon resorted to ideomotor signals I realised this was an important step for her and for me. But yes and no responses whilst great don’t allow much opportunity to mend the damage of the past, to rectify and heal the scars of abuse.
During my time away last week I sensed her presence a lot more and when I took some time to visit a spa and just relax she was right there with me. I felt a chance to allow her yet another opportunity to communicate with me so I acknowledged she was there and I told her that I wanted her to feel safe and trust me. I said her memories were important to me, I wanted to know them when she was ready to share.
There followed dialogue in a rather odd way about the fact she didn’t feel I could cope with the things she holds, I explained that I wanted to and that its vitally important for her and me to work together. I set out some pointers so if for instance I told her that if couldn’t cope with whatever she reveals I will tell her I can’t process that right now. I will acknowledge it though and we will together take it to therapy. Of course I had no idea if this would help her trust me enough after all trust is so hard for me, so hard for her too given my past.

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But as I sat in a relaxing spa room which smelt of fragrant flowers suddenly all that hard work began to pay off, for the first time she communicated verbally with me. Not just a thought not just a hand signal but out loud and clear and audible. I was a little shocked but also so excited and happy because I realise this alter now trusts me enough to start to talk. I now know why she finds talking so difficult, why I think emotions become too overwhelming for her and I know a little of the past she holds.
I don’t know major graphic details and I may never know all the finite detail but that is really not important what matters is that I have a general idea of what happened, how it made us feel back then and how it makes me feel today. The emotional impact is what counts not the graphic detail of abuse, but how she felt, why she felt and how I feel today. It’s about coming to terms with the abuse and the feelings more than the actual detail of what happened.
I am slowly learning a little of what she endured though when I dissociated and went away whilst bad things were happening to me. Strangely I’m not anxious about the possibility of her memories pouring out or that they may overwhelm me, I know I have put things in place to help keep me safe. I know I’m stronger and more able to deal with whatever this alter carries, more importantly whatever she holds has already happened to me long ago. I know this body of mine managed to survive the horrors that she holds so in theory I can survive the memories now.
I realise it may not be so simple or easy, life never really is and yet I know I’m not alone in this journey I walk it with my alters and in particular I walk it with a part who is slowly opening up to me. A part who is slowly building a rapport with me and building up trust too, she is for the first time in her life communicating without fear or repercussions.

 

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Communication plays such a vital role in my journey, in my recovery and communication doesn’t need to be audible or written. Communication can be in a variety of ways and there are different techniques that each of my alters prefer. Lucy one of my littles is shy and nervous but she is giggly at times too, her way of communicating is a far cry from that of my teen alter. Some parts communicate by being a voice in my head audible and clear, whilst others may use drawings, thoughts or feelings.
I know some people with Dissociative Identity Disorder find using a journal helps, it doesn’t work for me but that is ok we all find our owns ways of working with the parts who make up who we are. Right now for me knowing my teen alters finally feels able to communicate verbally with me is a break through, it’s a sign of trust and of progress. It’s a sign that all the effort we have put into dialogue and communication is worth it, yes it’s definitely worth it. Trust isn’t easy it may never be, but I’m aware not only are my alters trusting me more but I’m trusting them too, that’s a breakthrough for all of us, all the different parts of me.
Copyright DID Dispatches 2015

Breaking free from medication

As many of you who read my blog regularly will know I have been engaged in therapy now for just over 18months and if I’m honest my life is being transformed as a result. There have been many milestones along the way, from my adventures at the seaside to those in the kitchen and it’s certainly been an experience. This week I celebrated another milestone though that for me personally means so much, I have finally stopped my anti-depressant medication.

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Now this may not seem like a huge achievement to many people but believe me when I say that it is, after all I have been taking these pills for such a long time. I never thought I’d get to this point and it’s not been without its challenges after all my psychiatrist wasn’t on board with the changes. But there is nothing worse than a determined woman, a woman on a mission and I guess that was me.
Back in the 1970’s I was prescribed my first set of anti depressants I was a little short of my tenth birthday at the time I didn’t know what the pills were for, I just knew I had to take them. I knew they numbed my pain I guess and even if they didn’t I was made to take them by my mother anyway, my teachers were so concerned at the sedation they caused they wrote to my doctor explaining their concerns and fears, but little was changed. Sedated and numbed from life I entered my teens and twenties in a daze a drug infused daze not of my own making.

I stayed on medication for the majority of the next decade and by then they became my crutch. Joined by Benzodiazepines this cocktail of pills was my lifeline and right through my twenties and thirties these pills remained a present force in my life. Yes they’d be stopped and started by the doctors depending upon how my life was, but I spent more time on them than off and rarely had any time without either of them.

 

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I have lost track of the various varieties of pills I have been prescribed but recall Prozac featured highly in my thirties, there was propranolol and Sertraline, whilst Valium and Diazepam well they were my benzo friends. By the time I reached hospital in the early 2000’s I was stuck on anti depressants and then the medical profession placed me on a list of other medication. It became a regular cycle of tablets, the good old medical model of care and each time my medication was reviewed it would be added to rather than re-evaluated fully. Suddenly in 2007 it was decided that the new type of anti depressants didn’t suit me and so I was forced back onto old style drugs like lofepramine which I’ve taken for the past 8 years. I can’t recall a time I didn’t take some form of prescribed medication and that, well that became scary.
In hospital the drugs lists just got longer and longer as more and more drugs were added to the list, seroquel was stuck in there, despite me not having any symptoms that would warrant such a drug. It came to a head about three years ago when I realised I couldn’t think or feel in any way, I slept more than I was awake as a result of the cocktail of legally prescribed medication I was made to take. It was a feeling I remembered from my childhood and those early days of being medicated, I told my then GP I needed to try and sort out the sedation it was impacting upon my life and thankfully she listened. Slowly we reduced and then stopped the Seroquel but it did take many many months and when I suggested further reductions she said not unless your team approved, they didn’t.

 

So for the past couple of years I have complied with this guidance despite believing the drugs made absolutely no difference to my well being at all. I did manage to persuade the team to allow me to reduce the diazepam down from over the legal limit to an average amount, yet they didn’t want to go any further than a partial reduction. But that changed a few months ago when sick of the side effects of the lofepramine I spoke to my current GP, who was willing to help without seeking the teams input first, so we began a slow reduction of both the lofepramine and the diazepam.

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Each reduction had to run at least a month before we reduce further and every reduction was tiny in order to avoid massive withdrawals. Previously I encountered horrific withdrawals when refusing medication in hospital, my refusals back then were more about me trying to gain some control in the chaos of my life at that time. Of course serious withdrawals just led to forced medication and even more control, being exerted over me. This time around this was a serious decision made with a great deal of thought and self belief and to ensure my safety I read all the literature I could find on the impact of withdrawals and became quite hyper vigilant at looking for signs.

Twice we had to stall the reductions and let my body catch up with coping with suddenly not having as much of these drugs inside us. I have been quite persistent at getting further reductions and my GP and I have often laughed at the irony of a patient who is actually not asking for pills but wanting to stop them, it’s apparently rare. My diazepam reduction is still ongoing we have three more weeks to go before I hope we can finally say goodbye to the drug I’ve taken for the majority of my life.

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But this week heralded that moment when I stopped the last of my lofepramine, I’m keen to ensure that there will be no more anti depressant tablets in my medication cabinet. My poor team didn’t know a thing so imagine my joy at sitting in my CPA and announcing to the old team worker and my newly appointed care coordinator from the new team that I’ve reduced and come off this medication. The look on their faces was priceless and I’m glad I did this reduction the way I did, in my control and without their support.

 
You see I knew these meds were not helping me, I knew I wasn’t depressed, I knew my anxiety levels were significantly lower than its ever been. In fact I know that I feel so so much better as a result of stopping this medication, I know I’ve been proved right I didn’t need these drugs, they didn’t help me.

 
What has been the impact of all of these medication reductions, well for the first time in my life I am feeling real feelings, my feelings. I can cry tears that I know are mine, not falsely suppressed or brought on by a drug. I’m actually waking earlier than before and I’m coping really well with any changes in anxiety levels, I’m utilising alternative techniques to cope with life. Mindfulness is really helping me as is being able to talk about things with my psychologist, understanding why I cry and why I have low days is helping me to grow and develop.
I no longer sleep in the daytime and I’m managing to pace my life to make it safe and manageable, I felt able on Monday to tell the medical professionals that I know my body, my moods my emotions and if I need help I’ll ask, until then I don’t want them to force medication onto me. For the first time in my life I feel empowered and I feel alive.

 

Forty years of mental health sedation is quite enough and now I’d like to move forwards free from all the impact of chemical stimulants and suppressants, I want to fly I want to soar high and live the life I’ve never been able to do. This is a turning point and yes today I’m wearing a big broad smile on my face.

 

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Disclaimer : Please be advised never stop taking any medication without first seeking medical advise. Any prescribed medication should be taken in accordance with prescribing guidelines.
Copyright DID Dispatches 2015

Care Plan Meeting – treat me as an equal

In recent days I have begun planning for my CPA early next week and I started to think about the things I need to cover in the meeting. After all this meeting will involve my new care coordinator from the new team my care is transferring to, I haven’t met them yet. It will also involve my existing social worker and my psychologist as well as my daughter, who goes to represent the family and support me.
I know that in the past my interactions with health care professionals haven’t always set off on the right footing, I usually find it hard to trust new people. I certainly have difficulty when professionals treat me like some second class citizen and not the equal that I am. My last experience of the new team dates back some 8years; it wasn’t so great and so I do have some reservations.

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I so want to explain to these people that I am not like many of the people they will have worked with, I have a condition they may never have heard of for starters. I am at times able and capable to do most things and then there are times when I things are too overwhelming and hard, times when I need support and help and times when I need them to step back and let me get on with it. Of course those times fluctuate from one day to another, in fact from one hour to another, depending upon which part of me is up front and driving this body we share.
I want them to know how I find each day, what its really like to be me and yet I’m not sure how I tell them that. The fact is I’m not sure my current team get how complicated and complex life can be for me. I’m certain they don’t understand the juggling I have to go through each day just to stay on an even keel, so how can I really expect my new team too. Yet I’m desperate that they do get me and they get the real me, why, well if they misconstrue me then they will judge me wrongly. They will like many before label me, stigmatise me and make assumptions about me which aren’t true and yes that does bothers me.

 

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I know I need to say things at the meeting about how I’m doing, what’s going on in my life right now and yes I can tell them about therapy and what’s happening. Yet I feel drawn to tell them about the things I’m really struggling with, because I need them to know. Yes I have made huge progress in the past 18 months and I’m really glad that I have, but there is still so much I need to do. For starters I want to be able to understand why I’m crying when I cry and yet there are many times I don’t. I want to be able to stop worrying about being judged but it feels like a mission impossible currently for me.
I want so much to be able to sleep in Bertie bedroom, that’s the name I’ve given the room in order to make it feel less scary, yet right now I’m able to just manage sitting in there for short bursts of time and then I need to leave. I visit the room a couple of times a day to get dressed and undressed but that’s all really, I can’t face sleeping in there and I can’t say when I will. It is as I’m often reminded a work in progress and it’s been months of hard work and effort just to get this far, that’s the joy of fearing a room because of linked memories. My bedroom of course is safe; I know that, but bedrooms and beds weren’t always so safe and that’s the issue. I have to overcome a fear that is ingrained in me from when I was young and sadly it still affects my life.
I want to be able to sleep in a real bed and not face struggles doing that, and yet currently I can’t. In fact I’ve slept on a sofa for 9 months now and that’s not so easy to admit to a random stranger; who I want so desperate to see me as an equal. In fact admitting or discussing most of this to someone who can impact my life in either a positive or negative way isn’t easy at all. So my dilemma is do I tell them at the CPA what’s concerning me or do I sit and pretend everything is perfect just because I have a new team.
How do I really trust these professionals who have the power after all to detain me against my will, give me treatment I don’t want and who can forcible medicate me or lock me in institutions all under the guise of healthcare. The power imbalance that exists between me and the professionals is a bit like having a pink elephant in a room, we all know it’s there but no one talks about it.

 

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That power imbalance though is concerning to me, I don’t like feeling out of control and the fact the new care coordinator and her team can take control away from me is frightening. So as I plan ahead for the meeting that in truth can go one way or another, that could be either a huge success or a terrible failure I need to find ways to stay focused. I need to remember these people are not the enemy, they are professionals whose task is to help me recover and deal with my mental health. In truth they are as at much risk of being sectioned as I am, that power hangs over everyone of us no matter who we are, Doctors, nurses, service users we are all able to be sectioned if we are deemed unwell enough.
This meeting maybe a scary prospect but I realise it also allows me a chance to educate people about Dissociative Identity Disorder and about me. It offers a chance to show them that actually I am working hard, it offers a chance to demonstrate my desire to recover and live an effective life with DID. I know parts of me are frightened by the upcoming meeting, trust is a big issue for us and so getting to know new people is hard. But my job now is to stay calm, reassure my alters and focus on showing these people who I really am and how I expect to be treated as an equal partner in my care.

Copyright DID Dispatches 2015

Crisis services – my experience 

I read about out of hours services today and it led to me to thinking about my experience with crisis services in the past. The first time I encountered a crisis team or out of hours service my experience wasn’t great they seemed to totally misconstrue me and failed to help or support in any way. I can recall one time when they visited me at home and having decided that I was safe leaving me there in a crisis and in chaos. I was suicidal and desperate and so clearly losing time and switching, but they didn’t see that they just me as inadequate, dysfunctional and a nuisance.

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They left me alone and still suicidal and so intent on dying that in desperation I tried to harm and then I dissociated, during which time I took off only to surface a few hours later some 60 plus miles from my home. I was picked up by the police for my own safety after they saw the distress that I was in and I was taken to a nearby hospital, they assessed me and admitted me to hospital.

Crisis at home had failed me, sadly it is often what happens, for me at least.
There was the occasion when I couldn’t live at home and had no where to go, I had been in hospital and discharged just a few days earlier but I had no place to stay. I had self harmed and the police had taken me for an assessment at the hospital, I sat waiting until the crisis team arrived and then they didn’t even talk to me except to give me a list of hostels. I hadn’t gone to hospital because I wanted a place to stay, I wanted to die, I had gone there by force and against my will and yet I was treated like I was a nuisance.

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Then on one occasion I was at home and struggling, crisis care was put in place and so for a couple of days they visited me. I saw a different person on each day, I never saw the same person twice and after a couple of visits I was put onto telephone calls only. The calls would be brief, wanting to know how I felt and then not really being able to offer any guidance or support really when I said how bad things were. By day four I was discharged from the crisis team to my regular mental health team, I wasn’t any better yet the crisis team support was only meant to be brief. I guess it didn’t matter that it didn’t work, or that discharge to me seemed too soon, too swift. Two days later I was seen by my community team and they admitted to hospital, I spent six months in hospital on that occasion, so crisis clearly couldn’t help prevent my downward spiral.

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The crisis team in recent times has just been telephone support, but if I’m honest I avoid calling them unless it’s absolutely dire. If Samaritans are not able to help and I’ve tried everyone else I can think of, then and only then will I call crisis, it is a last ditch attempt. The last two occasions have been pretty much the same really, I call, I say I’m struggling and they go through a list of techniques to try. ‘Take a warm bath, have a hot milky drink, try a nice walk or have you watched TV, tried to distract yourself?’ these are their usual lines.
They never assume I might have tried these things before, that I might have already thought of them myself. It never occurs to them that I don’t actually ring them when a crisis starts, or that they are usually the last person I try. It’s as if the staff manning these services are reading off a predetermined script and are unable to offer any person centred approach of any kind.

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The last time I called I was desperately trying not to self harm, struggling with grief and the difficulties of accepting my trauma. I needed some help to try and keep me safe, I didn’t want wrapping up in cotton wool I just needed some guidance to help me, help myself. Some advice to point me in the right direction to prevent that slide back into harming. I was desperate not to self harm, desperately busting a gut as I fought to resist the urges growing ever stronger. I had already tried all their suggestions before I even called them. In the end the only advice was have another drink, try some art maybe and call back if your struggling still.

About an hour later I did call back, this time I got a different person who initially went through all the same familiar suggestions. Then I heard another phone ringing and the nurse on the end of the line basically told me she was hanging up on me as there was another call and she couldn’t help me. In the end I stayed safe but only thanks to the support of those on social media and then later my family. The crisis team didn’t even inform my local community mental health team that I’d contacted them and was struggling, how is that joined up care.

The crisis service were and I believe are unable to offer any support or guidance that is of use to me, after all they don’t even know my diagnosis.

In the past decade my encounters with the crisis team of two separate hospital trusts have shown me that their understanding of dissociative disorders is limited. Their ability to assist and offer support is limited, in fact for me they are not there in a crisis because they can’t comprehend me or my diagnosis and without that they appear to be unable to help when I need them most.

In the future when I call, if I call, I will explain what I need which is usually someone to help me mentalize things, someone to just listen, to know my pain. I don’t need pointers like a bath or a drink I just need five minutes of their time and for them to hear me. From now on I aim to take control of my interactions with Crisis services and hopefully that will educate them as we go. Maybe this way they can help me when I need it most, only time will tell.

Copyright DID Dispatches 2015

How Safe Are Your Medical Records?

This week I have found myself being challenged not to explode, not to get angry or annoyed when deep down I feel violated and betrayed. Over the past few months I have been trying to access old medical records relating to my time in various mental health units, some mainly NHS operated ones and my old CCG have been very helpful others sadly not so. The private sector operated Partnerships in Care have to put it bluntly been unhelpful, and they haven’t forwarded all the information I requested within the time period set by the data protection.

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Yet their letter this last week threw me into chaos and in a bit of a spin, as I wasn’t expecting them to tell me they couldn’t find my notes. But that’s exactly what these people are now saying, they appear to be unable to locate the notes for a 16month admission including daily nursing records, clinical team meeting notes and most important of all my therapy notes.

The half hearted apology they have sent me doesn’t even begin to do justice to the harm they have caused, in fact I don’t think anything will ever repair the damage fully. I feel violated I feel hurt and why, well in the 16 months I was under their care I divulged some of the most sensitive data to my then therapist and other staff. In therapy I was forced to be explicit, forced to dig into the finer details of my abuse even when I didn’t want to.
My then therapist was trained to focus on making me feel vulnerable and dependent upon her, the three sessions a week were heavy going and hard work. Due to all the internal physical security of locks and swipe cards that epitomise a forensic unit, once I was at a session I had to stay the course. There were many times I sat in silence refusing to divulge details of the abuse or of my feelings, I didn’t trust her but in the end I talked often in frustration and fear. I would find myself having an outburst demanding to go back to the ward, demanding she stop playing the control game she seemed to enjoy. Often in these moments of sheer frustration there were tears and that’s when broken and distressed my abuse history began to pour out. I gave explicit details and I even named my abusers, I talked about them and their actions in as much detail as I did when I gave evidence to the police.
So in our therapy session the discussions; which were always awkward, were detailed and graphic and I hated it, I hated myself and I hated the people who hurt me. But looking back over the years I have felt able to take comfort from the fact those sessions were confidential, well at least in part as I know often what I said was shared with my then clinical team. Yet I felt reassured thinking the hospital had a duty to keep my sensitive information safe, how wrong could I be.

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It has taken the company over four months to write to me and admit they can’t locate my notes, now I could understand his if it was one small file, a few pieces of paper but it’s not! It’s case notes for a 16 month period, that’s roughly 485 days of nursing entries, it’s approximately 150 therapy sessions, 34 clinical team meeting reports and 3 CPA’s, 2 renewals of sections and 2 mental health act tribunal cases and all the necessary reports that they entail. So I imagine it’s more than one little folder of medical notes, after all a 6 month admission without therapy or section paperwork led to 2 folders of case notes.
So I estimate Partnerships in Care have lost about 5 lever arch folders, containing my medical notes in which are some of my most intimate data. Yet all they could send me was a solitary letter saying ‘I apologise we can’t locate your notes’. When I spoke to their registered manager she knew very little in fact she couldn’t even tell me when they last had my notes, where they were or where they are now likely to be. I mean it could be London, Leicester or Leeds perhaps or as I now fear in some public site somewhere accessible to all or possibly dumped in some country lane.
The fact is sorry just doesn’t cut it as I know this is a flagrant breach of data protection and if this were the NHS or the police, people would be jumping through hoops to try and locate my notes. They’d certainly be aware of the data protection act legislation and they’d realise this was a serious issue.

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Now unfortunately for Partnerships in Care I’m not going away quietly I had already contacted the information commissioners office and they do now know my data has been misplaced. They also know it’s contains important data relating not just to myself but other third party individuals, namely my abusers, my family even my children. They are aware my therapy notes are in my opinion as important as my police video interviews, in that they contain the same level of sensitive personal information. I hope they are able to swiftly take action to ensure this private company improves its data management procedures.
I hope too that Partnerships in Care will respond to the letter they are to get next week from myself, copies of which are being sent to the various governmental departments; who pay this company vast sums of money to provide forensic and secure services. These include the local CCG and secure services sector who sent me to their establishments and yet failed to ensure they had adequate data storage processes in place.
My main questions to the company right now is what are they going to do to put this right for me, after all I’m the one whose records it appears you’ve recklessly disregarded and inappropriately handled. I’m the one who feels violated, who has worried over what ifs, like what if my notes are picked up by a random stranger. I’m the one who has felt terribly distressed by the loss of these records, after all I thought my therapy notes, my sensitive data was safe, sadly Partnerships in Care you’ve proved me wrong. They weren’t safe at all from the minute they were written, your companies sloppy data handling processes meant they were lost from the outset.

Copyright DID Dispatches 2015

Looking Back Life was worth fighting for

My first night in a Mental Health Hospital

The other night as I was settling down for the night I realised that day held a special significance, though not neccessarily in a good way. This day will always remain with me after all the first time I encountered a Mental Helath in-patient unit was a culture shock to my system.

I took to social media pouring out my thoughts as I reflected upon that day, upon my past and it seems apt to share those tweets now in their entirety.



  

 
I realise that 11 years ago I felt life was not worth carrying on with, but looking back I can see that what I needed was the right help, the right support. I guess I had got to a point were I no longer believed that help or support was readily available, my family deserved better than the burden that I really felt I was.

It took a while to get the right diagnosis and the impact of time in psychiatric services wasn’t easy for me or my family. But it came eventually and thankfully I was able to start taking those small tentative steps along the path towards recovery. I am still on that journey, yet I know now that I am stronger, more determined and more focused upon reaching that goal.

That first night wasn’t easy neither were many of the approximately 1400 other nights I spent as an in-patient.  But I can’t regret that night for without it I wouldn’t have recieved my diagnosis or the right help and I doubt I would have made it this far without either of those.
Copyright DID Dispatches 2015