The Day I Had To Say Goodbye To My Family

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 I can remember so well the day, it started like any other day in hospital I had woken after a night of poor sleep in my small clinical room. A room that contained just a bed and a wardrobe, and a crate of art things and personal possessions. I listened to my radio as usual, this had become part of my daily routine as a long term hospital patient. I was called to get my medication that morning and despite speaking to a number of staff, no one said this was to be my last day close to home.

My room was at the far end of a corridor and I recall walking up into the main ward many times that day. Talk on the ward between the patients was about Christmas, who was likely to get home and which of us would have to stay. I knew I was going nowhere, I’d be staying in hospital after all my Section 3 had only been in place a short while, but everyone including me believed I’d be close to my family.

The staff didn’t give any glue to the changes that were about to happen, in fact they talked as if I would be there over the festive period. Looking back now no one from the hospital team was honest to me, no one told me I was about to face turmoil, chaos and changes I couldn’t imagine. Perhaps they were worried about how I would react, yet in truth the surprise element only made things worse for me and my family.

I was aware that the doctors had spoken about moving me but no final decision had been taken or so I was led to believe. They had kept saying a move to a trauma centre would be a safe way to deal with trauma work and would be faster than doing it as an out patient. I had no clear understanding of the type of place they were thinking of, nor do I believe had my family. I do know we were assured of lots of things, none of which turned out to be true.

Looking back I’m not even sure that the staff making the decisions knew about secure services, nor did they really understand the nature of the place they were thinking of sending me. A private institution that supposedly could cater for people with a trauma history, that focused upon the control and restrictions it could place upon patients rather than relational security. Intensive trauma work should have meant numerous therapy sessions each week, with a raft of other groups and activities designed to aid recovery. That was the kind of care I was told I needed but it wasn’t how this place operated,  though given it was 200 plus miles away how could those tasked with making a decision really know.

That day progressed like many before it, medication, meals and some Occupational Therapy too, speaking to the staff was limited as they hid as usual behind the office door, failing to interact with the patients. In the late afternoon I recall the doctor visited briefly, I was huddled into a small room to be told the news.

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In that moment life changed the staff informed me that I was being relocated, relocated from an open unlocked NHS ward to a forensic medium secure privately run facility, not a specialist trauma centre.  I can recall it wasn’t a great conversation, it lacked much clarity or detail there were just simple facts. My family who had been informed with as limited a time as possible would visit that evening, I would leave at the crack of dawn the next day and a nurse would travel with me. I had no rights to challenge or question this decision and I certainly couldn’t say no to their plans to transfer me.

I felt bewildered, frightened and confused beyond words, I had so many questions so much fear and yet they told me it was the best place for me. I recall feeling as if the hospital managers just wanted to rid themselves of me, that they really didn’t care about what was best for me or my family. Looking back my views haven’t changed, the move was based purely on financial reasons this certainly wasn’t a clinical decision, not was it based upon risk. I had no criminal history, had only absconded; whilst detained under the Mental Health Act, once and was willing to work at trauma therapy.

When I ask my family about their recollections, the one issue that they recall is the limited amount of notice they were given. My daughter who was my nearest relative was informed late afternoon too, she and her Dad then tasked with trying to organise a visit that included my two sons. My ex spoke with me on the phone, he was concerned with what was happening and he was frustrated at the lack of understanding by hospital staff. He had wanted to take me out for tea, one last family meal before the move and yet the hospital managers wouldn’t allow it. I was being observed and monitored perhaps they thought things wouldn’t be too stable in my last few hours on their ward.

That family meal didn’t happen in the way he or the children had hoped, but defying hospital rules he and the children arrived laden with McDonalds take out. We would have a family meal even if it was different, we would have time as a family one last time, they would say goodbye properly.

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Food wasn’t allowed on the ward, so the staff ushered us into a side room, squashed in this tiny room we had our meal. We enjoyed hugs and a few tears, my sons and daughter gave me something to remind me of them. A photo was one memento I had to have, alongside a number of small hastily grabbed trinkets from home that the children felt signified them. One son gave me a toy model of a dragon, he was really interested in them at the time and there was also a soft cute little monkey that really summed my youngest. Each gift was treasured as I knew that the children had thought carefully about them and they didn’t want me to forget them.

They also brought a small case for me to pack some things in and they took home all my art things as I had been advised these wouldn’t be allowed in my new hospital.  My daughter was allowed into my hospital room for a few minutes to help me pack, it gave us time to briefly talk away from her brothers. As the oldest I needed her to lookout for them and more than ever act as a surrogate mum, I knew I wouldn’t be able to do that for a while.

There was lots of reassurance on both sides, the children promising to visit and write and call. I promised to keep in touch and think of them every day and I really wanted them to know that I would miss them. By the time it came to say goodbye there were tears, lots of them, because despite my mental health issues, despite my past, despite me at times wanting to die, we are a really close family. This move would impact all of us for many years to come, I wonder if the hospital managers realised how much grief and pain, how much stress and worry their decision to relocate me caused. I very much doubt it.

Looking back at that time in my life still hurts, I will forever remember the nightmare journey of those years, the nightmare of secure services. The nightmare of being uprooted and taken from my family, and the anguish I felt not just then but in the years that followed.

Seven years on despite it still hurting, I need to focus not on the past but on the future and to remember the positives that came from that time, for out of the darkest of times came hope. My family and I realised if we ever needed to the value of family, the bond we all share and the separation well it strengthened us all to cherish one another. We have grown together not apart because of that time, and I know my children truly love me despite everything and they know I love them more than words could ever say. I guess facing what we did means today we can be assured that no matter what we will always be there for each other.

Copyright DID Dispatches 2014

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The Isolation Legacy of Psychiatric Hospitalisation

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Ever had that feeling your distance and vague, on the edge of what’s happening or felt socially awkward? That’s how I felt yesterday which was sad, it wasn’t anyone’s fault it was just how things felt, it stems from my time in hospital when I was so outside what was happening in the world around me. When I was so detached from the rat race and generally isolated from life that I became so unaware of what was going on around me.

Now I was never a social animal, I only ever had a few people I could call friends and I much preferred to be with just one or two people than a huge crowd. But I understood life and I didn’t feel distant or vague. Yet after my time in hospital that changed and I suddenly found that it was much more difficult to interact in the same way as before.

I went out for a meal with some dear old friends and unfortunately it had been a long journey in rush hour traffic which was draining and the restaurant was extremely busy and noisy. My friends are really good, we have been meeting up for meals for over 25 years and I’ve known some of them even longer than that, this was safe secure company. They have stood by me during my time in hospital and have never judged me, in fact they have kept me up to date with things even when I wasn’t able to attend our regular meet ups.

Yet somehow yesterday the restaurant was just too noisy and I felt tired and that led at first to me feeling on edge and then distant. It wasn’t anyone’s fault, no one could have done anything different it was just one of those days I guess, but as I drove to where I was staying I felt anxious. I was frantically thinking over and over if I had done anything embarrassing, had I said too little or too much.

I was explaining to my daughter how the evening had gone and said how I felt socially inept, how the noise had caused me great difficulties and how I now felt really drained. She was as reassuring as ever, but the reality is that I just felt distance, vague and on the edge of things. It wasn’t my best night and I knew that, yes it wasn’t a failure but I knew I could have been so much better too.

Having difficulty yesterday has reminded me of the damage done by all the isolation I have faced in the past decade. Isolation caused by having Dissociative Identity Disorder, isolation caused by being in the psychiatric system, in fact it hurt to think just how much I have changed as a result of those 200 weeks in a psychiatric unit.

My admissions were rarely short, a few were, but I had one of 14 weeks, another of 10 months and my longest was nearly 2 years. Believe me it wasn’t good for keeping contact with the outside world, or keeping hold of personal life skills. The psychiatric system drained me of dignity but it also robbed me of so much more too and I know my social skills and my confidence took a huge knock.

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The longer admissions were the worst you become so disenfranchised from society, you don’t watch the news and keeping up with events impacting friends and family is hard. I can recall the TV seemed frightening when I first returned home after my longest stay, I hadn’t watched it at all during my inpatient stay. The noise seemed hard to deal with and interacting with anyone except my immediate family felt like a mountain of a challenge.

The first family gathering I attended after my release was terrifying, I felt like an outsider, an alien from outer space sitting in and observing. Going shopping was a challenge as everywhere seemed so busy and talking to people in authority was exceptionally hard such was my fear of these people now. I felt as if I was being constantly assessed by anyone and everyone and they’d come and lock me back up at any minute, I had vowed to myself that if that did happen I’d bail out. I even had my suicide plans ready and this time I knew I would not make a mistake, such was my fear of hospital that I really couldn’t face being detained any more. I knew it wasn’t fair on the little parts of me to allow them to suffer yet again in a psychiatric system that really didn’t understand, in a system that terrified them.

If there was one thing I had learned in hospital it was a plethora of new ways to self harm and those ways to commit suicide that failed and those which worked. Looking back I think that it is so sad that the things I did learn in all that time I was in psychiatric inpatient care were such negatives.

In hospital I tried desperately to keep myself to myself to avoid conflicts, I wasn’t like the other patients I was the only one who had Dissociative identity Disorder. The only person who constantly carried a bear and who switched from one alter to another, one minute I was an adult me, the next a child and the next a moody teen and all in less than a day. I guess you could say that I stood out and that really didn’t help to enamour me to other patients who often thought I was odd, weird and just plain crazy.

So during my time in hospital I became isolated, isolated from the world outside but also socially isolated inside too. You tend not to make many friends in hospital and you desperately want to have your own space and peace and quiet. You lose skills, you lose the very basics many people take for granted and in my case I lost the ability to cope in busy noisy environments with ease.

Hence why I guess yesterday was difficult, tired and drained and in a noisy place I just found things harder than usual. I know I will learn from this experience but I also know I can’t change the damage done to me in hospital in an instant. Some day I might be able to face such a busy environment with ease, sadly I doubt it will be anytime soon though.

Copyright DID Dispatches 2014

 

 

Making my journey with D.I.D bear-able

Making my journey with D.I.D bear-able

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My Little parts are keen for us to introduce our special friend

Ever since my melt down point a decade ago I have had the company of a cuddly creature to keep me feeling safe. Initially this was a rather large creature who filled my arms and to be fair wasn’t so easy to carry. After 2 years my children and I chose a new creature whose size made it easier for me to carry and to discretely transport around.

Now my cuddly creatures are not live animals, no there are teddy bears called Cuddles and Ted, between the they have been with me throughout my journey through the mental health system. Now cuddles was rather cumbersome due to her size, it made it difficult to carry her around and so she is now retired to safe storage but Ted she has been with me for 8 years now and is a daily part of my life.

I’m not afraid to admit I have her, in fact until a couple of years ago I couldn’t leave her at any point in the day. Ted was carried in my arms daily, at home and when we went out she has been a source of comfort and in many ways has given my little alters a sense of grounding and security which has been significantly helpful.

Ted has been with me in all bar two of my acute hospitalisations, she’s been locked in a forensic secure unit and a non-forensic one too, she’s endured being detained by the police when we were repatriated to hospital in the cage of a police van. She’s been with me when I have tried to end my suffering and when I have self harmed, in fact Ted has been through every step of the journey since 2006. She has spent some 130 plus weeks in hospital, her predecessor cuddles spent approximately 65 weeks in hospital.

I guess when I carried her everywhere I stood out, she and I were a partnership and yes she was my security blanket if you like and some patients and certainly some staff found it difficult to deal with this women and her bear. I was unable to cope with life, with the memories and the flashbacks which filled me with dread and fear, with the confusion and anxiety I felt I just wanted the ground to swallow me whole to stop my anguish and my pain.

I can recall being verbally attacked by a stranger who took offence to me and my bear, he said ‘people like you should be locked away’ and I guess that was easy for him to say but I wasn’t always this wreck. I am a mum and I was once a wife, I worked hard and contributed to society I never expected to find myself in a mental hospital nor carrying a bear and yet it happened. I knew I had a tough start in life but I hoped I’d managed to leave it all behind, I thought I had, but then the reality was that it was just hidden away. You see in truth much pain and anguish from my past was hidden deep inside of me waiting to reveal itself when I was least expecting it. I didn’t need a random stranger attacking me for carrying a bear I felt bad enough about myself who I was and the fact I couldn’t cope.

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Ted has been a comfort that I needed through the darkest of days she has been there and I am not ashamed that I needed her. She has kept me grounded at times especially when I have suffered flashbacks and memories. I could keep telling myself & all my alters, all the parts of me that when bad happened we didn’t have Ted and yet now we did and that meant we were safe.

As a child I only recall one teddy bear he came from a bad person as a reward for being ‘a good girl’ for not telling when the person hurt me and yet I loved that bear. I remember coming home from school and my bear being gone, my mother had decided I had to be punished for something and taking that bear away was my punishment. I didn’t have another bear, unlike most children for me toys were rare and they came and they went as a form of control.

When my children bought me Cuddles I was elated and so grateful and yes she served me well when I first hit melt down, but her size made her harder to carry. But like Ted she took so many of my tears as I could hold her and let out the pain that ripped deep into me at that time, I find emotions so hard that it’s impossible for me to explain them to others easily, to express them and yet I needed to.

My cuddly friends have been a part of each day now for a decade and I doubt I could have managed without them, it felt like they were attached to me, it probably looked like that to the world. We were this person who went everywhere with her bear and people became used to that, some became so accustomed to her they no longer saw her.

About two years ago I made the decision to put Ted inside my bag when I went out, she was still with me 24/7 but she was no longer a visual constant in my day to day life. I remember the first time I placed her in my bag I felt bereft, but I knew it was the right time to stop carrying her in my arms all the time. Part of my decision was based upon the fact that my constantly carrying this bear had caused me significant muscular issues which required physiotherapy treatment. For years I had held her in my arm so had held my arm in a bent position this had caused muscle weakness and tension and when I realised that all this pain and discomfort was a result of my needing Ted I knew I had to take action.

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For a further year Ted was still a constant, she was carried around everywhere I went, the doctors, the shops, even for a McDonalds. Then one day I forgot her she was left sat at home on my bed and I ventured off to an appointment, by the time I realised we didn’t have time to return to get her. I had to face the fact that we would have to survive without her for these few hours and of course we did, we managed and it led to more and more organised opportunities where Ted stayed home. I had some control over this so if I was struggling or facing a difficult time Ted came along, but if I felt we could manage well then she stayed home.

Now Ted lives on my bed and there are times she comes with us, so every time we attend psychology she comes along too. When I face Care plan meetings Ted comes too, holidays and other times away from home involving overnight stays she is part of my luggage. But I can now manage without her when I am shopping, or attending the GP’s, visiting friends or going for a coffee. Ted probably spends 50% of her time on my bed and 50% of her time in my bag or on the sofa, it’s a far cry from my carrying her 24/7.

This week I’m attending an event which means I’m away from home, so Ted comes too she will stay part of her time on my hotel bed but I know she’ll be with me when I need her. There will be times when I do need her, times when I feel vulnerable or I am switching more and I need to try and ground myself.

Now it maybe hard for people to understand why I a grown women need a bear but of course parts of me are little and need the comfort a bear gives. She also allows me to know that the past is over and that is so important to me. I am fortunate that my family accept her as a necessary part of my life currently, they don’t nor have they ever judged us. In fact my children who are adults themselves will often say hello to her and they occasionally buy a new outfit for her. It’s as if they understand the role she has and continues to play in our life.

I never expected this small bear Ted would become so important to me and obviously carrying her everywhere day in and day out she has weathered quite a lot, but I can’t imagine replacing her she will just age and become more loved as time progresses. She may not come out with me as often and one day she may just live on my bed, but for now Ted will keep playing whatever role I and all my parts need her too. Be that grounder, comforter or as a sign of reassurance Ted is a significant part of my healing journey and I’m glad she is part of our life.

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Copyright: DID Dispatches 2014