ALL A JUMBLE

I saw a photograph of a person who was easily recognisable in an article about success they have had in their chosen field.  I was suddenly overwhelmed by a feeling that I found very difficult to put into words or at least into one word.

When I look at my life I often feel that I have contributed nothing. This bothers me.

Don’t misunderstand me.  On a very personal level I have been a huge success in overcoming against all odds.  When you know that I used to self harm, that I used to starve myself and binge and vomit and take laxatives, that I spent long periods of time indoors too afraid to go out, that even when I was able to go out was very difficult to do so because I would have to check everything over and over and over until in the end I didn’t bother going out, or if I did I would only have to return to make sure that I had indeed turned off the gas and locked the doors and unplugged this that or the other. I did not used to stick up for myself, I did not value myself and I have far too many people in my life that just increased my sense of not being good enough.  Okay so this sentence grew too long but you get the idea what I’m trying to say.  I do not do any of this stuff any more.  I even deal very well with my physical disabilities now.

This is all that I have had time for in my life; recovering from the first 16 years of it.  This seems to me to be such a waste and I wonder what I could have become had I not had all these obstacles to overcome.  I know of other people who have had far worse starts than I did who have still become successful and productive adults.

This does not mean that I do not feel very fortunate to have the life that I have.  It amazes me on a daily basis.  I would never have believed that the good life I have today would have been possible.  In fact I did not believe it was possible.  The way my life has turned out has been a total surprise to me.  I never ever forget where I came from and on those days that I am tempted to feel sorry for myself I remember how bad things used to be.

Yet I still feel as though I did not blossom.  I am not sure if this lack I feel is purely an ego driven thing in that I would want other people to see me as a success. For example, John is a world-renowned expert in his field and recognised as such.  Is this what makes me feel like something is missing?  I am not recognised as an expert in anything because I am not!

Or is it me who holds the attitude that I cannot be a success unless I have a job or career or talent that shows that I am?  I guess I do think that the success I have had personally in gaining sanity is not enough.  I think that many other people have done the same and also become a success in a given field.  I have been told that whilst other people have indeed done this most of them did not have all of the obstacles that I had. I remember being shown a list of seven things that a child required in order to become a stable adult.  I scored one.  Is it really that simple?

There is also this point; perhaps I feel resentful that my energy was all used up in the fight for sanity and I had no time or strength for anything else. Imagine if I had and I was pulling in a salary similar to John’s.  If that were so I might feel that I gave as much as I took.

Although I know that I am very fortunate it is not easy to just accept being on the receiving end all of the time.  This sounds jolly ungrateful but those who read me often enough know that ingratitude is not one of my problems.

It is also about freedom.  Knowing that the quality of my life is dependent upon another is both humbling and frightening.  By humbling I do not mean humiliating. I mean that my situation prevents me from looking down upon those who are not as fortunate as me and always remembering that fact. Frightening because my lifestyle very much depends upon somebody else.

This post seems like it is a bit of a mess and whilst it has brought vague feelings together into a more solidified group, I am not aware of any conclusion.

Perhaps this is just one of those things that I have to accept; that my life will always be about receiving especially as my physical needs grow.  I have to say that if my needs grow to such an extent that I need to be in a care home then that will be when I check out.  I have been in such totally dependent and vulnerable situations before and I can assure you that those situations were Hell-like and I will never allow that to happen again.  I was persuaded at the end of 1994 to go into a private clinic.  I was told that my experiences in the late 70s in public funded care would not be repeated in a private clinic.  That was a lie.  My experiences were precisely the same; the general ignorance about what I needed and a blind eye turned toward abusive staff and out of control clients.  I have since found out that they even tried to stop John’s daily visits.  No, I will never let this happen again.

Well I wasn’t at all sure about what I would write about when I started and as I have already said I don’t feel like I have come to any conclusions.  However, I feel a reinforced gratitude for the life that I have.  I think remembering what it was like to be “in care” has brought me back to today and how grateful I am that my life today is very very different.  Perhaps this other lack of success that I feel is just an illusion and maybe, outward success is not what it is about. 

Perhaps everything I have achieved on a personal level IS what it is about?  Maybe. I still think I could have had more.  Like a career. Or a proper outlet for my talents, ones that would have shown one way or the other if I was talented or just proficient. I’ll never know.

One of my big disappointments happen as a result of moving out here.  When I lived in London I was a sought after medium with both private clients and public speaking engagements coming out of my ears.  However, in the area in which I now live I am not liked.  As a result of this my work ground to a halt.  I know that it has nothing to do with the quality of my evidence as that is sound and much sounder than most I see.  I have had more than one booking secretary tell me to my face that I was not considered acceptable because the example I give of somebody who’s life was pulled out of the gutter by the principles I was imparting, was not what people wanted to hear.  One even suggested it was offensive.  I feel as though all of the work I did on developing and of overcoming my fear of other people and public speaking was all a waste.  Yes, because of my physical problems, my work would have been restricted but it would not have been demolished as it now has been.

Now that I have got to this point in my writing I realise that this is the one area that I am deeply upset about.  It makes me wonder what the point of it all was.  Why would I go through so much in order to better use my gift and impart my knowledge and experience to only have the rug pulled out from under my feet?  I have not used my gift for a long time.  I have not even been to listen to anybody else.  All seems to me like it amounts to nothing.  What is the point of being very good evidentially if I have no outlet for it? The only thing I have done simply is describe the pick of litter remotely for a friend! That was not asked for it just came unbidden but it is hardly… Well I’m not sure but it doesn’t seem like a big deal.

Right, I now think I am rambling so I am going to sign off today.  (The whole time I have been writing this my program keeps telling me that it is receiving poor voice yet it has written everything I have spoken almost 100% perfectly! Normally, I am having to stop and correct and it does not go on about receiving poor voice!)

AGE OF IGNORANCE

I am sure some of the commenters on the previous post knew that I was writing tongue in cheek, others I am not so sure!

On the serious side, yes, I do think this was also do with getting rid of the past. I said to John it's like clearing out the old me. It also wasn't that easy, or might have been more difficult, if I had thought too much. I just put them all in sacks and took them to the recycling place and did not think about them or look at them again. Some of these shoes, or most of them, were bought on trips abroad. However, they are of a type I no longer wear and I have my memories and photographs anyway.

And the shoes go to charity, they are not destroyed. Some will be because they were worn, but most will not as they were in good condition. None of my present boots and shoes are likely to get worn thru as I do very little walking now.

I need to clear out more stuff.

I did my normal swim yesterday, but today I shall not go. I plan to go tomorrow. I really have learned to pace myself. I plan to go Thursday too and I might go Wednesday, depending on how I feel.

We had a really good weekend, busy but gentle. We walked into town yesterday, or rather John did and I rode Daniel. There had been the St George's day Fayre from 6am to 7pm (at least that is how long the roads were closed to traffic.) We got there at 4pm and it had more or less shut down, with most of the stalls packed up. We also found that Lidl's now shuts at 4pm and not 5pm which was annoying.

I have been dreaming a lot recently about my experiences of mental hospitals and locked wards and psychiatry. I think I shall be writing about this very soon. Whilst we were away we watched Changeling on the hotel tv. I would not have gone to see this film nor would I have hired it, but there it was on the hotel tv for free. I watched it knowing I would find it disturbing. If you have seen it then the scenes about the mental hospital were my experience. Hers was in the 20's, mine was in the 70's and nothing had changed. I was 19 and the horrors I saw and experienced will not be forgotten.

The ignorance of the staff including the shrinks, the cruelty of the staff and shrinks. (Not all, but most.) The abuse of patients. The power play. It was hell and one I found myself trapped in. I had at first been admitted from a medical ward but I left as soon as I could and later volunteered to go back because I could not cope another day with my family. I needed to get away from them to a place of safety and nurture. How wrong could I have been? Once I was there I was trapped. My family ignored me and wouldn't have me home. I had no where else to go. I ended up on a long stay ward where I was set to become a 'lifer' had it not been for a really nice shrink who got me out of there. She said to me she would have my family locked up if she could, not me. I was advised to stay well away. But I was incapable of looking after myself and was offered no help at all so when I was released, I went to my parents. I spent my time with them wondering how I was going to escape them. Even going back 'inside' was an option as it was less painful than being with them.I still didn't see them as the problem, just me. I wanted to escape them because I couldn't bare the pain of the shame of not being what they wanted. At that time, I still believed I was the one at fault and they were good people. Dark days. I eventually was placed in an Anorexic Unit. Would you know I can't recall the name of the place? Oh yes I can, the Atkinson Morely. This was 78, the middle of. Well, it was supposed to a world renowned treatment centre and the expert was Professor Crisp (a stupid name for an eating disorder doctor I thought at the time). This man and his team knew f**k all about the problems of the patients, treated us like bad people, not ill and abused people. More abuse. I was eventually thrown out because I binged!!! One thing that sticks in my mind was a group session with all the patients and how staff were really cruel to this woman who kept complaining of pain. You could see she was in pain, pale and drawn and tense and the way she moved. They yelled at her, told she was imagining it, the pain wasn't real. Today, I think she probably had Fibromyalgia. She was treated cruelly by staff and patients alike and she ought not to have been in a psych hospital but being treated for her physical pain. I haven't ever forgotten her. The anguish she must have felt.

Nor have I forgotten seeing 4 members of staff forcing feeding drugs to an elderly frail woman. Nor the woman who went away and came back subdued and zombie like after having electric shock treatment. Nor those who took their lives rather than live there.

Most of the people I came across in the psychiatric had one thing in common, the need to feel powerful. They were bullies too. Some were sicker than others. Some were in fact kind and tried their best in a terrible system.

The biggest failing is that they do not see patients as real human beings with thoughts and feelings that are important. In fact the thoughts, the way of thinking, is THE most important thing. Instead, they see us as biological systems that have malfunctioned and are not at all interested in how we feel or think.

Instead of loving care we get electric shocks or drugs pumped into use. I tell you some of the drugs, Largactil and Haloperidol (chlorpromazine, Haldol) are appalling in their effects and could be used to torture people. In fact I think they have been.

To describe the effects is very difficult. Both of these drugs are neuroleptics and they cause long term damage to a person. In the short term they made me feel as if my skin were crawling, as if they was something in my guts squirming. Anxiety levels were very high, blackouts were common, behaviour was dreadful and confused. Hallucinations. Demons attacking me. Rocking back and forth, treading from foot to foot, dribbling. I got arrested on these drugs because my behaviour was off the wall with violent outbursts. My violence resulted in a terrible thing happening which I have to live with to this day and though I know I was out of my mind at the time, it does not lessen the pain I feel when this memory comes to the surface as it does regularly. (No I did not harm a human being.) These drugs were supposed to help! How stupid , stupid, stupid!!! They were meant to shut me up though I didn't see it at the time. Far easier to shut me up with drugs, put me in a long stay ward, than it was to deal with the pain and grief I was carrying.

The only thing that saved me from all this was John. I would be dead or locked up if it were not for him. Through his unwavering love and respect, he gave me the hope I needed and the space I needed to heal. It has taken a very long time yet I have arrived here today to a life in which I am happy and stable.

John's love for me is something I find very hard to see. It takes other people to tell me, unbidden, how clear it is to them that he loves me and that he wants to make me happy and care for me. Whereas I more often than not feel a burden upon him. As a result, I can be rather unpleasant to him at times because I feel guilty, thinking that he must get fed up having to do things for me. But it appears not, if what others see is right. He does say to me that he doesn't mind at all and he wouldn't do things if he didn't want to. Like going away which is a pain because of my needs. Always my needs have to be in the forefront and I hate that. He says it doesn't bother him at all and I know he has never behaved as if it does. The only time I see him get riled is when other people treat me badly either directly or thru ignorance and lack of facilities.

I am not the person I was. I am mentally sound and know and like myself so he doesn't need to take care of me in the respect. He doesn't have to make sure, when I am manic, that I stay out of trouble, I don't get manic any more. I am trustworthy, together, and at a certain peace with myself and life.

Yet now, I am a physical wreck and here John is, still having to take care of me and that really pisses me off. I would so love for him to be free to not have to consider my needs all the time.

Letting my mind wander back to those dark, dark days leaves me astonished with who I am today, that I survived. I feel very fortunate indeed. Words can't really do justice to that darkness nor to today's light. My feelings about both do not find expression in words easily.

However, today, frequently, I get that little buzz in my tummy that tells me I am home and safe and life is good. I almost can't believe it and on my not so good days I tremble with fear at the thought of the darkness enveloping me again.