ITS HARD TO REACH OUT FOR HELP and ITS HARD TO TRUST AND DISCLOSE

Rosemary — Tue, 03 Sep 2013 08:39:33 GMT

ITS HARD TO REACH OUT FOR HELP and ITS HARD TO TRUST AND DISCLOSE

This is my story: in the hope of helping people to understand, lessening the stigma, reducing the shame.

I suffered depression as a teenager but I couldn’t talk to my parents. They just didn’t talk. I suffered child abuse, though I didn’t understand it till years later. I blocked it out.

When I left home I went to South Africa, which I loved; but while visiting Cape Town I was nearly strangled and raped, and when I screamed for help the hotel manager told me to leave. I tried to take my life whilst in South Africa and was too weak to return to work for some time. The doctor was kind; however there was no follow-up. Not long afterward while my husband, a chef (then my boyfriend), was at work I witnessed his mother climb over the balcony of her 8^th storey unit.

Back in England after our marriage, I again suffered dreadful depression but didn’t see a doctor because I knew nothing about postnatal or any depression. My son of 5 months developed meningitis and I would have lost him but for a good doctor and a professor at the hospital (young doctors suggested treating him for oncoming mumps).

We came to Australia and again I attempted to kill myself (I remember saying sorry to God) and I was out of my body looking at dreadful creatures trying to pull me down into hell; I can never forget that. The doctor (presumably the one who resuscitated me) was really nasty to me; again I had no support.

I was still extremely depressed but didn’t know why. My husband was an alcoholic and became violent and I became scared. One day at a railway station about 4pm after work I was attacked from behind by three youths. I was in shock, crying, bleeding, with torn clothes; but no one spoke to me. I remember thinking people on a previous train and people in a large building must have seen it but no one offered help. I was working at the YMCA and detectives worked hard to find the youths. When I returned to work, being pressured by my superior, I wondered every time youths came in, if it was them and spent many months looking over my shoulder whenever I heard voices.

Around that time my son, who was previously so loving, got into drugs and breaking and entering; even my neighbours’ homes. It was a dreadful time lasting about four years.

During this period my husband drowned and unbelievably was buried. That involved a year of my faithful counsellor and the coroner getting him exhumed and cremated so we were finally able to have a funeral service which I held at home, thanks to a very kind funeral director. My mother also died during my illness.

I left work to care for my crippled mother. Sadly she was totally immobile and couldn’t even toilet herself. My son came with me, helping him back to normality. He was very good with his grandmother, helping me a lot. One day a pastor told me to see a doctor and do whatever he said. I didn’t understand. Then I had my first panic attack. I visited my doctor and he also saw something I didn’t, and he wanted me to have a couple of weeks rest in hospital. I thought that was ridiculous. However, I had another panic attack and he admitted me straight away.

That was the beginning of several years of barely existing and a deep black hole. I became very suicidal and really wanted to die. I was in and out of hospital with serious attempts at suicide. I harmed myself and tried to end my life in several ways; I was sectioned to a secure facility twice, which was really frightening, sent to Perth on the RFD and my family was called in several times when it looked as though I wouldn’t survive. I was diagnosed with PTSD and later Borderline Personality Disorder: I understood PTSD but fought against BPD. I was desperate; I burnt all id and photos, locked the doors and tried to take my life again. However God had not finished with me yet. Apparently, two days later the door was broken down and I was found unconscious. I had E coli pneumonia. My doctor said I had finally done it. I didn’t respond to treatment, I was in an induced coma and again sent to Perth.

In a final attempt to save me I was sent to a specialised program facilitated by a wonderful psychiatrist (who explained anti-depressants can be needed just like blood pressure tablets or any other long term medication), caring psychologists and counsellors, where I attended full time for about two years. I had spells in a ward attached to the program and was also again sectioned to a secure facility (extremely scary because I didn’t know when they would release me). While there a friend was discharged and killed herself. After the funeral her mum and sister came to talk to me to try to understand and get answers. Another friend tried to end her life , sadly she became a quadriplegic, so I visited her also.

Nevertheless the program was excellent and I was with others who were suffering. We understood each other. We supported each other; we talked and talked and there was a genuine caring link. The program had many varying sessions, including talking about our pain, relaxation, craft and especially beneficial, CBT. How I wish there were programs like this all over Australia.

I finally felt ready to leave even though they wanted me to stay longer. In hindsight I wish I had taken their advice. Recently I was again assaulted. The justice system letting me down (they changed the law but it was not retrospective), I had to struggle to finance two eye operations. Only recently I finally discovered what BPD involved. It was a tremendous relief; I now understand why I still suffer such emotional pain and feel the pain of others. This week I suddenly fell into a bad space again; it was a dreadful shock. I must practice self-care and find ongoing help. Throughout these events I have hidden behind a strong pretence and worked with Hospice – Palliative Care, teams visiting maximum security prisons, telephone counselling, face to face counselling and mentoring with Kids Hope (World Vision). People are drawn to the peaceful empathic nature of the gift I have been given - not for my benefit but to understand and listen to others. It is a responsibility I must not waste.

Rosemary

Hayflick (2004, as cited in Sigelman and Rider, 2009) is sceptical about the research focusing on extending life and discovering the secrets of youth. He says: “If our society would learn to value old age to the same extent as we presently value youth, then the drive to slow, stop, or reverse the ageing process would be as unthinkable as intervening in the developmental processes of youth” (p. 505).

ITS HARD TO REACH OUT FOR HELP and ITS HARD TO TRUST AND DISCLOSE

geoff — Tue, 03 Sep 2013 18:45:45 GMT

dear Rosemary, what can I say about this awful life that you had to endue, and these horrific events that have happened to you.

I want to thank you so much for disclosing all of this to us, but you have developed a gift from all of this, but I'm sure that you would have found out without all of this trauma, it's been a terrible time for you, and that's the trouble because people have some or all of these similar events and do not get any help.

Thank you and look after yourself. L Geoff. x

ITS HARD TO REACH OUT FOR HELP and ITS HARD TO TRUST AND DISCLOSE

Rbjustme — Wed, 11 Sep 2013 07:04:11 GMT

Rosemary, you title to this thread says it all. Your story makes my problems seem so minute compared to yours, I just finished crying my eyes out over the wonderful responses I received to my first post, but reading your story has just blown me away. Your courage, stamina and willpower, just to keep trying after all the horrific things that have occurred in your life is nothing short of amazing.

I take my hat off to you, and your story has certainly inspired me to keep going as I have nowhere near the problems that you have had to face.

Thank you for sharing your story Rosemary, and keep fighting.

ITS HARD TO REACH OUT FOR HELP and ITS HARD TO TRUST AND DISCLOSE

The_Real_David_Charles — Wed, 11 Sep 2013 10:57:33 GMT

Dear Rosemary,

Incredible.

Out of all that history the one thing that resonated with me was the line "I finally felt ready to leave even though they wanted me to stay longer. In hindsight I wish I had taken their advice". Even going in front of a Tribunial is a tough situation as I'm always keen to get out of the psych ward but at the same time I know a bit more treatment will keep me in better stead. It's a really confusing decision. Even one of my dog walking friends told my wife "They always think they can get out earlier". Give psych wards a slightly prison feel.

Adios, David.

ITS HARD TO REACH OUT FOR HELP and ITS HARD TO TRUST AND DISCLOSE

Chris_B — Mon, 16 Sep 2013 23:45:31 GMT

Hi Rosemary,

Thanks isn’t nearly enough for sharing your life story with us. I hope you take comfort and strength from surviving all of this and being able to help others as well.

Learning what you have about BPD is crucial; given what you’ve been through it’s so difficult to cope with the sheer intensity of emotions that come with it, and I’m so happy to hear you’re on the right track with self-awareness and learning to manage your feelings.

Much love and best wishes to you.

Best
CB

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ITS HARD TO REACH OUT FOR HELP and ITS HARD TO TRUST AND DISCLOSE

ITS HARD TO REACH OUT FOR HELP and ITS HARD TO TRUST AND DISCLOSE

ITS HARD TO REACH OUT FOR HELP and ITS HARD TO TRUST AND DISCLOSE

ITS HARD TO REACH OUT FOR HELP and ITS HARD TO TRUST AND DISCLOSE

ITS HARD TO REACH OUT FOR HELP and ITS HARD TO TRUST AND DISCLOSE