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 jus...
View more
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 8th 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).
Sleep and Mental Health
