The damage done to me by my original psych’s diagnosis of me was expanded and compounded by my other psychs who chose to follow their training and believe the first psych and not believe what their assessment of me told them.
I was wrongly diagnosed Delusional by my first psych. I kept being treated for my obvious delusional state by all other psychs. I never got better, constantly grew worse despite all the talk therapy and all the drugs I was given. The more I had my talk redirected, the more I tried to talk about my “delusions”. The more drugs I was given to stop my delusional state, the more “deluded” I became. I was blamed for not getting better despite all psychiatry’s efforts to help me.
I worked hard in talk therapy and became steadily worse. I constantly was ridiculed for my “stories”. The harm done to me by the original psych follows me where ever I go. I sought help from a survivor’s agency but they too chose to believe me delusional. Healing came for me from another survivor who not only believes me but also saw the mistakes made in my treatment was due to psychs choosing to follow the first psych’s mistake. I can try to change people’s minds about me, but until people learn to trust and believe in their assessment of me, no one will believe a word I say. I am horribly damaged because of a mistake made by my first psych. I suffer from an insane game of Monkey See, Monkey Do. When one is wrong and all perpetuate his wrongness, the damage done to me is unbelievable.
Showing posts with label Cruelty disguised as help. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Cruelty disguised as help. Show all posts
Sunday, April 01, 2007
Monday, February 19, 2007
WHO'S GUILTY
I am being threatened with jail if I should continue to accuse a convicted pedophile of raping me. I told my first psychiatrist about the rape. I was told he was glad I “confessed” to a rape. I was puzzled by his choice of words. A guilty person confesses. I was not guilty of a crime, a crime had been committed to me. Since I have confessed to a rape, I have been treated by psychiatry like a dangerous criminal.
I never knew I had talked about the rape when the first psychiatrist drugged me so heavily I slept 24 hours for 7 days straight. I was only told this after I finally trusted my psychiatrist enough to tell him I had been raped. Since then I was forced by psychiatry to carry a burden of guilt and shame for over 36 years. I do not understand why therapists encouraged me to talk about the rape, then when I did, the talk was redirected to other subjects. I understand this is a technique emplyed by therapists when they are confronted with delusional ideations.
I am angry at psychiatry. I do not understand how they came to the decisoin I was delusional. I do not understand how psychiatry can believe a convicted pedophile wuold not rape me. I do not understand why I’ve been treated like a criminal, threatened with jail for trying to ruin a “good” man’s reputation. I do not understand psychiatry’s attitude at all.
I never knew I had talked about the rape when the first psychiatrist drugged me so heavily I slept 24 hours for 7 days straight. I was only told this after I finally trusted my psychiatrist enough to tell him I had been raped. Since then I was forced by psychiatry to carry a burden of guilt and shame for over 36 years. I do not understand why therapists encouraged me to talk about the rape, then when I did, the talk was redirected to other subjects. I understand this is a technique emplyed by therapists when they are confronted with delusional ideations.
I am angry at psychiatry. I do not understand how they came to the decisoin I was delusional. I do not understand how psychiatry can believe a convicted pedophile wuold not rape me. I do not understand why I’ve been treated like a criminal, threatened with jail for trying to ruin a “good” man’s reputation. I do not understand psychiatry’s attitude at all.
Wednesday, January 31, 2007
SELFISHNESS
I’m starting to take care of myself. Before I would drop everything and run to take care of the family. I put all of my family before all of me. I used to believe I was selfish if I put anything I wanted before my family. Now I’m realizing I can put some of my needs and wants ahead of my family’s, that doesn’t mean I’m being selfish. I sacrificed all my life for my family and now I’m taking time to do some much needed caring for myself Double standards is common in my family, my family can ask me to help them but I cannot ask them for help.
REACTION
My famly was told I suffer from a chemical imbalance, a fact psychiatry has yet to prove. I was an accomplished athlete and enrolled in honors English, honors French, honors math and honors chemistry classes in a high school for gifted teens. I was subjected to a battery of tests including an eeg and various intelligence tests when I was first admitted to a psych hospital. According to my test results I was very intelligent, proving a chemical imbalance was causing my depression. My family was happy that nothing they did to me caused me to become suicidally depressed.
I had to look deep inside me and learn about me to overcome my depression. I quit blaming myself for being bad and no longer believe I suffer from a chemical imbalance. I realize I’ve been reacting to the way I’m being treated by my family. I tell them I feel hurt when they talk about me in front of me as if I can’t hear what they are saying. I tell my sister how angry I become when she accuses me of being selfish. I was asked to go to a movie with her one Sunday and I was told all the way to the movie house, during the movie and the long drive home how she was sacrificing her first free day from work for me. I told my mother I too sometimes feel embarassed to be seen with her because of the way she dresses. I tell my father when he is doing something that is endangering my life. I showed him the pile of newspapers I already have and pointed out to him that the three batches of newspapers he just brought over now constitutes a fire hazard in my apartment. I now make statements about how I feel while I’m feeling it. I am showing the family I have never suffered from a chemical imbalance, but I suffer from the way they treat me.
I had to look deep inside me and learn about me to overcome my depression. I quit blaming myself for being bad and no longer believe I suffer from a chemical imbalance. I realize I’ve been reacting to the way I’m being treated by my family. I tell them I feel hurt when they talk about me in front of me as if I can’t hear what they are saying. I tell my sister how angry I become when she accuses me of being selfish. I was asked to go to a movie with her one Sunday and I was told all the way to the movie house, during the movie and the long drive home how she was sacrificing her first free day from work for me. I told my mother I too sometimes feel embarassed to be seen with her because of the way she dresses. I tell my father when he is doing something that is endangering my life. I showed him the pile of newspapers I already have and pointed out to him that the three batches of newspapers he just brought over now constitutes a fire hazard in my apartment. I now make statements about how I feel while I’m feeling it. I am showing the family I have never suffered from a chemical imbalance, but I suffer from the way they treat me.
BEWARE OF GREEKS BEARING GIFTS
My parents are trying. I was invited to dinner with them, I refused. I was notified they had bought me my favorite, black bean buns, I could have some if I wanted, again I refused.
I am acting very naturally, responding without thinking. After the phony phone call where I supposedly left a distress message on their machine, I didn’t accuse them of falsifying the phone call. Again I acted without thinking.
I realize now that was the best. If I had accused the parents of faking the call I would have started an altercation I could never win. I treated the situation as it should be treated, dumped it in the sewer where it belongs.
What I did not forget is how they came over and invaded my privacy, came in unannoounced and unwanted into my home and looked around. I haven’t told them anything pertaining to me medically and they needed to find out. I know they looked at all my pill bottles to see what I am taking. I was personally violated. RAPED. By my own parents. Both of them.
I am angry and showing them I am angry. In my family silence was used whenever we were angry at each other. We wouldn’t talk to each other at all. I am talking with the parents but I am using the physical distance to keep silence between us. I am amgry and for the first time in my life I am not denying my anger. I know unless I find some way to vent the anger it will sour within me and turn into rage. I know when I need help and am not afraid to get help. I am not ashamed to admit I need help. The shame would be in not getting that help.
This is the difference in me, knowing that I’m angry and not being afraid to ask for help. My spirit is strong within and it knows when it cannot walk alone.
I am acting very naturally, responding without thinking. After the phony phone call where I supposedly left a distress message on their machine, I didn’t accuse them of falsifying the phone call. Again I acted without thinking.
I realize now that was the best. If I had accused the parents of faking the call I would have started an altercation I could never win. I treated the situation as it should be treated, dumped it in the sewer where it belongs.
What I did not forget is how they came over and invaded my privacy, came in unannoounced and unwanted into my home and looked around. I haven’t told them anything pertaining to me medically and they needed to find out. I know they looked at all my pill bottles to see what I am taking. I was personally violated. RAPED. By my own parents. Both of them.
I am angry and showing them I am angry. In my family silence was used whenever we were angry at each other. We wouldn’t talk to each other at all. I am talking with the parents but I am using the physical distance to keep silence between us. I am amgry and for the first time in my life I am not denying my anger. I know unless I find some way to vent the anger it will sour within me and turn into rage. I know when I need help and am not afraid to get help. I am not ashamed to admit I need help. The shame would be in not getting that help.
This is the difference in me, knowing that I’m angry and not being afraid to ask for help. My spirit is strong within and it knows when it cannot walk alone.
Saturday, January 27, 2007
FORGIVENESS
I cannot forgive someone who claims there is nothing to forgive. I think it’s a bit pompous of me to offer forgiveness if the person has not asked for my forgiveness.
I was told by my psychiatrists I had to learn to forgive my parents. My parents don’t have a clue what they did and never asked me to forgive them. I was the one who had to learn to ask them to forgive me, but I was not in therapy to ask for forgiveness. I told the story of my life as I saw it and experienced it. I am being told by psychiatry that I must accept my parent’s reality of my childhood as the only reality. I kept refusing as this idea is so abusurd. I am expected to accept there is only one way to perceive what happens between two people and my views are always wrong.
I became very depressed. I was being suppressed, my feelings and perceptions were being denied me. I learned that I had to admit I was very sick, that I suffered from delusions and needed to learn to trust the therapist and accept their perceptions as the only truth. Psychiatry was just like father, supressing and oppressing me. It’s no wonder I never got better while I was under psychiatric care.
All the drug treatments and the drug cocktails I was forced to take never helped me. I became confused, belligerent and offensive. My behavior changed for the worse as more and more drugs were forced on me in an effort to calm me into sedateness. It wasn’t until I started to decrease my drug load that my behavior changed for the better.
I went to a Survivor’s Center complaining that I was toxic on these psych drugs, that my behavior was being affected in a bad way and wanted help to taper off these drugs. I knew that the drugs were affecting my behavior and making me act in ways that were strange to me. I was disbelieved. I was subjected to humilation after humiliation. When I was told I could not accuse anyone of sexual misconduct, I knew my “story” of a childhood rape was again being disbelieved. I knew that I was being perceived as a mentally ill woman seeking attention when I was offered services for my psychiatric condition instead of for my physical condition.
I became very angry and enraged, I tried to focus attention on my physical aillments but kept being ignored. Only my emotional state was addressed while I was at that Center. The Director employed techniques to change the way I talked. I had to learn to ask for help in the manner he expected, talk the way he wanted. I protested. If I had to learn how to ask in the manner he wanted, I wanted him to learn to answer me in the manner I wanted. Such an attitude caused me much grief and I left the Center filled with anger and rage.
I cannot forgive any of the Survivors at that center for the way they treated me. I feel they should have known better. Try as they did, these survivors, like psychiatrists and therapists, could not touch the Spirit that lives within.
I was told by my psychiatrists I had to learn to forgive my parents. My parents don’t have a clue what they did and never asked me to forgive them. I was the one who had to learn to ask them to forgive me, but I was not in therapy to ask for forgiveness. I told the story of my life as I saw it and experienced it. I am being told by psychiatry that I must accept my parent’s reality of my childhood as the only reality. I kept refusing as this idea is so abusurd. I am expected to accept there is only one way to perceive what happens between two people and my views are always wrong.
I became very depressed. I was being suppressed, my feelings and perceptions were being denied me. I learned that I had to admit I was very sick, that I suffered from delusions and needed to learn to trust the therapist and accept their perceptions as the only truth. Psychiatry was just like father, supressing and oppressing me. It’s no wonder I never got better while I was under psychiatric care.
All the drug treatments and the drug cocktails I was forced to take never helped me. I became confused, belligerent and offensive. My behavior changed for the worse as more and more drugs were forced on me in an effort to calm me into sedateness. It wasn’t until I started to decrease my drug load that my behavior changed for the better.
I went to a Survivor’s Center complaining that I was toxic on these psych drugs, that my behavior was being affected in a bad way and wanted help to taper off these drugs. I knew that the drugs were affecting my behavior and making me act in ways that were strange to me. I was disbelieved. I was subjected to humilation after humiliation. When I was told I could not accuse anyone of sexual misconduct, I knew my “story” of a childhood rape was again being disbelieved. I knew that I was being perceived as a mentally ill woman seeking attention when I was offered services for my psychiatric condition instead of for my physical condition.
I became very angry and enraged, I tried to focus attention on my physical aillments but kept being ignored. Only my emotional state was addressed while I was at that Center. The Director employed techniques to change the way I talked. I had to learn to ask for help in the manner he expected, talk the way he wanted. I protested. If I had to learn how to ask in the manner he wanted, I wanted him to learn to answer me in the manner I wanted. Such an attitude caused me much grief and I left the Center filled with anger and rage.
I cannot forgive any of the Survivors at that center for the way they treated me. I feel they should have known better. Try as they did, these survivors, like psychiatrists and therapists, could not touch the Spirit that lives within.
SIMPLE ACTS OF KINDNESS
I focus on myself and keep all other thoughts of others out of my mind. I cared about others so much that I never learned to take proper care of myself. I had been punished as a child whenever I put my self ahead of any of my family. I was taught not to focus any attention on my self but to think constantly of others, thinking of others and sacrificing my self became the purpose of my life.
I concentrated on others and their care so much I did not deal with the anger that was building up inside. I was constantly thinking of others yet it became clear to me that no one ever thought of me, my feelings, my wants or dreams. The anger and resentment built up inside with no release, I became very depressed and wanted to commit suicide. I could see no way out of my dilemma.
A teacher recognized the signs of my extreme distress, and the day that I had decided to commit suicide, I went to say good-bye to the only person who tried to help me. I was taken by him and the school nurse to various hospitals where I was refused help. I was finally taken to one hospital where my life as a psych patient began.
In hospital I was not like the other teenagers. They came from broken homes or were committed to the hospital by the juvenile court for observation and assessement. I had nothing in common with my fellow patients, we were worlds apart. They were drug dealers, prostitutes, thieves, the “dregs” of society. My parents went to the parent’s support group where my mother cried over the sad stories told by the other parents who struggled witih their unruly teenagers. My parents quit going to the parents group on the grounds they had nothing in common with these other parents.
I found much empathy and compassion from these teens. They showed me an understanding and kindness I had never known. I grew to like my fellow teens very much. Though we were worlds apart, we shared one experience, parents who didn’t understand us or our anger.
All of us showed our anger in inappropriate ways. We were all abused in one way or another, but psychiatry focused only on us and only us, it was our behavior that needed to be changed, not anyone else’s.
As a group, we patients fought against the system in our own little ways. I would hide a pea under my napkin, my plate was always monitored to make sure I ate enough. I was forced to eat even though the food was unpalatable. I had help, the other kids would “steal” food off my plate to fool staff into thinking I had eaten. Iwas taught survival skills by the kids, not by any staff. Staff only taught me to lie, cheat and steal, this was necessary to survive inside a locked teenage psych unit.
I was often put in restraints for my behavior. I had been taught to walk away from situations that would cause me anger, and I followed my training. The first time I did this, I was tackled by male staff, thrown to the floor, and then wrapped in sheets for 6 hours, the required punishment time. I had no idea what was happening and fought like a tiger. I was started on mellaril, stelazine, elavil, and cogentin for my uncontrolled behavior. I got worse on the medication, I fought and cursed and refused to follow the program. My parents were appalled at the change in me, I had never behaved like that before. I became abusive to the staff, tried to break windows and punch out walls. I was forcibly tackled, had my pants and panties yanked down and a shot of thorazine injected into my butt and spent many hours in sheets. Once I was sheeted for twelve hours to teach me a lesson.
Being in sheets is sheer torture. I was wrapped up like a mummy with only my head and feet sticking out. I was tied at the elbows and knees and strapped down with a sheet over my breast, waist and legs. Depending on the staff’s whim, I could be strapped down very tightly enough to restrict the blood flow to my body. I was punished with more sheet time if I yelled or screamed or called for help. Silence was golden and the rule. I would become very hot in sheets, but no one was allowed to give me any water. I passed out quite frequently, I grew so hot.
I was recently told that sheets are no longer used. This doctor must not know that sheets are still being used, in the hospital she is affiliated with. I know, I had witnessed a patient sheeted while I was last incarcerated in the psych unit.
Sheets are very effective to convince me to behave. I have a fear of being sheeted and will instantly obey any command given if threatened with sheets. I was last in the er when I was to be sheeted. I was to be given the full treatment, whatever that meant, while in sheets. My mother sat there while the er staff prepared a sheet bed. I knew I could count on no help from her. I tried to center myself and calm my fears. I knew if I fought it would be worse for me but my fear of sheets and my hatred of sheets grew and I knew once I walked out the room and was tackeld, I would fight with every ounce of strength to not be sheeted. Sheets are an outrage to the body, an insult to the soul, and a degradation to a human being. I want all psychiatrists and doctors to have a sheet experience, to be spend six hours in sheets and then relate to me how they felt. I want them to experience the pain of sheets, the heat exhaustion and the aches in the body caused by sheets. There are no bathroom breaks while in sheets, I learned either to hold it in or soil myself. I learned that soiling myself was punished with more sheet time, it was better to suffer the agonies of holding myself in than more sheet time.
Restraints are said to be used only when necessary. I was restrained for refusing to take my psych drugs. I was being given haldol, a drug which caused me to have painful spasms and stick my tongue out. I had a psychiatrist not believe I did this since I never stuck out my tongue or spasmed in front of him. I saw him once a week fro 50 minutes, I lived with my family 24/7who witnessed this happening. I had taken myself off haldol, went into a withdrawal psyhcosis, was hospitalized and refused to restart haldol. I was thrown on the floor, injected with haldol, and I heard one staff say, put her in sheets to teach her a lesson. I was injected and sheeted every time I refused to take my haldol. I was taught by a prostitute and a transvestite I could maintain my dignity while I obeyed the staff. I was taught the fine art of hiding within myself, my true self while appearing to obey and do whatever the staff wanted.
I had been brutally beaten, tortured and raped by a pedophile when I was a little girl. What I experienced that hospitalization resembled what that pedophile subjected me to. I groveled and did many humiliating things with a smile and a grin. Eventually I got out. As I was leaving, my friend the whore called after me, remember your lessons well and never return.
Because of a whore and a drag queen, the staff and the doctors never touched the Spirit that lives within.
I survived the agonies and brutalities of psychiatric treatments thru a lot of simple acts of kindness.
I concentrated on others and their care so much I did not deal with the anger that was building up inside. I was constantly thinking of others yet it became clear to me that no one ever thought of me, my feelings, my wants or dreams. The anger and resentment built up inside with no release, I became very depressed and wanted to commit suicide. I could see no way out of my dilemma.
A teacher recognized the signs of my extreme distress, and the day that I had decided to commit suicide, I went to say good-bye to the only person who tried to help me. I was taken by him and the school nurse to various hospitals where I was refused help. I was finally taken to one hospital where my life as a psych patient began.
In hospital I was not like the other teenagers. They came from broken homes or were committed to the hospital by the juvenile court for observation and assessement. I had nothing in common with my fellow patients, we were worlds apart. They were drug dealers, prostitutes, thieves, the “dregs” of society. My parents went to the parent’s support group where my mother cried over the sad stories told by the other parents who struggled witih their unruly teenagers. My parents quit going to the parents group on the grounds they had nothing in common with these other parents.
I found much empathy and compassion from these teens. They showed me an understanding and kindness I had never known. I grew to like my fellow teens very much. Though we were worlds apart, we shared one experience, parents who didn’t understand us or our anger.
All of us showed our anger in inappropriate ways. We were all abused in one way or another, but psychiatry focused only on us and only us, it was our behavior that needed to be changed, not anyone else’s.
As a group, we patients fought against the system in our own little ways. I would hide a pea under my napkin, my plate was always monitored to make sure I ate enough. I was forced to eat even though the food was unpalatable. I had help, the other kids would “steal” food off my plate to fool staff into thinking I had eaten. Iwas taught survival skills by the kids, not by any staff. Staff only taught me to lie, cheat and steal, this was necessary to survive inside a locked teenage psych unit.
I was often put in restraints for my behavior. I had been taught to walk away from situations that would cause me anger, and I followed my training. The first time I did this, I was tackled by male staff, thrown to the floor, and then wrapped in sheets for 6 hours, the required punishment time. I had no idea what was happening and fought like a tiger. I was started on mellaril, stelazine, elavil, and cogentin for my uncontrolled behavior. I got worse on the medication, I fought and cursed and refused to follow the program. My parents were appalled at the change in me, I had never behaved like that before. I became abusive to the staff, tried to break windows and punch out walls. I was forcibly tackled, had my pants and panties yanked down and a shot of thorazine injected into my butt and spent many hours in sheets. Once I was sheeted for twelve hours to teach me a lesson.
Being in sheets is sheer torture. I was wrapped up like a mummy with only my head and feet sticking out. I was tied at the elbows and knees and strapped down with a sheet over my breast, waist and legs. Depending on the staff’s whim, I could be strapped down very tightly enough to restrict the blood flow to my body. I was punished with more sheet time if I yelled or screamed or called for help. Silence was golden and the rule. I would become very hot in sheets, but no one was allowed to give me any water. I passed out quite frequently, I grew so hot.
I was recently told that sheets are no longer used. This doctor must not know that sheets are still being used, in the hospital she is affiliated with. I know, I had witnessed a patient sheeted while I was last incarcerated in the psych unit.
Sheets are very effective to convince me to behave. I have a fear of being sheeted and will instantly obey any command given if threatened with sheets. I was last in the er when I was to be sheeted. I was to be given the full treatment, whatever that meant, while in sheets. My mother sat there while the er staff prepared a sheet bed. I knew I could count on no help from her. I tried to center myself and calm my fears. I knew if I fought it would be worse for me but my fear of sheets and my hatred of sheets grew and I knew once I walked out the room and was tackeld, I would fight with every ounce of strength to not be sheeted. Sheets are an outrage to the body, an insult to the soul, and a degradation to a human being. I want all psychiatrists and doctors to have a sheet experience, to be spend six hours in sheets and then relate to me how they felt. I want them to experience the pain of sheets, the heat exhaustion and the aches in the body caused by sheets. There are no bathroom breaks while in sheets, I learned either to hold it in or soil myself. I learned that soiling myself was punished with more sheet time, it was better to suffer the agonies of holding myself in than more sheet time.
Restraints are said to be used only when necessary. I was restrained for refusing to take my psych drugs. I was being given haldol, a drug which caused me to have painful spasms and stick my tongue out. I had a psychiatrist not believe I did this since I never stuck out my tongue or spasmed in front of him. I saw him once a week fro 50 minutes, I lived with my family 24/7who witnessed this happening. I had taken myself off haldol, went into a withdrawal psyhcosis, was hospitalized and refused to restart haldol. I was thrown on the floor, injected with haldol, and I heard one staff say, put her in sheets to teach her a lesson. I was injected and sheeted every time I refused to take my haldol. I was taught by a prostitute and a transvestite I could maintain my dignity while I obeyed the staff. I was taught the fine art of hiding within myself, my true self while appearing to obey and do whatever the staff wanted.
I had been brutally beaten, tortured and raped by a pedophile when I was a little girl. What I experienced that hospitalization resembled what that pedophile subjected me to. I groveled and did many humiliating things with a smile and a grin. Eventually I got out. As I was leaving, my friend the whore called after me, remember your lessons well and never return.
Because of a whore and a drag queen, the staff and the doctors never touched the Spirit that lives within.
I survived the agonies and brutalities of psychiatric treatments thru a lot of simple acts of kindness.
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