A FINE LINE: A BALANCE TO SURVIVE
Lisa WB
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Published by:
Lisa Whenham-Bossy at Smashwords
Copyright (c) 2011 by Lisa Whenham-Bossy
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To find out more about Lisa and her experiences please visit
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The true story of severe child abuse and survival against the odds, that continued for over twenty years, shocking police and medical professionals.
“A courageous and moving story written by a courageous woman, in which she describes vividly her experiences of some of the best and the worst of human behaviour. It should provide help and insight to many people who are enduring mental suffering. It is a powerful lesson for those who live with, care for and provide support for people with mental disturbance and those who administer health-care systems.” Prof. Frederick Toates, co-author of Obsessive Compulsive Behaviour.
“Nothing splendid has been achieved except by those who dared to believe that something inside them was superior to circumstances... The book, like its author is splendid.” Dr Ojeicha, GP
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The British Psychology Society 2010
‘Well done to Lisa WB who has had amazing success with her first book ‘A Fine Line’. ‘A Fine Line’ is based on Lisa’s own story of suffering years of child abuse. The main character, Bridget, is persuaded to check herself into a psychiatric unit, for what she thinks is a matter of weeks, which then turns into years as she unravels a sequence of appalling abuse, blocked from her memory.
Lisa explained: “The book has taken a long time to write and a lot of really hard work but I felt compelled to write it to increase understanding of people who suffer from mental health problems, the treatment they receive, and what life is like in a secure psychiatric unit.’
‘A Fine Line’ has been positively reviewed and Lisa has been invited to speak at her local NHS Trusts about her experiences.
Lisa hopes that books like hers can help to raise public awareness of the signals and patterns that come from suppressed abuse and that people are able to access the support they need before things get worse.
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Professor Antony Sheehan, Chief Executive of the Leicestershire and Rutland NHS Trust. March 2010
“A Fine Line is a very significant text for all those trying to understand what it is really like to use the mental health system, indeed why so many of the women who use MH Services need help in the first place. Lisa has been forthright in her account of the good, the bad and the indifferent. As the chapters go on we see a compelling story unfold with lessons for managers, clinicians and service users jumping out of every page. It's not easy but it's a must!”
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A Fine Line A Balance to Survive
I would like to dedicate this book to my loving husband and children, my Mum, whom I love dearly, and friends and family who have stuck with me through thick and thin.
I would also like to dedicate this book to my consultant who is a very special person, and without whose help and professionalism I probably would not be here. A huge thank you to Lesley Stevens who helped edit, and taught me to believe in some people.
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INTRODUCTION
This book was driven by a deep desire to express my trauma and the diverse issues and problems that can be caused by child abuse.
Many people on both sides of the line – survivors and caregivers – are taken to their limits by the severity of the harm and consequential actions that may be taken because of child abuse.
One of the most important factors surrounding child abuse is that the child does not recognise or is unaware that the abuse is happening. They are groomed into a state where they perceive an unconditional love. The problem lies in that the love is not love and is certainly not unconditional. Any child is vulnerable and a child being abused has this vulnerability increased. Paedophiles and abusers alike take advantage of this vulnerability and feed off it.
Many children who have been abused manage to survive the experience by suppressing the emotions deep down – they go into denial. Unfortunately when the mind feels at its most relaxed and secure, the beast of memory unleashes and rises to consciousness. As a consequence, a survivor of child abuse may be at the pinnacle of a successful life when they suffer flashbacks and trauma.
At one of the best stages of my life – with a loving husband and two young children – was when the beast in me struck back. My story is one of survival and also expresses the ambiguous understanding of even some of the most experienced caregivers.
One of the purposes of this book is to make the public aware that anyone can be subject to mental illness. I have met mentally ill people from all walks of life and most people can live a decent life if given the chance and right support. It is only on rare occasions that these incidents get publicised and, when they do, it is unfortunate for, more often than not, the mental illness results in tragedy.
I would also like to thank the people who gave me the chance to try to unleash my beast and enjoy my life with my family and friends.
I am lucky to have the support of one of the most professional and caring consultants I have come across. In addition I would like to thank his medical team, and all those who have been involved with my care.
I’m grateful I managed to have the support of a good nurse, and I thank his secretary.
I am fortunate to have a brilliant GP and friends who have made me laugh.
I hope to reward my husband and children with a more secure life of love and stability, than we managed in the past.
My message conveyed in this book is to hope more awareness is brought into the open about mental illness, and to show it is not something to hide from, but to feel proud to be able to deal with it and move on.
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CHAPTER ONE: Balance to Survive
I considered carefully how I was going to continue with my therapy without causing harm to myself or anyone else. My main aim was to get out of this cage, and home to my loving husband and children. My Mum and best friends had been against me coming in and I now wondered if they were correct.
Yet, Joseph, my husband, and I had followed Dr Lynn’s advice and we both believed that for me to get better, we both needed go through this. Joseph had to endure the uncertainty of not knowing how the therapy would affect me. He had the sole responsibility of looking after our young children, his business, and our animals.
I felt a huge responsibility of trying to get better as soon as possible and to get home again. I had never been in a psychiatric unit before, and it terrified me. Some of the inpatients were very sick, and it shocked me to be amidst this unpredictable environment.
Now I was seriously thinking, that to get out, I had to work intensively and throw everything on the same plate together and deal with it. I had come into hospital as an inpatient, to deal with posttraumatic stress after years of extreme abuse.
I had expected the therapy to last two weeks, as Dr Lynn had promised my family I would be home soon. I never expected the therapy and work to be so intensive and difficult. Now I was so desperate to get out I threw all my energy to demonstrate and try to off load my past.
Dr Lynn told me to be as descriptive as possible and to use anything.
As I looked up to the far corner of my room, I could picture a scene of drawing a leg opening from the corner, as if someone was sitting up, with legs stretched wide open. I grabbed a pencil, climbed onto the cupboard top and began to draw. I drew a leg stretching out onto the left wall, as if the centre of the vagina was in the corner, and a leg stretching out onto the right wall. In the centre, where the walls met, I drew explicit detail, thinking, If I want to go home I can do this.
Whilst scribbling, I wondered how to illustrate blood around the opening and the bruising. I glanced across to where my plate of toast lay, there was an unopened jar of jam. I rushed out, shutting the door and went into the ward kitchen. Grabbing a plate, I placed bread, and a handful of assorted little plastic tubs of jam, strawberry, raspberry, and blackcurrant onto it. In my mind, the lighter blood could be the raspberry, where it had darkened was the strawberry, and where it had congealed, and gone thick was the blackcurrant.
The creativity completely took over. I used the blackcurrant where I knew the blood would be thick and dark, and enhanced it with the others. This inspired me, as it looked realistic – the jam making it three-dimensional. It also brought home the horrors I had endured, and I quickly drew the man’s car cigarette lighter, whirling the pencil, creating the inner coils. Then I coloured it with the strawberry jam to make it red hot, drawing zeds from it, indicating the heat. Over the sink was a wide space, and I used it to demonstrate the knife the man used, not big but effective, using raspberry jam on the sharp end.
I was well pleased, as my drawings to me, could not have been more realistic of the past. I could see the knife just edging out his pocket, how ironic that it was a Swiss one. I was now married to a Swiss man who was lovely.
I continued to draw from my memories: a corded patterned rope, a cross representing the many times I did not think I would live. Pausing, I then drew a cloud of blackness and some child’s feet coming out with two big adult ones above and in between them. The contrast of the small feet to the big was making my heart lurch at the vulnerability.
Behind the door, I quickly drew my safety get away, my tranquil quarry, and trees; having no turquoise, I relied on the pencil to make it real. I wrote RIP on the cross, reminding me of my little baby cousin who had died so tragically and I drew a small child’s coffin for him.
Lying back on the hospital bed looking up at the legs in the corner, I thought I could not be more descriptive. Then I caught sight of my dressing gown belt, and had another idea. I formed a noose with it, and hung it from the ceiling. He had used it round my neck. I now had used as much creativity as I could to express the horrors, without passing out or shaking. I put it down to concentrating on completing a work of art, rather than the reality of it all. As I viewed it, I did not see the horror it truly represented. I saw a piece of work which I had managed to do, to fulfil Dr Lynn’s wishes.
The door opened and Abdul, a Muslim male nurse came in. He was always lovely and had come to say ‘hello’. He took one look at my room, and ran out, and then nurse after nurse popped their heads through the doorway. I lay on my bed, thinking I had done a good job for Dr Lynn, but now getting worried about the reaction it had caused. Ruth, the staff nurse, came in.
“Oh my God, Bridget.” She pulled down the noose I had made.
“Dr Lynn told me to be as expressive as possible and to use anything,” I muttered.
Ruth sounded cross. “Well I’m sure he didn’t mean putting jam on the wall or making a mess. How will we get it off?”
“It’ll wash off easy. I’d never put anything on that was permanent.” I felt offended.
“Right, you’re to stay in your room.” She looked at me, frowning.
“Can you fetch Dr Lynn?” I asked, wanting him to see it, eager to go home and do whatever he said to get home.
“No, I can‘t, he’s not in today, but his junior doctor can come and sort this out.” Ruth stormed out.
I sat on the bed dismayed. Abdul came in. “What were you thinking of?” he asked, looking at me, avoiding looking up. “How can you let your kids in here?”
“Don’t be silly,” I said crossly. “I’ll have washed it off by then. I was only doing what the doctor asked.” I felt annoyed, thinking I had done really well and was just getting grief for it.
The younger doctor was horrified. He completely brushed aside my explanation, and told me to get it off as quickly as possible. He did not take into account that I knew my kids wouldn’t be in for days, or that I was just trying to please Dr Lynn. He saw it as a sick pornographic scene of a destructive nature.
When he left, I grabbed a cloth, soap, and washing bowl, and started to clean it up. An hour later, the walls looked better than they had before.
The next day was ward round, and without warning, Dr Lynn came into my room followed by Andrea and Ruth. I reacted remarkably fast and bolted through the door. Andrea made a grab, missing me. I flew out the double doors and bolted up some stairs. I had no idea where I was going but, after running up the first flight, saw some slatted windowpanes – an easy way out. I jumped onto the ledge, smashing through the slats with my feet and hands. Bending to jump, I realised the roof opposite was quite a few feet away and there was a huge drop in between. Every feeling in my body screamed at me to escape. I jumped; simultaneously someone grabbed my ankle, pulling me heavily back in, on top of people.
They carried me struggling back to my room, telling me to sit down. Panting and out of breath, I looked up. There was a crowd of nurses outside my door and then Ruth came in. She told them they could go back.
“What are we going to do with you? You know Dr Lynn, Andrea, and me.” I shrugged. All I knew was that without warning, I was terrified and had tried to get away from the danger. “I’m really sorry. I’ll pay for the damage.” I was genuinely upset.
“Don’t be silly, that’s what we have insurance for.” Ruth smiled. “But you know what this means, don’t you?” I shook my head, thinking of the damage to the window. “You’re back on level one. You’re too unpredictable at the moment,” Ruth said.
“But it’s only because everyone crowded into my room!”
“Yes, but you could have run outside through the door, the way most people go.” Ruth laughed.
“I didn’t have time to plan my route.” I lost out and had to resign to the fact I was back on level one. This meant a nurse permanently at shoulder’s length from me. I thought back to my feelings and earlier conversation with Dr Lynn.
How could I tell my closest friends and family that although I loved them, I experienced great periods of distress where I had to fight to keep alive? Most people with an outside view would tell me to pull myself together and remind me that I had two children. This only added to the guilt. I loved my daughter Jo Jo and son Tee Jay. I would protect them with my life, yet I was unable to stop the intensity of the intrusive suicidal thoughts and flashbacks. I could not in my own mind, justify what was going on. All I knew was that at these times although I was suicidal, I was not aiming to kill myself. I was actually fighting with all my resources to stay alive and safe. Dr Lynn and the medical team knew this.
I tried my hardest to explain it Joseph, my Swiss husband of five years. If the situation had been reversed, and it was he who behaved this way, I would take it as an insult and think he did not love me enough. I had to cling on to Dr Lynn’s words, that I was ill, and it was the illness causing this, it was not my wishes.
Dr Lynn told me the source of my illness was way down beyond conscious levels and he described the way we would work together in hospital. Saying it would be like pulling the layers off an onion gently, to get to the heart of it. Joseph liked and respected Dr Lynn, and placed his trust with his medical opinion. I recalled the day I entered the psychiatric unit.
~*~*~*~
I was apprehensive. I had agreed to go in for two weeks voluntarily at the beginning of March 2001. I had been an outpatient of Dr Lynn’s since 1994.
Only after breaking the news to Mum and knowing Joseph would be able to cope with his wine business and our children –Jo Jo who was four, and Tee Jay who was two years old – did I agree to go. The months prior to my planned hospital stay flew by and I became increasingly agitated, pacing the rooms of our house unable to settle. It had taken me all my time not to shout at the children. I had gone through intense periods of guilt, cuddling both of them, holding them closely, and telling myself it was only for two weeks.
Then my friend Sandra reminded me how they had forced her Mum to have electroconvulsive therapy. I had seen for myself her damaged memory. She had to write everything down in note form. I had seen pictures in a medical book of the patients with wires attached and it had scared me. I told myself I was not going in for that, trying to be rational. Sandra still insisted I should not go into hospital. Mum would not talk about it, and my close friends Susanne and Tom told me not to go.
Joseph told me to ignore them all. He said they did not know enough detail to judge. Consequently, I packed my bags for hospital.
So scared was I, I took off the back of my mobile phone and hid a couple of razor blades inside. I also hid others in the lining of my different bags. I was not planning to use them but I felt comfort in the knowledge of having them there.
The day of my planned hospital stay arrived. Joseph and I walked into the hospital together through the double doors to the ward. A nurse informed us that Andrea, who was my community psychiatric nurse, was on her way, and showed us to the communal lounge.
It freaked me out looking at the surroundings, and I grabbed Josephs arm, running towards the seated area, where we had first walked in. Joseph turned to face me. “You know it’s for the best.”
I looked at his face and searched his eyes. They were full of concern. “I miss the children already, I miss the animals, and I want to go back,” I pleaded.
“Please wait until Andrea gets here, please,” he begged, gripping my arm. At that moment, Andrea came. She saw me with my bags, and looked at Joseph. He said, “She doesn’t want to stay.”
“Oh why not? Dr Lynn will be down in a minute, and I have your own room for you,” Andrea replied smiling.
“I think it panicked her when they told us to go into the lounge,” Joseph said. I nodded.
Andrea spoke. “Once we explain to the nurses, you won’t have to go into the lounge. Please, come and look.” She beckoned to both of us. I nervously followed her back along the ward, to a small room with a bed, sink, and wardrobe. Glancing through the sealed window, I felt like an animal trapped in a cage.
Joseph followed, placing my bag on the disinfected floor. A nurse came in to take it, and I was just going to object when Andrea intervened.
Inside my head I thought, I have to do this for Joseph and the children. Yet every instinct screamed for me to run out. Joseph hovered anxiously, until Andrea turned to him. “Look, I won’t leave her, and Dr Lynn will be here shortly.”
I nodded, feigning a smile. “It’s ok you can go.” I couldn’t face him as I spoke. We had previously agreed he would not visit me later, as the children would need him, our animals needed looking after, and he would have his business to run. He hugged me tight, and for a second I clung to him. “Don’t do anything silly,” he whispered.
“Go,” I said whilst I could still speak. He left the room.
“I don’t know if I can do this,” I said to Andrea, sinking onto the bed.
“You’ll be busy. The time will pass quickly, I know the surroundings aren’t brilliant, but you need to be here. We had come to a standstill.”
The tall sleek figure of Dr Lynn lumbered through the door. He and Andrea sat down. “Not quite home from home is it?” Dr Lynn said apologising. “But you’re only here a short while, and I want you to work hard.” He smiled across at me. I felt a tiny bit of reassurance that it may be ok.
He leaned over, showing me his paper. He had drawn a long line. At one end he had written A, at the other end B. “A is where you were born; B is where we are now. Between these I want you to write down any significant event that’s important to you.”
I nodded. It gave me something to concentrate on and work at. He continued to tell me some of the procedures and told me one of the nurses would be my key worker, and I should ask if I was unsure about anything.
“Right, I’ll see you tomorrow.” He left the room.
Andrea said, “Don’t worry, I’ll try and see you every day.”
“Thanks.” I smiled, as she left.
I now felt alone and checked round. The walls were marked and scuffed but the floor looked reasonably clean. I started to sort through my bag, and then I did not want to. I wanted everything kept together, in case I needed to go. The smell from the elderly dormitory opposite was strong, reminding me of when I sat near my elderly Grandpa, as a child.
A voice shouted, “Nurse, nurse,” and I heard the footsteps going through to the dormitory. Two nurses were trying to calm an elderly woman. I crept back to my bed and someone peered through the glass panel and went. I felt scared, lost and my privacy invaded.
I needed to hide. Desperate for space alone, I climbed into the wardrobe, squatting down and pulling the door shut. It was dark. I felt safe. My mind raced. Do I run? Do I stay? What should I do? I heard the voices of some of the patients. I felt stifled in the wardrobe. I tried to think rationally and thought of meditation and yoga. I desperately tried to do some deep breathing to relax.
In the background, I heard the door open to my room and the nurses asking where I was. Then they went out and the door shut. A few minutes later, they returned, and I heard someone say I had not left the ward. The wardrobe door opened and a blinding light hit me in the face, I blinked not able to see.
“What are you doing in there?” Stepping back, she continued gently, “It’s ok we’re not going to hurt you.”
I shook from head to foot, unable to move, reminding me of when he approached me in the safe. I jumped as the nurse in front of me, tried to touch my arm. She then turned to the two other nurses. “It’s ok, you go, I’ll manage.”
Just the two of us now, I scrutinized her long brown hair scruffily falling over her face, covering her oval rimmed glasses. She smiled, genuinely; I let her half help me out of the wardrobe, falling with cramp. She aided me on to my bed. “My name’s Anna, I don’t want to scare you. Have you had a drink since you’ve been here?”
I shook my head and she went to the door and called another nurse. “How do you like your tea, or would you prefer coffee?”
I went to answer her but could not speak. I was still shaking and the whole bed rocked.
“Do you like tea strong with sugar?”
I nodded, curling into a ball for protection, staring at the wall wishing none of this were happening. I felt her sit down on the bed. Another nurse approached, and I jumped so hard, Anna jumped, and the other nurse gave a small yelp.
“She was in the bottom of the wardrobe,” Anna said to her. I could not see their glances then Anna stood up. “I’ll see you later. This is Ruth, your key worker. She also happens to be one of the top nurses here. She’ll look after you.”
I was still shaking, feeling the bed move again as Ruth sat down. She put her hand on my shoulder and I flinched. “I can see Brenda coming in with your tea, wait a minute. I’ll fetch it.” I heard her shut the door, hearing the clunk of the mug as she put the tea down. She approached me slowly, half propping me up as she shook the pillows, and turned the top one vertically to give me more support. I looked at her, feeling embarrassed. She gave me a lovely beam, her eyes were so dark, and soft, I liked her immediately. She was small and had blonde hair. Ruth told me about the procedure for meals. The fear in my face must have been apparent.
“I’ll make a note that you can eat in your room,” she said.
Later, she showed me the kitchen. I followed her up the corridor, terrified, yet the toilets were along this narrow bit, so I needed to find them. Ruth was kind.
She and Anna made a curtain in my room over the glass panel with a towel, so I had a bit of privacy. I had to leave a tiny gap, as they had to monitor me. They promised it was just a quick glance to know I was ok now and again. They also agreed with Dr Lynn, that I could sit at the desk in the reception, which was normally strictly for nurses.
That evening I decided to take up the offer of sitting at the reception desk. I had talked to Joseph on the phone and the children, assuring him I was ok. It was nine thirty and an older nurse sat at the desk, the younger nurse had disappeared to the nurses’ station with a message. I pulled my chair up and sat at the end of the desk with a drink. There were a couple of people sitting on a sofa and a few mooching back and forth to their respective side wards. The ward was mostly for elderly people, but there were a few young ones there, that saw Dr Lynn. I still felt nervous and eyed the nurses in the nurses’ station. The young one came back, smiling at me as she sat down.
Suddenly the older nurse shouted, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
She was so loud and rough I did not dare lift my head up, feeling sorry for the two young lads mucking about under the duty board.
Again, she shouted, “I’m talking to you, move.”
This time I did look up, and was horrified to see her standing up and glaring at me. Her eyes were bulging with rage, and everyone was staring at me. Panicking, I bolted back to my room, desperate for a razor blade.
I grabbed one throwing myself on the floor next to the storage heater. I held the blade against my skin drawing blood on my arm. I did not feel it. I just wanted to feel safe and ok again, I missed Joseph and the kids. I repeatedly slashed my arm; the floor turned red. The nice young nurse came in.
“Please don’t do that,” she appealed. I looked up at her. She came nearer. I cut again. She moved to take the blade and then pulled back, as I cut a deeper cut. It shocked me as I could see the white edge of my skin peeling back from the blade. The next thing I knew the horrible older nurse had come into the room. “You think you’re clever. Do you know what seclusion is like? I bet you do, you’ll end up in there.”
I had no clue what she meant. She scared me.
“I’ve met your sort before, you won’t win this way.”
Her tone was frightening and her eyes still bulged. I cut. I wanted this nightmare to stop. She left the room and I leant against the heater. I stopped cutting, but held my razor tightly. It was my protection if anyone came near me.
A young man walked up to me introducing himself as the doctor on duty. “Do you think that’s a good idea?” He sounded sarcastic. I stayed silent, and he held out his hand asking for the blade. His eyes met mine and reluctantly I gave it to him. He disappeared. The nice young nurse came in with saline solutions and a bandage, and gently cleaned my arm. The panic diffused and I let her finish, muttering, “Thanks.”
Later I crossed the corridor to the toilet. After quickly washing I made sure the glass panel was covered and got into bed.
I could hear an elderly woman shouting, “Nurse.” It seemed ages before I heard footsteps, and the nurse responding to her call. Another one came and I could hear them trying to lift her out of bed onto a bedpan.
I learnt to listen to the footsteps, eventually identifying each nurse, by the sounds of the shoes they wore. I tried to put my head under the covers hiding from the torch light, which shone into the room regularly. The blood on the floor reminded me of a hostile environment.
~*~*~*~
I stood up, enough recalling of my first day and night in hospital. It was a mixed reaction, experiencing empathy from some staff and extreme abuse from others. My level one nurse stood also and she followed me to the toilet, an unfortunate witness to my necessary toilet requirements.
I walked back to my room. The walls still looked a lot cleaner and I sat down to work and concentrated on my lifeline. I started to fill in my earliest significant memories.
I was born in January 1961 and my earliest memories were of my first day at infant school at the age of five. I was in the same class as Susanne, still my best friend now. I made a mark near my date of birth and wrote adopted. My parents thought they could not have children. They adopted Jane in 1958, whose birthday was on the same day as Mum’s, and then they adopted me in the spring of 1961. Little did they know that Mum would actually bear a child two years later – in June 1963, my younger sister, Denny, was born. I scribbled hard, making the mark into a big star so as to belittle the adoption bit.
Most people did not know my sister and I were adopted. Jane looked like Mum as she was part fair, and Denny looked like both my parents having very blonde hair. I was dark-haired with dark olive skin. Mum used to joke and say I was the milkman’s.
Dad was a true gentleman, believing heavily in his role to provide food on the table, and Mum’s role to keep the house in order and to have his meals ready. He was a conservative and a freemason, and the household diary ran around his Masonic duties. These were kept confidential, and we were ignorant about the freemasons, except that they raised money for different charities and later at school, we learnt there was a joke about the handshake.
I looked at my lifeline, it looked so bare. I lay back on my propped up pillow and sucked at my pencil, trying hard to think of my childhood.
I was always satisfied to stay at home and play in our large garden, making a den under the huge willow tree, or climbing the old apple tree at the bottom and spying on Dad. I often took the dogs for a walk, or spent hours bird watching. I loved animals, reading all I could about them.
My two sisters in contrast spent time watching Top of the Pops and having many friends. Jane loved to read, spending more time in her bedroom with stacks of magazines. Denny was a bit of a tomboy like me.
We would play football together in the garden, or see who could climb the highest tree. We had homemade bows using fine green garden sticks as arrows. Learning to bend a cane tied with the right twine, we sent arrows sharpened with Dad’s penknife, to penetrate the old apple tree and draw the sap. The arrows were lethal and I actually shot Denny in the leg once. We were so scared at the time that we pulled it out, stuck some ointment on it with a plaster, and told no one. Luckily, for us it did heal ok. I laughed, as I remembered the day clearly.
We also played Jacks, where we stood apart from each other and threw a knife into the ground, and the opponent would have to stretch their foot to where the knife landed, whilst not moving the anchor foot.
I sighed; I had loved our garden and dogs and had never really wanted to move out.
I glanced at my lifeline. The two significant marks were adoption and starting school. I did a mark from the age of 5 to 12 with a little smiley face and question mark. I placed my paper down and stood up.
Immediately the nurse stood as well. “Let’s go and get a drink,” I said.
He followed me closely to the ward kitchen. I made a drink for both of us and headed back to my small room to try to continue with my lifeline.
As I picked it up, I threw it down again, frustrated. I felt like a prisoner. What was I doing stuck in a psychiatric unit? Why had I agreed? I still questioned whether I should have agreed to let them section me. At the time, I did not really know what choices I had. It had happened after I had been in for only a few days.
~*~*~*~
It was not even nine-thirty. Bored, I looked round the room to see what I could do. Noticing the steel plates screwed to the doors under the handles. I picked up the knife that came with the toast and used it like a screwdriver. I undid the metal plate carefully keeping everything. Then I turned to the cupboard door and removed it. I thought of the light switch but did not want to endanger anyone so I left it alone. Sighing, I put the knife down and tried to read a book, but could not concentrate.
In the end, I sat on my bed and left the door open. I could see the nurses changing the beds opposite. The smell of the soiled sheets hung heavily. I remembered Dr Lynn telling me off, which was a shock, over the razor blades. “Do you want me to help you?” he had asked, pulling up the chair.
I nodded.
“Well where are they?”
I looked at him blankly.
“Don’t be clever, I’m not letting you stay here, and put others including yourself at risk if you don’t hand them over.”
Blushing, I knew he meant the razor blades. I got my handbag, taking one from it, and I took others out of my makeup bag. I hesitated, when he asked if there were any more.
He had three. “Come on, I wasn’t born yesterday, where’re the others?”
I grabbed my mobile phone and pulled the battery cover off. He actually laughed and shook his head. “I can’t believe it’s your first time in and you’re like an old pro.” He took them off me and left, leaving me frustrated.
Later on that day, staring at a blank piece of paper I felt very irritated and trapped. I was too scared to sit out at the desk. I could not relax and read. The more I tried to concentrate and write, the harder it became. I became increasingly agitated.
The ward was a gloomy place, some patients would suddenly act out, and the environment around me was as changeable as the seasons and just as extreme. I felt insecure without my razor blades, and I could not distract myself without my home and family around me. I withdrew and my frustration increased.
I started to store any security I could think of in the trend of cutlery and mugs. I would go for a drink and fetch a clean mug leaving the original one under my sink. I took two knives when I had my toast, and stored one. I became obsessed with storing anything I could use to self-harm. I could not release my feelings and the frustration grew.
All contact with home became a front. I tried to support Joseph. I knew he could cope if he thought it was worth the struggle, as I would be better. The last thing I wanted to do was to let him down. I did not feel I could tell Andrea or any of the nurses how bad I was feeling, as I wanted to go home and not be kept in longer.
Eventually that evening I snapped. Using a hidden piece of mug, I sat on my bed discreetly slashing my arm. I still felt trapped and was desperate to get outside into the fresh air. Outwitting my level one nurse, I grabbed a jacket, shut my door, and walked quickly down the corridor. I walked straight past the nurse’s desk as if everything was fine, and continued down the corridor. Once through the double doors, I hurried across the reception area and out through to the hospital car park. The cold hit me, yet the fresh air was welcoming. I aimed for the gates, and turned down the road.
Looking back, to my horror, one of the male nurses in charge was following me. He quickened his pace and I quickened mine. He was catching up. I ran in front of a car; it missed me, braking hard. He followed me. Scared, I veered in and out of traffic, and realised I had lost him. My arm was dripping and I stood still feeling frozen, not sure what to do. I walked a while and then returned reluctantly to the ward.
I walked slowly back to my room, peeling my jacket off. Shocked at the state of my arm, I lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling. I heard footsteps coming down the corridor, and John, the male nurse entered. He sat on the chair opposite the bed, leaving the door ajar.
“Can I clean that arm up?” he asked. I shook my head slowly. He stood up to come and look at my arm and I jumped. He stopped. “Look, I’ll call a nurse to make you a drink.”
I lay back on the bed feeling faint. He must have realised as he shouted after the nurse. “Can you bring the blood pressure machine, too?”
Whilst cleaning my arm, he asked me, why I ran off.
“I was scared,” was all I could say. He did not ask me any more and I finished my sandwich and drank a second mug of tea.
The next day Dr Lynn turned up very early. “Bridget, we need to talk seriously.” He pulled up his chair, and started to ask me about the night before. I explained that I never planned it. He asked why I did not go to John when I saw him on the roadside. “I was scared,” I replied.
He patted my arm gently. “It is ok, I am not blaming you, but I need to explain to you what we have to do. Have you heard of being sectioned?” I shook my head.
“All it means is that like last night when you ran off, John can’t stop you because you are in here voluntarily, do you understand that?”
I nodded.
He continued, “Well if we section you, then if you run off again, it means we have the right to bring you back.” He continued to explain a bit more, and asked how I had cut my arm. I told him truthfully and he asked where the remainder of the mug was. I gave him the towel yet did not comment on the odd pieces elsewhere.
He told me he wanted me to see another doctor just for ten minutes, to explain how I cut my arm, and then a social worker for a quick word. I nodded in agreement.
Joseph came in later. He seemed upset at what had happened the night before. I assured him I was ok, but had just panicked at being enclosed, and I was still trying to adjust to the hospital.
“Look at it,” I told him, gesturing at the whole place with my hands, “It would have an effect on anyone.”
He agreed. He told me the children were fine and promised on Saturday, he would bring the children in. He gave me a huge hug and we just clung to each other. I loved him, yet part of me was putting barriers up to protect him, as well as myself. Joseph was shocked I had been sectioned, yet Dr Lynn assured us it was a temporary measure, whilst we worked hard on my past to keep me safe. We had followed his professional advice all the way, and felt we needed to continue, as my care was in his hands.
*
CHAPTER 2: Peeling off the Layers
On my lifeline, I added my twenty-first, my wedding day, and the children’s birthdays. I thought of when I lost Dad, yet I did not want to be reminded, or of losing my Nan. Nearly losing my life in hospital from an overdose was another memory, but again I preferred not to remember.
I sat back. I could see the nurses changing the beds opposite. The smell of the soiled sheets now seemed the least of my worries. I looked down the corridor it seemed quiet, so I sat at the desk with the two nurses, and my level one nurse. They were nice to me and chatted about all sorts of things. One of them had to keep getting up to do routine check ups on the patients. The other nurse would monitor who went in and off the ward. Down the corridor behind me opposite my room, the nurses were still busy changing beds and helping some of the patients. Most of them were elderly, it reminded me of when I was younger and gave a hand in an old people’s home. Some of them here were real characters, and one old fellow named Fred, threw his tea or coffee, at people he disliked. I kept out of his way, yet he winked at me as he shuffled by, to go to the toilet. I smiled at him, and then looked at my book. I carried my book, yet never read it, needing to keep constant attention observing.
Over the hours, I became aware of regular movements and routines. I spent time at the desk eating my sandwiches, ready to move if necessary. I watched Andrea come on to the ward, and speak to the nurses. She started to walk towards my room. I followed her passing the smoke room quickly. She sent my level one nurse away, and we sat and chatted. I felt she was not happy about certain events, but was too professional to make any judgments. She asked me if I had seen Joseph, and I told her that we agreed our priority was the kids, and keeping everything going at home and I rang daily at 4pm to talk to the children. When she went, bored, I struggled to keep calm. I rang at 4pm and once I knew the children were ok, relaxed a bit. I picked up my lifeline and added starting school, leaving school, the loss of my baby cousin, buying my first house, the births of Jo Jo and Tee Jay, and then losing my Dad.
I knew I had other significant events like meeting my real mum for the first time, staying with my real dad, living with my half brother and sister for a week and them not knowing who I was, and representing my real Mums family at a funeral, having to say I represented the family without revealing who I was. I felt like two people. One who wanted to be at home with the kids and Joseph and be a Mum, and another who was like a petrified child who was going through a living torture.
I decided to have a shower and tidy myself up. The shower consisted of a walk in room with a sink and a curtained shower at the end. A nurse advised me to place a chair, opposite the sink to put my clothes on. The lock was accessible from outside as well. I used flip-flops, hating to walk on the bare floor. My level one nurse stood inside the room, outside the shower curtain. She was useful passing me the towel and clothes. Now dressed, I was staring at myself in the safety mirror above the sink. My dark long hair glistened with the wet, as I ran the comb through it, taking it back off my face. Dark brown eyes, surrounded by shadows, stared back at me, and I headed back to my room.
The next morning I threw the lifeline down in desperation. I spent half the day cursing to myself why I did not get on with it. Always when I tried to remember the past, the blackness would be a key feature. Somehow, it represented extremities, on one side it was a safe feeling and a relief, on the other it felt horrible and scary. I tried to fill in a bit more about the beginning of school. I wrote how I was so shy I did not talk until I was five plus and about meeting Sandra, how she took a special interest, making me feel important.
I wrote how nice it was, being singled out, and to talk about your homework, and how school was. Mum and Dad did ask, but before you could answer, they were back watching the television or reading their book. If you asked a question, they answered in automaton. I could say, “Mum, the house is on fire,” I could get back, “Oh yes darling really.”
They had a talent of conversing, but not really paying attention to what you were saying. In comparison, Sandra asked, “Where’s your book? Lets see that drawing, wow that is brilliant etc…”
I wrote in tiny writing, met Sandra, my Mums boss, at the age of twelve. She helped me with my homework. I worked on filling little details in more, and then stopped when there was a knock at my door. Anna entered bringing in another nurse. She was of slender build with brown mousey hair and a wide smile. I liked her straight away. “Meet Alex, she’s as mad as me, if not madder,” said Anna.
“Right, do you want to eat now, or later?” Alex asked.
“Can we go for a walk? I haven’t seen the rest of the hospital yet,” I asked.
“Oh, you don’t know what you’ve missed lady,” she retorted pulling a face. “No, don’t leave your bag there, put it in the bottom of your wardrobe under your dressing gown, I’m not saying anyone will take it, but there are a few confused people here.”
I took the message and put my handbag away, discreetly taking a couple of coins out, in case I wanted to go to the restaurant. It was lovely to go outside, and even though it was cold, I loved the fresh air. Alex had also grabbed her coat on the way out.
We headed around the maternity buildings where there were grey squirrels darting back and forth. We came up to the restaurant doors and poked our heads round, one end was busy with people eating their dinners, and the other end had empty seats and a big screen. “We can grab a drink and sit up at that end,” said Alex. I nodded, and she showed me how to choose a hot chocolate from the drinks dispenser, saying she would pay as she got discount. I followed her giving her the correct change even when she protested. We sat and watched the news, and I told her, I missed the television. “Haven’t you a portable at home?” she asked. I nodded. “Well get Joseph to bring it in.”
The next morning Lee, a nurse, came dashing into my room with a file in his arms, “Come on,” he said, and opened the door waiting for me to follow him.” Come on where?” I asked puzzled.
“Ward round, you have to come in and listen to Dr Lynn and his team.”
“Team?” my voice rose in panic.
“Yes, there’s him, his junior Dr and Andrea, come on they’re waiting.” Lee pushed the door wider. I shook my head decisively, I was not being awkward, but there was no way I could enter a room with more than one person, especially with that attention focused on me.
Lee was not sympathetic, “Come on, you’re holding them up they have more than you to see.” Again, I shook my head, and he stomped off.
Later reading a book, my door suddenly opened, Dr Lynn entered, followed by a stranger and Lee. I bolted charging through them like a cannon ball. A pair of dark brown arms rugby tackled my waist, lifting me off the ground. I turned still trying to run, my legs and arms flailing, desperately scrambling at the wall. In the background, I could hear, “It’s alright, it’s ok, they aren’t going to hurt you,” I still ran as fast as I could against the wall, yet I was getting nowhere. A voice I recognised spoke, “It’s ok Bridget, they’ve gone, there’s only me, can we have a chat? Look down at the reception.” I turned and gathered myself. I had been trying to run through the side of the wall.
Karen, a West Indian nurse had grabbed me, the stranger and Lee were in reception, and Dr Lynn was beside me. He took my arm gently, “Come on; let’s have a chat on our own.” I followed him meekly back to my room. He quietly shut the door, beckoning Karen to stay outside and sat on the big leather chair. I fell on the bed. I was still out of breath and in shock. Dr Lynn picked up the paper I had been working on, “Good girl, I see you’ve managed to add a bit more,” he spoke quietly and calmly, and appeared unruffled at the earlier outbreak. “Don’t worry, especially about Lee, his bark is worse than his bite.” I tried to smile, I felt mixed up.
“I’m genuinely sorry we scared you, I shall make sure it doesn’t happen again,” he looked at me, and I could see a genuine depth of concern in his eyes. “Look, I know this is more difficult for you then either of us realised, and to be honest may take longer then I initially thought,” he hesitated, “We must keep going and you must work hard at it, I want to help you, and we’ll get you better, do you believe that?”
I nodded, feeling as if I wanted to hug him. He was so kind and caring. “Look Bridget, Andrea was supposed to come in, but she was at the ward round, I do have to discuss what’s best for you with my team. I hope you understand that. I will now send her in this afternoon. We do care about you, and want to get you home as soon as possible.”
I took my chance, “Can I go home for the weekend?” he shook his head slowly. “Do you know why?” he asked me.
“I guess you want me to concentrate, and not be diverted off track,” I said disappointedly looking down at the floor. “Yes, you guessed right.”
Joseph can bring the children in, and don’t worry I do want you to go home to them,” he continued. “If you find this lifeline hard, then also draw, write, and illustrate anything you get into your head. I know it’s difficult and I’ve seen the drawing Ruth took, believe me it’s better it all comes out, then we can see where we’re going, I’ll see you tomorrow, and Andrea will see you this afternoon,” he got up and left the room.
I felt alone and despondent, yet Karen came in to tell me the dinner trolley was there. Again, she asked someone to get me some sandwiches and a pudding. I hoped at the weekend Joseph would be able to get me something better. The steamed vegetable smell, with the odd aroma of fish or meat made me feel sick. The only good thing was the blackcurrant cheesecakes, the digestive at the bottom was crunchy and buttery, and the acidity of the blackcurrant bit into the creamy flavour of the cheesecake. The nurses had been kind and looked for one for me, each time the trolley came.
Andrea came and made a joke about Lee not being that bad, or the Junior Dr. I laughed, as I could see the funny side, although I did not think it was funny earlier. She also told me she would ring Joseph, explaining to him why they did not want me to go home.
Days past, and I learnt that after they had given me my dinner in my room, it was up to me to put it back. When I put the empty tray and plate back on the stand next to the lounge door, I missed off the stainless steel cutlery. Yesterday I found out by accident, how quickly a spoon, knife, or fork could break. I was lying on my bed bored, I tried it out of curiosity, and to my surprise, the teaspoon snapped, and where the breaking point was, it was not only sharp, but also hot. My curiosity stretched further and I found that a knife could snap in two, within a couple of seconds.
The fork would break just under the head where it was at its narrowest. This became a habit and I learnt to hold any of them behind my back and snap it at first attempt. I felt comforted, it gave me the feeling I was still in control, especially as I was able to take it and store it in my drawer. I found the knives useful to take things apart in my room. I still had some mug pieces, which lay untouched in several areas.
This afternoon Ruth was in charge, and I had seen her once when she passed my room, and waved whilst I was waiting for Andrea. Now I plucked up courage, went, and knocked on the nurses’ station. Ruth came to the door. “Can I see you later, if you get a chance?” I asked. She nodded. Happier I went back to my room.
I started to work on what Dr Lynn had asked me to do, and ended up drawing a deep pit with me at the bottom, and a bigger person looking down. Further along I drew the quarry and filled it in black, with plenty of trees around making it feel safe. I drew the rope I could see in my head, and tried to concentrate on the pattern of the cords wrapped together. I then coiled it round and round like a snake. I could see the dagger and coloured in the tip as if it had cut me, with blood on the end.
Last, I drew a coffin and a cross remembering the trapped feeling. The pain of cutting, always took the distress away. It was minimal to the feeling of darkness, from not being able to escape. I started to make everything that could be dark, as black as possible pushing all my weight on the pencil, until my fingers were black from the smudges.
All I had done was draw a picture, yet I felt scared and bad. Looking at the black on my fingers, and on my picture made me remember when I passed out everyday, from the weight on top of me. I suddenly could not breathe and ran out of my room crashing into the wall of the corridor and the blackness came. I heard running footsteps, a voice in the background was saying. “Bridget, Bridget, open your eyes.” I was unable to move, or acknowledge the voice. It was a few seconds later, I focused staring at somebody’s kneecap. I tried to sit up, and fell back.