Hello girls & guys! I’m Keeley
and I am the Young Ambassador for Wan2Talk and here is my story…
It
was 2001 and I was 6 years old when my Mum & Dad split up, I’m
not entirely sure what happened as I was only young so I was never
really told WHY (except a few hints about it being drug related) but,
I guess you could say that from there things started going
pear-shaped. There was a lot of uprooting, confusion and arguments.
The
night that my Mum and Dad split up, we moved in with one of Mum’s
male friends *** and soon afterwards they became a couple. Towards
the end of 2001 my Dad also began a relationship. She was horrid. She
hated me and my sister and put my Dad in some really horrible
positions. It came to the point where my Dad, who sobbed his heart
out, pulled in to a lay by and told me and my sister that he couldn’t
see us any-more because he was in love with *** and then took us back
to my Mums house.
I by
no means hold anything against my Dad for that day, I was too young
to understand and my sister was still a baby but, as I have grown and
thought back to that day I feel no resentment whatsoever. I guess I
just really felt for him and could relate to him in that he didn’t
know which way to turn either or what to do for the best. He made a
decision and I didn’t see him for a couple of weeks/months after
that but then he saw sense and ended the relationship in 2002 and
began to see me and my sister again.
2003
was a pretty quiet year (well, I don’t have many memories from that
year). 2004 however Mum split up with *** and me and my sister went
to live with my Dad whilst Mum stayed at my Aunt’s. Mum stayed over
at Dad’s a couple of nights in the week but whether they were
actually making a go of rekindling their relationship or not I still
have no idea. A couple of weeks into living like that, there was a
massive argument about dinner which then resulted in me, my mum and
my sister going to live in a safe house. What I remember from that
night is me picking up my baby sister and hiding with her in the
wardrobe in my bedroom and putting clothes over her head so she
couldn’t hear anything, my dad holding my mum from behind and
pushing her out of the front door and mum hitting her head off the
door knob. Mum said it was domestic violence, Dad said it was not.
I’ve heard two sides to that story which both could be believable
so I’m still not sure of the truth and probably will never get it.
Little was I aware though, that domestic violence was soon to play a
big part in my childhood and I was about to witness things I would
never wish upon my worst enemy.
It
was also around this time that my eating disorder began and I
self-harmed for the first time. I was 10 years old. I remember
cutting my hands and going home and telling my Mum that I had fell
into a barbed wire fence. People at school were calling me fat and I
was the only one still not wearing vest tops at least. My puberty and
development started later on than others and I was tore to strips
over it.
2005 we moved out of the safe house and
into a flat. The block of flats we lived in had drug addicts both
below us and above. It wasn’t really a safe place to be as the
police were always there for people fighting, drug raids and fires.
Living in those flats I did make a couple of “friends”. I found
myself being more able to interact with adults than I could with
children my own age. I tended to just walk my dog and go for walks,
take my sister over to the field by the cinema and play with her for
a while. Anything to be out of that flat! There was one boy however
who grabbed me the one day and put me in a headlock, proceeding to
punch me in the head and tell me that he wanted to “smash a piece
of wood around my head and watch my brains fall out.” Again,
probably a sign of what was yet to come…
October 2005, the month and the year of
when my world began to fall apart.
Mum had joined an online dating website
and met another man on there. I remember being sat on the sofa in the
flat and Mum getting all excited thinking he looked like Shayne Ward
(X Factor). They began talking in October and by November the council
had found us a house and we moved in, *** moving in with us straight
away. I always did have a weird feeling about him, I guess it was
just gut instinct. But right from the beginning he was
over-protective, picked arguments over nothing and always seemed to
be sat on his computer not talking to anyone other than to tell us
how useless we were.
Life seemed to carry on that way for a
few months, the new year came and went with Arguments, stress,
tension, me still self-harming, my eating disordered thoughts still
very much there, whilst trying to protect my sister from it all
whilst my Mum tried to keep her partner happy.
End of July 2006, *** hit my Mum for
the first time. We were on holiday in Majorca and having a really
enjoyable time. The one night, we were all downstairs watching the
entertainment when my Mum said that she had a headache so was going
to get an early night. She asked *** to bring her up a bottle of
water when the entertainment finished and we were all ready for bed.
9:30pm, the entertainment finished and so me, my sister and *** went
upstairs to our hotel room. This is where my childhood of domestic
violence began properly. The time where I, for years, was going to
witness things I never want to see again. *** had forgotten to bring
the bottle of water to the hotel room and so mum playfully rolled her
eyes at him and got back into bed. Their bed and the bed that I and
my sister were sharing were right next to each other. Unfortunately,
*** didn’t see the eye rolling as playful. He threw himself at mum,
straddled on top of her and punched her in the face. My sister began
screaming as *** got up off the bed and turned the light on, so my
sister and I could – I quote - “see what the b***h deserves!”
Launching himself back on to my screaming mum, me frozen with fear,
him frothing at the mouth and my sister in front of me – I grabbed
my sister, put her behind of me and pulled the blanket over her head
and stroked her face trying to calm her and stop her from hearing the
screams and the shouting whilst having tears streaming down my own
face. *** Then fled the room and I removed the blanket from my sister
and placed it over her so she could sleep as she had calmed a little
by now. I checked my mum then I too, fled the room. I ran as fast as
I could trying to find help, I didn’t know exactly who I was
looking for or what I was going to do but I just ran through
corridors and down stairs screaming and crying for help. I have no
idea where *** was as I didn’t see him whilst I was searching for
help. I came across some friends we had made on the holiday and gave
them a big blubbering explanation of what had just happened. I’m
not too sure how the rest of that night went as I was so numb and
dazed that everything just became a blur. I remember being told that
*** was going to get a separate flight home though, but then by the
end of the holiday he was back with us and everything was okay again.
“I’m sorry, it’ll never happen again” he claimed. Well, that
was soon to be the excuse for the daily beatings that were to come.
For the rest of 2006 and all through
2007 it was beating after beating after beating. Police after police
after police. Tears after tears after tears. Self-harm after
self-harm after self-harm, starvation after starvation after
starvation. At home I was trying to protect my sister and ensure that
she didn’t see or hear the domestic violence that was happening
under the same roof. Of course there were times when it was
inevitable and I couldn’t get her away fast enough, I mean good on
her she even kicked him the once! It wasn’t as easy as just phoning
the police and getting a restraining order put on him though, or
giving evidence resulting in him being put in prison. My Mum was
terrified of leaving him and kept falling for his lies that he would
change and it would never happen again. He was threatening to kill
me, kill my sister, kill my dad, kill my Mum, and kill any of my
family that he could get his hands on. He even went in to exact,
vulgar detail as to how he was going to do it. Petrified, none of us
broke the silence on it. One of the times, my mum discovered that she
was pregnant and she was ecstatic. She had always wanted another
child! However, after one too many beatings my Mum miscarried. ***
had beat her that bad, kicked her in the stomach that hard, that she
lost the baby. He left her there to bleed until eventually mum was
taken to the hospital by ambulance having miscarried and suffering a
perforated ear drum. *** was then arrested for manslaughter.
The court date arrived and mum just
couldn’t do it. She said she saw the fear on his face and couldn’t
go through with it. She went to court that day and begged the judges
to drop the case. I’m not sure how on earth she managed it but she
did, they dropped the case. They got back together and life went on
as normal. I use the term ‘normal’ lightly – life went on as
the normality it had been.
2008 was the same except to more of an
extent. I began a relationship on 20.02.08 in which I was very happy.
The stress at home caused quite a big impact on us though. The
violence became worse and had gotten to the point where Mum was so
physically weak and exhausted from the stress and the physical
beatings that she ended up in hospital. Whenever she stood she would
faint and fall. After examinations at the hospital they found that
she had a hernia on her brain stem and hemiplegic migraine. She still
has the hernia to this day but it isn’t operable as it could
potentially leave her worse off. It doesn’t really affect her now,
she still gets bad migraines though.
Around April time there was another
incident which still goes through my mind every now and again. My
sister and I were at my Dads house for the weekend and we were sat on
the floor watching the TV when my phone rang. It was Mum. I couldn’t
quite make out what was being said I could just hear talking and then
raised voices. Nothing major though. I assumed she had just phoned me
accidentally and put the phone down. My phone rang again, I could
hear ‘Basshunter – Now You’re Gone’ playing in the background
and then more talking. Then shouting. Then silence. Then threats of a
hammer. Then screaming. My dad heard the screams from the phone and
within seconds the three of us jumped into my Dads work van and sped
5 minutes to my Mums, calling the police on the way. I had tried to
phone but I was shaking that much I couldn’t tap the number in
properly, so after two or three attempts my Dad took my phone and
called them. We pulled up outside Mums and before Dad had even
stopped the van I flung the door open and ran into Mums. She came to
the door black and blue (seemed to be the only way we had seen her
recently) and *** was sat upstairs on the computer as per usual
acting as if nothing had happened. Well that was it, I saw him and I
lost it. I screamed the odds, telling him exactly what I thought of
him and how I wished he was dead. Told him karma would get him one
day and I hope he would rot in hell. He just sat there with that
disgusting smirk on his face, still making threats. I was removed
from the room and taken outside as the police went in to arrest him.
I remember the police putting him in the back of their van as my Dad
held me back to stop me from going for him. Even the policeman told
me to calm down before I ended up getting in trouble too! I was 14,
had the attitude of a typical teenager anyway except I also had so
much anger and hurt locked up inside I just raged that night.
The police took my phone for evidence
(I had recorded the conversation, I tended to do that whenever they
argued – ‘just in case’). So they had that, but they were
missing the essential piece they needed. The hammer. Searching the
garden at 11:30pm and neighbours outside wondering what was going on,
it was my sister that found the hammer. *** had threw it out of the
window into the back garden which backed on to a graveyard as soon as
he had heard the police. The police took it for evidence but *** had
left his phone. I found that the next morning at 5am when his “The
Key The Secret” ringtone began blaring and waking everyone up. I
was terrified thinking he was back in the house but then found his
phone in the washing basket. Handed that over to the police and then
social workers began visiting to check me and my sister were okay,
myself, my mum and my sister gave video evidence at a specialised
centre which was then due to be used in court. Again, the case was
dropped and they got back together again.
13th June 2008 I ended up in
hospital for a few days. I had collapsed due to stress, low body
weight and loss of feeling in the right side of my body. My Anorexia
had completely taken over by then. High school was hellish and I was
bullied constantly. I had next to no friends because everyone was too
scared to come round my house because they had heard of what happens
there. People threw things at me in classes, pulled zombie faces,
snapped pencils and laughed saying “hey look it’s your spine”,
pushed me into walls with comments such as “oops, watch your ankles
don’t snap” and “oops, I crushed the anorexic”. Even my
netball coach made the comment of I looked like I was about to snap
whenever I caught the ball and pivoted and it was almost laughable.
Lay in the hospital bed with no clue what was going on, *** took a
photo of me and posted it on Facebook with the caption of “Golddigga
beds modelled by Keeley”. It was as if he was almost revelling in
the fact that part of this was his doing and he was proud of it. That
photo and others of my mum, my sister and I are still on his Facebook
to this very day.
27th June 2008, Mum’s
birthday, the domestic violence FINALLY came to an end. *** never
really seemed to like it when the attention was away from him, so
being as it was Mum’s birthday his mood wasn’t exactly fantastic.
Then again, it never really was! The evening of Mums birthday they
began arguing again. The violence wasn’t really the issue for that
night, *** slapped mum as she was walking up the stairs but didn’t
punch her or kick her or spit or anything. I’m not saying a slap
isn’t abuse still, it was just nothing compared to how it could
have been. That evening the threats became worse. I can’t exactly
remember what they were arguing over but I just remember him ranting
on about how he was going to kill all of our family. Was going to get
his Uncle over from Ireland who had recently came out of prison for
murder and he was going to make sure he found a time when all of our
family was in the house together and set fire to the house. He
grabbed my face as I was on the phone to my Aunty and shouted “I’ve
got 3 words for you, YOUR DAD’S DEAD”. Well that was it, I felt
myself deflate and go weak. I loved my Dad regardless of the past, I
loved my Mum regardless of how things were and I loved my sister who
needed protecting. My Mum wasn’t in a position to do it at that
point in time and many of people have said to me that I was the one
who bought my sister up. So my Aunty called the police to my Mum’s
house and *** was arrested for the final time. Unfortunately, even
though this time my Mum was strong enough to not drop the statements,
there was nothing that the police could do except charge him for
battery at most despite all of the previous occasions. Since the day
that he left that final time, Mum never looked back and he was out of
our lives for good. Physically at least - the mental scars still
remained.
2009 things were looking up a little. I
made friends, began going out more, my relationship was still going
strong. The joys of puppy love at 15 years old! Obviously there were
arguments but nothing major, just silly stuff about gossip that had
been spread at school. I was just being a teenager. Then things got a
little rocky between us, I had been taking Cerazette as a birth
control pill whilst engaging in a sexual relationship with my
boyfriend. I had been taking antibiotics for tonsillitis at the time
though and we were just teenagers in love we didn’t really think
about implications of taking two medications at the same time. After
a trip to a sexual health clinic on 11th April I
discovered I was pregnant. Silly of me I know, but I didn’t
actually tell my boyfriend until we split up on 24th
April. I was lost, I was confused, I had no idea how I was going to
bring a child into this world and my state of mind caused us to break
up. Both of our families would have gone crazy if they’d have found
out so I kept quiet until I ended up shouting it at him after school
one day. He didn’t believe me, he thought I had made it up to try
and get him back. Which to be honest is understandable because it was
my own fault for not telling him as soon as I knew. Well now I had no
idea what to do. I was still reeling from the emotions and aftermath
of having witnessed domestic violence for years, I was still at a low
body weight and I was terrified of bringing a child into the world
and not being a good enough Mum to them. I couldn’t financially
afford to, I wasn’t mentally stable and I had no grades at that
point which could have helped me towards a career in the future to be
able to provide for my child. So on 16th May 2009,
regrettably and heartbreakingly, I had a termination. Still to this
day I am unable to forgive myself for this and am constantly thinking
about the ‘what ifs’, but deep down I know that my baby wouldn’t
have had the quality of life it deserved at that stage in my life.
Each anniversary I light a candle and send a balloon into the sky and
still think about them daily.
4th July 2009 a very good
friend of mine was killed whilst out fighting for our country in
Afghanistan. He had not long turned 18 and was hit by a roadside
grenade. Again, once more, my world fell apart that little bit more.
I was losing all who had mattered to me and so close together and
losing all sense of myself at the same time. It seemed that just as
things began to move forwards, something else happened. During my
therapy sessions later on in the future my life was described to be a
roller coaster. I used to cry when I thought about him and would try
to stop myself thinking, nowadays when I think about him I look back
and smile. When I visit his grave I still grieve for him, but I can
walk away with a smile from the memories instead of tears at the fact
he is gone. Gone but never forgotten. I’ll always remember that
cheeky grin!
2010 was the year I turned to drink. I
woke up in the morning and drank, went out and drank more, came home
still drunk, went to sleep drunk and woke up and got drunk again. I
was still self-harming even after 7 years and I was still struggling
with my eating disorder. I was weight restored to a healthier weight
by this point but my thoughts were still there. However my eating
disordered thoughts and my self harm thoughts were blocked out by my
constant state of bleariness from being drunk. I have now came to
realise that getting drunk to numb the pain was a form of self-harm
within itself.
Mid July 2010 I began to see a
psychologist. He was fantastic, we spoke about anything and
everything and I really began seeing a future for myself. I stopped
drinking as much, my self harm had reduced a considerable amount and
I finally felt myself actually letting somebody in and allowing them
to hear my inner most thoughts and feelings.
Except things only stayed that way
until August. You know how I was previously saying how when things
start moving forward I always seemed to have a knock back? Well I got
my final one this month. On the 29th August 2010, I was
raped. My dignity, trust in humanity, self-worth (which was already
very little) and general ‘being’ was taken from me thanks to
this. I had now completely gone to pieces.
I was perfectly sober when I went out
that night. I had met with a couple of my friends and we were going
to another catchment area to meet up with some other of their friends
who I hadn’t really known. I knew one of them but not any of the
others. Anyway, we were all sat there just having a laugh and
chatting away when the drinks were passed around. I either had diet
coke or Fanta I don’t really remember. Sipping my drink everything
was okay for 20 minutes or so. Then I just felt myself go really
tired and nauseous so I stood up to go to the toilet. Coming out of
the toilet I was then pushed into the kitchen which was straight
opposite the toilet. One of the lads from the other room was pushing
himself onto me and had backed me into the corner against the kitchen
drawers. By now I was tired and weak but still fighting against him
to stop him from rubbing himself against me and touching me as he had
been. The music was blaring in the other room so nobody could have
heard a thing. In one last ditch attempt to get him off me, I punched
him. My hand began throbbing and then I heard the word “S**G”
shouted at me. Then nothing. Blank. Nothingness. I have no clue what
happened next, part of me wishes I did and the other part of me is
glad that I don’t. I woke up to find an older male on top of me,
naked, raping me. I hadn’t recognised him from the gathering and we
were not even in the same house as before. I was still in and out of
consciousness and couldn’t fight back nor did I have the energy to.
I just lay there drifting in and out of a sleepy state. Coming round
later on, bodily fluids everywhere, I knew what had just happened and
I knew it wasn’t just some nightmare. I put all of my energy into
dragging myself up and throwing my clothes back on, grabbing my
phone, I ran. 03:12am 29th August 2010 my phone read. I
wish I could explain how I got home but I don’t know. I remember
vomiting on the side of a busy road and asking a lady for directions
to my house but I don’t really remember the walk. I finally got to
my house at 7:30am and went straight to bed and slept for days on
end.
I should have contacted the police
sooner I know, but I chose to deny to myself that anything had
happened, tried to convince myself it was all just a bad dream and I
was going to wake up from it soon. I completely shut myself off from
the world. I didn’t go out except to my therapy appointments which
even then resulted in panic attacks the majority of the time. I
became a recluse. I lost all my friends, any trust in men that I ever
had had now been completely shattered. I spent my time sleeping and
sinking further and further into a deep bout of depression. I didn’t
see a point anymore, I didn’t see a purpose for anything and I felt
so ashamed and dirty that I didn’t want to see anybody. I just
wanted to die. I had hit rock bottom and I wanted to die that was all
I wanted. I drew pictures, I wrote it down, I screamed, I cried, I
woke up sweating from nightmares and I just wanted it all to end.
Getting off the bus from one of my
therapy appointments in early May 2011, I saw my rapist. He was at
the bus stop at which I was about to get off at. It was the last stop
so it’s not like I could have even stayed on and got off at the
next one. I had to get off. I put my hood up and kept my head down
and briskly walked off the bus and made to cross the road. I didn’t
reach the crossing in time though. I felt a hand grab my wrist and,
squeezing my eyes closed praying to God nothing was going to happen,
I froze. I opened my eyes and became face to face with my rapist. I
saw straight into his eyes again, those same eyes and that same
sickening look on his face as the night I was raped. Twisting out of
his grasp I, yet again, made another run for it. I ran home and
locked myself in my room. The next morning I decided I had simply had
enough. I phoned my therapist and told him about my encounter with my
rapist. Beforehand, we had decided together that as long as I could
promise to keep myself safe then he wouldn’t contact the police as
I wasn’t at risk of it happening again. He wasn’t a relative or
someone I had seen before/would see again and so we decided I was
safe. Well that all changed, a couple of hours later my therapist
turned up at my house, sat down and spoke with my mum and the police
were called. They took statements from me, identified my attacker
from the CCTV at the bus stop and took statements from others too.
It was around this time that I
developed contact with the lovely Carol Azzopardi herself. She
listened to me, gave me support and guidance and pointed me in the
direction of WAR (Women Against Rape). Unfortunately at this point I
had gotten so overwhelmed by everything that had happened so far in
my life that I just gave up. My relationship with my mum got worse
and I moved out and went to stay with my Aunty. The police took quite
a while trying to actually arrest my attacker as they could never
catch him at his house or at work. I was kept in the dark about where
he was due to confidentiality reasons but they ensured me that I
would be safe and gave me a number to contact them on if needs be.
I had given up though. I gave up on
myself, didn’t trust anybody around me, and gave up on life in
general. So I walked in to a pub with pint of beer, drank several
shots, sat in the toilets and overdosed.
A week or so after my overdose I was
admitted to an inpatient psychiatric unit for Depression, Post
Traumatic Stress Disorder and Anorexia (although my weight was ok-ish
at that point). I was self-harming with whatever I could get my hands
on, not eating whenever I could get away with it and constantly
trying to hurt myself. I just didn’t want to live and I didn’t
care anymore. Time passed with a load of medication, restraints,
tears and flashbacks. I saw people tying ligatures around their neck,
others cutting themselves with anything and everything and just
generally fell a part of it.
I began to calm down a lot and have
home leave, engage in psychology sessions and speak up a bit. It was
during my time in this admission though that the police came to visit
me to tell me that there wasn’t enough evidence for my case to
proceed to court and that there would be no further contact from them
unless I became at risk from my attacker again. I should have
contacted them sooner, I knew it.
I became angrier at myself for not
speaking up straight away and not breaking my silence. Due to my lack
of mental stability though I tried to end my life again after having
been told that I was soon to be discharged from inpatient and being
terrified of the outside world. I swallowed 2 sharpener blades,
snapped staples, tore up a can of red bull and swallowed it all. It
didn’t do a thing, I just ended up in hospital for 2 days having
enemas to try and make it pass through. That was the last thing I
needed, someone prising my legs open to insert things into me.
Degraded, ashamed, suicidal, my downward spiral continued.
I was discharged from the inpatient
unit on October 12th 2011 and went back to my Mums. I
couldn’t cope with the outside world though, at least not that
catchment area anyway. I had formed a friendship with one of the
nurses on the inpatient ward though who later gave up her job and
moved just so she could see more of me and it not being detrimental
to her career. I remember the one day I had gone to punch a wall and
she just grabbed me and pulled me into a hug. I just stood there like
“Woah, who on earth are you?!” but laughed about it and we still
do when we look back on it now.
I spent as much time as possible away
from my house with my mum and sister. Not because of anything they
had done, I just couldn’t cope with the area itself and the
memories that I had there. My Anorexia was back in full swing now and
I was trying to control everything that was happening around me. By
December 2011 I had lost 10.8kg since the October and was 46.2kg with
a BMI of 16.4. I was being threatened with another hospital admission
but I didn’t care I just thought I was fat and that was it. I
didn’t need to be admitted, or at least I kept telling myself.
New Year’s Day 2012 I moved in with
the nurse from the inpatient unit. Yes, many people found it
inappropriate but she was my getaway and I felt safe. I felt I had a
chance at building a new life if I was out of my previous area and
she was amazing in supporting me to do so. I still saw my mum and my
sister but struggled to be in that area. My Anorexia was still
spiralling out of control though and despite my determination to
build a new life, it wasn’t enough. 29th April 2012 I
was admitted to an inpatient hospital again for Anorexia. This time
weighing 34.2kg with a BMI of 12.1. I almost died. My hair fell out,
I had constant chest pain, my skin broke, I developed pressure sores,
my blood pressure was low, my pulse rate was in the 30s, my nails
broke, I was constantly freezing cold (despite there being a heat
wave), I was lacking in pretty much all the vitamins and minerals and
I could barely stand for 2 minutes without everything blacking out.
Yet I still saw myself as fat even after being told that if I didn’t
start eating again soon then I would be dead in a couple of weeks.
In the hospital I was admitted to there
wasn’t really many rules. If you didn’t eat you didn’t eat
they’d sit with me for 3 hours each snack or meal time until I had
finished but then some days I just point blank wouldn’t eat. I
started to receive phone calls, text messages and death threats
whilst on this ward and so that itself along with the fact I was a
critically low weight and wouldn’t eat, I was moved to an intensive
eating disorder unit in South London. I was then detained under
Section 3 of the Mental Health Act (after being sectioned on a
Section 5.2 for 72 hours, then Section 2 – 28 days -, then Section
3 which is 6 months) and force fed via an NG tube for my refusal to
eat. If I didn’t comply with my diet plan on that unit whilst being
under section, they could restrain me and hold me down to insert the
NasoGastric Feeding Tube. The supplement they put through was horrid,
I know they’re not supposed to taste nice but it was so heavy on my
stomach. I tried eating but hated myself for it. I couldn’t stand
my body because of what had happened to it and I just wanted to
shrink away from everybody. Whenever I ate I felt like I was giving
permission to be raped again. The bigger I was the more chance they
had of seeing me for it to be able to happen again – that was my
train of thought. So I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t bring myself to
do it. I was restrained several times a day by several people to be
NG fed. I know it was to save my life and in my best interest but at
the time I hated them for it. I was hell bent on my self-destruction.
My anxiety was through the roof, I was suffering severe flashbacks, I
was a critically low body weight and yet I just didn’t care what
happened to me. I was still self-harming too and so was placed on
observation levels which is where you have a staff member with you at
all times. Even when you go to the toilet. I was not allowed to be by
myself at any given point and the staff member on my observation
would have to be within arm’s length of me “just in case”. Time
passed in a daze of occasionally eating, NG feeds when I wouldn’t,
vitamin tablets, anti-psychotics, anti-depressants, sleeping
medication and IM (intramuscular) injections to stabilise my mood.
Eventually, as the weight went on, my mind set became healthier and I
became able to think a little more clearly. I was slowly taken off my
medication all together (except for sleeping tablets and
anti-psychotics/IM injections when I wouldn’t take my medication)
and began to actually feel my emotions again. It wasn’t easy, in
fact to say it was difficult would be an understatement. But I
managed, I coped, I started having home leave and I was even allowed
on holiday to Paignton for a week! My discharge planning meeting was
due to be arranged for October and things were looking good. One of
my home leaves didn’t go as well as planned though and I had
another setback. I had managed to get myself taken
off of my section before this home leave but ended up in A&E,
put back on a section and being took back to the unit in South London
in an ambulance. Maybe that’s, somehow, madly, where things began
to look upwards though. I saw how scared I had made people that day
and I realised how much hell I had been putting everybody else
through and myself too. Yes, I actually openly admitted to myself for
the first time in years that I didn’t deserve to live the way I was
and that I did actually deserve a life. The fact that I had managed
to even think that thought just briefly gave me a glimmer of hope
because a few months or even weeks before that I still just wanted to
die. I had hated my body, I hated my life and I hated anybody who had
tried to save me time and time again. But now, I had hope.
November 2012 I was again transferred
to another hospital but this time I was at a healthy weight. The plan
was for me to be moved there so I was closer to home and able to
slowly adjust back in to the real world. South London was 2/3hours
down the motorway from home for me so it wasn’t really ideal to
learn to adjust back into the real world from that distance.
Still sectioned under the Mental Health
Act, I resided in a unit half an hour or so from home. They were
nothing like what my previous unit had been and so I had hated it
there. Purely because I had spent so long in such intensive
treatment, I found their regime pretty useless. I didn’t see the
point in me being there because I was at a healthy weight anyway. I
ended up losing 10kg whilst there despite supposedly being on a
maintenance diet at this point! I did, however, meet some fantastic
friends there who I still have contact with and some of the staff
were lovely. I just didn’t find it helpful at all because I had
become so used to the regime and routine of the South London unit.
At the end of January whilst I was
still an inpatient I awoke with horrific pains in my back and
stomach. The doctors came to my room and examined me and I was then
placed on isolation because of continuous vomiting. A couple of hours
later the pain had become excruciating and I was taken across the
road to a General hospital. I described my symptoms and they
diagnosed appendicitis. They were all ready to operate and the
surgeons were ready when suddenly they realised that it wasn’t
actually appendicitis, a scan had showed I had in fact got a pretty
nasty kidney infection. The pain was terrible and I couldn’t move.
I remember on the Saturday afternoon I was lay in my hospital bed and
one of the nurses from the inpatient unit
I was at, was sat with me (I still had to have the nurses with
me at all times because I was under a section and they needed to
ensure I was still eating). I just sat there and went “***, what’s
just happened?” and looking down, I realised I had wet myself.
Trying to agonisingly lift myself up so I could clean myself, I
realised that my right leg wouldn’t move. I couldn’t feel it. So
then it was test after test after test, MRI scans after MRI scans
after MRI scans. Banana boards and transfer sheets to move me all
over the place still screaming with agony but unable to feel anything
from the waist down. I become urinary incontinent and I couldn’t
feel a thing. I had to wear adult incontinence pads and nurses were
coming regularly to change me. Just when I had begun to feel more at
ease with my body, it had lost control of itself. My anorexic
thoughts again got worse but at the same time I was more determined
to build a new life because I was sick of living the way that I was.
The pain began to lessen after I was given the strongest doses of
Trimethoprim, Cocodamol, Morphine and Nitrofurantoin. I was pain-free
enough to move, but my leg still wouldn’t budge. I was taught how
to use a wheelchair and fitted with a catheter because I kept falling
whilst going to the toilet (I had to try and go every hour to
re-train my bladder) and banging my head off things so the nurses had
decided that a catheter would be more beneficial. Just my luck, it
was a MALE doctor that came to fit it! Luckily it was my favourite
nurse from the inpatient unit that was with me at the time the doctor
came and she held my hand and made me feel a little more at ease. A
couple of days later the consultant came to see me and told me that
he couldn’t promise me that I would ever walk again. I was
distraught but nonetheless was discharged from the general hospital
after 13 days still in a wheelchair but given medication for the
infection and for the pain. I arrived back on the unit the day before
my 19th birthday and everyone seemed quite pleased to see
me. I never thought I would say it because I couldn’t stand the
place but oh my life I was glad to be back! I celebrated – I use
that term lightly – my birthday on the unit and had visitors too
which was nice. Then, I WAS REMOVED FROM MY SECTION. I WAS FREE.
Well, I would have been had I actually had my own wheelchair and
didn’t have to rely on the one from hospital. So I got my own
wheelchair and started having leave. I enjoyed my time at home so
much that in the end I just refused to go back because I felt I was
managing fine at home and didn’t need to be there anymore. The ward
had gotten a bit hectic with a new admission at that point too and I
didn’t find it beneficial to my recovery. So I went back to the
ward, collected my stuff and on the 8th March 2013, after
11 months and 1 week in 3 consecutive inpatient units, I discharged
myself. I was still in a wheelchair but I didn’t care. I was
finally going home.
Since coming home 5 months ago so much
has changed. I haven’t self-harmed since January and so am now
officially 7 months self-harm free! I no longer want to commit
suicide and I have generally started enjoying life. I still struggle
with Anorexia and relapsed 8 weeks or so ago but professionals caught
me early enough to stop it taking over completely and avoid another
hospital admission. I feel stronger than I ever have before and have
fantastic support around me. I even began to walk again 3 months
ago!! I think I have a habit of proving people wrong now. Tell me I
can’t and I’ll show you I can!
I am still living in the same place I
was prior to admission, away from the area my life turned upside
down. Still with the nurse I built a friendship with. She has seen me
on my darkest days, held me and supported me through them and laughed
with me (and sometimes AT me) on my best days. She is my best friend
and I am so thankful to her for helping me see the light at the end
of the tunnel and not giving up on me.
My sister doesn’t suffer with any
mental illnesses, people have said that I did a damn good job of
bringing her up and she still thanks me for it now. I’m forever
being told that I grew up too fast through having to take
responsibility of my sister but I wouldn’t have it any other way.
She has grown into such a beautiful young lady and I couldn’t
possibly be any more proud of her if I wanted to. She is doing
fantastic in school, having a social life outside of it and generally
living the teenage years that I never did. She still lives with my
mum who was in a relationship for two years which unfortunately,
recently fell apart. However I do have a beautiful new baby sister
from this relationship! So yes, things are fairly settled that end
now, mum still has confidence issues and we still don’t
particularly see eye to eye or have the best relationship but that’s
just life. We get on better than we used to but she blames herself a
lot for the things that I have been through and the way that I have
turned out to be and so had admitted herself that she struggles a lot
with that. Yes we argue and get angry with each other but at the end
of the day she is my mum and she tried her best. She didn’t ask for
those things to happen to her and I’m sure she wouldn’t have
willingly put her, my sister and me through the things we went
through. She’s on the up though, she’s stronger now than I have
seen her in quite a while and although we’re still quite rocky, I
do love her regardless.
My Dad moved away to Devon a couple of
years back with his partner who he has been with now for 5 or 6 years
(my memory is useless!) and he is really happy out there. They both
are. They have both been fantastic through all of this and keep in
touch whenever possible. Now I am out of hospital I plan to go and
visit them in Devon at some point over the next couple of weeks. I
love it out there, I find being by the sea really peaceful and it
gives me a sense of freedom.
As
for me, I managed to pick up 5 diagnoses through my hospital
admissions. Depression, Anorexia, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder,
Borderline Personality Disorder and Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.
HOWEVER, after completely opening up about being raped to the
wonderful Carol, Dominique & Sharon and having their support over
the years I have found a new lease on life and talking was the best
thing I ever did. I can honestly now, hand on heart say that I have
moved on from that aspect of my life and I am mentally strong enough
to help others to do the same. I had a psychiatric assessment 3 weeks
ago and I managed to lose two of my diagnoses thanks to these
wonderful ladies and my support at home! I no longer show enough
signs/symptoms to be classified under the DSM-IV as having Depression
or PTSD. They were my first diagnoses and the first to go, it may
well be ten years later but I still am so pleased. Hopefully I can
drop the others in the future too! I am so happy to have finally
recovered from them. I no longer have flashbacks, I no longer want to
end my life and I can actually be sociable now and not shut myself
away from everybody. If I hadn’t have spoken to these 3 ladies I
don’t think I would have ever recovered from those mental
illnesses. Don’t get me wrong, a scent can still make me shiver, a
sudden movement or loud noise will still make me jump, I still get
sad and upset, but by no means does it affect me half the way it used
to. I am happy, and I am proud, to finally be able to say that
domestic violence and rape didn’t ruin me, it MADE ME.
I
have never felt as strong as a person in the entirety of my life. My
home life is settled and happy, I am settled and happy, I have
regular therapy for my Anorexia and weigh-ins to check on my progress
and I am awaiting a letter from psychology to discuss therapy for my
OCD. I’ve hit rock bottom and I bounced back up, I started falling
again and I was lifted back up. Talking about things really did save
me and it can for you too.
You
may feel worthless, ashamed, embarrassed, disgusted but I am telling
you now you are NONE of those things. It takes time and it’s not
easy but I promise you it is worth it. After all – you are still
alive, you are here, you made it and you are beautiful. You are
already half way there.
