L
lynnehelen
Guest
My parents put me in a state hospital after I attempted suicide (and was damaged) when I was 24. I attempted suicide because of problems with psych meds being mismonitored. I needed medical help. The doctor begged them to place me in a private hospital, which they could afford. they declined. After I was released from the local psych unit still in desperate condition from mismanagement of the medication, that night, my mother carefully showed me the pills I was released with and that she was putting them in the bathroom cabinet of the bathroom of the thrid floor of their new home, next to my bedroom. She knew that I had it in me to attempt suicide. I had told her I wanted to lay down in the mud and die. I had had thoughts of death and dying suince a little girl when my brother kneed me in the crotch and gave me a permanent disability which was not understood by the first psychiatrsit I went to–after years of struggling with problems I didin’t understand, nonetheless succeeding in high-pressure scholastic and social environments. This psychiatrist put me on medication and gave me a meaningless psyciatric diagnosis. If he had called me schizophrenic I would have believed him. So maybe what happened was best. I knew I had a peculiar condition and that his words had no relation to what was going on with my mind, body and emotions since an early age. I took the medication anyway. It made me sick, so sick I was desperate to be dead (asleep), and I made a childish suicide attempt. My disability was such that I didn’t have the parts to know how to do it right. But I did end up on a psych ward. I found refuge there and, after fleeing my parents home after my release, I went back to one about 3 years later seeking refuge when the flimsy life I was living fell apart and I was about to be homeless. This was after 6 months of desperation and my unsupervised medication, which I was taking irregularly, was giving me a bizarre brain problem. The doctors at the hospital, to avoid liability, refused to put me in the state hospital in Boston and tricked me into “agreeing” to be released in the care of my parents, who I had deep fear of. My father had tried to sexually abuse me when I was seventeen. He was unsuccessful only because of my disability from being kneed in the crotch.
He continues, even today, to deny this incident, simply making things up, like that my sister (8 years younger–always a handy excuse) was in the room–which was not true. He has never apologized, or even acknowledged that he did anything wrong. that moment ruined my hopes and dreams for all time. I had just finished sending out college appliations.
Because of my subsequent failure in college and its resulting in disastrous psychiatric “care” as I have described, I ended up with a psychiatric diagnosis, which permitted the lies to persist. I had been sent to a CHILD psychiatrist, who wasn’t able to properly discern the issues and was more concerned with my mother than with me. The family battles of jealousy and animosity–I won’t go into it–all got turned around on me.
I have an uncle who was placed in a stqate mental instiution in England when he was 21. My father did not permit my mother to talk with him. When she took me to the psych ward in Pennsylvania she had already decided to send me to the state hospital despite the advice of a friend who had been a psychiatrist there as well as the advice of the doctor who say me on the psych ward.
When I was released she turned against me–because I had been in a state hospital, which proved that I was crazy and worhtless. She had been coached by AMI, the Alliance for the Mentally Ill, on forcing me to take my medication, et cetera. I ended up losing four years of my life to the state hospital, going back 2 times for a total of 17 months and their were also 14 admissions to two local psych units and a brief spell in a residential program. The overdose ironically involved further damage in the area of my existing disability–I suffered frequent UTI infections, and had one when I took the minor overdose, and almost died because of the pain from the routine catheter in the ICU. It fried my brain. A life of deep horror followed.
My relationship with my husband, a former member of Satan’s choice motorcycle gang trying to make it in society as an engineer, having obtained a degree, painfully saved me from all this, I realize. I am writing this post because, at the same time as I realized this, and that maybe that part of my life is finally healing, with the healing from the abortions through Project Rachel, I began feeling the fear of my parents that always plagued me–their denial of me and the reality of my plight, needs, being, what they did–in the most outrageous and simply foolish ways but until recently there has been nothing I could do about it because of the psych diagnosis, which they have used to keep me in tears.
I heard a noise I couldn’t idenitfy and it brought terror to me. My mother comes through to me in my mind in this fashion–their denial, their saying none of it, nothing, I, am not real.
I pray that, as I am doing with my children who I lost, they come to terms with their sin against me, that is is brought home to them so that that can repent and so that I can move on with my life without this fear, which will only destroy me all over again. They refuse to discuss anything about my illness, their parenting, my diagnosis, et cetera, with me. “You’;re mentally ill and you’ve just got to admit it” is what they used to say for years. And after awhile they believed it. “Why should we listen to you? You’re clinically determined to be insane.” that’s the underlying message. I am not insane. I have been driven to madness but my mind is substanitally rational. They deny this. they do not bother to listen. They do not want to hear. Meanwhile, they take my child from me and I have to let him go to them, knowing what they will say to him about it me. He knows mw. He knows my spasms, my physical pain, because he helps me with it.
“A broken and contrite heart is the offering you desire for my sin.” I realized that that was true of me with respect to the abortion that I have been posting about, the anniversary of which is now completely over, I have an appt with my regular counselor today and will be continuing with the Project Rachel program.
I believe that my parents need to be led similarly to a broken and contrite heart for what they did to me. The Lord asks for forgiveness of sins against you when the person who has sinned repents. I have already forgiven my parents. But it hasn’t freed me from anxiety, fear, and dread of them, because they haven’t repented and will continue on their course of generally saying and doing hurtful things to and about me, involving a huge network of friends and family who have watched my situation play itself out. In short they remain complacent, and I pray that the Lord brings them to their knees as he broughjt me to mine, for they need it, and I need it.
This has been going on for thirty years. I would so appreciate your prayers in this difficult and painful matter which has formed the backdrop for all the difficult matters with regard to my husband and son I have been posting about.
He continues, even today, to deny this incident, simply making things up, like that my sister (8 years younger–always a handy excuse) was in the room–which was not true. He has never apologized, or even acknowledged that he did anything wrong. that moment ruined my hopes and dreams for all time. I had just finished sending out college appliations.
Because of my subsequent failure in college and its resulting in disastrous psychiatric “care” as I have described, I ended up with a psychiatric diagnosis, which permitted the lies to persist. I had been sent to a CHILD psychiatrist, who wasn’t able to properly discern the issues and was more concerned with my mother than with me. The family battles of jealousy and animosity–I won’t go into it–all got turned around on me.
I have an uncle who was placed in a stqate mental instiution in England when he was 21. My father did not permit my mother to talk with him. When she took me to the psych ward in Pennsylvania she had already decided to send me to the state hospital despite the advice of a friend who had been a psychiatrist there as well as the advice of the doctor who say me on the psych ward.
When I was released she turned against me–because I had been in a state hospital, which proved that I was crazy and worhtless. She had been coached by AMI, the Alliance for the Mentally Ill, on forcing me to take my medication, et cetera. I ended up losing four years of my life to the state hospital, going back 2 times for a total of 17 months and their were also 14 admissions to two local psych units and a brief spell in a residential program. The overdose ironically involved further damage in the area of my existing disability–I suffered frequent UTI infections, and had one when I took the minor overdose, and almost died because of the pain from the routine catheter in the ICU. It fried my brain. A life of deep horror followed.
My relationship with my husband, a former member of Satan’s choice motorcycle gang trying to make it in society as an engineer, having obtained a degree, painfully saved me from all this, I realize. I am writing this post because, at the same time as I realized this, and that maybe that part of my life is finally healing, with the healing from the abortions through Project Rachel, I began feeling the fear of my parents that always plagued me–their denial of me and the reality of my plight, needs, being, what they did–in the most outrageous and simply foolish ways but until recently there has been nothing I could do about it because of the psych diagnosis, which they have used to keep me in tears.
I heard a noise I couldn’t idenitfy and it brought terror to me. My mother comes through to me in my mind in this fashion–their denial, their saying none of it, nothing, I, am not real.
I pray that, as I am doing with my children who I lost, they come to terms with their sin against me, that is is brought home to them so that that can repent and so that I can move on with my life without this fear, which will only destroy me all over again. They refuse to discuss anything about my illness, their parenting, my diagnosis, et cetera, with me. “You’;re mentally ill and you’ve just got to admit it” is what they used to say for years. And after awhile they believed it. “Why should we listen to you? You’re clinically determined to be insane.” that’s the underlying message. I am not insane. I have been driven to madness but my mind is substanitally rational. They deny this. they do not bother to listen. They do not want to hear. Meanwhile, they take my child from me and I have to let him go to them, knowing what they will say to him about it me. He knows mw. He knows my spasms, my physical pain, because he helps me with it.
“A broken and contrite heart is the offering you desire for my sin.” I realized that that was true of me with respect to the abortion that I have been posting about, the anniversary of which is now completely over, I have an appt with my regular counselor today and will be continuing with the Project Rachel program.
I believe that my parents need to be led similarly to a broken and contrite heart for what they did to me. The Lord asks for forgiveness of sins against you when the person who has sinned repents. I have already forgiven my parents. But it hasn’t freed me from anxiety, fear, and dread of them, because they haven’t repented and will continue on their course of generally saying and doing hurtful things to and about me, involving a huge network of friends and family who have watched my situation play itself out. In short they remain complacent, and I pray that the Lord brings them to their knees as he broughjt me to mine, for they need it, and I need it.
This has been going on for thirty years. I would so appreciate your prayers in this difficult and painful matter which has formed the backdrop for all the difficult matters with regard to my husband and son I have been posting about.
