Stories
Natalie's story
Mum's eyes
Babette's story
Lee's Story
Samantha's Story
Susan's Story
These six stories cover some people's first experiences and reactions
to mental illness within the family. They are from an 18-year-old
woman living with a mental illness, her mother and her 16-year-old
sister.
Natalie's Story
When I was 18, my mind left this world and took me on a long,
difficult journey into a different realm.
For a few days, in the heat of summer, I literally lost my mind
and began to live a very different, strange life. At first, I believed
that my real parents were Martians - my earth mother had adopted
me for 18 years. Now it was time to return to Mars. I was taking
medication at the time. These pink tablets now told me the time.
There were 12 tablets left so that meant 12 days before my Martian
parents came to collect me from Earth to return to Mars. For some
reason, during the course of those few days, I had developed a ritual
of throwing my glasses off my head onto the floor, picking them
up, putting them on my face again, only to throw them on the floor
once more. I also believed that I had developed special psychic
skills, that I had been especially chosen to attend a school to
develop my psychic gifts.
I don't remember eating, sleeping or communicating with many people
during this time - my life and my mind had entered a very different
world.
I do remember going to the local hospital to be examined and checked.
At this stage I was fascinated by the medical equipment in the examination
cubicle - of course I thought this was part of the special entrance
test to enter my psychic school.
I spent the next 3 weeks in a psychiatric hospital. I was put
on anti psychotic medication after my diagnosis of schizophrenia.
This was the lowest point of my life - a very cruel fate. My two
younger sisters and mother were scared out of their wits - my sisters
barely visited me and later abandoned me in my time of need.
For the next 10 years I tried to grapple with this awful growing
confusion that ruled my life. I couldn't hold down a job, my psychotic
episodes took me to very strange places. I remember early on believing
that I was an international gymnast from Russia who had to practise
constantly - the hospital corridors became my training area. I would
spend my time on the "balance beam" carefully trying not to fall
off, leaping in the air, practising for my next competition. Another
time I was a fire engine. I bought myself a shower cap covered in
red dots and wore this constantly. I would run around the hospital
ward screeching at the top of my voice imitating the sound of a
fire engine. To this day I feel a strange sensation whenever I see
a fire engine.
As a young adult I strongly resented this horrid illness - it
wasn't happening to me, it would soon go away, it was a stage I
was going through. While I was in hospital I was forced to take
all sorts of different medication but once I left hospital I decided
that medication wasn't necessary and of course always started getting
sick again.
After 3 years of this trauma, my illness developed from schizophrenia
to manic depression - (not uncommon from what I'm told). I remember
quite vividly spending 9 months closed off from society living the
life of a recluse. I was constantly tired. I would get out of bed
at 1 pm - in time for "Days of our Lives", have a loaf of raisin
bread, a bottle of coke and a packet of chocolate biscuits then
return to bed at about 7 pm. I spent three quarters of my time asleep
- I couldn't motivate myself to do anything. All I wanted to do
was live my life in darkness. Death was a thought I entertained
regularly. During this time I alienated my friends and my sisters.
They saw a young woman crumble into someone who they no longer recognised.
I was living the life of someone I didn't know. I had been exposed
to a very different life - I had lost complete control. In hospital
I saw people who had lost control in every way imaginable. I was
very scared and frightened by all of this - no one could stop this
from happening.
Once I turned 27 I started to come to terms with my illness and
finally became more accepting after a huge, 10 year long battle.
More importantly I started taking my medication on a daily basis.
For many years I felt a lot of resentment, anger, bitterness and
hostility towards my illness and, to a lesser degree, myself and
my family. My life has more or less returned to normal now. I am
36 years old, I have a full-time job and I run a part-time business
working as a massage therapist.
I usually have a hospital admission once every one to two years
but luckily, it's never for very long and I seem to recover quite
quickly. I have a very supportive network of friends who are really
understanding. In fact, I met two of my closest friends while in
hospital.
My illness has taught me much compassion and tolerance after realising
that the human psyche can be so very fragile and vulnerable. A day
doesn't pass when I don't think about my illness. I think it will
always haunt me. It will always be an integral part of who I am.
Mum's eyes
I thought I was a cool, single mother. After a childhood with
an authoritarian father, my three daughters were able at last to
explore their potential. They did youth theatre, photography, music,
skipped school, went night clubbing, had friends around, and experimented
with drinking and boys. Life was exciting and interesting.
Then challenges intervened. The divorce process started. My youngest
daughter needed spinal surgery out of the blue. My eldest daughter
was completing Year 12, looking for a job and going to end of school
celebrations. It was nearly Christmas. Our normal chaos was becoming
more so.
After Jo's operation, I invested in a video recorder to keep her
occupied while bed-ridden. The three of them, and sometimes friends,
stayed up late, endlessly watching Sci-Fi movies. After one session
Natalie started telling me she was from Mars and laughing bewilderingly.
At first I went along with this story, encouraging her to tell me
about the detail of life, suggesting appropriate dress, mapping
out the experience.
After a time I became increasingly irritated, especially by the
laugh and asked her to stop. She wouldn't. Her sisters went along
for a while and then started to become angry that she wouldn't shut
up. When she kept it up all night I decided I should do something,
but I was confused. On one hand I admired the creativity involved
in the description of life on Mars, on the other I couldn't understand
why she wouldn't stop. I thought it was a practical joke and yet
something made me think she was not OK.
The charade continued all day and I decided I needed help - but
where from? It was Christmas and therefore difficult to access community
help. Friends called a doctor.
Natalie loved the doctor. She admired her bag, taking out her
stuff and asking her strange questions. It became clear that somehow
these questions were connected to her life on Mars. She started
becoming obsessive about time and eating. The doctor corrected Natalie's
delusions and acted as if she thought we had all behaved inappropriately
by going along with her. I became very conscious of the messy house,
some of us still in dressing gowns at 3 pm and visitors coming and
going. The doctor decided Nat should be admitted to hospital.
Nurse John took a detailed history but seemed most interested
she had become exposed recently to drugs and that I was a single
mother. I kept asking what was going on and was fobbed off. By now
Nat was making little sense, was feeling pictures as if they could
be understood three dimensionally and was becoming VERY angry because
the doctor brought her here and didn't take her home to Mars. I
was getting VERY worried. I made many attempts to engage the staff
to talk about Nat but was ignored and I inevitably started to feel
judged and that whatever was wrong, it was my fault.
Finally, I saw the psychiatrist. After listening to my story,
cutting me off as much as she could, she told me Nat was psychotic,
what would happen next depended on medication and could last days
or years. I went home bewildered and looked up psychotic in the
dictionary. It said MAD.
The next 10 years was a challenge for all of us. Her sisters left
Canberra only returning for brief holidays. They have learned to
support each other.
Natalie grappled with hospitalisation, medication, angry sisters,
family not coping, friends who didn't understand or couldn't cope,
overspending, shame, humiliation, not being included, losing and
regaining jobs.
I lived through the previous fad of blaming schizophrenia on over-protective
or laissez-faire parents and enthusiastically embraced the current
bio-chemical model, which supports a physiological theory of neurotransmitter
imbalance.
I hate hospitals, doctors and THE SYSTEM and struggle to be objective
about their limitations. I learned no one knows all the answers.
The manic episodes have been fun. Speeding down the Clyde Mountain
scared out of my wits on an impromptu trip to the coast. Convincing
a policeman that our neighbours were ASIO spies. Trying to get into
the American Embassy for reasons I've forgotten. Joy-riding on Corin
Dam. Playing the public and private clown to cover up for Nat's
peculiar behaviour. The near fatal depressions were devastating.
I've developed a damn black sense of humour, I know how to politic
for the cause, and became a researcher and educator in mental health
issues.
After eleven years this journey became easier for me. Nat decided
to go overseas and I bought out of the carer role. I'd rescued her
from interstate too often. I made it clear I couldn't bring her
back from Europe if she had a bad episode.
She learned to be responsible for her medication and care and
we have a respectful, close relationship. I stay away when she has
her episodes. I can't cope.
Nat got herself back together. I consider her a strong, courageous
woman. I don't know how she lives with the uncertainty of her life
and admire her ability to do this. She still has episodes but manages
her stress and catches them early, so they are less disruptive.
The best moment in this journey for me was watching Natalie graduate
as a massage therapist from TAFE. She tried often to complete a
course of study but her illness stopped her. Her two sisters become
academics and this was hard for her to endure. As she proudly strode
across the stage to receive her diploma, I stood and clapped loudly,
filled with joy. Natalie precociously asked if I was manic!
Babette's Story
Excerpt from her personal diary aged 16
I can't believe how much I have written in here! Over this year
quite a few things have happened. I got really drunk for the first
(& last?!?) time; Jackpa died, I had my tonsils out, Jo has had
an operation on her back and only a couple of days ago Natalie was
admitted to the psychiatric ward at Calvary Hospital because she
was acting like a schizophrenic.
At first she was laughing all the time, then she got serious,
apologising and everything. So we asked her why she was being so
silly, and she said it was because she had travelled in time and
all this stuff.
She keeps looking at her watch and every-time the minute changes
while she's watching it she has to do something. It's really quite
funny and some of the things she thinks up are really intelligent.
The doctors don't really know what caused it but they think the
high temperature combined with the stress she has been suffering
from. We aren't allowed to visit her but I did yesterday and she
was just like a zombie not talking to me or anything...
She said to my mum later that she knew I'd been there but 'Natalie'
wasn't there.
Also she's very intent on escaping. She asked my mum to measure
the height from her window to the ground and she's been counting
the number of steps she'll need to take to get out.
Another funny thing she did was walk out holding on to mum's arm
and then she said to the nurses "I'm just taking Merrilyn [mum]
home".
Also, at the doctor's earlier she was calling all the doctors
'idiots' to their faces.
I hope she gets better I know it'll take a while.
As you've probably guessed my holidays have been unreal!!!
Lee's Story
Lee’s Dad has bipolar disorder and is also an alcoholic.
Lee talks about what it like to live with someone with a mental
illness and and substance use disorder.
Every year, we celebrate the anniversary of my Dad giving up the
grog with a party that’s bigger than his birthday. The only
thing that stopped him was Alcoholics Anonymous (AA) and even though
he is always quoting the Serenity Prayer and 12 Steps to us, it
is better than it was before. Mainly he is not in as much trouble
as he used to be. The number of times my uncle had to go and bail
him out at the police station – we lost count.
But he still has the other battle. It was only after he gave up
drinking that it became clear he had another big problem. He never
managed to hold down jobs for long, and we all thought it was his
temper, or his drinking, or both. But then we really noticed the
mood swings.
When Dad is up, he is high. He spends money on things we don’t
need, like a state-of-the art stereo, or expensive pets we have
no way of looking after. He shouts at people and pisses off all
his long-suffering friends. He gets up at 4:00 and starts ‘working
around the house’, tipping out Mum’s pot plants because
they ‘look messy’ and chopping down trees.
He shouts at us over the stupidest things, and talks rubbish about
big ideas he has. He always threatens to start drinking again –
but he never has, which is the one thing he has stuck at.
I don’t know how my mum has coped with all this. Eventually
it all gets too much and she calls in the Mental Health Assessment
Team. But then Dad can act normal, when he really has to. The team
asks him lots of questions and he gives reasonable answers. As soon
as they leaves, he blows his stack at mum, and storms off for a
day or two.
Eventually, the high ‘breaks’ and he collapses, exhausted,
and goes into the most enormous depression. It’s terrible
to say, but we prefer the depressions. At least we knew where he
is, and we aren’t chasing him everywhere.
But still the depressions are pretty bad. He stays in his room
listening to the radio and doesn’t eat. He doesn’t talk
much either.
Dad has been on lithium for a long time, and it doesn’t seem
to work as well any more. So they’ve been trying him on lots
of things lately. It’s not helped by the fact he’s now
developed diabetes. He deliberately eats sugar to get a quick high
sometimes.
I’m not at home much these days, probably because of him.
But it would be great if Mum could have a break from all this. The
stable periods are getting more and more rare. But the hospital
always says he’s not sick enough for admission. They should
try living with him, day in, day out.
When we lived in NSW, he stayed in some cottages on hospital grounds
while coming down from a manic phase. He didn’t get so depressed
after ‘crashing’ and for once we weren’t worried
about where he was and what he was doing. I wish there was some
place now where he could go for a break, and mum too.
In the back of my mind I wonder if my brother or I have inherited
the ‘mad’ gene. They say it can run in families. But
so far, so good.
Samantha's Story
Samantha has had anorexia for a few years. These are some truths
she’s found out.
Can I tell you a secret?
Or even a few secrets?
It is okay to be you…
You don’t actually have to be perfect….
In fact: I like you just the way you are, not prettier, not thinner,
not smarter, not funnier…if anything – I’d like
you to be more like you. And I think that most people that you know
would probably say the same.
Another secret…
Your self-worth is not actually determined by the number on the
scales.
You can almost measure someone by their size…but it’s
not the size of their thighs you’re measuring, it’s
the size of their heart.
Another…
Mirrors lie…you are probably not actually the hideous monster
that you see.
And the woman that said ‘you can never be too rich or too
thin’…she lied too.
And to tell the truth, being the thinnest little girl on the planet
doesn’t really result in happiness…
Can I tell you another secret?
You can achieve anything you want. You can dance, you can study,
you can write – you can do anything!
But even if you don’t reach the ‘perfect’ goal,
you haven’t failed – as long as you tried.
But more importantly, there is a goal you CAN achieve, and really
it’s the most important goal of all… HAPPINESS!
Samantha's Story 2
Samantha writes a small thank you note to the opinion-makers…
To the media…
Thank you for education me to how glamorous it is to have an eating
disorder…
Oh, and fun too isn’t it?
I love that my main hobbies are throwing my guts out, passing out
and taking laxatives after binging on a carrot… oh, and that
my major relationships are with a set of scales and a mirror, both
of which daily remind me of how hideously horrible and fat I am…
despite the fact that I’m too weak to…oh…even
walk.
One question…is it still stylish when you’re strapped
to a hospital bed with a tube down your nose and a drip in your
arm? Just curious.
Susan's Story
In her own words, Susan describes the pivotal moment in her
journey out of her twenty-year ordeal with bulimia.
‘Stop!’ said Lisa. ‘Can I just ask you one question?
Why haven’t you killed yourself?’
My answer came swiftly and confidently. ‘Because God would
be angry with me for giving up on myself and because somewhere way
down deep within myself I truly believe that one day I will overcome
all of this and live a full and productive life.’
'Well, I am in awe of you. In your strength of courage, and in
your ability to go on under such adverse circumstances. I wouldn’t
blame you if you had taken your own life. You certainly have had
a terrible time. But you know what? I believe you are a beautiful
person underneath all of this mess and that you will be healed completely,’
said Lisa.
Well, that was the last straw. I suddenly burst into uncontrollable
tears. My husband who was sitting next to me looked at me with a
mixture of sadness and frustration. I had seen this look several
times before in other therapy sessions lead by a plethora of therapists.
He really was soooooooooooo over this.
Lisa was our last hope as our marriage was all but over. Twenty
years of living with a woman who was both anorexic and bulimic had
finally taken its toll. All the other counsellors and psychiatrists
had said it was my fault that our marriage was so troubled. If only
I would eat and keep the food down, Andrew would feel better about
staying with me. But as long as I continued to be ‘selfish’
and ‘a naughty girl’ who either starved herself to within
an inch of her life, or binged and purged on a daily basis, Andrew
had every right to leave me, or worse still, to insist that I leave
our family home and our two children. Emily, 12 and Michael, 9.
After all, my self-destructive behaviour not only affected me in
adverse ways both physically and emotionally, it also played havoc
with everyone else who came into contact with me for any length
of time. This obviously included my children.
So why do you think you developed an eating disorder?’, Lisa
continued. I was unable to reply. I felt numb. Dead. There were
so many thoughts racing around in my head. Where to begin? Instead
of saying anything I just sat there in stony silence looking at
my hands while clutching a soggy screwed up tissue, desperately
wishing that either Lisa or Andrew would say something. Anything
would be better than all three of us just sitting here in this awful
silence.
Lisa continued. ‘People don’t just go around starving
themselves for no good reason especially when they are a twelve
year old girl. So what else was going on in your life before you
stopped eating at the age of twelve?'
Once again I just sat there for several seconds without saying
anything. Then, all of a sudden, a torrent of thoughts came flooding
into my mind. Thoughts about my parents, who had always been busy
with each other, apparently having very little time for me. Thoughts
about the years of sexual abuse carried out by males and females.
Some I knew. Others were total strangers.
At some point Lisa stopped me mid-sentence and said, ‘You
speak about the sexual abuse with such detachment and calmness as
though it didn’t happen to you. As though you witnessed it
from afar. I find this very interesting yet disturbing. You will
definitely need to unpack these issues at some stage during your
journey to recovery. No one can enter these kinds of experiences
and come out the other side totally unscathed. Whether you know
it or not you have been deeply scared by these experiences and they
in turn have helped shape the way you see yourself as an individual
as well as how you see yourself in relationships- particularly sexual
relationships.’
When Lisa had finished speaking, I continued unravelling my past
with break neck speed like an aeroplane careering out of control
towards the ground at one hundred miles an hour with no way of putting
on the brakes. Once I began talking I found it almost impossible
to stop.
Lisa wrote down everything I said, pausing every now and again
to say, ‘No wonder you have led the life you have. No wonder
you have been so desperately unhappy. You are not a naughty little
girl who is deliberately choosing to annoy and harm others by not
eating. You are a very sad, confused, wounded person who wants to
be loved as a person not because she gets good grades at school
and not because she looks good in a swimsuit.
‘Your endless pursuit of the perfect body and the perfect
grades has been about your need for approval and love. Something
all human beings crave. Many of us are lucky enough to receive these
things while we are growing up. You didn’t. Instead you were
emotionally abandoned by your parents and sexually abused by others
who saw your vulnerability and used it to their own advantage.
‘Has anyone ever told you this, Susan?’ asked Lisa.
‘No’, I replied.
‘I suppose you are used to people telling you to “grow
up and get over it… after all you are forty now and this has
gone on long enough…surely you are sick and tired of living
like this so why don’t you just wake up to yourself and get
over it?”’ Lisa added.
‘Yes.’ I answered. ‘People have been telling
me for a very long time-years in fact- that this is all my fault.
That I choose to do this to myself and to others. Whereas, I believe
I can’t help it. I truly want to be NORMAL if there is such
a thing…but I just don’t know how to do that anymore.
I have been sick for so long I don’t even know who I am anymore.
All I see- in fact all anyone sees when they look at me- is an eating
disorder. So where is Susan in all of this?’
‘You know what, Susan?’ said Lisa. ‘You will
get over this and you will learn to LIKE – no, wait a minute-
LOVE yourself. What you are experiencing is called Post Traumatic
Stress Disorder. You weren’t born with it. It is something
you have developed as a result of the things that have happened
to you.’
‘Contrary to what you have been told by friends, family and
medical professionals you are not ‘mad’. You are simply
a wounded person who needs to learn to love yourself whilst acknowledging
your inadequacies as well as your unique gifts and talents.
‘Nothing you think, say or do is wrong as such. However some
of the choices you make are unhealthy for you and for those who
know you. I will help you learn to make better choices so that you
lead a healthier more productive life that does not see you always
resorting to starvation or binging and purging as a way of coping
with stressful and uncomfortable situations.’
This realisation was a pivotal moment in my life. I was not ‘mad’
or ‘naughty’ and ‘wilful’ as I had believed
for so many years. I was incredibly unhappy because people had hurt
me a lot when I was younger and were still hurting me because I
let them. I couldn’t really stop them when I was a child because
I didn’t know how and they were always in a more powerful
position either physically or mentally than me.
Now with Lisa’s help I have begun making better choices that
are helping me see myself in a more positive light. For the first
time I can ‘see’ myself getting better even though I
still find most days a real struggle.
I am learning to appreciate the little steps I make instead of
expecting huge changes overnight. I know my therapist’s role
in our relationship is to provide me with the tools to unlock the
real me. What I do with these tools is up to me.
I need to take her advice at put it into practice so that I am
able to take care of myself without her support. And you know what….I
am really looking forward to that day!
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