‘Abby, Bruce is scared of you. You do remember threatening to cut his throat, don’t you? He wrote to me and informed me he was closing your case file’
A psychiatrist who put my life in danger can close the file and walk away. I can’t. I am stuck in the hell he has created for me through his incompetence and neglect.
Not only can you die from seizures but you can receive permanent brain damage. I also had a suicide plan, had bought rope, carved into my legs ‘Sorry’, had picked a location to hang myself and came up with a plan of calling the ambulance immediately before so that no children or community members found me. I couldn’t bring myself to hang myself in my house as my children and husband would have to live with that reminder.
I’d decided that my camera would go to my beautiful friend Bec, all my clothes to be donated and my husband and kids to have whatever they wanted to feel close to this selfish weak girl that would abandon them.
I’m still living in crazy-town. I want to cry because nobody is listening. They just aren’t listening or maybe they think, oh it’s just another BPD patient banging it on.
It’s really hard to believe them when they tell me I’ll feel better soon when I’ve been hearing that for the last six months. I never got the help I needed until after my second seizure and the help I was given was to cold turkey from 225mg of Venlafaxine. Not the best way to spend your Christmas and I’m still feeling it.
I’ve only recently busted out of the Palace (my name for Chisholm Ross Centre) – an emergency hospital ward to keep you from hurting yourself or others. I gave a lot of Dharma wisdom to patients, something I really enjoyed. I came out okay and the days following I crashed.
I’m not good at trying to put myself back together but when the people who are supposed to help you don’t, it means that Buttercup it all rests on your shoulders.