Openmind 118, Nov/Dec 2002
I was promoted to write this article by the reporting of the death of Sarah Lawson in 2001 (in June 2001 James Lawson was found guilty of the manslaughter of his daughter Sarah. He had helped her to take an overdose, and then suffocated her when the pills did not kill her. She was 22, had a diagnosis of manic depression, and her father's actions were described as 'mercy-killing' by the press at the time) and also the continuing work of survivors activists, such as Peter Beresford [profiled in OM112], amongst others.
I too am a mental health system survivor but I have never really 'come out' as such. And I too had (have) a diagnosis of manic depression. I have been admitted to acute wards via section at least six times - always in handcuffs - and after each time I had to start all over again as I had lost everything: jobs, money, home, relationships.
I was told I would have to take lithium for the rest of my life - no doubt a shorter life than I could otherwise look forward to, what with all the kidney damage. What is it about some of us that we cannot accept our fate quietly? I was determined not to take a dangerous drug forever, so I did what many of us do: simply stopped taking it. This may have contributed to my many visits to the acute lock-up. However, I persevered, and with the (surprising) help and support of a GP plus some heavy-duty 'work' on myself, managed to come off medication.
I have had some years free of both the drugs and the psychiatric 'profession'. Recently I noticed a side effect list for an anti-depressant which included, yes, you've guessed it - mania. Since I started off being prescribed a massive course of anti-depressants, you can guess where my train of thought went. Had I been living a drug-induced cycle of highs and lows?
In the depths of my depression, I wanted to kill myself. I couldn't live with the guilt of how bad a person I was. ...Finally, a knife and a broken milk bottle were how I gave expression to my despair. Instantaneously I knew I needed help. This was the start of my ten-year ride through the roller-coaster of manic-depressive experiences. What if one of those people who I forced to share my despair had actually helped me to commit suicide? Or even suggested it?
Like Peter Beresford, I was told that the best I could achieve was some kind of 'menial' work. I didn't accept that either. I had a professional qualification and I was damn well going to use it. So I shut up and got on with it. But there is never a day when I do not think about how those times have profoundly altered the way in which I regard life, the job I do and the way I do it.
And, of course, as far as the medics are concerned, my condition is only in remission, waiting to resurface like some horror-movie monster we all thought had been successfully despatched in the previous scene.
Peter and the other activists in some ways shame me with their courage, even though I know they would be the last people on earth to wish to do so. I feel I have so much to share with others, both professionals and service users; insights that others might find interesting or useful. Yet I keep quiet. Why? A combination of fear and not wishing to be defined by my mental health experiences. But mostly fear....
We must continue to hold on to the possibility of recovery for all people in distress and be very careful about condemning people to a fate they themselves might have regretted later on in life, but which they seek for themselves in times of severe distress.
I have learned a lot of value in this interesting life I am living. Perhaps being brave enough to speak out is coming along more slowly? I continue to admire my unknowing mentor Peter and our co-survivors. And I continue to be fascinated by the issues that emerge as we slowly unlock the secrets of our own minds. Let us please never curtail life's boundless possibilities, even in our darkest moments.