In her own words, this is an account of Julie’s experience in psychiatric care (name changed to maintain anonymity).
“Even though the following events happened between the ages of twelve and eighteen, it feels like only yesterday as I recount them.
I was raised, along with my brother, by our single mum. I was a bookish, sporty, straight ‘A’ student but I suffered from severe anxiety. When I was young, it began to affect my daily life. As a result, my school recommended my mother take me to see a child psychiatrist. That was the beginning.
At the appointment, I didn’t have anything to say to the man. He had a fixed idea that my father had been inappropriately touching me when in fact, my father was simply absent, nothing more.
After a few more silent sessions, the psychiatrist said there was a place that would help me. It was called Leigh House which, at that time, was located in
Chandlers Ford. I wanted to get back to school and life so I agreed to go and look at Leigh House.
My mother couldn’t drive so, two buses later, we arrived and were greeted by staff. There was an agreement that I would attend as a day-patient to deal with my anxiety. After a couple of weeks, staff was coming down the stairs just at the time when mum was due to pick me up to leave. I was surprised to see mum crying. I didn’t understand what was wrong. She was asked to leave under the threat that if she didn’t leave, the police would be called. I asked what was going on as I wanted to leave with mum. I was stopped from going and section papers were given to me claiming I had anorexia.
My weight on admission was healthy and it hadn’t dropped while I had been in the unit. I had food allergies and used exercise to help with my anxiety. I hadn’t eaten while in the unit as a day patient as my allergies weren’t taken into account. This was interpreted as an anorexic in denial.
The day in the eating disorder programme went a bit like this. Privileges were given and taken away depending on how well a patient conformed to the programme. A privilege, among other things, could be a phone call or a home visit.
I spent time in my room reading as education was a privilege. There was a school building on site but a resident could only go if they were given permission. As books were considered a privilege, there were occasions when they were taken away. Going to the toilet without a member of staff present was also considered a privilege. A member of staff would accompany you and stand in the toilet cubicle as it was thought you might make yourself sick.
At each ward round, there were strong suggestions relating to my father. They weren’t sensitive with their words. I would be told I was in denial and that I could only be cured if I admitted he was a pervert. I refused to say my father was anything other than absent. This resulted in my being held at Leigh House until I was 18-years-old under the claim of safeguarding. I just wanted to go home to my loving family.
In my early teens I did run home on a few occasions. Consequently, I was labeled as a high-risk absconder. During my detention, I was shipped off to Kimmeridge in Dorset without being told where I was going. I tried to call mum from the payphone not realising I needed a dialling code. I couldn’t reach her and she was never told of my move.
Some months later I was sent back to Leigh House where I was told I was psychotic as my denial and delusional thoughts had not improved. I was given chlorpromazine and valium with various claims about their use and what they would do. I was rarely given an option about how I was treated.
Then there were restraints, probably the most frightening experience. Restraint was standard. In my case, there would often be six staff involved, one staff to hold one leg and one staff on the other leg. The same was done on my arms and torso, one staff member per arm and one staff member either side of my torso. I was picked up like that as soon as I had done any misdemeanor which could be anything that they decided on.
On occasions, I was even dragged to the Intensive Care Area (ICA). It was an irony considering the name of the unit. I knew what was coming when I was asked to go to my room where already-positioned staff picked me up in the way described above, and carried me face down to the ICA. If I put up a fight, the pressure was increased.
Being energetic would result in a visit to the ICA. On one of the visits, my nose was broken as I was slammed face first onto a safety bed. I can hear the words as I write, “…be careful, she’s only small.” The pain was intense.
In 2020 I went for a routine ear, nose and throat appointment as I was experiencing breathing difficulties. I ended up having an operation to straighten my misshapen nose. A 20-minute operation took two hours. The doctor asked me if I had ever broken my nose after he found three different fracture points. He told me the injury was caused by a historic flat blunt trauma, defined as being shoved face-first on to the floor. A knee would also be used on my lower back to keep me down on top of all the other restraint staff members who were present.
It makes it sound like the staffs were dealing with a massive, strong person. They weren’t. I was 5 foot 6 and about 45kg. When I left Leigh House at 18-years-old, the prescribed meds were reviewed. There was an assumption I was psychotic because of the meds. When I tried explaining I never had psychotic symptoms I was told I must be wrong.
In 2009, I had some counseling which enabled me to put things in perspective, something I had never been taught to do having spent so long in psychiatric units. At the end of the course I was free to go.
After all these years, I plod on as best I can. I’m sharing this story as I have a goal to change mental health for the better so that others don’t have to go through a similar experience. Thank you for realising that the mental health system isn’t all it seems and for doing something so positive to change this.”
We thank ‘Julie’ for her willingness to share her story.
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