Friday, 11 April 2014


I know it's been such a long time since my last blog post on here. However that is because I still find this entire dreadful episode so traumatic to not only remember but also to write about. Although it's considered to be cathartic by many. I will just give some brief background after my first post so that you readers can understand "why I was so frightened" with the threat of going to the State Mental Hospital lock up ward to supposedly keep suicidal people safe. Yeah right, Not!!

I will go back to where the nurses told me that if I didn't comply with taking all my "knock out" type medication that they were intending to ring Dr C. Then they threatened me yet again with incarceration against my will in the lock up ward in our State Mental Hospital. By this time I had been in the Private Psychiatric Clinic (Hospital) for nearly a week.

Now to I definitely know that my fear of the State Mental Hospital was totally justified. As they not only out people in the lockup ward who are severely mentally ill and suicidal. But also people who are even more mentally ill whom are "homicidal". What a dreadful combination having frightened really sick people locked up with potential murderers. Pretty darn stupid right! However sadly this is all true as many years after what happened to me, I met somebody who has had the misfortune of being detained in there. This person was so frightened the entire time they were in there as they were suicidal and not homicidal. It's not unusual for people to be assaulted there badly quite regularly as well as stabbings also. No wonder the Staff that work in there are so tough because they need to be for their own safety.

So as you can probably guess I ended up complying and took my medication. I remember the head nurse saying to me, "now that your a good girl you can participate in the downstairs art room 
and group sessions". She was a very intimidating women and I could see that she loved the power trip that she had over all the patients as well as the staff.

Then two days went by up eventfully thank goodness. The day after the above comments I decided to finally go down stairs to the afternoon art therapy room. Where upon I was greeted by the woman in charge whom I will call Lee. Lee was really friendly and seemed to have a nurturing quality to her persona. Far more than most of the psych nurses working there that's for sure. She chatted to me brightly and introduced me to the five other women sitting in there and two men. One in his early twenties and the other in his mid forties. Everyone seemed very calm and quite friendly.

So that afternoon I found it quite peaceful and I made a jewelery box from plain wood. I painted it totally black. Then I found a picture of two cute Botticelli angels which I stuck on the front and surrounded the picture with silver glitter. I know it sounds so childish. LOL I think the fact that I chose to paint it totally black much to Lee's discouragement as she couldn't understand why I didn't want to pick a prettier colour. However my mood was so dark filled with deep depression and so much self loathing that black fitted what I wanted to express totally.

However for me just making that whilst I was so mentally ill was quite an achievement for me. As well as being so drugged up I really had to concentrate on what I was doing just to stay awake. Otherwise I would've slept the afternoon away in my room. Like I had on all my previous days in there.

After my afternoon session in the Craft room finished around 4pm, I then went up to my room for awhile to rest. Then spent the next half hour in the smoking room chatting to a nice lady just around my own age back then. She seemed really nice and told me that she was a qualified Registered Nurse who had suffered a major breakdown too. I found that I had a lot in common with her and much later down the track we ended up really good friends.

I then uneventfully had my dinner at 5.30pm in my private room. I was still too afraid to go downstairs to the dining room. I was afraid to go down there as it was so large with so many tables and patients had to to up and pick out their own food. It was basically set out like a help yourself restaurant with both hot and cold food and deserts as well. But at that time I was suffering from severe panic/anxiety attacks all the time during the day and I was afraid that going down there and eating with so many people would just freak me out totally. Especially as everything and every body's voices seemed to echo so loudly because of the acoustics of the room. As you can well imagine my psyche and what little sense of self I had left was too intimidated to go down there yet.

When all the patients came back upstairs the Registered Nurse I had been talking to in Craft came up to my room about two hours after dinner. She asked me if I wanted to go to the smoking room with her to have a smoke. I was hesitant at first but after her reassurances I went along with her. She had already been in the Clinic for about a fortnight before I had arrived there. So she was a lot more confident than me as she was further ahead in her recovery.

We were in the smoking room she was chatting away about putting one of her kids in Foster Care as she found her too much to handle. Now for me as a person who works with young teens I was totally horrified to hear her plan. As sadly there are far too many Foster Parents who just do it for the money and nothing else. I also had worked with teens who had been abused in various ways whilst in Foster Care too. I'm not saying all Foster Parents are bad as there are so many who are really dedicated and truly make the child or teen in their care feel like one of the family. But as I knew of some rare "horrific cases of abuse", I told her that she shouldn't put her teen in Foster Care unless she honestly had no choice like being disabled or something equally bad.

She (whom I shall call Fiona) was quite adamant that it was what she wanted to do with her teen. The I remember like a person "possessed" I got up like lightening out of my chair and grabbed her by the shoulders and whilst I was just about to throttle her I said, "if you put your child in Foster Care? I will make sure that you regret it for the rest of your natural life because I'll get you"! Now this was so totally out of character for me to do such a thing so dreadful. I had lunged at Fiona quite violently and scarily. I was told later by others a after I had cooled down what I had done. One of the male patients in the smoking room had to pull me off of her as apparently I was about to try and strangle her. I was obviously out of mind and what she had said was a major "trigger" for me because of where I worked and what I did.

Of course after that event I was reported to the nurses on shift. I told them I was sorry and honestly didn't know why I had reacted that way as I am a total pacifist and don't believe in violence for any reason apart from self defense of course. It was found later by Dr C my treating Psychiatrist that I'd had a very bad reaction due to the antidepressant he had put me on which was Zoloft which is an SSRI (selective serotonin reuptake inhibitor) with very similar chemicals to Prozac. I found out later that apparently quite a few people have a bad reaction like this to either Prozac or Zoloft and that it's not uncommon for this sort of thing to happen to people. Before this episode with Fiona I was kept on being "told off like a child" not to be so aggressive especially when it was "medication time". Lol And yes this Clinic had one nurse who obviously took her "bedside manner" from "Nurse Ratchett" of One Flew Over the Cuckoos a Nest" fame. But believe me at the time it was no laughing matter at the time.

So of course the nurses called my Psychiatrist Dr. C to come in that night to evaluate my medication schedule as even they could see that after only a few days there my personality seemed to have changed abruptly and that I was becoming aggressive. Whereas before the Zoloft had kicked into my system, I was intimidated by almost everything and everyone and spending most of my time alone in my room either  crying and/or lying there looking up at the ceiling or out the window. Then this sudden dramatic change. When I look back it was all quite scary for me at the time especially as I myself didn't seem to realise what had been happening to me?

Now if I had been treated by an ethical psychiatrist I would've been fine and my medication would have been adjusted accordingly and I'm sure that I would've recovered far more quickly without his abuse and later his enabling of me becoming addicted to Xanax by his over prescribing it. As well as him literally giving me boxes of it from his "Doctors drug samples" that all Doctors get from the never ending drug reps that come to them peddling their particular company's drugs of choice.

Back to that night after I had tried to assault poor Fiona whilst on Zoloft. Dr C didn't see me until nearly 10.30pm again which wasn't unusual for him at all. Although even back then as broken as my true psyche was, I often wondered why he always saw me last out of all his many patients that had to have Consultations with all the time? Of course with hindsight now I truly understand why I was always the last patient to be seen.

So I walked into the Consulting Room when he called my name as I had been sitting in one of the lounge areas waiting for over an hour since the nurses had called me to come and see him. He started off by asking me about my aggressive behaviour in general and especially the "incident" as he referred to it in the smoking room with Fiona. I didn't know what to say in my own defence. Then he just started to crack up laughing at me saying, "your a real character aren't you? And your feisty too, I like that in a woman", and then he smiled at me. In a way that suggested to me that he was laughing at some "in joke" that I wasn't privy to.

Dr C spent some time listening to me complaining about all the strong drugs I was on and how they were making me into a walking zombie. That's honestly how it all felt to me at the time. So he agreed that I should come off the Zoloft. He then explained to me how unfortunately Zoloft doesn't always agree with anyone and it's actually know to make some people aggressive. No kidding "Einstein" I thought to myself. I kept on thinking even back then WTF is going on here?

After we had been talking for over half an hour, which was overtime compared to most his patients who only had 15 minute consults. I should have realised way back then. But I didn't because I was still very mentally ill at the time.

Then out of the blue he got out of his chair and took his suit jacket off and put it over the back of his chair and said "you don't mind if I sit next to you do you"? I said, "no" as I was sitting on a sofa. He sat down and began telling me all sorts of good things about myself. I thought it must be part of his type of psychotherapy, trying to build up my shattered self let alone self esteem. Then he remarked on my long blonde hair. Then he begin to stroke my hair very slowly and intimately. I guess he made me feel special and he was a very charismatic and handsome man for his age too. So I just sat there for around 10 minutes or so whilst he was stroking my hair.

He then began to kiss me all over my face and neck, then finally my lips. Then he whispered in my ear, "I really want you! I wish that I could have you here right now"! I was stunned to say the least. I remember saying with great shock "but you know that I'm in a serious relationship with my boyfriend. Why are you asking me this"? "Because your special to me and believe me I have never felt this way about any woman before that's been a patient in my entire career of over 20 years". Dr C said and looked so sincere that I felt somewhat touched by his words but I wasn't going to go along with it. I then ended the session and stood up off the so and tidied my hair from his playing with it. Then we said our "Goodbyes" and ended the session for the evening or so I thought.

By the time I left the Consulting Room it was after 11pm and the strong night time cocktail of royhpnol at such a high dose, chlorpromazine (Largactil) and Xanax. So I was like a "dead woman walking", pardon the pun. But that's what I was by that time as all the drugs seemed to hit my brain all at once.

So I went into my nicely furnished private room with a TV. No big deal now but back then the a Clinic had hardly any small TV's for patients to have in their rooms. However I had one as Dr C had arranged it and made sure of it the day before. By rights another patient should have got it as nearly everyone had their name down to get one from the time they were first admitted. Looking back now, no wonder some patients couldn't understand why or how I had gotten my own TV so quickly. Like most situations in life, it's not what you know, but who you know at times. I hadn't asked Dr C for this favour either but he had done it anyway. So naturally I accepted it didn't I.

Then I took off my dressing gown and got into bed and fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow. The next thing I remember is hearing something, I thought it was my door and that some other patient was just walking down the passage to the Nurses Station. I then fell asleep into the coma like sleep that these drugs gave me.

Then I remember waking up with Dr C lying beside me on my bed and he was fingering me and sucking on my left nipple at the same time. I couldn't believe it as I had been busy telling myself that the previous incident had just been a dream and this was another four days later. Again I couldn't move. I honestly didn't know what to do or how to get my "drugged out" body off the bed or anything?

I could feel and hear his heavy breathing upon my breast. I hate to admit it but whilst he was sexually abusing me and overstepping every single boundary that a Dr is supposed to live by. He actually made parts of my drugged out, zombie like body come alive. He kept on fingering me first one finger, then two. Whilst using another finger to stimulate my clitoris whilst still sucking and playing with one nipple and then the other. He then began to squeeze my breasts quite firmly. At times it actually hurt me as he was squeezing my pretty ample breasts far too hard. He then bit my nipple lightly and I caught my breath as despite my unbelieving fear of what was happening, he had almost made me cum. I was truly trying my best not to, as in my mind that was like giving him my permission which he didn't have.

He then went on fingering me and playing with my clit for about another five minutes. Then just before I was about to cum he kept on saying my full name over and over and who I was, where I lived and worked and a number of essential details about myself that I seemed to have problems remembering since my breakdown. Then just as I was about to cum he whispered, "say your name now, now, right NOOOOWWWWWW!!!!! As I came I gasped out my full name to him as I squirmed under his touch. He was obviously using some kind of psychological yet unprescribed technique on me to make me remember who I truly was. It wasn't until many years later that I figured out what and who's methods he was using. Which I will blog about later in another blog post.

Even though he had sexually abused me the bastard had made it all feel so good that it was very hard for me not to cum. Especially as I've always been an intensely sexual person. To me sex is just as essential as food and water. It keeps me alive just as much!

After I had cum he got my arm and put my right hand around his penis and because I was so drugged out I found it hard to get away, let alone do what he wanted me to do. So he got round that by putting his hand over mine. So that basically he was masturbating his own penis using my hand to do it. It didn't take much until he had made himself cum too as he was obviously so overexcited by what he had just done to me. I felt so yucky and dirty as his semen was in my hand. I kept on thinking to myself is this real or am I dreaming? That's because my drug regime was so powerful.

I then remember him getting off the bed and cleaning himself up at the washing basin in my room. Then he got my wash cloth and wet it with warm water and cleaned my hand with his semen I it over and over. He obviously needed to do a very through job so that there was no tangible evidence of what he had been doing.

Dr C the walked over to my bed and pulled up the blankets almost like a Father would to their child. Whilst straightening me up and tucking me in he said, "sweet dreams and remember this is just a dream"! Using the power of auto suggestion to my consciousness as the drugs were so strong that I was literally falling asleep whilst he was saying all this. Then I remember just blacking out in a deep sleep for the entire night.

Until the next morning that is...........I awoke feeling very confused and remembering this sexual dream about Dr C. or so I thought at the time. I knew that I had to talk to someone about all this, but whom could I trust in there and could they or would they believe me??

I will continue on more from here in my next blog post about how I coped that day and what happened next to me with Dr C?

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