A Kind of Healing – Art and Poetry By Charlotte Farhan

A Kind of Healing - By Charlotte Farhan

A Kind of Healing – By Charlotte Farhan

 

A Kind of Healing – By Charlotte Farhan

smoke into the night

smoke into the morning

remove

feeling

numb

a kind of healing

memories clutter

dreams smudge

nightmares form

creating

other worlds

mirrors

reflecting the storm

shackled to distraction

narratives of others

re-imagining stories

living through

our screens

blinded

white noise

like screams

sleep

is not peaceful

sleep

it does not recharge

sleep

opens wounds

scars

replaying

old trauma

faded

and cracked

smoke fills my view

smoke keeps me amused

inhaling

a remedy

a pass

to myself.

 


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This is how it feels to be the child of a suicidal parent

There hasn’t been a day since being 11 years old that I wasn’t prepared for my Mother to die. There is no scenario in which my mind has not investigated or planned; from her funeral, what I shall say, how I will feel, who will judge me as the cause of her death. This is not due to a macabre obsession or a morbid wish, this is how it feels to be the child of a suicidal parent.

My Mother has Bipolar Disorder, she was diagnosed when I was a toddler after seeking help because she couldn’t connect with me and feared she didn’t love me. My awareness of her illness was not completely realised until attending secondary school, before this point my Mother was a workaholic and never cried, she was a passionate, opinionated, clever woman who people loved to be around, the life and soul of most parties and fancied by most men. Always doing what she wanted when she wanted and never apologised for living her life. Even when she would drop me off to friends so she could meet men on trips away or when she made fun of my weight or told me I was too sensitive or too serious – my adoration for her was impenetrable, thinking of her as the best Mother in the world and wanting to be just like her.

However my Mother had a sever break down. Suddenly this vibrant woman was in bed, unable to get up, dress herself or wash, her room was dark and filled with cigarette smoke. This made no sense to me, I did not understand why she had changed; it was like Invasion of the Body Snatchers – this wasn’t my Mother. Suddenly she was crying all the time and she didn’t want to do anything, she would watch daytime TV in bed and would be surrounded by books, paper and food wrappers.

Life hadn’t been easy up until now for many reasons for both of us, having experienced depression and loneliness at the age of seven, this new darkness took it’s toll and this was when I started self harming. After seeing a program on a TV talk show about self harmers, after hearing of how these people felt the pain go away and that they actually felt even better whilst cutting, this seemed like the ideal relief. Knowing my Mother had lots of books on psychology and psychiatry I asked her if she had anything on self harm and said it was for a school project, (which for the early 90’s would have been very progressive). My Mother found me a book on self harm and I took it to my room and started to plan my first cut.

A few weeks later I caught my Mother in the bath weeping and cutting herself with razor blades, a mess of tears and blood through the crack of the bathroom door. Shocked that she did it too, shocked that she was in pain and devastated that I had possibly caused it or was going to cause more. In hindsight this is when my Mother and I truly severed our relationship, it was the beginning of the end, even though we were almost on the same page, my need for a parent and stability and her need to be alone and have no responsibilities was like a knife slicing our family tie.

Soon after this my Mother tried to kill herself and she was admitted to a psychiatric hospital, I was left at home alone with our 18 year old lodger (who was very unwell herself) and was allowed to do what I wanted, structure and adult care went out the window. Upon turning 12 I stole some sleeping pills from our lodger and tried to kill myself, instead of dying, sleep was all that was achieved for almost two days and awaking to the realisation that the darkness still existed, there were still no adults or safety.

From this point on, again and again, my Mother tried to kill herself or self harmed to the point of needing hospital treatment. This is when preparation for the inevitable was my only solus – her death. Having lost my best friend to suicide and many other friends; suicide became such a possible outcome that I started being unable to determine when my Mother was actually in danger.  She would say “If I didn’t have you I would die” or “I want to die – there is no point”, always reminding me of how much I didn’t understand, how no one understood – when all the while I understood more than she knew.

After several hospital admissions, 17 ECT sessions and continued private therapy from her psychiatrist on Harley Street in London, it was clear my Mothers condition was getting worse, no cocktail of drugs seemed to help and the bipolarity of her disorder caused havoc on our lives. My Mother experiences mixed states with her Bipolar Disorder which cause her to be irritable, to have high energy, racing thoughts and speech, and over-activity with agitation and becomes an even higher risk of suicide.

This effected me as a child and teen and still does now as an adult. The instability of her impulsiveness, her recklessness and her allowing me freedoms that other children envied, which I did not like or want, I envied the children who sat down for dinner, who had curfew, got money for chores, did homework with their parents, had rules; whose parents wouldn’t discuss anal sex with your friends or discuss their many sexual escapades. In mixed states of mania she would become aggressive, argumentative and so unkind that this emotional abuse still causes me sever pain till this day; name calling, screaming, mental abuse and belittling me with the advantage of not remembering what she had said or done when she was feeling “better”.

There is one act which however hard I try – my mind cannot understand it. When I was raped at 15 and hospitalised as suicide is all I wanted, my Mother made my rape about her and ended up abandoning me and admitting herself to a private hospital (with room service, massages, ice cream) whilst she had stopped my private health insurance (as you do) so I had to go into a mixed boy/girl NHS adolescent unit situated on an old Victorian asylum ground. How could my Mother consider suicide when her baby had been violently raped, operated on due to the rape and then hospitalised? The doctors would ask me how I felt about her doing this, I would always protect her regardless of the fact I was so hurt and felt so unloved.

At 17 she became physical with me on the day I was moving out as I could not take living with her anymore, this truly became my only option to survive, she began to shake me, she slapped me and then she tried to push me into a single pane glass window on the fourth floor of our apartment building. In amidst of this she was shouting at me that I was a whore and that I had probably made up my rape. My boyfriend (who is now my husband) had to pull her off me and at the age of 19 had to confront her with some very stern words and managed to get me out of there.

Another aspect of her mixed states is that of mass overspending which she has done to the extent that all our family money is gone – to be fair my Father contributed to this too with his mental break down. However my Mother seemed to have plenty of money to buy Louis Vuitton bags and accessories, take long haul trips and buy expensive cars, but when money started to get tighter and tighter as the money became less and less, she became selfish and from 17 to 22 let me be homeless, go hungry and I had no access to medical care or dental care, I was very unwell at this time so needed a lot of extra support – but her need to keep up appearances and maintain some of her luxurious lifestyle came before my needs. Anyway it was my own fault after all for being a bad child.

My Mother withdrew from life, hers and mine and as a consequence her sadness took over our relationship and her own guilt for how she has treated me – chokes her just enough to say what a terrible Mother she was or is, something which makes me want to protect her, deny and tell her all is fine, I am fine and she is fine. But her withdrawal made me withdraw from her more an more emotionally, so to not get hurt when she eventually kills herself. Hugging her is painful, when she cries I want to stuff a sock in her mouth – when she complains about her life I want to be anywhere but near her.

Loving my Mother is not hard, liking her is impossible at this point and wanting to have a relationship with her is damaging. However the feeling that at any moment I shall get a call telling me she has died is always there, the preparations are always in place and the guilt consumes me. The illness, the Bipolar Disorder is not my Mother however her core personality and ability to care and love for me is a mixture of narcissism and emotional blackmail.

Who knows what will happen with our relationship, all that is evident to me at this point is for anything to be possible with regards to my Mother is a question of recovery and acceptance. Not forgiveness, we do not need to forgive abuse, however accepting it happened, and that it was not my fault is probably a better focus than my obsession that she will take her own life.


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Our Journey so Far – Me and my Psychiatric Assistance Dog

 

This is our journey so far…

Amadeus is a 13 month old standard poodle who is my psychiatric assistance dog and he is helping me gain some independence, access to the outside world, exercise and he also gives me things I can not get from human interaction. The conditions and illnesses which Amadeus aids me with are Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Agoraphobia, Generalised Anxiety Disorder, Borderline Personality Disorder, Psychotic Depression, Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, and Autistic Spectrum Disorder.

The requirement for me to have an assistance dog was in fact my last hope in having a more fulfilled life, in this able focused and neuro-typical world. Due to sever mental illnesses I have been unable to lead a “normal” life for over 11 years and some things have never been achievable.

When using the word “normal”, I use it in the sense that many things achieved by able people are taken for granted, such as being able to leave your home with ease everyday, crossing roads, being outside independently, going into shops and other establishments, speaking to strangers or service people, taking public transport, being able to drive, listening to music on headphones, meeting friends, going to hospital/doctor appointments…

the list goes on…

Very kindly a close friend of mine started a GoFundMe page and raised enough money for me to get Amadeus and all the things we needed to get the show on the road. People from all over the world donated and before I knew it, we were taking Amadeus home and the rest is history.

So in under a year I have achieved a great deal with Amadeus; starting with simply stepping outside my front door with him and closing the doors behind us whilst no one else was home – this was my first and most challenging of exercises.

Then we walked up the road and started with the closest cul-de-sac, completing this for up to two weeks at a time, then moving onto the next. Eventually mastering  three and staying in this comfort zone until I was ready to go past a busy pub and cross a small road by a large cul-de-sac. By this point I genuinely was astonished by my progress and felt a sense of freedom which would make me promise myself to never let go or go back – a lot of pressure but I have no “happy” medium abilities, it is black and white or nothing.

After this achievement my sights were set on going further up our road to a small green in front of an old Victorian prison, knowing this would be ideal for Amadeus to do his business and for me to be near some kind of nature – with trees and grass (even though it is next to a main road and very busy roundabout). This feat was very challenging, managing to do this once a week and slowly progressing to be able to do it more regularly over several weeks, before committing this as the place we would walk everyday.

By this point Amadeus was getting to be almost one and a feeling of rebirth flowed through my veins. So one day impulsively I decided to go the other way from my front gate, up the road and over a busy bridge to the cemetery behind my house, as this was something I could do without crossing any main roads  – plus it would give me an abundance of nature, things to look at and a longer walk for Amadeus.

We did it!

However this was impulsively done which was me jumping up my ladder and not safely stepping up one rung at a time, which is a trait due to my Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD). This meant I was wiped out for almost two weeks due to the exhaustion of doing something so outside of my comfort zone, which of course made me have sever anxiety symptoms – even though at the time it was enjoyable, but when you get the same adrenaline from walking up the road to a cemetery as someone bungy jumping or sky diving – it can be a really surreal feeling.

My next challenge is crossing a main road in front of my house which luckily has a pedestrian crossing and then walking straight down small residential roads to a beautiful pond and recreational field. My plan is to try and achieve this, this summer, which will be my greatest achievement so far. Amadeus will be able to go off lead in the field, we can walk around the pond, watch the wildlife, sit and read or listen to music; it is something I dream about constantly.

Even though this has changed my life, there are still days I can not go out, there are days when being outside is like being assaulted by every piece of sensory information at once, leaving me unable to process details and all I can do is rest and recover.

So if you have never thought of how privileged you are to leave your home in a carefree manner and when interacting with the outside world and its tasks it is no big deal to you; then I challenge you to think of what your life would be like if you were unable to do these things?

 


As a small art project I documented my journey so far with Amadeus and distorted the images to show the different sensory issues I encounter when outside. This was challenging as simply taking the photos by busy roads was disorientating, however with Amadeus keeping me grounded and helping me feel present and real I was able to do a lot more than I thought I would. There is a slide show, all images underneath and some videos.

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“I am Fine” the mantra of unseen illness – By Charlotte Farhan


I am fine….

I AM FINE!

I. AM. FINE. picsart_02-16-06.14.31.jpg

However which way I say these three words they are always a lie. Not a vicious deceitful lie, but a lie which serves me well whilst simultaneously crushing me emotionally; with each utterance. This little sentence has become a habitual response to the question:

How are you?

Which is a very common occurrence, most people do not divulge their entire life story when asked how they are, it is just an extension to how we greet one another, a politeness (especially in England) to reply:

I am fine, thank you. And how are you?

However when you are really asked this question by a close member of your family, your partner, a close friend or even your therapist and you still only ever say:

I am fine. picsart_02-16-06.02.22.jpg

Well this kind of situation is what I am talking about and is what this art piece represents. This is about how self preservation means losing part of your identity, emotionally but more importantly the denial of your present state. Never allowing your armour to be compromised, focusing on other peoples problems and absorbing them, when asked about yourself you divert conversations as if they were on-coming traffic; as if your life depends on it – because it does.

The majority of the time I do not look “sick”, I have mainly unseen illnesses and my most debilitating of ailments is completely invisible to the eye. As well as this many people do not “believe” in mental illness or recognise certain neurological conditions, saying things such as:

It’s all in your head!

It’s mind over matter.

You don’t look sick. picsart_02-16-06.05.19.jpg

These statements are very unhelpful and also redundant in this context. Saying it is all in ones head is a correct statement, mental illness is in our encasement’s which we call heads, in our brains – our minds. It is not in our legs, nor our arms, it is very much a head thing. However saying it to someone as a dismissive statement is not a logical statement as it suggests that your mental illness or neurological condition should not be “in your head”. Suggesting that it maybe make believe or a lie to gain sympathy (which if you are a person who suffers from mental illness you will know this is an insult as there is no sympathy granted to the mentally ill, instead it is stigmatised). As for “you don’t look sick” this one is nothing more than an ignorant judgement, looking at someone with just ones eyes and not a full body CT scanner (which also can not see everything) there is no way to determine someones health or disability status.

Due to all this added conjecture to this particular scenario , it is not hard to understand why the “I am fine” mantra is a fail safe for so many. You get tired of explaining yourself, defending your diagnosis and dealing with people saying things like:

I don’t really believe in mental illness.

Mental illness is a conspiracy to control and label us.

Mental illness is just mental weakness.

i-am-fine-2-by-charlotte-farhan

So the simple solution is to pretend that you are fine, that you do not need help, that you are not “weak” or “dangerous”, for every mental illness denier there is another person who believes we should all be locked up and not trusted due to the stigmatisation and misinformation on both the mentally ill and those with criminal intent.

This may be the simplest of solutions but it comes at a cost to most. You see there is only a finite amount of space in ones emotional storage unit and the continuous throwing anything and everything that you wish to hide in there can mean that you reach a time you can’t shut the door anymore, let alone lock it. This can lead to you bursting and spilling out onto everything around you or it can mean you just implode – self detonate.

Truthfully for me it is a constant battle inside my head, of not wanting to alienate people or scare people with my overwhelming emotional instability and behavioural abnormalities – having to remain stoic by being the person who people come to, the provider, the rescuer. Against letting it all out, a completely “no shits given” attitude, a liberating freedom of being able to just be me, all parts of me at all levels of intensity. This of course is very black and white and a thought process due to my borderline personality disorder, the middle ground does not tend to exist in my world, it sometimes appears but rarely when experiencing high emotions. To pass off the “strong” persona I have to use the “I am fine” line a lot, which is a kind of middle ground, at least it is when one is trying to manage social boundaries and interpersonal relationships – which to me are like alien concepts that cause feelings of being an outsider.

Charlotte Farhan

There have been times in my past when “I am fine” was a defence mechanism as I was in denial about my illnesses and wished to hide the entire idea from myself, blaming my emotions and behaviours on alcohol, drugs and being a “bitch”, that crazy girl thing was easy to flip and present myself to the world as a “bad” person in my twenties – so I stuck to it. People even liked this persona, some celebrated it by telling me they loved my “fuck you attitude” and loved to see me being abusive to others or violent. If the other side, the vulnerable side – was presented (which was me during my teens, from 11 yrs to 20 yrs old) people looked at me as an emotional drain, a liability, dangerous, scary, I became an undesirable human. At these times of no control self harm, suicide attempts, eating disorders, psychosis, machiavellianism, disinhibition and an emotional sensitivity that was never-ending was my way of life. I learnt valuable lessons on survival and how to mimic other humans as a visiting entity from the planet “strange”, using manipulation to gain friends and taking on other identities which were visible to me as ideals, I could be the most popular person in the room or the most disliked, this was not up to my audience or friends, this was up to me and my chameleon like personality. The important thing is I have forgiven myself for being this way, knowing now this was and still is a neurological condition and a perfectly OK way to survive when you have only ever known trauma.

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Now that I am in my thirties things have got to a point that my life is more introspective and having the perspective of an “adult” allows me to look at my teens and twenties more objectively and see how and why I had to survive this way when there were no adults parenting me and keeping me safe. Being an adult in this way means that when I look back I ask different questions than I did before, such as:

Where were your parents?

How long were you left on your own?

How was it looking after yourself at such a young age?

Did you have to grow up quickly?

There is a draw back to being older however, my emotions get buried deeper, I detach more and say “I am fine” even more than ever. Wanting to be liked for me, not wanting to buy friends or manipulate them to like me, not wanting to be the extreme me who needs someone to safeguard them at all times, not wanting to be the rescuer and the “strong” one all the time. Wanting people to understand my pain more, I want and need actual medical support for my disabilities but am not at a vulnerable age anymore, so am taken less seriously. Hiding in medication and being likeable and not too intense feels like a life sentence:

But still all I can say is:

I am fine!

 


i-am-fine-by-charlotte-farhan


 

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Everyone is Watching – Art and Poetry By Charlotte Farhan

Everyone is Watching - By Charlotte Farhan

Everyone is Watching – By Charlotte Farhan

With this unseen malady,
the world is set to a different frequency,
faces move past with only apathy,
when they can’t fit you into a box,
intelligent, irrational, focused, erratic…
you seem a paradox.

Knowing people question me,
life feels scrutinised,
under the microscope,
wishing to be disguised,
not made to walk this tightrope.

Being able to be free,
not continuously analysed,
a participant, not an absentee,
hearing my voice,
without having to be patronised,
without having to prove my disabilities,
they love to give you the third degree,
have I not proved my invincibility?

We the stigmatised,
are not your problem to fix,
not here to be tamed and civilised,
neither will I be cured by your crucifix ,
“God only gives us what we can handle”
is this a joke – a chance to poke,
superstition and dogma we must dismantle,
instead with these ideas they provoke.

Everyone is watching me,
no longer left alone to recover,
my life is not something you can disagree,
they want to rip it away – uncover,
these things you can’t see,
no one would want this,
so with this plea,
stop watching me.


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Where are my human rights? Mental illness in the NHS

Over 3 weeks ago I wrote an open letter to the NHS and the Adult Mental Health Services:  https://charlottefarhanartactivism.com/2016/09/06/open-letter-to-the-mental-health-services-england-nhs/ Charlotte Farhan - Open letter to NHS

Since this letter things started to look up, after tweeting my desperation and crisis live to the world and my followers, the NHS services in my area contacted me and so did the patient liaison services at my GP surgery.

However it has now become clear that my plea for help and my right to basic medical care was in fact interpreted as an invitation for further discrimination and stigmatisation from NHS staff, leaving me defeated, suicidal and so very ill. Ableism reared its ugly head, as did the neurotypical privilege of the service providers. Surprisingly after all I have been through – I was shocked, naive some may say, but when you are desperate – hope is all you have. My hope is almost non existent now.

The main issue seems to be a complete lack of understanding for complex mental illness and disabilities as well as a lack of empathy. I understand that these bureaucrats are not medical professionals, however if they do not have the knowledge – they can get it, and if they are un-empathetic – should they be put in these roles?

Another problematic situation was the abrupt stopping of access to my medication which happened which left me without medication for several months and no doctor at my practice seemed concerned that this had happened due to me not being able to attend a review which they set for my medication, so due to my lack of ability to attend (which they were well aware of) they just stopped it. Now there are not many meds I can take for my mental illnesses, anti-psychotics make me zombie like, mood stabilisers seem to make me physically sick, most anti-depressants do not work for me, however Citalopram is a drug which minimises my anxiety disorders (C-PTSD, Generalised Anxiety Disorder, OCD, Body Dysmorphic Disorder and Agoraphobia) I take the 40g dose which is the highest (when not in hospital) – it takes the intense feelings away, the feelings which cause me to be in constant fight or flight – a hyper vigilant mind, which feels like your entire body is trying to kill you and save you from imagined danger all at once. Even though it is not a miracle cure and does not make me more able, it allows me to exist in a calmer mind set, which is a life line when dealing with complex illnesses.

As you may be aware it is dangerous to stop medication abruptly as it can cause side effects and withdrawal symptoms. Personally my withdrawal was hell and life threatening, some are lucky enough to not even experience any issues, however there is no way of knowing.

The danger I was put in by the doctors stopping my medication access abruptly led to: suicidal thoughts and plans, anxiety, panic attacks, brain fog, concentration problems, insomnia, migraines, confusion, depression, dizziness, nausea, mood swings, fatigue and irritability. 

This then had a knock on effect to my other illnesses, being under so much stress led to my diabetes and PCOS symptoms to become worse, my borderline personality disorder became more intense and more dangerous for me, intensifying my suicidal desires and my inability to regulate emotions. Also I experienced psychosis – with delusions and hallucinations due to my psychotic depression.

The ridiculousness of this is once I started to complain on social media, the doctors were made to give me an emergency prescription of 30 days, but with no accommodations being made for me to access my GP and as this is not on a repeat prescription in exactly 15 days time I shall be in the same predicament and have to go through this ordeal again, which I fear I will not survive.

In my correspondence with the NHS several things were said to me which constitute as discrimination, ableism and some were just unhelpful in a stressful situation.

Some of the most frustrating things said to me:

“it is a shame your husband can not attend evening appointments”.

Well as far as I am aware just from all the people I know in this country, none of them can access evening appointments due to normal working hours, with only one evening being made open for late appointments, this is ridiculous and very unhelpful to me a disabled person – house bound, with only my husband as my access to the world outside.

“you say you are out of medication”

This may be semantics, however saying “you say” indicates a lack of belief, what would be wrong in saying, “you have no medication, we can help with this”, this was very triggering for me and my conditions as it made me feel unheard and disbelieved.

“There are other surgeries which may offer what you need”

This made me feel so angry and discriminated against. As no real effort has been made here for my disabilities. A ramp is put in place for wheelchair users, WHERE IS MY RAMP! If they are suggesting that some one like me is so difficult and must be put through the added stress of finding another GP surgery just because a GP can not message me via email or text when they are on their way to my house, so that I can answer the door to them, well this is disgusting! This is what we are talking about… Nothing more!

“This appointment could have been had by another patient needing a home visit”

Now this is called victim blaming as well as ableism. I made it very clear that my disabilities mean my communication skills are impaired so I can not answer the phone or make phone calls, I also stated that due to my disabilities I can not go outside alone, sometimes not at all, that a handful of people are safe enough for me to go outside with (all of whom work during surgery hours), and that I can not answer the front door if I have no idea who it is (giving me a time or texting when outside is how I can open the door). Saying that another patient could have had the appointment I so desperately need is so discriminatory against my mental illnesses and has put unnecessary stress onto me when already so unwell.

This is why it has taken me 3 weeks to write another article, as I feel defeated. My only motivation is that by fighting for myself I can fight for others, as so many people have messaged me in the last 3 weeks telling me how they are in similar situations, so holding on by a thread my mission is to create change. However when the next wave of withdrawal happens whether this fight is sustained is anyone’s guess. As there are times when I am not in control of myself. For now my fight is waning but still intact.

Here are my email correspondence with the NHS (this is done for full transparency):

NHS Correspondence

NHS Correspondence

NHS Correspondence

NHS Correspondence

NHS Correspondence

NHS Correspondence

NHS Correspondence

NHS Correspondence


NHS Correspondence


NHS Correspondence

NHS Correspondence


 

NHS Correspondence


NHS Correspondence

NHS Correspondence

NHS Correspondence


NHS Correspondence

NHS Correspondence

NHS Correspondence


For more information on Citalaopram please follow these links:

Mind: http://www.mind.org.uk/information-support/drugs-and-treatments/antidepressants-a-z/citalopram/

Head Meds: http://www.headmeds.org.uk/medications/10-citalopram/use_and_action

Mental Health Daily: http://mentalhealthdaily.com/2014/05/21/celexa-citalopram-withdrawal-symptoms-how-long-will-they-last/

Withdrawal symptoms:

  • Anxiety
  • Brain zaps: Most SSRIs can lead to a person experiencing “brain zaps” or electrical shock sensations upon withdrawal.
  • Concentration problems: a person may feel mentally slow and/or foggy when they stop the medication – this is likely due to changes in levels of neurotransmitters.
  • Confusion: Your cognitive functioning can become impaired to the point of experiencing general confusion. This confusion may be a result of memory retrieval problems, but could also just be confused thinking.
  • Crying spells: Some people report increased depression to the point of crying spells. Low serotonin can cause people to cry excessively.
  • Depression: This is a result of their brain no longer inhibiting the re-uptake of serotonin to the degree that occurred on the medication.
  • Dizziness: Feeling dizzy is one of the most common symptoms to experience during SSRI withdrawal.
  • Fatigue: It may be difficult to get out of bed in the morning or even make it through a work day. The tiredness and lethargy may be pretty severe.
  • Headaches: This is another classic symptom of SSRI withdrawal.
  • Insomnia
  • Irritability: This is because the brain no longer is receiving the calming effect of the drug and it can be difficult to regulate emotions.
  • Memory problems: It is common to experience memory problems to the point that you think you have lost your memory.
  • Mood swings:  They may persist for a long time, but will eventually subside.
  • Nausea: You may feel nauseated all day and in some cases, want to vomit.
  • Sleep changes: It is very likely that your sleep cycle will be affected when you withdraw from this drug.
  • Suicidal thoughts: It is very common to experience suicidal thoughts when discontinuing an antidepressant. Any SSRI that is withdrawn from is likely to lead a person to feeling suicidal.

If you have experienced anything similar with the NHS or you wish to help me and want to know how? Please fill in this form:


If you have an emergency due to your mental illness please be safe and contact Sane: http://www.sane.org.uk/what_we_do/support/

mental-illness-meme by charlotte farhan

Make it Stop – Art and Poetry by Charlotte Farhan

Make it Stop - Art and Poetry by Charlotte Farhan

Make it Stop – Art and Poetry by Charlotte Farhan

Waking up,
whipping eyelids open in panic,
heartbeats pound at my chest,
a frame of mind completely manic,
inside is emptiness,
depressed,
with nausea rising as if volcanic,
anxieties flood and infest,
unwanted thoughts,
borderline satanic,
the compulsions arise,
obsessed,
a lump in my throat,
gigantic,
memories pushed down,
repressed.


 

If you would like to know more please contact me via this form…

 

Time to Breathe – Art and Poetry By Charlotte Farhan

Time to breathe - By Charlotte Farhan

Time to breathe – By Charlotte Farhan

Time to breathe is a luxury,
many do not have the privilege,
a condition for recovery,
confused often with forgiveness.

Time ticks faster – lungs clench,
pressure mounts further inside,
enemies to avenge,
memories like cyanide.

There is no freedom from this tyranny,
like vines weaving through the undergrowth,
holding you to the earth – in captivity,
the past is like a murderer – cutthroat.

Time to breathe is not possible when dead,
life is your only time to salvage your liberty,
the story which follows is still unread,
the chance to respire remains a possibility.

Open Letter: To The Mental Health Services England (NHS)

Dear Mental Health Services England (NHS)

I am writing to you as I have lost the will to fight for my life and am using my last amount of strength to share my desperate situation with you.

I suffer from: complex post traumatic stress disorder, borderline personality disorder, psychotic depression, generalised anxiety disorder, agoraphobia, obsessive compulsive disorder, body dysmorphic disorder, adult attention deficit disorder, diabetes, polycystic ovarian syndrome, arthritis and chronic erythema nodosum.  

For the past 9 months or so I have been left untreated and unsupported by my GP surgery – which is Baffins Surgery Portsmouth and Solent NHS Trust as well as other departments. I used to have a family member who was able to take me to the many medical appointments a person like myself has, but unfortunately I no longer have this family member in my life and since then have been unable to access any care, appointments and clinics. This is because the NHS does not deem people like myself (mentally ill) to be housebound – even when they have conditions which specifically challenge their freedom to leave the house, to interact with people, to use the phone and lead independent lives. This is discrimination and against my human rights to access care.

I have asked my GP and Solent NHS Trust to help me again and again, it is not until I tweeted them in crisis (I am having a breakdown) that they have responded, and still now they keep offering me appointments which I can not get to.

 

screenshot-100

screenshot-101

 

Due to my conditions (which my surgery is well aware of as I have been in the mental health services since I was 12) I am unable to leave the house on my own (I have not done so for 10 years), a lot of the time I can not leave the house at all, I can not use the phone to call out or receive calls due to my disorders, my husband is my only family and he works during my GP’s surgery hours for appointments and telephone calls. When accompanied outside by a safe person,  I can not order my own food, ask strangers for help or cross the road on my own. As well as this I experience sensory overload when outside, loud noises cause me physical pain, I am on high alert and most of the time can only deal with basic communication.

I have been told that people with mental illness can not qualify as being housebound, even though my conditions cause me to be this way, I was told there is nothing that can be done!

I do NOT accept this!

I need the Solent NHS Trust to help me so I can have the same human rights to care as others
.
I need a support worker to take me to all my medical appointments as well as the need for home visits from my GP for when I am unable to leave the house at all.

Since this happened I have been unable to continue my diabetic treatments, clinics and check ups as my surgery will not do home visits and all blood test clinics are in the morning when my husband is not available. So my diabetes could be getting worse I would have no way of knowing, until too late.

I am also unable to have fertility treatment as I am unable to get the help I need to qualify as I have PCOS and am now infertile.

I have something called chronic erythema nodosum which needs to be checked often to make sure I do not have any other illnesses associated with it.

I have arthritis and it is getting worse I need help as sometimes I can not move due to the sever pain in my ankles, knees and wrists, I now have a walking cane.

As for my mental health, well this is the area I have been failed in since I was first in the adolescent mental health services at 12. I have endured mistreatment from many practitioners, including victim blaming, sexual assault in a psychiatric facility at 15, by two male in patients, I have been told I am “too intelligent” to receive care, “too high functioning” and I have been stigmatised for having borderline personality disorder by many practitioners who have deemed me manipulative or attention seeking, when in fact I was in crisis. I have been left with no help or they have tried to section me, there is no in between. I was put on anti-psychotics at 15 years old and was like a zombie for most of my late teens and early twenties. I have been offered treatments which I can not get to, or things which would cause my other conditions to be triggered. I have had no treatment for my C-PTSD except for a un-completed 6 week session of reliving therapy (as my therapist left) which has left me open and more unwell than before, causing my psychotic depression to flair up and experience psychosis regularly. I was put on anti-anxiety medication as I have so many anxiety disorders and then due to not being able to be seen by a GP, the surgery put my medication up for review even though I could not attend an appointment, which meant my medication was stopped abruptly, giving me side affects to withdrawal – which has left me in constant fight or flight and suicidal. These conditions are chronic and serious and cause me to lead a very limited life.

I only have this energy because I decided to give this one last go – one last fight – before I give up. My husband has to deal with this on his own, he is terrified of what will happen to me, where is his support also?

I have been a victim to so much in my life, I suffered neglect and child abuse, a violent rape at 15, and being sexually assaulted by two male in-patients on separate occasions within the NHS Woodside psychiatric adolescent unit in Epsom in 1999 and these are just the worst events, I have suffered much more. But I survived these ordeals even though I am affected by them every day, especially living with C-PTSD, however I survived, all I ask is the chance to live, to have basic human rights, that the duty of care you have is observed when treating me and that I am not left to die!

I also know I am not alone, there are so many of us that are being failed and left to die, you don’t hear them because they have no voice, I also stand for them as I too have been silenced by this ableism, this marginalisation, this stigma and appalling treatment. The only reason I am able to fight is because I have a platform, so I am screaming as loud as I can with the hope you will hear me and help me, and furthermore with the hope you do not continue this lack of care with others, even though I am sure this will not change anything, maybe it will break the silence.

“…if you are ill or injured, there will be a national health service there to help; and access to it will be based on need and need alone – not on your ability to pay, or on who your GP happens to be or on where you live.” – The New NHS: Modern, Dependable – Government White Paper, December 1997.

“If the right to health is considered as a fundamental human right, significant differences in access to health care and the health status of individuals must be seen as violations of the principle of equality” – Implications of a Right to Health – Virginia A. Leary, 1993.

For more information: The Human Rights Act 1998 and Access to NHS Treatments and Services: A Practical Guide


HERE IS HOW YOU CAN HELP ME!

  • Firstly share this open letter with anyone and everyone.
  • I need the Solent NHS Trust to help me so I can have the same human rights to care as others. So here is what I need – send them this open letter:
  • Or email them: communications@solent.nhs.uk
  • Someone will be creating a petition for me too, so I shall add this to the post when it is up and running.
  • I am also writing an official complaint to the NHS.
  • If you have a similar story to this or have anything you wish to add, I would love to hear from you, please fill in this form:


I am running out of steam, I am using every last bit of energy I have to fight for my life, this is the best I could do and is not a comprehensive detailed reflection of the abuse, stigma and human rights violations I have suffered from the NHS as a whole.
All I ask is you HEAR ME, BELIEVE ME and do this for me, for us.
Thank you xxxxx

 

Charlotte Farhan - Open letter to NHS

Being Disabled in an Able Constructed World

Since opening my eyes to the injustices I face on a daily basis and deciding to speak out, stand up and create change, it has been a rude awakening with an upward struggle of epic proportions.

When you realise the discrimination which is faced by people like yourself, who have disabilities it is daunting to imagine ever overcoming the stigma. The world is slowly becoming more aware of the struggles many different people face with the accessibility to people’s lives through the internet allowing for us to see the most vulnerable amongst us as well as the most privileged. This revolution of information is empowering to certain minority groups and marginalised people, allowing us to have a voice and a platform to discuss things which have never truly been heard – on a mass scale.

There is still a massive issue with how people see disabilities and chronic illness, especially those which are “unseen”, such as mental illnesses, neurological conditions, autoimmune diseases, heart disease, diabetes, dementia, and even cancer, the list goes on…

The term invisible illness refers to any medical condition that is not outwardly visible to others, even healthcare professionals. An individual with a disability is a person who: Has a physical or mental impairment that substantially limits one or more major life activities; has a record of such an impairment; or is regarded as having such an impairment.

For those who do not know, I have been diagnosed and living with disabilities most of my life, they are all “invisible”, even if not to me.

Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Psychotic Depression, Borderline Personality Disorder, Agoraphobia, Generalised Anxiety Disorder, Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, Attention Deficit Disorder, Depersonalisation, Derealisation,  Body Dysmorphic Disorder, Autism, Diabetes, Chronic Erythema NodosumRheumatoid arthritisPolycystic ovary syndrome.

With such a long list of chronic illnesses and disabilities, I am considered complex and have as a consequence been treated as difficult or been left to fall through the cracks of the system, not fitting into a single box to receive medical care.

Due to this “able” world we live in – I can’t even access medical care as the NHS in England does not recognise my disabilities as housebound? Even though I have not been outside, alone, for over 9 years, and sometimes can’t leave my home even when assisted, meaning at this present time (as I have no way of getting to the doctors when they are open even if I was able to go out assisted) I have NO medical care whatsoever; my medication is up for review and because of my lack of access to the services, to get reviewed I am without any medication also.

Now tell me how a person like myself is to feel?

The strongest feelings which sore through me are that of being left to die, abandoned once again, rejected by the world, by society. Being considered “high functioning” is a joke when all this apparently translates to is that of knowing my rights and being aware of my own mistreatment; as it certainly does not mean I can “function”.

Friends and family often forget about these “invisible” disabilities, asking you to go places you can’t, or not making any effort in including you in plans as they assume there is no way for you to be accommodated. Being spoken about as if you were a child and unable to make your own choices on what is best for you. An enormous pet peeve of mine is being told:

“You seem fine”

“You seem better today”

“You seem so relaxed and calm”

Unfortunately these well meant sentiments are damaging, pushing us back down, or inwardly; left feeling even more misunderstood or under the microscope. Often the reality is you are NOT fine, relaxed or calm, it is just you have adapted your behaviour as best you can to not alienate yourself, or that the symptoms you have are internal and there is no way anyone would ever “see” them, however this does not mean they are not there. As for “you seem better today”, well this one is by far the most stigmatising and leads to the most misunderstandings.

So take note able people – yes, we have some good minutes, hours, days, weeks and some even have years, this does not mean we are “cured” or that we are “better”, it just means like everyone else we fluctuate in moods, hormones; and that life can treat us well or bad which can alleviate or compound our issues. This need of yours to tell us we are “looking better” may be well meaning but it is truly just a way for your privilege to further separate us, it is as though you felt happier that our disabilities are quiet and not present to you at that moment, making you assume you can tell us how we feel or what you hope us to feel. You do not do this because you wish to be unkind, in fact the motivation seems to be the opposite, however the affect these simple words jumbled into a sentences causes, is unimaginable to those who have not experienced this existence.

In order to “cope” or seem like I am “coping” sedation with drugs, such as painkillers or cannabis, allow me to shut down most of my thoughts and concentrate on being present with my friends and family for short periods of time which means being on a unrealistic high around most people, confusing the situation more, as you are never truly yourself. Many people like myself take drugs for pain relief or some kind of mind altering substance in order to “function” as best they can in company. Through societal pressures to conform, we do this more for you; the able ones. Many of us learn early on how we are received when we are “out there” with our disabilities on show – as much as you can when they are unseen. After being told we are attention seekers, drama queens, liabilities, hand-fulls, trouble, a worry, or after just losing people as they up and leave because you are “too hard work”; this is when the survival skills kick in, conformity becomes your best defence, until you are unable to maintain the facade and become the reclusive “weirdo” society deemed you to be all along.

There are so many things to discuss with regards to being in an able dominated world, with everyone’s story being different. These are my musings on the subject at this present time, with the hope to add more to this discussion. Since being rejected and my civil liberties being taken from me I have been awoken, my only chance to survive is to change this, is to stand up and scream at the top of my lungs;

“I will not go silently, you can’t erase me, I have rights and I shall be heard”

For all those who call me: “a victim who wears her disabilities as a badge of honour”  you seem to be confused?

The way to survive after being a victim, marginalised, discriminated against and continuously pushed down is to play to your strengths and extend your hand to those who can not even do this, there is no shame in having been a victim or even if you are right now. Victim is NOT a dirty word! Chances are if you are a “victim” it means you have survived – you have faced something which unless experienced by others they will not understand, all experiences are unique and can be hard to understand even when you have the same disabilities – however checking your able privilege is not difficult it just means you must place your ego to one side and accept another humans experience.

Even though my fight may not always be as strong each day, as some days feeling defeated is all that can be felt, just breathing is too much to bear. The commitment inside me to this is my purpose for existing. Not being able to have children, with no blood family; this is my legacy, my nurturing, me giving of myself as selflessly as possible. This is my art, my activism, this is my life and not a “trend” or “fad” for you to disagree with.


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