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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Inner Child – Art, Poetry and Philosophy by Charlotte Farhan

Inner Child - By Charlotte Farhan

Inner Child – By Charlotte Farhan

 

Inner Child 

by Charlotte Farhan

I abandoned you my child within,

they said you had grownup,

convincing me of my mortal sin,

forcing me to split and breakup.

You hid – undiscovered for a long time,

I forgot about you – putting childish things aside,

although I would hear you at bedtime,

telling me our stories – leaving me horrified.

For what they did to us they must be evil,

or maybe they too are hurt inside,

with all this pain and upheaval,

maybe their inner child had died.

I feel you clawing at me inside my chest cavity,

weeping and screaming – asking to be set free,

is it you or I that acts with such depravity,

would you burst from within me just to be an escapee.

I shouldn’t blame you for hating me,

for I am but another bad parent,

however trying to hide from reality,

not wanting to be called aberrant.

You inhabit my mind and body,

controlling me in order to make me see,

requiring me to embody,

all that was lost at sea.


What is our inner child?

It is the child state that exists in all of us, which never disappears – we assume as we get older this younger self vanishes, but this is illogical. Yes, we are changed over time by our experiences but do we “grow up”? Or are the ideas of childhood, adolescents and adulthood merely symbolic of societies need to compartmentalise us into accepted groups, in order to sell specific products and life style choices.

Before the 17th century childhood did not exist as a concept, in fact children were considered “incomplete adults”. However in the west, English philosopher John Locke was one of the first to describe the stage before adulthood and change the perception toward children in general. With Locke’s theory of the tabula rasa – meaning “blank slate”, he believed we as humans are born “brand new”, a mind which is a blank canvas ready to be painted on. With this he urged parents that their duty was to nurture and guide their child toward adulthood. With the rise of the middle class and puritanism within the early frameworks of capitalism – a new family ideology was formulated as an ideal for an individuals salvation and the protection of the “innocence” within children.

Jean-Jacques Rousseau once described childhood as a:

“brief period of sanctuary before people encounter the perils and hardships of adulthood”

However for the poor this separation between childhood and adulthood was not attainable. Industrialisation saw children as a viable workforce and rejected that a “childhood” was precious and that their innocence needed to be protected. With the separation between the poor and middle classes becoming more apparent in the late 18th century and with reform being discussed, the idea that all children needed to be protected became an important issue, from the 1830’s onward the campaign eventually led to the Factory Acts, which mitigated the exploitation of children at the workplace. From this point the notion of childhood saw a boom in children’s literature and toys, leading us to where we are now , where childhood is seen as a sate that not only exists, but that our development is fundamental to us being functional adults, with compulsory education and more and more done to protect children from harm, childhood is now rooted in our identities as a society.

So how does this all relate to our “inner child”?

This notion and brief history explained above, further illustrates that the concept of being a “grown up” is adaptable. Our inner child is part of us – it… is us. We never “grow up” we evolve as a human through life stages but our mind is our own and doesn’t get switched through each birthday, it adapts to circumstances and learns – but we don’t lose our child within.

In fact the most adult act we can take is to parent our own inner child. Because contrary to what Rousseau states, childhood can be full of perils and trauma and without the experience we gain from living through the stages, most children are not able to protect themselves from abuse, neglect or abandonment. Which means this trauma is taken on and carried into their adulthood – often causing an individual to become mentally ill.

This is caused not only by the acts of unfit parents and abusive adults around the child, but it is also due to societies need to separate each life stage in an individual – suggesting only children cry, have tantrums, are unreasonable or selfish and so on… When in fact these are general human behaviours with no age restrictions. Yes children test boundaries and display these behaviours – which are perfectly acceptable in order to navigate societal norms and etiquette. However when a child is abused emotionally, physically or both, they often do not get to have these learning experiences and testing of boundaries, leading the child to mimic adult behaviour in order to survive. Which is why later in life when the child is able to move away from their abusers and try and function in the world these behavioural traits often arise again and again, playing out the scenarios in which they were denied at the “appropriate age”.

This is not something I know due to my degree in philosophy and psychology – this is me, I am a pseudo-adult. As if my body were a ship, the captain of my vessel is at times a 4 year old me, an adolescent me or the me who sits and writes this to you all. It took a long time to understand that I was steered by different parts of myself, but once I understood this my self management became easier.

With no children of my own and being the product of bad parents – from abuse (sexual, emotional and physical) I am probably thought to be the last person who would know how to parent my 4 year old self and 15 year old self. This is arguably true – however the first steps are listening to the children who have been through trauma, we know a lot on what not to do.

The rest is love…

References: 

Vivian C. Fox, “Poor Children’s Rights in Early Modern England,” Journal of Psychohistory, Jan 1996, Vol. 23 Issue 3, pp 286–306

“The Life of the Industrial Worker in Nineteenth-Century England”. Laura Del Col, West Virginia University

Ariès, Philippe. Centuries of Childhood: A Social History of Family Life. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1962.

Brown, Marilyn R., ed. Picturing Children: Constructions of Childhood between Rousseau and Freud. Aldershot: Ashgate, 2002.


If you feel you need to explore your inner child or are already aware but need some guidance here are some helpful links:

 Working With Your Inner Child to Heal Abuse

Healing the Child Within

7 Things Your Inner Child Needs to Hear You Say


And if you are struggling with any form of mental illness please follow these link for support:

Sane 

Mind 

International Crisis Lines


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This Little Girl – Art and Poetry By Charlotte Farhan

I saw a little girl and she was sat in the dark,

I watched her through a window as she sat there alone,

the little girl had a lighter and was trying to create a spark,

where her parents were – was still unknown.

 

I pressed my face up close to see into her eyes,

however her hair was like a veil,

this was an armour – a disguise,

you would only see her face in a strong gale.

 

This little girl put down her lighter,

she gently walked over to the window,

I felt eager to save her and invite her,

My aim to rescue – to become her hero.

 

We placed our hands against each others,

up against the glass – so close but so distant,

it was clear neither of us had been mothered,

the girl and I pulled away – becoming resistant.

 

Our pain was too engulfing – too present,

my shame swept over me – I stepped back,

the little girl returned to her torment,

the air became cold – the little girl faded into pitch black.

 

This Little Girl - By Charlotte Farhan

This Little Girl – By Charlotte Farhan

 

 

 

 

 

 

Predatory Mind – By Charlotte Farhan – Art to End the Silence on Rape

Predatory Mind - By Charlotte Farhan

Predatory Mind – By Charlotte Farhan

 

Predatory Mind – By Charlotte Farhan

They – the predators, always in plane sight,
some think they emerge from shadows,
dancing with the devil in the moonlight,
alas most are under one’s nose,
most are known to you or I,
our Fathers, Brothers, partners, class mates,
hard for others to identify,
when others finally see – they deprecate.

They pretend to love you,
but they will push you down to dominate,
negating, hostile, broody – but we make do,
there is no other option with this mental state,
the predatory mind is here – locked in taboo,
memories are tombstones left to desecrate,
no open fields here – to run through,
left dangling on a hook like live bait.


 

Poetry and art by Charlotte Farhan, for any further details please fill in the form below…

 


 

Outsider Art – Unlocked by Charlotte Farhan

Unlocked - By Charlotte Farhan

Unlocked – By Charlotte Farhan

Unlocked – By Charlotte Farhan

A pressure builds inside my head like a boiling liquid,
spilling out of me, the security lock has been breached.
The fear that anything could escape – this is unscripted,
witnessing my life – my credibility is impeached.


This illustration is of my inner turmoil spilling from my mind, when experiencing a locked in state from flash backs and psychosis as a result of having complex post traumatic stress disorder and psychotic depression.

As I get older the locked safe where my darkest thoughts and memories have been kept, since being very young; has started to erode with time. Rusty and old, the hinges are no longer able to hold it all in.

Since starting reliving therapy in 2014 there have been many disturbances to my treatment, such as the NHS only being able to offer 6 weeks and then leaving me worse than before, opened up and dumped.

Then last year I found a therapist which was able to offer a reduced fee (as we are on such a low income) all was going well, even though it was soul-destroying and painful and made me cry in those 6 sessions more than I ever had. Still it was a process and felt as if maybe I would be able to deal with the trauma of my rape and sexual abuse as well as all the other issues which had developed as a consequence. However this was not to be the case, due to my borderline personality disorder I ended up splitting my therapist in my mind and however much I tried, this could not be changed. From thinking “she is my saviour” to “she is trying to kill me”, which then led me to become dangerously suicidal. So having no real choice, the therapeutic relationship had to be terminated.

So I am left unlocked and wide open…


 

If you have any questions on my work, if you wish for me to exhibit in your gallery or would like to purchase a piece , please contact me via the form below, thank you.

My open letter to MIND – The mental health charity; Dear Mind, please help me!

Dear Mind,
 
my name is Charlotte Farhan and I suffer from C-PTSD, BPD and Psychotic Depression, from these illnesses I then suffer as symptoms other illnesses such as derealisation, agoraphobia, OCD, GAD, BDD and adult ADHD.
 
I have been in the mental health system since I was 12 and I have had many issues with malpractice, abusive care, neglect and unprofessional dangerous physicians treat me.
 
I have been told a few times and only just recently there is nothing they can do for me anymore, I am too severe and complex?
 
I have not been out alone for over 9 years and am housebound most days, I have no earning possibilities (however I am an artist and I run a non-profit with the help of others – this keeps me having a purpose) I have no family and my husband is left caring for me and is on minimum wage, I have no benefits as I can’t use the phone due to my illnesses (paranoia of being bugged) so can not get the forms, the forms hurt my brain so even if I had them I can’t fill them out without support.
 
I also have diabetes, chronic erythema nodosum and PCOS, which due to my mental illnesses I can not access any care for these. I can’t go to the surgery on my own when my husband is at work, it is closed by the time he returns, sometimes I wouldn’t be able to go at all I as I can’t always go outside, once a week is normally what I achieve but a lot of planning goes into this. And was told by my GP that I can not get home care as mental illness is not considered within this context. So I am left to die. No bloods being taken, no diabetic checks, no check ups on my chronic erythema nodosum which is getting worse, no care or rights for my PCOS so no care of rights for my fertility.
 
I am at home trying to survive hourly, I do not know how much longer we can live like this?
 
I am a very strong person, as I have had to be, but really I am not at all. Everyday I fight for mental health rights, so that I may one day be able to change this for me and others like me, which there are so many!!
 
I am asking your for help? I need you to help me get my voice heard so that I do not lose my battle, so that my husband does not have to carry this on his shoulders alone, so that all the people I have spoken to who are in my situation are heard.
We have no rights, neurotypical privilege is everywhere, we can’t survive without your help.
 
I have been struggling since I was an infant, I am a survivor of child sexual abuse, sexual violence as a teenager and sexual assault (which was in an adolescent unit) and both my parents have severe mental illness too, who I do not speak to due to their emotional and physical abuse, Mother with Bipolar 1 with mixed states and BPD and a Father with alcoholism and then alcohol induced psychosis, they have been in and out of psychiatric hospitals when I was a child. I was even left alone at 12 for many months whilst my mother was in a psychiatric ward, that was due to the fact she went private so social services were not alerted.
 
Please read this blog post and please let me know if I can share my story further? Maybe someone will help me? Maybe I will be able to live a better life or more managed life? Help me have the same rights as others!

Why is Severe Mental Illness left untreated in the NHS Mental Health Services:

 
I am desperate so have nothing to lose!
I hope to hear from you.
Thank you for your time xxx
 

 

To the truly Fatherless on Fathers Day – The abandoned and abused child

To the truly Fatherless on Fathers Day

The abandoned and abused child

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Today on Fathers day 2015 I have decided to acknowledge others like myself who have been abandoned by their Fathers, abused by their Fathers and find today so hard.

When I was younger I did not allow myself to think of my Father and the abandonment and abuse I suffered. Most of it was locked away inside a box in my mind, which had been locked, chained and buried into the depths of my psyche.

Since becoming older and now in my 30’s I find Fathers day excruciating. Now with social media you wake to a constant stream of praise for the Fathers of the world, with gushing sentiments of loved children, of family photos filled with blissful memories and declarations of “the perfect Father quotes”. Now I, in NO way begrudge these people and their memories, it is just the little girl inside me who does not understand why she did not get to experience this love, this relationship and bond? The adult me feels ashamed, excluded and that I am the reason for the the abuse and abandonment. So it is not something I wish to stop others doing it is just painful and makes “us” feel more alone and FATHERLESS.

 

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I remember waiting for days as a child by the letter box, waiting for a birthday card from my Father, asking everyday, “where is my birthday card”? Keeping this unbreakable faith that it would arrive, but of course it never did. This is a state I found myself in so many times when I was very little. When I grew up and became a teenager most people assumed my Father was dead as I always referred to him in the past tense. I found it easier to not correct people, I almost could fantasise that I had a wonderful Father and that he had just died, so he had not CHOSEN to leave me the choice had been made for him. But no my story was not this one. My story was more a horror film. I am not yet able to fully discuss what my Father did to me or the abuse my Mother and I had to deal with, but I can say that it was fuelled by a narcissistic personality and a sever alcohol addiction which led my Father to have alcohol induced psychosis. This is no way excuses him, but it does explain the level of abuse and harm.

 

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I still have so much work to do to recover from my childhood and there are certain things I shall NEVER recover from. But I try to remember that I am very blessed to be alive, to have my Mother who despite our difficulties has NEVER left me, I have an amazing husband who has taught me what a MAN is and how I can be loved by a man in a healthy way and for my amazing elected family filled with beautiful friends.

 

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All I would like to do with this post is to tell those like myself they are NOT alone and for those who were fortunate to have loving families and especially Fathers in this case, just spare a thought for us today, remember us the truly Fatherless are an enormous group of people who find TODAY very difficult. We do not wish for you to change what you do to celebrate your Father and that relationship, just spare a thought, let it remind you of how lucky you are or have been.

 

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We do not want pity either…

Do NOT apologise to us because YOU had an amazing Father, this is a slap in the face and makes us feel worse than we already do.

DO ask us if we are OK on Fathers day, this is not reserved for those who have lost their parents through bereavement, we matter too!

Do NOT ignore us as we have been ignored since we were children, remember us and extend kindness to us. Often the abused and abandoned are not approached for fear of saying the wrong thing or because it is uncomfortable or awkward, push past this. We have faced far worse and will appreciate it.

 

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But to you my fellow survivors!! TODAY I celebrate us! We did it without the love, support and care of our Fathers and we survived to tell our stories, to help others and to set ourselves free from our lived nightmare. Today we should do what ever we can to survive further. One day I hope to help others like me and educate people on the consequences for children who suffered neglect and emotional /physical / sexual abuse. But today I extend a hug and this post.

 

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Thank you for reading and if you need any support please follow these useful links…

NSPCC – Every childhood is worth fighting for

The Survivors Trust – Support, Advice and Information

Stop it Now – Together we can prevent child sexual abuse

RAINN: The nation’s largest anti-sexual assault organization