a courageous and moving story written by a courageous woman, in which she describes vividly her experiences of some of the best and the worst of human behaviour. It should provide help and insight to many people who are enduring mental suffering. It is a powerful lesson for those who live with, care and provide support for people with mental disturbance and those who administer health-care systems --Prof. Frederick Toates, co-author of Obsessive Compulsive Behaviour
About the Author
Her upbringing led Lisa W.B. to become resourceful at a young age. She became very competitive and endured many challenges. Nowadays, she is happily settled in the countryside, surrounded by a loving family. Based on a true story.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Now I was so desperate to get out I threw all my energy to demonstrate and try to off load my past. Dr Lynn told me to be as descriptive as possible and to use anything. Suddenly, as I looked up to the far corner of my room, I could picture a scene of drawing a leg opening from the corner, as if some one was sitting up, with legs stretched wide open. I grabbed a pencil, climbed onto the cupboard top and began to draw. I drew a leg stretching out on to the left wall, as if the centre of the vagina was in the corner, and a leg stretching out onto the right wall. In the centre, where the walls met, I drew explicit detail, thinking I want to go home I can do this.
Whilst scribbling, thinking how to illustrate blood around the opening and all the bruising. I glanced across to where my plate of toast lay, there was an unopened jam. I rushed out, shutting the door and went into the ward kitchen. Grabbing a plate, I placed bread, and a handful of assorted little plastic tubs of jam, strawberry, raspberry, and blackcurrant on to it. In my mind, the lighter blood could be the raspberry, where it had darkened was the strawberry, and where it had congealed, and gone thick was the blackcurrant. The creativity completely took over. I used the blackcurrant where I knew the blood would be thick and dark, and enhanced it with the others. This inspired me, as it looked realistic, the jam making it three-dimensional. It also brought home the horrors I had endured, and I quickly drew the man's car cigarette lighter, whirling the pencil, creating the inner coils. Then I coloured it with the strawberry jam to make it red hot, drawing z's from it indicating the heat. Over the sink was a wide space, and I used it to demonstrate the knife the man used, not big but effective, using raspberry jam on the sharp end. I was well pleased, as my drawings to me, could not have been more realistic of the past. I could see the knife just edging out his pocket, it was ironic it was a Swiss one.
I was now married to a Swiss man who was lovely. I continued to draw from my memories. A corded patterned rope, a cross representing the many times I did not think I would live, pausing, I then drew a cloud of blackness and some child's feet coming out with two big adult ones above and in between them. The contrast of the small feet to the big was making my heart lurch at the vulnerability. Behind the door, I quickly drew my safety get away, my tranquil quarry, and trees, having no turquoise; I relied on the pencil to make it real. I wrote RIP on the cross, reminding me of my little baby cousin who had died so tragically and I drew a small child's coffin for him. Lying back on the hospital bed looking up at the legs in the corner, I thought I could not be more descriptive. Then I caught sight of my dressing gown belt, and had another idea. I formed a noose with it, and hung it from the ceiling. He had used it around my neck. I now had used as much creativity as I could to express the horrors, without passing out or shaking. I put it down to concentrating on completing a work of art, rather than the reality of it all.
As I looked at it, I did not see the horror it truly represented. I saw a piece of work that I had managed to do, to fulfil Dr Lynn's wishes. The door opened and Abdul, a Muslim male nurse came in. He was always lovely, and had come to say hello. He took one look at my room, and ran out, then nurse after nurse were popping their heads through the door. I lay on my bed, thinking I had done a good job for Dr Lynn, but was now getting worried about the reaction it was causing.
.
From the Author
The book is a true account of severe child abuse and the ambiguous care after in a psychiatric unit. The book has been praised by the medics for the non biased approach and feedback of the care. The British Psychology Society have praised the book and mentioned it in their newseletter. The Educational Psychology service, Liaison Psychiatry, Social Services, Counselling, CAMHS and many more professionals have praised and supported the book. The Chief Executive of Leics NHS Trust has bought a number of copies for the Senior Managers of the NHS and he has recommended different staff to read the book. Old Middle Foster home an affiliate of The Retreat in Yorkshire has nominated the book for Mind Book of The Year Award. The author has received many messages of support and thanks from the public. People have stated the book has helped them understand other people better. The aim of the book is to a raise awareness of child abuse and help promote better understanding and care for people with mental health issues including trauma. --This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Now I was so desperate to get out I threw all my energy to demonstrate and try to off load my past. Dr Lynn told me to be as descriptive as possible and to use anything. Suddenly, as I looked up to the far corner of my room, I could picture a scene of drawing a leg opening from the corner, as if some one was sitting up, with legs stretched wide open. I grabbed a pencil, climbed onto the cupboard top and began to draw. I drew a leg stretching out on to the left wall, as if the centre of the vagina was in the corner, and a leg stretching out onto the right wall. In the centre, where the walls met, I drew explicit detail, thinking I want to go home I can do this.
Whilst scribbling, thinking how to illustrate blood around the opening and all the bruising. I glanced across to where my plate of toast lay, there was an unopened jam. I rushed out, shutting the door and went into the ward kitchen. Grabbing a plate, I placed bread, and a handful of assorted little plastic tubs of jam, strawberry, raspberry, and blackcurrant on to it. In my mind, the lighter blood could be the raspberry, where it had darkened was the strawberry, and where it had congealed, and gone thick was the blackcurrant. The creativity completely took over. I used the blackcurrant where I knew the blood would be thick and dark, and enhanced it with the others. This inspired me, as it looked realistic, the jam making it three-dimensional. It also brought home the horrors I had endured, and I quickly drew the man's car cigarette lighter, whirling the pencil, creating the inner coils. Then I coloured it with the strawberry jam to make it red hot, drawing z's from it indicating the heat. Over the sink was a wide space, and I used it to demonstrate the knife the man used, not big but effective, using raspberry jam on the sharp end. I was well pleased, as my drawings to me, could not have been more realistic of the past. I could see the knife just edging out his pocket, it was ironic it was a Swiss one.
I was now married to a Swiss man who was lovely. I continued to draw from my memories. A corded patterned rope, a cross representing the many times I did not think I would live, pausing, I then drew a cloud of blackness and some child's feet coming out with two big adult ones above and in between them. The contrast of the small feet to the big was making my heart lurch at the vulnerability. Behind the door, I quickly drew my safety get away, my tranquil quarry, and trees, having no turquoise; I relied on the pencil to make it real. I wrote RIP on the cross, reminding me of my little baby cousin who had died so tragically and I drew a small child's coffin for him. Lying back on the hospital bed looking up at the legs in the corner, I thought I could not be more descriptive. Then I caught sight of my dressing gown belt, and had another idea. I formed a noose with it, and hung it from the ceiling. He had used it around my neck. I now had used as much creativity as I could to express the horrors, without passing out or shaking. I put it down to concentrating on completing a work of art, rather than the reality of it all.
As I looked at it, I did not see the horror it truly represented. I saw a piece of work that I had managed to do, to fulfil Dr Lynn's wishes. The door opened and Abdul, a Muslim male nurse came in. He was always lovely, and had come to say hello. He took one look at my room, and ran out, then nurse after nurse were popping their heads through the door. I lay on my bed, thinking I had done a good job for Dr Lynn, but was now getting worried about the reaction it was causing.
--This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.
About the Author
Her upbringing led Lisa W.B. to become resourceful at a young age. She became very competitive and endured many challenges. Nowadays, she is happily settled in the countryside, surrounded by a loving family. Based on a true story.
