Pulling my records from the psychiatric institute

My shrink is pulling my psychiatric records from the place where I spent 1 and a half years of my life and that I have spent the rest of my life trying to forget. He wants me to write a novel about the experience.

I hate the idea. Doug thinks it's a wonderful idea. He had the idea before the shrink did. The records are being pulled because I remember very little of the experience.

The shrink wants to turn it into a creative exercise. Doug wants lots of descriptions.

I have been secretly dreading this day for years, wondering what I'd do if the records were pulled.

All I know is this: if my shrink asks any questions that hit too close to home, I am out of there for good. If he asks me a question that makes me too uncomfortable, I am out of there before you can say "Sir Douglas."

In fact, I am not so sure I want to go back to him, even before I know if there are any records. I do know I don't want those records pulled. I don't even want to think of my time there. I don't want to think of my childhood or my teenage years. I want to forget I ever existed.

How do you describe Hell? A place that I was ashamed to call home. I could have avoided going there, I don't know how, maybe by being a better person.

If I was a rotten person then, it must mean that I am a rotten person now.

((((((hamstergirl)))))))

<font color="green">[b]Honey I really doubt you were a rotten person then. I think your family had some problems and used your disability as a scapegoat. I can understand being afraid of having to re-open old wounds from past abuse, but you are stronger now and processing that stuff will only help you in the long run. I know it is going to be a painful process but you can do it, I will be here and so will your other friends here at Psych Central.

careful gentle hugs if you want them. [b] </font>

Hi Hamstergirl,

Good to hear from you, and I agree with Ozzie about the writing. I wrote loads of stuff about my bereavement, but only when I was ready to do it. I'm sure you won't let anyone push you where you don't want to go.

Another thought - from what I understand, medical records are what other people have written down about your case. These records may not be an accurate description of what you were experiencing, because only you know how it felt.

My feeling is that those records won't be the gospel truth, only a set of opinions.

"rotten person?" Well, I don't believe that for one second.

Good thoughts to you, Myzen

I like what everyone else has written. Nothing to add. Gentle, careful hugs, HG, if you want 'em.

Actually, I had behaviorial problems back then. I was hitting my sister occaisionally. But I wasn't out to make anyone's life misery as my parents would claim.

All I know is that I wanted to walk like the other kids. It was a birthday wish of mine at one point at that age at the psychiatric institute. I remember telling a staff member. But I should have been more specific. I should have told them I wanted to be like the other kids and not have my legs and feet encased in leather and metal.

And my father acted as though there was something wrong with feeling like that too. Well, he would want to walk too if his siblings were singing songs like "Extra, extra, read all about it, our sister's is retarded, no doubt about it!" My uncle on my father's side was mentally retarded and in a nursing home and we would see him occaisionally. Or the family would see him, while I was left in the car. I never saw the man's face while he was alive and have never seen a photo of him. I didn't know he had CP until after he choked to death. I learned of his death when I left home, when Dad was trying to stop me from leaving.

My siblings should have been more sensitive of the comments they were making. They considered my being threatened with institutionalization a joke. At least one of the more mature ones realizes that I have carried a hideous amount of emotional pain for years. But as for the other two, they may never know why I am so alienated from the family.

I hated my physio and was breaking out in blisters on my feet all the time. I cheered every time my braces were in the shop, because it meant I didn't have to have my legs straightened that day. My parents may say that this doesn't sound like their daughter, but God knows exactly how I felt back then and how I was so terrified of drowning in swimming pools that I once hid in a change room. I nearly drowned in barely enough water to cover my body and face when I rolled over onto my back when I was nine or ten.

I was afraid of falling flat on my face, because that would result in a broken bone more than likely. My bones were and are as fragile as matchsticks. I sometimes tried to make a game out of physio, but let's face it, I hated it because it hurt and I probably hated the surgery even more deep down.

All those trips to Montreal might have seemed harmless to me at the time. But at 33, I am terrified to get into a serious relationship with a man. The only men I have ever known were my father, who yelled at me and doctors, who pushed and pulled at my legs until they snapped and who operated on me. And I spent most of my life at home dreading the time that my father would come home from work, because that's when the yelling would start. And I always treasured the times I would be away from my father and for me, this usually meant when I was alone. Because I was reliant on my father to leave the house for most of my childhood, I had no escape.

I may never recover from this addictive need to isolate myself.
And that's just the beginning. It's not surprising I don't have any close relationships with anyone, except by over the Internet. I've learned that men aren't the safest people to be around and that I have to be alone to avoid being yelled at.

The idea that I may be a good person and people don't have a God-given right to yell at me hasn't registered. In fact, Dad told me what a disappointment I was to him.

(((hamstergirl))) You know you only have to go as fast as you allow. I think you are such a good writer that it would a pleasure to read your final work, in spite of the horror it might contain. Why not think about blogging it here? That way it will be among friends and also you can ask our input and receive our support when it gets too tough!

You've shared a lot with us already. If both of your strong supporters IRL are urging you to do this, then you must be so much stronger than when we first met you!

I have hope for you that sometime you WILL recover from the need to isolate yourself... in fact, I think we are watching the recovery process as we speak.

no no sweetie..
Remember, what I said.. Just because you might have been rotten does not mean you are now.. Because you are NOT rotten in the least......

I love you and I do not love rotten people..
you are so sweet adn kind, just have bad days we are all human in all ways.
Being treated badly when you were a kid is part of why you do not want to remember those days, and I can fully understand that ok.
I think most of us can.
But go in with an open mind, and try this on for size ok.
if you do not like it, then say I do nto want to do it.

</font><blockquote><div id="quote"><font class="small">Quote:</font>

Another thought - from what I understand, medical records are what other people have written down about your case. These records may not be an accurate description of what you were experiencing, because only you know how it felt.

My feeling is that those records won't be the gospel truth, only a set of opinions.

</div></font></blockquote><font class="post">

How true, Myzen! So considerate of you to bring this to HG's attention. And a good caution to the rest of us to occasionally ask to see what people have written about us in their medical charts. We are entitled to do so here in the US, anyway, by law.

Adieu

(((((HG)))))) You are not rotten and you never were rotten a day in your life. Try to picture another little girl in your mind, going through all the pain in life that you went through. You would never call her rotten. Because she's not.

You were faced with tremendous pain, and tremendous difficulties to overcome in your life and you handled them the best way a tiny little girl could. There is no shame or blame in that.

Angela

Ham, I think writing about what happened to you will be a wonderful thing for you, very strengthening and healing for you -- but only when you're ready to do it, if you ever are, and only when YOU decide to do it. Your T sounds as if he's trying to challenge you, which is good, since none of us would do anything difficult on our own without some sort of challenge, whether it comes from inside ourselves or outside. It also sounds, though, as if he might be pushing too hard too fast for you right now. I'll bet if feels like the doctors pulling on your legs until they snapped, huh?

I don't know your situation, whether that physio was successful in the end. I had physical therapy, too, when I was a kid, and never wanted to do the exercises, because they hurt so much. The PT used to lecture me as if I were an adult, when I was five years old for cripes sake! All I remember feeling was lost and alone and shamed. And hurt. Sucked a lot. I look at my body now, and I still feel guilt and shame and think that I deserve to feel it because my legs still aren't straight, and it still causes me physical discomfort and problems. On the other hand, the more objective adult part of me sees the real problem: the PT was treating me as if I were In Charge, and not getting after my mother for allowing me NOT to do the exercises. I was NOT the adult in the situation.

Sounds as if there's a little confusion in your situation, too. As a young child, YOU were not bad, rotten, The Problem, or any of those things. YOU were not the adult! Where in the hell were the adults who were supposed to protect you?

Here's my prescription for you, for whatever it's worth:

1. It's OK to have those records pulled, if they still exist. Even if you're not ready for it now, keep those records for when you are ready. If you're strong enough to survive that sort of physio, you can whup anything out there, girl!

2. If you really and truly cannot handle having the records pulled, rescind your consent. You have that right. But I hope you will pull them. (By the way, as I type this, I have my records from a nightmare situation sitting on the desk beside my computer. It's horrible agony to read them, but it also has a healing feel to it. Sort of like cleaning out an infected wound so that it can heal properly.)

3. Talk to your T about how you feel about this, that you're feeling pressured into doing something you really don't want to do.

4. It sounds to me from what you wrote as if you're feeling as though his curiousity is at the root of this suggestion, rather than your needs. If that's the case, that's a good topic to bring up, too.

Whatever you decide to do, best to you in it. I hope it is a healing choice for you, no matter what you decide.

I'm sorry your siblings were insensitive to you during the time when you needed support the most.

Genevieve is correct = you have the right to withdraw your consent at any time. For your T to get medical records from another medical provider, he would have had to get a written consent from you, again, which you can absolutely withdraw/rescind.

I would worry about the psychological impact of reading the records, which, as Sky so accurately pointed out, are just someone else's opinion.

In my experience, you are a very sensitive person, and take what others say very much to heart, (and read into what others say negative things about yourself). I am this way, too, as are a lot of other people, so I in no way mean this as a criticizm.

I'm agreeing with you re: your concern that reading those records may do more harm than good.

Sending you positive energy, and please remember that 'God doesn't make junk' and that you are NOT, NOT, NOT rotten or any of those other negative labels/words; you are Divine.

Warmest regards, Peanut

My mental health nurse wants me to write the novel with animals in the place of humans.

This might be the only way for the novel to get written.