Here is a link to the Facebook page which contains all sorts of information:
Please help out in any way that you can.
You don’t know me. My name is Julie Greene….
I heard about your nightmarish situation via MindFreedom. I, too, have a Shield. I have been subject to horrible psychiatric abuse myself and have escaped by the skin of my teeth. These folks will stop at nothing.
I know how the hospitals can be. Whatever you say is discredited. They assume you lie about everything, they will walk away shaking their heads acting like you are delusional if you try to report wrongdoing. Complaining is a sickness. You are an automatic dirty sinner in the Eyes of God to them. Stupid, deaf, illiterate, useless, a waste of a life. Of all abuses, it is the lowest of the low. It erodes your soul. In the end, the human dignity with which you were born can be almost totally lost.
I say almost. Because a tiny bit of it, however small, remains as long as you are alive. Your body will fight to be alive no matter what your thoughts tell you. After I was badly abused and battered, I came home and found afterward almost all my friends had dumped me, many friendships damaged beyond repair. My bio family hasn’t been there for me for decades. My surrounding community rejected me. They refused to believe a hospital could possibly abuse a patient. I was alone with no one but my tiny dog to comfort me. I cried alone for over a month and held onto that dog for dear life. My mind always thought of the horror of the abuse. I was, and still am, so angry. I want to shake the world and ask why this injustice happened.
Where do you find any hope at all? How does a person such as you or I regain faith in humans and ourselves? You will never, ever find it in an office with some guy who has a zillion degrees on the wall. If you are paying the guy for human conversation, it’s prostitution as I figure it, not love. It’s so tempting for lonely people to go back to the “professionals.” Cuz gee, no one else will talk to us. If “insurance” pays for the shrinks, and doctors urge us to go to them, it’s so tempting to go get therapy and get abused all over again. But I realized this was gonna be the Road to Hell.
No, hope isn’t there, no answers lie there. I went and found others who had been abused in hospitals, and there, I found companionship and camaraderie. I am still angry but I rant a whole lot less nowadays and I’m an easier person to be around. I cry a whole lot less. I find joy in reaching out to folks like you, John, and offering friendship and understanding. Not everyone has been there.
I had to edit out a few things from what’s here. I have stated, and I’ll state again that I believe at this point relocating out of state and ensuring none of my psych history follows me is my best option, perhaps my only option. I’m not sure what John’s options will be once he’s out. Everyone’s situation is different. Some folks actually have families that still love them. I wasn’t so fortunate. If my family members love me at all, they’ve had a weird way of showing it all these decades.