Hi, I just had a flashback to abuse that was done to me by the unnecessary “sitters.” “Sitters” (this is somewhat of a slang term) means 1:1 people who “sit” next to a patient to “watch” the patient to make sure the person does not fall, or does not do an act of self-harm. In 2009 it was determined that these “sitters” were TRAUMATIZING patients and that only in very rare situations would they be used. However, the law was not heeded to, and unnecessary sitter use has continued.
I am NOT a person who was abused in early childhoode. In fact, I had very good parents. They were not alcoholic nor cruel. They were not psychotic, they were not moody, they were not distant, they were not mushy nor clingy. They were not perfect nor too demanding on us kids, either. They engaged us in many unique activities that other families weren’t doing back then, such as climbing mountains, camping, canoeing, and skiing.
My mom was proud of me because she saw me as not easily giving in to trendiness. She said it was “okay” for me to be “offbeat.” We liked paving our own trails. My dad said that’s called “bush-whacking.” So when I made the decision to become a music composer, my parents were proud of me.
They were proud of me even when I staunchly told them I was not going to marry nor bear children, that they weren’t going to have grandchildren from my womb. They were proud of me even though my college education ended up delayed by coerced psychiatry. They were proud of me when I stood up to the doctors who had harmed me with shock treatments, even though, for a long time, I could barely make sense of what had happened.
When I was 53 years old I was abused at Massachusetts General Hospital. I was shocked that this occurred. After that, I was so overwhelmed, my personality changed even! I was abused again at age 55 at Mount Auburn Hospital. I feel that the Mount Auburn Hospital abuse was worse on many levels, and this is why.
For one thing, I was EXPENDABLE. The administration of Mount Auburn knew that MGH had been in the wrong, dreadfully wrong. (I could have DIED of dehydration at their hands had it all gone on much longer, since I have diabetes INSIPIDUS, look it up!). They also knew that I was not cooperating with them, refusing to be silent on the matter. In that sense, I was an inconvenience. THEY needed to be rid of me. Fast.
I know in my heart that they were trying to INDUCE SUICIDE. This was a deliberate attempt on their part to get me to off myself. They were abusing that badly.
Gaslighting, bullying, verbal abuse, denying anything I said, eye-rolling, bullying me while I sat on the toilet, not allowing me enough clothing to cover myself, invasion of privacy, teasing, mimicking, stealing from me, denying they had done it, nosing into my business, infantalizing, jeering, putting me down any way they can, gross insulting, denying me basic needs, telling me I am “dangerous” when I wasn’t, dehumanizing, calling me a liar, other name-calling, giving me wrong pills repeatedly, refusing to apologize for mistakes, sexual inuendos, threatening to hospitalize indefinitely, not allowing me to leave, sitters presence in too close physical proximity, threats to force-drug, forcing zyprexa and other pills, changing the rules, denial of basic truths, calling me psychotic over pretty much everything, and just plain taunting nonstop.
This happened at Mount Auburn Hospital in Cambridge Massachusetts in August 2013. I have my records, which OF COURSE were fudged.
This abuse was DELIBERATELY done, and any attempt I made to complain was silenced and ignored with further accusations of psychosis and attempts to drug me.
Regarding the flashback I just had. I was at an ATM. I have been to this ATM before. It’s an indoor one, monitored by cameras and has walls on three sides. There are mercadito personnel nearby, giving the illusion of safety.
I stood at the ATM counting the money I had received, thinking no one would show up. A woman rushed me, though, demanding, en inglés, “Are you done?” She said this aggressively, trying to hurry me.
I played the disability card…Hey, it’s okay…I needed help at that moment and that’s what the store employees are there for. I asked them to help count the dinero. They did. Within the next minute, though, I was shaking and crying.
“Are you done?” And those three walls. The sitter named Marie said the same damn thing to me, demanding to know when I was done on the FUCKING TOILET. The three walls of the bathroom surrounding me. And there she was. She was the fourth wall.
“Are you done?”
Something just snapped in me. I realized the severity of the hospital abuse. I realized another thing.
Weeks later, around September 2013 I phoned my Primary Care Doctor (PCP), begging her to write an order I could use for the future. NO SITTERS due to past sitter trauma. She refused to write the paper. I was so upset. I argued…no use. I didn’t want to ever speak with her again.
“Are you done?”
Sometimes, I just need to cry over this.