Photos of me at different weights

I figure I’ve spoken enough on here about weight change, but a picture is worth a thousand words. And after all, I’ve been told so many times how I lie and exaggerate…so lately, I’ve been photographing stuff just to PROVE I’m not lying. It’s so sad that psych patients have to go to such lengths because their word is so often doubted, even if they are highly reliable, honest, and  have excellent memories.

So….As I have told you in the past, the drug Seroquel made me gain an awful lot of weight and I was terribly unhappy with my body.  Some of the photos of me at close to 200 pounds I am really not in the mood to put up here…they are “mirror” poses and I just can’t stand looking at them. I am wearing this horrible t-shirt I threw out I was so disgusted….and I could wear nothing but polyester pants. Wow I hated those clothes!  I hated the way I felt in my body.

Now, I know what you are thinking. Body loathing is wrong. Well, quit that. I have the right to think whatever I want, and this is MY HISTORY. This is the past, and that’s my real story. That’s how I felt. I can’t change the past, and so I am reporting to you what went on in my head back then. Self-loathing.

I did have reason to be unhappy with weight gain, as it wasn’t safe FOR ME.  I am 5’1″ tall. Even before I reached 150, I huffed and puffed while trying to walk even a quarter mile at any reasonable pace.  At 197, which was my highest weight, one knee gave out entirely. I was too heavy to use crutches. I tried using a walker and couldn’t do that. So….I was “in a wheelchair,” as it is said…for three months.

The year was 2005 when I reached 197.  I hated my body so much and I hated going to therapy, too. Certainly, therapy was doing me no good!  I used to see Dr. Louise  Ryder, supposed “eating disorders therapist.” Dang.  She used to work at CEDC…but why? I didn’t see, even from the time I first met her, that she knew anything at all about ED.  Here was the extent of her “advice”:

“One day at a time.”
“Accept your body.”
Oh, I guess she said…”This too shall pass” one helluva lot.

I think you can get that kind of advice from self-help books (or nowadays, off Facebook) quite fine, can’t you? If she’d been an effective therapist, she’d have said something like this:

“Julie, we need to get to the root of this weight gain. I’m going to call Dr. Pearson right away and see if you really need that Seroquel. You seem to be on a ridiculously high dose.”

But no…she only wanted me to cooperate and comply.  Of course, I was totally compliant and it never occurred to me to question Dr. Pearson. Never! I never missed a dose nor missed an appointment. Oh, I missed plenty when my knee gave out.

After I got off Seroquel (by the way, the “withdrawal” wasn’t so bad as I was OVERJOYED to get the shit out of my body!) my weight dropped.  Here I am at 175, and trust me, I DESPISE this photo…I hated the way I looked and felt that I was too fat!

My fat face

Anyway, I have other photos. By 2008 I had lost a lot of weight. I had to work at it.

Here I am, just messing around with the camera:

2008_0628me0006

I was 50 years old. I had been raped recently. But for whatever reason, for a few months, the memory was suppressed at the time. I think this was around the time I fired my therapist, Goldie Eder. I was sure something was terribly wrong, as she spent our entire sessions yapping on and on about her nieces and we never spoke about anything going on with me. She’s one of the two therapists I’ve had (out of over 20) who regularly fell asleep during sessions. I had to wake her up. She’d apologize, and promise to stop falling asleep, but she always fell asleep again.  A couple of times, she said I was boring her. I guess she should have been listening when I told her I had been raped, eh?

Naw, you can’t see it in a photograph…so quit trying!

My weight kept on dropping. My feelings were mixed. I had hated being fat so, so much.  I knew I wasn’t eating enough. But did I really give a shit? Anything beat being overweight! I’d been discriminated against so much when I was overweight.  Now, people were leaving me alone, which seemed better…or was it?

My therapist started in on me…I liked her a lot, in fact, cuz she was open minded. Dr. P disliked my therapist’s open minded approach. I won’t tell you the name of my therapist…but Dr. Pearson would badmouth this therapist RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME…I often asked myself about what went on whenever they spoke. I’ll bet Dr. Pearson treated my therapist rotten. I can only imagine their conversation…Oh, I think the writer in me will speculate:

Dr. P: “I think we need to forced Julie into the hospital.”
N: “But Julie is suggesting an alternative and I think we need to listen to her suggestions. She has lived with this long enough and is a responsible adult. I see this because she’s amazingly prompt and is so courteous to everyone here at the clinic. She’s keeping up with her studies. I think what she is saying is important and we need to listen better.”Dr. P: “N, you are NOT a specialist. Therefore, you don’t know what you are talking about. We need to take over and get Julie on the scale, and NOT in her clothes. In a gown and force her not to drink ANY water all day! She needs more monitoring, more force…You are too lenient.”
N: “Okay, I am not a specialist in ED. Neither of us is a specialist in Julie. Know who is? Julie is. We need to honor her wishes.”
Dr. P: (swearing to herself, covers the phone) “I wish Julie had a different therapist. Someone controlling and manipulative will do great.” (uncovers phone) “Yes, N, well…when is Julie coming to see you next? Before graduation?”
N: “Er, let me see where she is on my calendar.  Yes, our regular appointment is before she leaves for graduation.”
Dr. P: “Give her an ultimatum that will REALLY scare her! Tell her she can’t graduate! Oh, we need to take over her body! Run her life! She’s clearly incompetent!”
N: (after they’ve hung up) “Gee, what a bitch…..I feel oppressed in this situation. I feel cornered and in a tough situation. I cannot go against Dr. Pearson, but at the same time, I trust Julie and feel she’s certainly insightful and clever…Plus I’ve got the clinic administration to deal with.  I wonder how much Julie senses of this. I try to hide my real feelings, and I wonder if this is the correct approach, or if I should just relax and be myself.”

Here I am at my graduation, with my advisor, Darrah Cloud. I was wicked proud that I had earned my MFA!

Darrah, Julie 7_09

After Goddard, my life went downhill, sorry to say. I was coerced into “eating disorders care.” I’d never been in “eating disorders care” before because it didn’t exist back when I entered the mental health system. This was supposed to be the Great Cure but wow, was I ever sorely disappointed! Had they learned ANYTHING at all in 30 years? Apparently, I had lived with my own ED for 30 years and because of my own individual experience, I knew far more than these supposed “experts” I was meeting! You can usually tell by the dumb questions they ask!  Oh, they have surveys and standard paperwork they have everyone fill out. I was so disillusioned…

N lost her job. It’s so horrifying what happened next. I figured no therapist could do me actual harm but that if I had a bad one, I’d put up with her and then find another ASAP. That’s not true, and I had to learn this lesson the hard way. I fell into the clutches of Maria Mellano.

From day one, she was manipulative and controlling. I truly believe that she had a deep psychological need to control young vulnerable people and run their lives. She jerked me around badly. I was so, so hurt after a while, but know what form that took on? Lemme tell you the truth about really bad abuse….

You actually worship the abuser because the abuser is so, so manipulative and can do no wrong that he/she justifies all her wrongdoing and you are always apologizing…for some fictitious thing she has claimed you have done. You beg this abuser for forgiveness.

You develop terror toward her.

You often think of killing yourself after you leave her office. Only to get the hell away. Sure, there’s the Red Line train station right there. Another body, another day. But you think real hard about the train operator. Somewhere, you heard that if a train operator is operating a train and a person jumps in front, that operator ends up with PTSD, and this can ruin his life. Did you really want to do that?

Oh, then, the accusations…..jeez. When you can’t do a darned thing right. And the threats and her use of “police force” if I was caught on a broken down bus and didn’t make it there on time. Sure, I’d call her to let her know, but what if her voicemail was full.

“Oh, Julie, it’s NEVER full.” Which was complete BS. Her word against mine, not much you can do.  I was accused of lying over over when I wasn’t lying.

Then, it was 2011. Guess that’s when I really couldn’t take her abuse and BS any longer. My weight dropped to a very bad danger point. Because I still trusted her, I told her I was gonna die. I told her my pulse was too slow. So?  I would show you the photo I have, but I’m not wearing enough clothes! Sorry! Well, I am…I think a jogging bra is enough, don’t you? It’s just that I feel kinda modest, know what I mean?

So…anyway….You guys know about the abuse at MGH.  And the whole ordeal….Really, in all my years on psych units I had never before experienced such horrors as I did there. I had been on units over 50 times. This wasn’t just “not liking the care.” This was patient abuse like I had never known before.

Let me tell you something. Shitty medical care is everywhere. Sure, there are lousy dentists, lazy orthopedists who would rather give you pills than do an exam or give you a referral to PT. You CAN see someone else. You just walk out and go to a different one, and in so doing, you are sending a clear message to that doctor that he or she sucks.  And we all know about rude secretaries.  But abuse…well, there’s a difference!

I was completely stripped of everything that I had in me that was human at that place.  No, I wasn’t psychotic and this stuff really happened.  I couldn’t leave. I was trapped. I couldn’t call out or use the phone for one second in privacy. All calls were done with the nurse standing right there, listening on, and if she didn’t like what I was saying, she’d grab the phone from me and hang it up.

The meanest nurse in the place was named Sheridan. Or I should say the mean one I had. At one point, after Sheridan had decided she didn’t “like” my phone conversation where I was telling my friend I felt I was being poorly treated, she yanked me into a room and started yelling at me for what I’d said over the phone.

I told her this was a private conversation…She cut me off. I wanted to say that what went on between me and my friends was none of her business. I could say what I wanted to them, and I had the right to feel any way I wanted about what was being done to me. I had the right to tell my friends the truth about what was happening there.

Apparently, Sheridan felt that the TRUTH shouldn’t get leaked out. She shoved a paper and pen at me.

“What’s this?”
“It’s a three day. Sign it now.”
“Huh?”

A three-day is a special paper.  If you sign it, you have to appear before a judge.  Judges are moody of course (ask any lawyer) and when your three days are up, the judge decides….You leave, or you are COMMITTED!  For ten days, or up to SIX MONTHS!

Now, how illogical is that? But that’s the dumb law, as it stands. Why was I being forced to sign something?

I never signed it. Actually, what happened was their error most likely. Maybe the medical student blew it. Or someone just pulled some strings for me…either way, I doubt the medical student had any clue (or, shall I say, insight) into what was going on with me. They told me my “commitment” was up and I was free to go. Thank god! I was so thirsty! I left that place and thank god I could drink as much liquids as my body needed!

Guess what they were doing? Restricting my fluids to four cups a day. That’s roughly a liter. Now, I asked over and over what the MEDICAL reasons were for this, and they said, “This is protocol.” Apparently, this is the case, as every single other patient in their prison who has ED has reported this  arbitrary water restriction.

If you ask anyone, they’ll tell you, “Well, it’s Mass General, the great Mass General must surely know what they are doing.”

I told them over and over I had taken lithium in the past and for whatever reason, I required more water than other people.

This was confirmed a year later. After about 25 years….I have had faulty kidneys since age 26 or 27 and no one was even paying attention. In fact, I am very good at drinking the right amount for MY BODY. Know how much I really need?

Here in South America, it’s winter right now. I have to purchase water because our tap water tastes really lousy…so I purchase a six liter bottle of water…daily. Yep. I drink six liters of water a day. Not six cups, six liters.  That’s during winter. Summer…and if I am exercising…that will be up to double the current amount.

You can imagine how it was for me at MGH, begging for water like I was a beggar woman, and being told over and over how manipulative I was and what a liar I was. Oh, they insisted they had to watch my every move in the bathroom for fear that I would drink out of the shower or toilet. I didn’t shower cuz they were cruel to me! I wasn’t gonna take off my clothes in front of them!

I got out. So shaken. This was the first time I had ever had really bad PTSD FROM a psychiatric experience…yet I was already experiencing trauma from abuse from Maria Mellano and her constant threats and bullying. I had to go to so many appointments! This was hell!

Then, I got on Imipramine for binge eating. THIS IS WHERE MY NEXT BOOK BEGINS.  Ten days later, guess what happened? I got the black box warning thing, that “agitation” you get. The thing that makes people SO CRAZY that they end up committing suicide within a short time. Yes, I did report it to Dr. Pearson, who claimed it was paranoia….nope. I told her about increased heart rate and pulse. She said to ignore it. The fast pulse and high blood pressure were witnessed at the ER that winter… I pointed out to the nurse that this fast pulse was a side effect of Imipramine and she said, “No, it’s anxiety.”  You can’t argue when you are seen as a mental patient! She knew nothing of Imipramine and she was the one who asked ME how to spell it and what it was!

I have another photo, but again, I don’t have that much clothes on in the photo.

Oh, I got off Imipramine the following February 2012, but that “black box warning” thing continued and I was going through withdrawal…geez. I couldn’t get my pulse or blood pressure down. And my breasts were still enlarged from high prolactin.  This came from Imipramine as well.

Here I am the next fall, 2012. This is after that whole suicide fiasco:

Puzzle and Julie, for church 9_2_12

I seem happy, but I was just dressed up for church. A bunch of shit came down.  Some lousy stuff happened late fall. I was really beginning to see through Dr. Pearson as the money-hungry drug pusher she is. Oh, sweet talking, but….

I tried to find another therapist.  I went through two, then ended up with that David Alpert who was an abuser. As I’ve told you, he was a liar, a faker, and his asking me out on a date, his discussion of random acts of sexual abuse (that was just plain weird) his telling me about his ex-girlfriend, his constantly calling me “Honey,” was just plain flat out abuse.  I walked out of my last session and told myself I had no clue what to do…knowing Dr. Pearson wouldn’t even believe me! She’d think I was delusional, so there was no point!   I was starting to hate her.

So, I was starting to keep track of my weight, I mean really seriously. I was still trying to get so-called “treatment” but….It all seemed hopeless. I tried so hard to reach  out, cry out and say, Please, will someone just LOVE ME? I wished that black box warning feeling would go away. I knew it was from the drug…but dang, it was there and there and there. I couldn’t get it out. Like I wanted to but I just had to wait it out.

I found some photos in my files tonight.  This one was taken July 19, 2013. At this time, I went to THREE therapists at my so-called “health plan.” Geez…one yelled at me in her office, the second turned me down saying he knew nothing of eating disorders, and the third asked me where I lived and who I lived with, then said to “talk to my social worker, see you in a month.” I left then thought, “Wait, I don’t have a social worker! I told that therapist this, was she not listening!” Then I fell down right near the bus, so exhausted.

July 19, 2013

I have a couple more still photos of me around that time. In one, I’m only in bra and panties, so forget it.  Here’s one taken August 6, 2013, less than a week before I went into full code from acute renal failure:

August 6, 2013

I think I am still alive. I have a few sad pictures of me over the past year…I am crying and stuff, really couldn’t stop after what was done to me in the hospital, the accusations, etc. I felt ruined by those doctors, by the shrink who insisted that I be force drugged, and by Dr. Pearson, who never even called me to…maybe at least apologize for not listening.  Perhaps when I was raped was when she really began to turn her back on me. If she had some other agenda, some pressing issue I never knew about, well, fine, but I almost died a bunch of times from her denial and…I guess negligence.

If a patient of yours is being abused, you are supposed to do something to help that patient. It’s professionally required of every doctor to do so. It’s abusive to instead try to convince that  patient it never happened and tell her she’s sick and wrong!
With everything stacked against me (I’ll spare you the gory details but there were a few) I am now FREE of psych abuse! I walked out!

 

Here I am in Miami:

IMG_20140514_182746_152

That night, Puzzle and I flew to South America, and we are here now. Safe and free.

It’s been cold here the past few days (it’s winter here in August, Agosto) but sometimes I go to the beach, a few minutes walk away. Here is Puzzle running on the beach a few weeks ago:

IMG_20140720_112037_550

 

I will be back soon! I ain’t dead yet! Me and Puzzle are right here!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Truth disclosed about persecution of a 56-year-old woman in Watertown, Massachusetts

My original plan was to print out this document and to leave it stashed in my freezer. I wrote it in May. That’s the freezer where I so carefully stored Puzzle’s meat that I cooked for her every day to make delicious homemade meals, at Woodland Towers.

We aren’t there. We haven’t been there for a long time. I had to abandon many belongings.  Eventually, they’ll figure out I’m gone.  Someone will go in there.  If I were to leave this note in the fridge it would be found much sooner.  Truth was, I was really medically sick when I departed, in a frightful state, and had no time to think to leave any sort of “note.”

Here it is, copied and pasted:

THIS IS HOW I GOT BULLIED OUT OF TOWN

I was raped by my neighbor on March 25, 2008. Here’s what happened afterward…..

1. I tried to tell my therapist, Goldie Eder, what happened, but she ignored what I told her. She wasn’t a good therapist.
2. I tried to go to an ER (Mount Auburn) but was misdiagnosed with the “common cold” and sent home.
3. When I fired my therapist, and ended my treatment with her, my psychiatrist, Dr. Kimberly Pearson at Mass General literally yelled at me over the phone and told me I had bad judgment.
4. A local mental health crisis team heard my psychiatrist yelling through the phone and all the way across the room.
5. I found out about a local organization, called BARCC, that helps people who have been raped. I went to this organization.
6. I was advised to move away from my neighbor, who had raped me, especially since he was continuing to assault me.
7. I moved a few blocks away because the Housing Authority, by coincidence, was moving their tenants around anyway due to construction work being done on my building. The Housing Authority had no clue I’d been raped.
8. It turned out that this building I moved to is run down and barely livable. I have had to fight to get my basic needs met, such as access to hot water for a shower.
9. The neighbors were hostile to me for no reason ever since the day I moved in, so I never made friends there.
10. My physical health began to deteriorate. I lost weight and suffered from anorexia nervosa. Still, I managed to finish graduate school in July 2009.
11. About ten of my friends decided they didn’t want to be friends with someone who was a lot skinnier than they were (I think they found this intolerable), so they kicked me out of their group. Because of what they did, I felt disappointed in humanity. My attitude became pessimistic.
12. I had a decent therapist for a short while but she got laid off. The next one, Maria Mellano, turned out to be a controlling abuser who should by all means not be practicing psychotherapy.
13. In December 2010, I broke a tooth during a binge eating episode, and to treat my broken tooth, Maria Mellano sent me to a psychiatric ER at Mass General, and from there, I was sent to McLean Hospital for three weeks.
14. McLean told me my toothache was “all in my head.” They gave me new drugs. The worst of these was Trileptal. It took me months to figure out that this drug had caused me to have trouble with balance (from ataxia) and caused me to become so confused I could barely manage.
15. My two best friends decided not to be friends anymore. I didn’t think I’d ever get over the extreme loneliness I felt. To make things worse, many people then told me I had brought this upon myself.
16. My therapist continued to bully me. Bad therapy is far worse than no therapy at all.
17. By summer 2011, my weight dropped dangerously low. I was put into Mass General, suffering from dehydration and slow heartbeat.
18. The hospital abused me. There were multiple abuses. Mass General broke the law, and violated my basic privacy. They even refused to give me a drink of water. When they found out that I was blogging about their abuse, they lied to Dr. Pearson and told her there was a medical reason for the water restriction, however, this was untrue. I was a caged animal there.
19. My so-called friends said that I was “sick” to blame Mass General. They claimed that it wasn’t possible for a hospital to be wrong or to mistreat someone. However, I have since learned that I am not the only one who was abused in hospitals!
20. Both Mellano and Dr. Pearson denied that I had been abused. I would think that most mental health professionals would at least be supportive. I noticed my personality was changing as a result of the continuing, ongoing devaluation and subsequent lack of support.
21. I went to another hospital, Walden, to “recover” from my experience at Mass General. However, the doctor there said I needed to be incarcerated in the state hospital! Why? Because I refuse to shut up about what was done to me? I managed to get home again.
22. I joined a church, First Parish of Watertown, thinking I might find support there. I began to attend church every Sunday and get involved in events.
23. I tried to make friends at church but every friendship flopped. I had no clue why. It seemed that many church members wouldn’t even give me a chance, because it was known that I had a mental illness.
24. Maria Mellano threatened me every time I saw her and accused me of behaviors I did not do.
25. In February, I was locked up at Walden’s eating disorders unit, Alcott. It was then that I realized that “mental health care” was doing me no good. I made the decision to leave my therapist, Maria Mellano, and devoted my life from then on to helping other sufferers of eating disorders. I continued to see the psychiatrist, Dr. Pearson.
26. I lived in social isolation. No one called or visited and I rarely went out except to walk my dog, Puzzle. I was shocked when I realized that no one really cared about me. I never spent time with other people and was entirely alone. Why was this happening?
27. I made hundreds of calls trying to find “help.” I was turned down by therapists and treatment centers, every single one.
28. I was still suffering the consequences of having taken an antidepressant, Imipramine, and withdrawal of that drug.  Over the years I had been given so many drugs, multiple antipsychotic drugs I never needed and mood stabilizers as well. This irresponsible polypharmacy has left me with the inability to sleep.  I only had an eating disorder and no mental illness at all.
29. In 2012 I had a caring student acupuncturist. She and her supervisor encouraged me to go to police and report the rape, even though four years had passed.
29. However, because I couldn’t stop binge eating, and because I couldn’t get any help and very few people truly cared anymore, I made secret plans to kill myself.
30. I followed through with what I had promised my acupuncturist, and went to police to report the rape, even though I knew I was going to die anyway. It was rather strange talking to them, knowing that should this report go anywhere, I wouldn’t be alive to see the results. However, I felt that I was helping others, possibly preventing Cahill from assaulting further.
31. It was clear to me, though, by the response of Watertown Police that nothing would be done about my report even though I stated that Robert Cahill posed a threat to other tenants where he lived. The police stated that I had no physical proof that I had been raped. I realize now that the police only saw me as a crazy lady who was crying wolf. Not true. That man raped me and on other occasions, assaulted me. I felt as though I had no voice.
32. I was on my way to London. My CBFS state worker called me on my cell to inform me that as soon as I returned to this country, her boss would be coming with her at her next visit. I realized that the state workers wanted me hospitalized and silenced because I had complained about the poor quality of Edinburg CBFS services. I had threatened my worker’s boss, Phil Moncreiff, head of Team 2, that I would report his obvious negligence to the DMH. I knew he wanted to stop me.
33. On the day I was to kill myself in London via overdose, I filmed myself and showed the camera the pills I was going to take. I accidentally fell asleep. Then, it was too late to taking the pills. Bad timing caused me to change my plans and instead of dying, I went home on the plane, back to Boston. Upon arrival, I felt only glad to see my dog again.  I didn’t want to see humans.
34. Unfortunately, CBFS did send me to the hospital, however, they had been unaware of my suicide plan. I was hospitalized at Walden Behavioral Care’s Alcott unit for eating disorders. I was never really sure why they sent me to the hospital except perhaps to keep me quiet.
35. The care at Walden seemed pointless. They didn’t know anything about binge eating. They never listened even though I tried to tell them about my narrow miss with suicide.  They walked away from me each time I asked them to listen.
36. I was shocked that after I had struggled with an eating disorder, anorexia and binge eating, now for 32 years, and had never been able to get humane care for it. For decades I never found anyone with knowledge, and the only find out there specifically for eating disorders involved cruelty and force, not compassion. I asked to leave and told myself I would never go back.
37. After I got home I tried to tell Dr. Pearson about the poor quality of care at Walden, but she decided that my reports of uncaring staff were surely untrue. She said I must be delusional and paranoid. Of course, everything I said was correct, not paranoia at all. However, I was beginning to notice that Dr. Pearson accused me of paranoia every single time I complained of irresponsible, negligent, or abusive staff or therapists. She had given me antipsychotic medication, thinking this drug would erase my “paranoid thoughts” about abuse. However, the abuse really happened. Instead of being supportive and helpful, Dr. Pearson ignored abuse. Providers are supposed to report these things!
38. I went along with the drugging for a time, then stopped the Abilify. It was worsening the insomnia I already had due to my eating disorder. Abilify was not going to erase abuse!
39. The following March 2013, I went to a therapist named David Alpert. He told me I wasn’t paranoid. However, he tried to ask me out on a date on our third session, and also he acted in many other irresponsible ways, and lacked any knowledge about eating disorders, so I fired him.
40. Dr. Pearson yelled at me for firing David Alpert and she accused me of being delusional.  Again, Dr. Pearson shouldn’t have ignored my report of abuse.
41. I went on a rampage. I ate nothing around the time of the 2013 Marathon bombing. Then, I binged for four days straight. I gained 30 pounds in those four days. I feared that I was in medical danger. My doctors had been deceptive with me and not told me my kidneys were functioning under 40%. When I saw I had so much swelling in my body, I tried to ask for help and at least get my blood tested. Lindsay Brady at the Multi-Service Eating Disorders Association attempted to phone my primary care physician, Dr. Marian Klepser, as well as Dr. Pearson, on my behalf, trying to advocate for me. Lindsay said these two doctors were not returning her calls. I felt betrayed.
42. I was desperate to lose the weight I’d gained. I ate very little for the next few months. No one cared about me anymore. Some tried to tell me to go to therapy. That wasn’t caring. That was “doing their duty.” The church members rarely called me back when I called them. I wanted friendship, not therapy. Why did they not care?  Why were these people keeping themselves so distant?
43. I lost a lot of weight and finally dropped under 90. I kept losing. I reached close to 80 at the beginning of August.
44. August 12, 2013, I weighed 78 pounds and went into kidney failure. I was 55 years old. I was a full code in the Mount Auburn Hospital ER.
45. Everything after that went all wrong. Dr. Bibek Koirala contacted Dr. Pearson. I’m sure Dr. Pearson warned them I was a “liability case” because I had spoken out about abuse. Why did Dr. Pearson not even care about me as a human being after I had almost died?  I later learned that this was the only thing Dr. Pearson told them. She hadn’t told them any vital information about me that would have helped me medically, for instance, about the medications that I’d had bad reactions to in the past. I tried to tell the hospital staff myself but they cut me off and were rude to me.
46. Mount Auburn staff destroyed my spirit. The abuses are too numerous to list here. I have been listing these over and over in my blog for months. I cried and cried for months. I suffered post-traumatic stress.  There were so many lost friendships over this.
47. While I was incarcerated at Mount Auburn, someone, probably the police, conducted an illegal search of my apartment.
48. After I got home from Mount Auburn, I cried alone for a month, traumatized by their abuse. No one called me, and many told me how disgusted they were and called me “ungrateful.” My church turned against me because I put in a legal claim. I also reported Mass General from 2011. In November, the Disability Law Center finally got back to me.
49. I realized in September that the church minister, Mark Harris, never even liked me in the first place. He badmouthed many people right in his sermons, even though he edits these remarks out before the sermons go online. I gave up on church. I ended CBFS because they had acted irresponsibly and had not provided anything helpful.
50. Over the next few months, I noticed the medical care given by my current new providers was poor quality. I felt on an assembly line and vowed I’d get out of Harvard Vanguard. I tried to see other doctors, but each time, I was profiled because of past association with the mental health system. I realized I was going to have to move away from here and start my whole life over if I was going to survive at all.
51. I found new friends, others who had been abused either in hospitals or by mental health practitioners. I attend meetings and protests and I continue to write to try to help others.
52. I have been suffering a severe, long-standing “post-trauma” reaction to what happened to me at Mount Auburn. I appear fearful and angry, and I snap at people easily. I feel terrified of sirens, police uniforms, and the proximity of a hospital building. I live in constant fear of the police appearing at my door and taking me away against my will, to be locked up and abused again.
53. There is no excuse for abuse. When people justify what was done to me they invalidate me and insult me. I can no longer tolerate this dismissive attitude.
54. After Mark Harris wrote something in our January church newsletter that was discriminatory against folks with mental illness, I contacted the UUA office in Boston in a private e-mail that revealed many other things I’d seen and heard at church that I felt were discriminatory.
55. On January 10th, 2014, two church members came to my home with a member of the police force (Melissa) and they tried to accuse me of planning to kill Mark Harris. I told them I wasn’t planning this and that their accusations were completely unfounded, in fact, so ridiculous that I nearly laughed. I told them I felt discriminated against by their accusations, and that they would never do this to someone who didn’t have a known psychiatric diagnosis. They had barged through the front door and into the building without ringing my buzzer. The church members told me I could come back to church but I would be restricted, censored, and silenced. I told them that I should be respected as a writer with something to give society, instead of being always seen as “needy.”
56. What the church did to me by coming to my home and wrongly accusing me was a hate crime. Were they trying to get me locked up again just for speaking the truth? I wondered, alternately, if I had gotten Mark into trouble by writing to the UUA.  I had mentioned other church members in this private e-mail, others with mental illness diagnosis that I felt had been discriminated against, including Rachel Ann Klein.  The church people seemed desperate to shut me up.
57. I noticed that a number of times I saw church members on the street and in stores,but they deliberately avoided me. It felt like that was the last straw.  I made several arrangements to move away, and each time, my plans fell through.
58. I tried to at least leave this building and transfer down the street. My next-door neighbor played her TV too loudly, all day long, and I could not stand the constant noise. She was an elderly, hearing-impaired lady, and her son was a Watertown first responder, I happened to know.  It was sad that he was clearly neglecting her.  Even my request to transfer was denied, put off, excuses made.
59. I suppose the most devastating thing of all is that my two brothers, Phil and Ned, raised their families without their Auntie Julie. Phil lived only an hour away for decades, and I never saw him or his family. This broke my heart. These two brothers, whom I loved so much in our childhood, are now awaiting big money they are trying to get from our mom. They’ve put our mom into an institution.
60. I am 56 years old. I am short and thin, and I wear glasses, the same as when I was a kid. I have a lovely dog. I did nothing wrong. I was raped. I was abused in hospitals and by my therapist. I chose to speak out and to write in my blog about what happened. None of these things are crimes. And yet, my community has nearly destroyed me.
61. Since the summer, my kidney function has been around 30%. I believe much of the damage prior to the summer was from lithium, which I took for 16 years. I now suffer from anemia and constant fatigue. I wish I never turned to the mental health system for help with my eating disorder. It was a mistake, a wrong road taken. I feel like over three decades of my life were stolen from me. I started off as a talented student composer, and now, I feel like I’ve been swindled.
62. Cahill was honored. The police who ignored what I told them are hailed as community heroes of Watertown Strong. The doctors and therapists and other personnel who destroyed my life are continuing to live cushy lives. Why are perps glorified? Why are victims treated like unworthy criminals, denied basic needs, forced into the fringe of society?
63. It was always my intention to speak out to prevent others from having to endure the abuses I experienced, particularly what’s now known as psychiatric abuse. Instead, I ended up hated in my community.  I knew if I stuck around, I would not survive given the amount of prejudice I was dealing with. It looked like those accusing me had been working very hard to retaliate and ruin my life, except for Cahill, who died last year.
64. My plane left Logan Airport May 13, 2014. Rachel Ann Klein died May 23, 2014.  I have stated that Rachel died because people in the community did not love her enough. The people of the community turned their backs on a person like me who was suffering.
65. I won’t be back.  Puzzle and I did what we had to do to remain alive and together and free.

 

My motto: Never, ever shut up.
Julie Greene and Puzzle
My blog: Juliemadblogger on WordPress.
First Written early May, 2014.  Modified.
copies to be sent to the media.  Or that was my original intent.