Some embarrassing stupidity, perceptions and rationalisations about myself and my situation, not “all about me”, by any means, and a slight air of bemused, even patronising and dismissive curiosity, may be permissible from people who haven’t got the faintest idea what I am on about!  I hope you enjoy reading and find it helpful and informative 🙂

Welcome to my blog!  I hope you will read it regularly and feel free to comment.  Even if I don’t write for a while, input by comments is always welcome.  I’ll even publish comments I think are rubbish, or abusive, so people can see for themselves, judge for themselves, and fight it out in the comments forum themselves, if they have a mind to do so.  And of course I reserve the right to comment on and respond to the comments, or not to.  If WordPress allows this to continue as I hope they will, this is my space.

My name is Susan Barnett, I’m 49 years old and at the moment I’m living in Bulgaria.  I’ve been here longer than I had expected to be, and nothing has gone according to plan or expectation.

I am schizophrenic, with all the attendant treatment that entails, both that to which they are legally entitled (whether they should be or not) and that to which they are NOT legally entitled, in terms of intimidation, neglect and abuse.  They have wrongly taken their own opinions and interpretations of what they see in my life, and other people’s versions of events over mine, whether they have asked me or not, and over some very important things, they have not asked me, and when those things were brought to light, they shuffled me out as quickly as possible without taking any responsibility and without offering me any help to deal with the consequences of their ‘mistakes’.

This is an edit.  In the first place I wrote that ‘they have SAID’ I am schizophrenic, whereas this time, while intending to edit a different aspect of the way I had presented that, I saw after my deletion ‘I am schizophrenic’ and thought, ‘yes, that is right’.  I am, now, schizophrenic.  That is because I am being kept in a transitional stage following violent and abusive behaviour from authorities I thought I could trust, including the church.  If they were not stalking me through my computer and through my telephone calls and through use of other people in my life, and if my reports of what I have been and am being subjected to were being validated and dealt with in unambiguously and openly stated committed responsibility, I could have moved through this transitional stage ages ago.  When I say I am being stalked, I open myself up to the possibility that I might end up in hospital, because people refuse to take me seriously.

The only times mental health services have offered help have been in situations which have been heavily controlled and intimidating in themselves, such as when they have turned up with police officers unannounced, or in situations where no physical intimidation was present but which I have felt forced to go into for fear of reprisals if I didn’t, like assessments, etc.  The help that I asked for or agreed to which was actually offered but never materialised, in terms of referral to a psychologist, I have recently read in my notes that they considered me unsuitable for referral without even an initial session/interview.  So why they made the offer in the first place, I don’t know.  Maybe I WASN’T suitable, but the offer was made and I was never told verbally that I had been assessed without an initial interview as unsuitable and that the offer had been retracted. 

In the same way I wasn’t told verbally that I had a diagnosis of schizophrenia.   The first time I saw that, after many other diagnoses including dependent personality disorder (I had a church leader who, when I told him my plans for education, told me God wanted me dependent and he didn’t believe it was right for me) was in notes left on the table in front of me by the dermatologist they had been given to.  All I had to do was glance down, and I felt rocked to the core.  I thought there I might be able to relax and act and be treated like a normal person, I had gone about my SKIN.  I saw that in my notes and, to put it clinically, I felt it was a hurdle. 

I feel that way every time I go to my GP as well about an ordinary, run of the mill, physical health issue completely unrelated to mental health.  I look at their computer screen as I walk into the consulting room and see details of my mental health diagnosis and concerns about my ‘non-compliance’ with the treatment regime, and couple that with all their evasions and controlling strategies when it comes to answering questions about factual details, every visit to my GP is a psychological, even a bodily felt, assault and molestation.  I used to have to go there regularly for a fresh prescription for unbearable heartburn, until my friend told me all I needed to do was alkalinise my diet and introduced me to a water purification product I could use at home, on a one purchase only basis available from eBay for under £20.  It might even have been under £10 but I can’t quite remember.  The point is, it was cheap, once only, made my water taste great, was easy to use and it cured my heartburn.  Since I have been out of England, though, I haven’t even needed THAT. 

Partly for the same reasons, that the medical authorities won’t acknowledge the trauma and harm caused to my life by their decisions and treatment and the way they treat me as a result of me being insistent about it, I won’t even have a cervical smear.  In the end I managed to get them to take me off the register for that but recently, at what felt like a significant time, I got another invitation for a smear, and I believe that to have been deliberate harassment after I submitted a complaint they still haven’t answered.  In fact, when I spoke to one man who kept trying to fob me off, as soon as I called him on it and was insistent on my rights, in a very reasonable way and with appropriate dignity, his own tone of reason and intelligence changed to that of an east end gangster, but there was so much subliminality about it, I couldn’t answer him.  They can’t get anywhere near me with any form of invasive treatment these days, I just freak out.  I feel as if I am to blame for not having seen things their way and complied in the first place, so for me that is a position of shame.  I am gradually coming to ‘see’ that they have always been right and reasonable and I have always been wrong.

I don’t always admit to my mistakes, but that is because this situation has made me unusually vulnerable and because I believe most of them to be a reaction to something wrong from a person who is exactly like me in that respect and they wouldn’t respect me for it or, if they have power in the psychiatric system, might hold it against me in a form I am unaware of.  I have done so before and found in my notes from the hospital that what I have said has been completely misrepresented.

I don’t always manage to achieve the level of honesty and responsibility that I hold as personal core values, and sometimes I say and write complete rubbish, at least in my own eyes, which embarrasses me, but, because I am under so much pressure from stalking which the authorities have so far refused to acknowledge or help me with, and because I feel it would open me up to other people’s ridicule, control and manipulation to say so, I won’t normally admit it.  I might be mistaken in my estimation of what is rubbish and what isn’t anyway, and I think that, once I have published something, people need to recognise that they have the right and the responsibility to make their own assessment, which might be as unreliable as mine, and act in accordance with it insofar as they feel affected or moved to do so.

Sometimes, in fact, most of the time, at the moment, I feel like an emotionally and relationally inadequate person, who can’t make or reconcile a relationship to save my life.  I have a lot of residual anger over the fact that many non-medical people, as well as medical who definitely shouldn’t, play ‘gotcha’ with a mixture of psychology, spirituality, anger and ridicule, and physical threat, and that I have allowed myself to be a victim of that for so long.  The intensity of that anger together with my own physical, emotional and mental state of trauma and outrage, and vulnerability through intensive stalking,  and consequent propensity to lose it at the kind of hypocrisy and indifference which have done this to me, make me afraid to be in situations where I have to be with people, on a regular basis, that I consider to be dishonest about things related to basic humanity in a way which I find personally molesting in its contempt.  Unfortunately some of those people are professionals.  Not being willing to face or deal with that kind of relationship, I find myself cornered into a situation where I feel I am dealing with some really serious interpersonal issues with a compete lack of integrity, which makes me live in constant and unavoidable shame which sometimes plays out as anger and blame towards others. 

I’m sorry for who I am, for what I have become and the things I do to avoid intimacy and the embarrassment of acknowledging the wrongness of the behaviour I know my stalking authorities see and according to which they would probably execute OPEN and UNDISGUISED judgment on me, given the chance.   I’m sorry I’m not the person, and the Christian, I say I want to be.  But I don’t change.  I should, and I feel I can, but I choose not to, and on one level I don’t want to.  Even though I do want to and know I need to.  I like to think of myself as a relational person and know that not changing is harming existing and future relationships and making them take on, in my mind, an aspect where I will not be able to cope with them.  It’s a coping and self-preservation strategy I hold on to,  at the expense both of other people and of the self I want to be.  But I still want other people to respond to me as if I’m a nice, good, honest person with a right to be treated that way.  I feel sorry for my victims, who would probably be overwhelmed with unresolvable pain and disgust if they met me and knew how little I cared about the ways I have harmed and abused them.  By the same token, after the things I have gone through, I would feel overwhelmed by the same things if faced with their judgment towards me.  But maybe a little rehabilitation would sort that out for me.

It’s just such a good job that I don’t hold any power to shape society, or any position of responsibility, where I have decision-making power over other people’s lives, for which we should all breathe a sigh of relief.  Really it’s a shame I get any benefits from society at all, but what can you do? 

I don’t care, my country doesn’t kill people for theft these days.  I know there are plenty of other people who are furious about it, though.  They take every opportunity to tell me so, and I suppose, one day, they might kill me, or force me to work at an honest job at minimum wage.

I hope you see the last two paragraphs as self-parody, though they were, in the first place, meant as a swipe at people who ARE in authority and know what is happening to me.  But it is a serious point that the first step to getting people to THINK how you want is to force them to DO what you want while keeping them at a level of basic survival.  All the blood and emotion appeals from people who don’t even answer my emails honestly, if at all, make me ashamed of saying that.  That just goes to show what a great brainwashing job they have done on me already, and that there is a decent person inside me which is outraged at my own ingratitude and treachery towards people I love and who say, and maybe believe, rightly or wrongly, that they care about me.

PS 8.17pm  a personal message to and about two people who will be identifiable to themselves and each other, though in view of the battering I am taking from the career bad news reporters at the moment, I can feel no reason why I should and have no expectation that they will care anyway, although I hope very much that they do, I know they will be reading at some point:

I told the hospital about (I want to use his name, I love his name) Tommy Boyd, and my visit to his house after I ran away from the hospital during time out.  I can’t remember if he was there or not.  But anyway, apparently they gave it so little significance that, in my notes, they put his name in quotation marks, almost as if they didn’t even believe he existed.  I have no idea if they contacted him at any point, or if he ever contacted them.

Secondly, when asked who was stalking me, I gave them names and contact details, because I thought that, if I did, they would at least check.  I thought they would want to, to find out if there was any truth in what I was asserting.  I gave them David Shearman’s name and his number at church.  They wrote this in my notes, saying it was evidence that I was still having paranoid ideas, but there was no mention of whether or not they had contacted him as I asked them to, and I am assuming they didn’t.

“Career bad news reporters” sounds bad today, but after a show of a tearful voice all over the place, one of them this evening turned to a person she was talking to as the camera came on her and gave the person an emotionless, knowing smile of encouragement and a wink before they began to speak.  I don’t know what they are doing really.  Surely they can’t be as bad and as cynical as the look and sound to me.  I captured it on video.  If some of you my stats say are reading would respond with some encouragement, I wouldn’t feel that what I am doing is so pointless, as it is I think no one cares, at least, not on a personal level.