Postpartum Psychosis; A Survivors Story: Blackmail, Grief, Guilt, Sensationalism and Finally a Media Award?

Postpartum Psychosis; A Survivors Story: Blackmail, Grief, Guilt, Sensationalism and Finally a Media Award?

Down the Rabbit Hole

I survived Postpartum Psychosis, my Son did not...

 

In March of 1999 I had just turned 25 and was about to give birth to my second child. My daughter was turning 6 later that month as well so there should have been a lot of celebrating to do. I went a week and a half past my due date, and my son was born on March 11th at 11:10pm; Hunter Macarthy Ramsey.

Although I was excited, exhausted and not feeling quite right, little did I know a month later my little boy would be dead and I would be committed to the Augusta Mental Health Institute; responsible for his death.

I grew up in a small coastal town in Maine. I always refer to my family as "Old Maine". I guess alluding to the fact that nobody talks about their feelings. We still banked the house in the winter with plastic and hay and things always went unspoken. We were strong Maine women. It would have been nice if we were half as strong as what we thought we were supposed to be.

My mother was one of 6 children, very typical around here; they were Catholic. She had me when she was 17 and married my father I was told to get out of the house. Secrets, Secrets, Secrets...

I bounced around from relative to relative after the divorced and started kindergarten late waiting for my mother to come back from where ever it was she had gone. Eventually she did and ended up in a co-dependent relationship with my Stepfather and they had my brother and sister. There were years and years of fighting, alcohol, staying, leaving, packing up and moving back.

When I was 14, after a two-day bender of not going to school, my Mom and stepdad fighting, packing and unpacking; my mother hung herself in our bathroom. I learned of this from her father (my grandfather) as she had sent me there to spend the night.

He informed me since I was the oldest child it was my responsibility to plan the funeral. Looking back, I think he was just devastated and was doing the best he could in those moments. So, with my grandfather driving me around and footing the bill, I proceeded to plan my mother's funeral. I don't remember everything, just bits and pieces. What I do remember is finally demanding to see -

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...Natachia Barlow Ramsey's Story; Surviving Postpartum Psychosis ~ Down the Rabbit Hole ~

One Night in Bangkok...

Reminding myself this isn't exactly Thailand

I have times when I want to do something almost to prove to myself I am alive. Like jumping off a bridge into the ocean. I know it's not actually necessary, but on occasion I have that urge. It's probably similar to the urge I describe below about screaming Fuck You and wanting to Punch People in the Face. Those last two don't sound very ladylike...

Some days I just want to scream Fuck You to the world. There are days when I want to punch people in the face. There are times when I have wondered if this is my reincarnated life as punishment of a past life and I was something truly awful.

I don't have those moments very often. But on occasion when it feels like everything is just bearing it's weight down on me. I am perhaps just one kind voice away from shedding a bucket full of tears (cue the tears now as I type). I have those thoughts.

I have times when I think I just want to go and find some peace and solace. Other times when I just want the company of the unknown stranger who knows nothing about me and to find comfort in their arms. I know it's short lived. So, I have basically sworn off real dating for now. I'm actually supposed to have a date (I have signed up for those dating websites, all the free ones anyway). I usually get as far as a few email responses and I'll either stop communicating or never follow through with the date.
The idea of introducing someone to my past is exhausting. [Oh that date is supposed
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~ Natachia Barlow Ramsey's Story; Surviving Postpartum Psychosis ~ One Night in Bangkok ~

The Walking Dead, Zombie Shuffle

Zombie Shuffle

A woman I have been talking and corresponding with recently said the experience of being in the Psychiatric Hospital seemed as traumatic as the Postpartum Psychosis Episode itself. I myself have often reflected on that and felt similar. The things you experience inside a mental health facility can be very scary, especially if you are there as a forensic patient and are doing your 'time' vs just being there until you are better.

Aside from the constant screaming and noise, there's the having to see or hear someone being forced, sometimes physically to take medication. After watching the patient pace the hallways for perhaps a month, more or less, doing any number of things, there will be an emergency order written for them to receive medication. Usually they are told, and are given one last opportunity of taking it orally. At that point, if still refusing, are held down by any number of staff and given injections of meds. You can hear them screaming and begging, pleading. I can recall some of them so vividly and with such clarity.

I understood why sometimes it may be necessary. It doesn't make it any easier to witness.
 

As I look into the recesses of my mind and I recall the faces and the empty stares. The hollow eyes, sad and broken faces, I know I too must have looked like that for months when I was first admitted to AMHI.

I had a one to one for the longest time (where you are assigned a staff person to be with you at all times even to go into the bathroom stall with you).

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~ Natachia Barlow Ramsey's Story; Surviving Postpartum Psychosis ~ The Walking Dead, Zombie Shuffle ~

A Story of Severe Postpartum Depression with Psychotic Features

Tragedies, Trauma, Disasters. What's the common thread?

Unfortunately, these are all the things that in most circumstances have to occur in order for change to happen. Why? Because when things appear to be going along swimmingly, nobody sees a need for change. So, let's take a look shall we?  I can't imagine anyone not wanting to discover the new mother has 1) Killed Herself, 2) Killed her Child(ren), 3) Killed herself and her Child(ren)

 We've been making progress with issues on Postpartum, but change takes time. It doesn't happen overnight or even over one generation. It takes a movement of people joining together.

The basic reality is this; it's those kind of circumstances that evoke change. In my small community in Belfast, Maine, no one knew what postpartum psychosis was. Least of all me. I had heard of the baby blues, which to my understanding was something that sometimes happens to new moms and they get sad and get over it. Done! Talk about an understatement.

Even when I was sent to AMHI and started talking to the Psychiatrist there and the many, many evaluators, there was little written on it at the time. Yes, throughout history it's been well documented and Europe has statutes that speak directly to this particular time after a mother has given birth. A few of my Doctor's even commented on it in hearings.
 

I remember when the story broke about Andrea Yates. We followed the trial and were so saddened when she was initally found guilty instead of NGRI from Postpartum Psychosis. We rejoiced when her sentence was later overturned because of the lead Psychiatrist who testified, lied on the

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~ Natachia Barlow Ramsey's Story; Surviving Postpartum Psychosis ~ A Story of Severe Postpartum Depression with Psychotic Features ~

Snot, Diarrhea, Chicken Bones...

I spy with my little eye

My sister can't eat chicken on a bone. I remember when I was younger that used to gross me out too. I always wanted boneless chicken, and especially wings. All those slimy little wings with the little bones and tendons. Yuck, made my stomach turn.

Then, I was put in a Mental Hospital and saw feces smeared on the bathoom stall...

I remember during my stay in 1999 there were these old metal lockers where the patients kept their cigarettes and lighters. When there was a smoke break, the patients would line up and the worker would open up each locker and each patient could get their cigarettes. One patient didn't want to lose his place in line because if you missed the opening of the lockers and the exiting of being out in the "yard" (it was a large cage attached to one of the doors so no one could escape, although I watched many try and a few actually scale it) you would miss that smoke break. Well, he proceeded to blow his nose into his hands and wipe them onto the lockers. Which wouldn't all come off immediately, and just kind of smeared
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.....Natachia Barlow Ramsey's Story; Surviving Postpartum Psychosis ~ Snot, Diarrhea, Chicken Bones... ~