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 ~

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 ~

Horror Story or Reality?

Living your own worst nightmare

This past week I had a conversation with a woman who has had a similar experience to mine. Her husband and her are together, but she is questioning whether or not it will stay that way given all that has happened. We proceeded to talk about my circumstances regarding my now ex-husband and what happened.

It made me start thinking the last couple of days about what it took to forgive the one person I reached out for the day my world turned upside down... The day our son died.

There are audio cassette tape recordings of that morning, from an answering machine. It took me about eight years before I was finally about to listen to them. I knew they exsisted, I talked about them with my therapist. She heard them, the Attorney's, Doctor's and anyone who evaluated me heard them. I just couldn't for a very long time. I knew it would bring me back to that day in a way like nothing else ever would.

When I finally decided I was ready to hear the recordings, I took a copy of the tape and I must have held onto it for weeks before I built up the courage to push play. I only had it on for about 5 seconds and it immediately brought me back in time and I quickly shut it off. So, I sat there, for how long I don't know. I decided I would push play and let it run through until the end no matter what. (This was a series of calls I made to my then husband and he wouldn't answer the phone and kept hanging up on me) A lot of what I am saying is incomprehensible, babbling. But I am begging him to pick up the phone. I am telling him "something is wrong with me" "I can't think" ...

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.....Natachia Barlow Ramsey's Story; Surviving Postpartum Psychosis ~ Horror Story or Reality? ~

Life For Death Punishment?

Is an Eye for an Eye Always Necessary?

I remember at the very end of my trial when the judge sentenced me to the commissioner (back into AMHI) and said there was nothing he could do to punish me more than what I had already been through. That was just the beginning of my realizing how correct he was....

I guess I became more and more aware of this as I sat in therapy, sometimes daily, and talked about everything from as far back as I could remember all the way to the present. Everytime we had a court date and I listened to testimony about how the biggest danger I posed was to myself. I didn't seem able to impress upon people enough how suicide was no longer an option for me.

You see, it took several months for me to wade my way through the fog of postpartum psychosis when I was first committed to AMHI in 1999. I cannot give you a clear, concise timeline of events. As the months passed and I got closer to discharge that September I do remember more and more until I am clear headed. I would say the first two months are in random, skewed order. I have to ask the people around me if and when certain things happened.

I don't really remember my son's funeral. I recall people bringing me from the hospital (AMHI) but I don't know how many or who it was. I know my father and aunt were there. I know they had a rocking chair and let me sit and rock my son before anyone else came in. I remember I wasn't allowed to look at him. I remember just trying desperately to try and feel him through all the blankets and whatever else he was wrapped in.

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..Natachia Barlow Ramsey's Story; Surviving Postpartum Psychosis ~ Life For Death Punishment? ~

Suicide is a disease

What Doesn't Kill You?

Suicide seems to run rampant in my family. Spreading itself around like a transmittable disease. I keep hoping to "Cure" my family of it, but it appears to have dug its roots deep.



My Sister and I 1981

I remember when my grandfather came into the room where I was sleeping to tell me my mother had died. I had gone to bed early. It was around 9pm and I remember him say "Tachia, Tachia" by the second time he'd said my name I was just beginning to wake up and said "what?" he replied "you're mother is dead". I said "okay" and rolled back over to sleep.
I was 14 years old. I remember still trying to sleep and thinking I couldn't have heard him correctly. As I layed there I heard him on the telephone (one of the old rotary dial phones) making calls and talking to people. As I was still half asleep, I could heard him crying. I thought he was laughing. I remember thinking; why is he telling everyone my mother is dead?...
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~ Natachia Barlow Ramsey's Story; Surviving Postpartum Psychosis ~ Suicide is a disease ~

Walking the line

I Walk the Line

I have walked the line between living for one child or dying for another. There's never a good, right or perfect answer. I just have to live with knowing that I have walked the line and probably always will.

 



My daughter and I on her 9th birthday in 2002

When I was sick with PostPartum Psychosis in 1999, and I wanted to commit suicide, my son's (Hunter's) father didn't believe that Hunter was his; I thought in those terribly dysfunctional moments that the only one who wanted Hunter was me. That in order for him to be 'safe' I had to take him with me.

I know, I know; it doesn't make any sense now. How could I possibly be keeping him "Safe" by wanting to take his life and mine? I cannot rationalize my thinking that day. I can only say in those moments, in those minutes, on that day it made sense to me.

Asking someone who is losing their mind to explain why they were thinking a particular way and expecting it to make sense is like... well, asking a schizophrenic person who doesn't know they're schizophrenic if the voices they hear are real. They can't distinguish the difference.

I have yearned to find someone who had gone through a similar experience. Not because I wanted them to feel this kind of anguish, but because it feels so very lonely when..
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~ Natachia Barlow Ramsey's Story; Surviving Postpartum Psychosis ~ I walk the line ~

Nightmare Alley

What Dreams May Come

For a decade I had the same recurring nightmare; that I would walk into the Augusta Mental Health Institute for some kind of meeting, the doors would close behind me and I couldn't get out. The dreams always started off with me having to go there for something innocuous. Once inside they inform me I cannot leave. I check all the doors, I am crying, I plead with them. No matter what I say, no matter what I do I have to stay there. Locked inside.

Although I do not remember exactly when I had the first nightmare, I do recall it was sometime after I was released the first time in September of 1999 into a group home on personal recognizance bail so I could be in therapy.

I would wake up in a cold sweat and have that same feeling everytime. This weighted down, surreal and out of sorts feeling. Empty space. I don't think I've ever been afraid of a place or afraid of anything really as I was afraid of that place. Just being there the five months I was there when I was sick with Postpartum Psychosis was incredibly scary.

One of the worst things about being there is that people mess with you, staff included, and even when you try to tell someone, you are often not believed because "you" are the crazy one. You're the one who is in the hospital for being sick. There are some real assholes working in mental health hospitals, people who really like being in control, who shouldn't be allowed to work with people who have a mental illness. Now that's not to say that everyone is bad. They're certainly not and if

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..Natachia Barlow Ramsey's Story; Surviving Postpartum Psychosis ~ Nightmare Alley ~