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 ~

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... ~

Sensationalism at its best...

Death, Grief and Guilt... 

In 2005, when I was getting custody back of my daughter, someone made an anonymous call to the Kennebec Journal and said; "You want to write a story about a child killer who's getting her daughter back?".

Well that prompted a series of phone calls to my attorney John Pelletier (who I have to say is one of my favorite people in the world and puts to shame all the lawyer jokes) and a month long process of negotiations with family court and the KJ about an interview. Needless to say, we granted the interview (which felt incredibly close to blackmail) in exchange for privacy for my daughter and I moved just prior to the article being published. Since it's available for everyone to read anyway, but in an out of context and unexplained narrative. I thought this would be the best place for the article to be seen. Since most of what is being made available is not being made available in its entire context.

So below are the two articles that appeared on April 11, 2005 (I always wondered if it were purposeful it was published the same day as Hunter died) The first was a sidebar beside the main article, explaining that I did not want to give an interview and had been coerced into it. I always thought it nice of them to at least mention that. Gary Remal interviewed me with my Attorney (John) present over the course of four hours. Below is the basic result.

Oh Wait, the really big kicker? It won a National Media Award from National Mental Health Association  (now Mental Health America) the Following Year. I'm going to add that onto the end, but I'm also going to give it its own post. That was a really nice ending to such a crappy beginning.

~~~
 

Kennebec Journal (Augusta, ME) April 11, 2005
Section: Local & State Page: 1A

Natachia Barlow Ramsey's story

Article Text:

Natachia Barlow Ramsey, a 31-year-old mother who killed her 4-week-old son in 1999 as the result of severe postpartum depression, was given nearly unprecedented permission by District Court Judge John Nivison to discuss her case after the Kennebec Journal obtained court documents showing she had been reunited with her older child after losing custody for six years.

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.. ~ Natachia Barlow Ramsey's Story; Surviving Postpartum Psychosis ~ Sensationalism at it's best ~

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? ~

Choosing Between the Devils

When is the devil you don't know better than the devil you do know?

I am often left feeling as though I am choosing between the lesser of two evils. Rather than just being able to make the best decision for example; I have a couple choices and neither of them are fantastic, but I have to choose one of them. So take your pick... 



Devil's in disguise?

We have an election going on (yeah I know, the entire world knows). But we also have a Probate Judge election going on here in Waldo County. You see, while there is some family court stuff brewing upstairs with my grand-daughter Lanah, I also have lots of things circulating downstairs in Probate. Everything from the Guardianship of my daughter to the petition of guardianship of my grand-daughter.

 

I actually petitioned for guardianship of my grand-daughter back in June. At that time we didn't know who her father was so there was the added delay of informing all the putative fathers. But even since finding out there has been a great delay in getting the case heard.

 

I originally petitioned the probate court because I was the one caring for Lanah full time. My daughter had moved in with her boyfriend and would come and visit with Lanah and spend time with her but she wasn't ready to be a full time parent. At that time and in moment's of clarity she would
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~ Natachia Barlow Ramsey; Surviving Postpartum Psychosis and Losing a Piece of Myself ~

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 ~

What is Home Really?...

There's No Place Like Home

I think a lot of people think of 'home' as a particular place. Maybe for some that's true. For me, home is with the people I love and care about. As long as they're there; that's home.

I have just moved into a cottage near the ocean until next June. It's furnished, almost complete with kitchen-ware. So while I am bringing in my personal things along with a few small furniture pieces, I'll be borrowing someone else's housewares for the next 9-10 months and I'll call this home.

I haven't been online blogging in a while since I had a 'series of unfortunate events' occur that included my phone breaking and thus my internet went along with my communication.

This summer has taken almost all of my resources and drained them. I am just beginning to feel a resurgence of energy reserves slowly starting to build. I think the quiet of the Village (yes I said Village. This IS Maine and this is the second time in 8 years I have rented a cottage near the water in a Village. The last time being in Liberty, Maine on Lake St. George, one of my favorite places to be) will be just what I need. Mostly I want the people I love..

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~ Natachia Barlow Ramsey's Story; Surviving Postpartum Psychosis ~ What is Home Really? ~

Natachia Barlow Ramsey; Surviving Postpartum Psychosis..

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 her at the funeral parlor as we were writing her obituary. Ihad to; I couldn't or wouldn't believe she was actually dead. So the funeral director took me into a back room where my mother was lying on a steel table with a white sheet draped over her, pulled up to just below her chin,

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