Domestic Violence

There are times, not very often I admit, when I can be serious. A sense of humour is a well used tool in my survival kit, you could say it’s had a bit of a hammering along the years but I’m glad I can see the amusing side of things as opposed to being pessimistic and letting the bad times defeat me. I’ve faced some tough obstacles and I’ve overcome them when I could see no improvement in sight, always having an optimistic, determined outlook gets you through it … even if you are left with a little scarring.

I’ve always been a strong-willed person (my mum would say it’s my downfall) but how can that be when strength only drives you on to achieve the goals you set for yourself. Surely a strong-will equips you and protects you? Along with a strong-will I have perseverance. I hate, with a passion, something beating me. I’m not competitive, but if I do a crossword I won’t put the damn thing down until I’ve done it. Not much of a challenge in the grand scheme of things; but you get the idea?

These attributes came in handy when I worked in psychiatry. Patients would come to us in pretty bad physical and mental states and initially you’d think there wasn’t a cat in hell’s chance they’d recover or lead normal lives, but just having others’ care for them who were willing to guide them, listen to them and be that mental (sometimes physical) punch bag offered them a pinch of hope.

Mental health, especially in this day and age, is something we will all have some experience of by the time we reach our twilight years, may it be our own sufferings or the sufferings of others. Post natal depression, breakdowns, Alzheimer’s, anorexia, bulimia, cutting or just depression in general is not as rare as people once thought and it definitely doesn’t carry the same stigma it once had. Over the years I have cared for many, many different patients.

At the extreme end of the spectrum there have been schizophrenics. My first encounter was with a 6ft 4in woman called Julie who upon hearing voices telling her I was laughing at her, came at me in the kitchen with a fork she’d been carrying for protection in her handbag! Despite this I liked Julie. She was ill. She couldn’t help it. She’d been the victim of parental neglect, lack of education, abusive relationships and neglect from the system. It had failed her and she was pissed off …. Can’t say I blame her for that!