A Recovery Story
By: anonymous
It was 5 o’clock on a Friday evening in 1979. Five policemen and my GP arrived at my home and, before I knew it, I was bundled into the back of a patrol wagon. It seemed I had definitely overstepped the mark this time, having the night before been very agitated and vocal in our quiet neighbourhood, and was now certified for admission to Larundel Hospital.
The whole thing seemed to me at the time the ultimate degradation but, looking back on the event, I now appreciate that it marked the beginning of my recovery from many years of mania and depression.
Although I lived in hope, I could see that my marriage was nearing its end and my wife made it clear that she did not expect me to emerge from the psychiatric hospital. In fact, my initial stay was only for three weeks and I was discharged to return to my home and my job as an engineer.
But the situation deteriorated once again, until I could not add up the figures on my time sheet, and I made a unilateral decision to request a consultation with the Commonwealth Medical Officer. He agreed with my decision to resign my job (without much in the way of benefits, as it turned out) and I soon found myself with a separation order and being sued for divorce. Things seemed to have got worse, if that was possible.
I lived for some months at the family beach house until I was persuaded by my former wife to have an interview with the psychiatrist at the Austin Hospital, who requested me to have myself admitted to Larundel Hospital again, as a voluntary patient. This time I stayed for four months.
Life seemed to be very grim. My family did not want to have anything to do with me and the prospect of seeing my children again seemed very remote.
However, during that slow moving period and with the help of medication and group therapy, I was able to take stock of my life. I began to review the ambitions I had previously held and I realised that I had to seek other ways of achieving a fulfilled life.
The first positive thing that happened was that my father began to visit me in hospital. He was not a young man and I appreciated his efforts in making the long journey to Bundoora. He offered me a home, and that is where I went to live when I was discharged. It eventuated that he had thought about a recovery program for me. I had wondered how I would fill my days and had imagined reading the newspaper each morning for about two hours and making endless re-arrangements of my wardrobe.
But life was to be much more energetic. Father was a recipient of meals-on-wheels and he arranged for me to help in the kitchen, washing dishes at Ashburton where the ladies took me under their wing.
After a while I was promoted to collecting meals from the hospital kitchen where they were prepared and delivering them to the elderly and infirm of the district. I met other people and began to appreciate that I was not the only one with problems.
I still felt seriously depressed and had been prescribed anti-depressant medication by the psychiatrist at the Camberwell Clinic, whom I initially saw once a week. He took a tonic approach to my condition and, when I complained that I was depressed, he prescribed a higher dose of anti-depressants. This continued for a couple of weeks – I didn’t like the medication one bit – until I got the message and began to report that I was feeling better and the dosage began to be reduced. Eventually I no longer needed the tablets.
At home I could see that my father’s garden was seriously overgrown and, in my unfit state, began to attack it with saw and axe. I talked to the Ashburton ladies about the garden and they pointed me in the direction of the local garden club, whose meetings I particularly liked because of the homemade cakes and biscuits provided for supper.
I really wasn’t much of a gardener, but I read all the books and worked assiduously on the project. One of the ladies gave me a considerable number of jonquil and daffodil bulbs, which I planted as an outside border to the front fence. They made a wonderful display in the spring for many years and gave me constant reminders of the kindness of other people.
I have always been interested in music and learned to play the organ when I was young. I decided to re-visit my old church and soon found myself invited to join the choir, where the singing and companionship gave me great pleasure.
With the encouragement of the church minister I began to play the organ once again. In a fit of depression I had sold all my old organ music for fifty dollars. Organ music is in fact rather expensive to buy and this seemed a big loss. However I found that I was able to replace most of my music and acquire new albums as well. So I increased my repertoire.
In the recovery period I thought of ways I could make a community contribution and benefit myself as well; I realised that I could interest myself in unpopular activities where my efforts would be appreciated.
The minister of the small local church asked me if I would try out their organ. I accepted the invitation and have been playing there for nine years now to my satisfaction and the appreciative churchgoers.
Feeling the need for some sporting activity I was encouraged by my father to take up lawn bowls. I joined one of the local Camberwell clubs and found myself readily accepted in a friendly group and becoming fit in the process.
After about six months on an invalid pension I began to have thoughts of returning to work. I applied for all sorts of jobs, many very unsuitable, and eventually achieved a position as an engineer at Maribyrnong – a long journey initially as I did not have a car.
The management did not seem concerned that I had a history of mental illness and only stipulated that my State Health Department file should be made available to the Commonwealth Medical Officer. This actually worked to my advantage, as it meant that I had secure employment and, when I was briefly hospitalised with minor relapses, my job was waiting for me on my return. It was a non-stressful job, initially rather boring, but in time I achieved promotion and things became more interesting. I retired after thirteen years.
One very significant event for me was my meeting with Georgia Shield, the founding president of ARAFEMI, at a street stall in Camberwell. She invited me to join the organization and I soon found that I was a participant in their mutual support group for people with bipolar disorder.
This group opened up a new world to me. I was amazed to meet other people who had similar symptoms (I was not alone or unique as I had imagined) and I began to lose my feelings of guilt and of being a marginalised member of society. Later on I met the group at Bayswater and became convenor out there. I found that the mutual discussions were very helpful and I always came away with a feeling of well-being.
It was at one of the bipolar meetings that I met my present partner. We took an instant liking to each other and have become a great mutual support partnership over the last fifteen years.
I have found new interests in my life after divorce and hospitalisation. I used to be very ambitious, especially where my career was concerned. However, I have learned to take a greater interest in other people and, since my retirement, I have become much more absorbed with my children and recent grandchildren, who in fact were not permanently lost to me.
I have made a good recovery, but I feel I am still vulnerable and have to watch the state of my mental health and take my small prescribed dose of medication daily.
I try to avoid stressful situations and, if they arise, I try to resolve them as quickly as possible. When I start to feel depressed I find that taking an interest in someone else is very beneficial. These days I find that I feel much more comfortable talking about mental health rather than mental illness.