Diary from the ninth ring- Part 1 -The psychiatric system, a personal story- Copyright Robert Fullarton 2010

Diary from the ninth Circle- Part 1

-The psychiatric system, a personal story- Copyright Robert Fullarton 2010



Those with mental illness will suffer a “death” of some sort, for the old personality dies, the public face hangs down until it crumples at the sides and simply droops down to be replaced by the candid expressions of human fear and anxiety. When the mask is worn out, the gravest human angst appears and the fear of being human, fear of the unknown and the fear even of death emerge in their own right.  The deeper and often heavier human being emerges from the fire, the smouldering process of transfiguration, change and transformation

I have learned on too many occasions that the institutions, the psychiatrists and even the health care system cannot offer enough help for the specialised care of the individual patient. A generalised prognosis is given with an often-generalised diagnosis, a generalised method for treatment and for many these will not be the requisite path to follow. Little enough attention is focused on the symptoms themselves, often too little time is given to the origins of these symptoms, to the development of neurotic behaviour, hyper sensitivities, to our domestic history, our upbringing and development. The sensitivities that have manifested themselves in a physical manner need to be acknowledged and accessed in a manner that is not solely geared around medication. The so-called professional approach by the psychiatrist, going by the book, will insist on the clinical procedure, the austerity of a clinic or psychiatric ward- that often reflects the loveless and abrasive centres for mentally “unfit” or even a sort of lonely prison for the “unfit”. I myself have indulged in these thoughts, have experienced these very sensations- of dread, loneliness and fear- and of course have learned that from the start it was the patients themselves who carried the weight of the illness without any serious form or relative treatment or any practical help whatsoever. I have often witnessed patients leaving a psychiatric ward in a serious state of tension and aggravation- hurried off by their doctors so that new patients could come and fill the beds and numbers- and of course these patients return within weeks, feeling just as awful as before, if not worse. They have been given the gruff, often unsympathetic, treatment, by the team of doctors and form fillers who have little time, empathy and dedication for the individual patient. What matters is whether the patient is covered by health insurance, their medication and the unbroken chain of clinical processes that run day and night while names come and go. I myself have been a name on a register myself twice before in a psychiatric ward, have fought with nurses and have lost my faith in psychiatrists in general.

I tell you all that the toughest thing at times can be to live, the most menial of matters can seem trivial and impossible when our mind is swamped with fear, adrenaline, anxiety, sorrow, angst and the monstrosities of terror.

We may have given our troubles and fears the silent treatment for years and now we have finally come to know these fears through conscious terror. 

Breathing exercises are brilliant for lowering anxiety, for helping to expand and remove certain catarrh and phlegm from the lungs –so this is especially helpful for people who suffer from asthma like myself. I could even state that people with acute anxiety or panic disorder are often rushing and running at a pace to fast for their body and their mind to operate at. The body is simply flooded with adrenaline, the mind is aroused, the arms are clammy and sweaty and perhaps even a certain hyper vigilance extends over the feelings and general sense of fear given by the individual. A slow and gently given practise to time management, meditation, relaxation, claming walks and exercises, even praying can have its benefits too and all such attempts are made for a long term recovery, or a sense of self competence in the face of these overriding symptoms and habits. 

I continued to study law in college, the semesters came and went in sequence, I worked, tired and slaved over the case law, the legislation, the various books and assignments that were designated to me, and of course for the first time in my life my over all grades improved. A blossoming and unveiling of knowledge, Intellect, a craving for information and an interest in the world of factual information took possession over me. When I wasn’t working for an assignment or studying for an arduous exam, I spent most of my available time in the college library, perusing through various collections of stories, novels, books of philosophy, ancient Greek and Roman history, drama and poetry.

While my love of literature blossomed, my anxiety grew, through mental exhaustion; I grew fatigued with other people and with my college work. I had been previously diagnosed with having Severe Anxiety Disorder –but I did not dwell too much on this diagnosis I had been given from the Blackrock clinic after I had gotten an MRI scan done-and of course I was not susceptible to the full effects of my anxiety. I was negligently ignoring my worsening state of depression that was fuelled with insatiable moments for binge drinking, for self pity, moodiness and anger. A sort of self loathing often poured forward within me while I was out and about, perhaps even coming home from college on the bus at the end of the day. 

An awareness is vital for us to seek a recovery. I have spent the past three years around a community of people, blighted by the troubles of their past, the crises of the present and waiting in vain for the pains of the future to reimburse within them again. I can question forever on the reasons and the preventative measures that could and should be adopted and met for the extremities of variable conditions and disorders that are prevalent in our society today. My mind has registered many faces, remembered many heart wrenching stories, trials of persevering humanity and enduring questions that have made me feel like an out and out nihilist sometimes at the sense and sum of suffering that has come either genetically, neuro-chemically, or through domestic and social abuse of some sort. I have witnessed courage on every front by the patients and attendees themselves, but often have seen the patients and attendees sit and wait, unresponsively for the clinicians, psychiatrists and therapists to perform a sort of instant miracle or magic trick to their specific needs. I myself have been in this mind frame too often throughout my life, I have known what it feels like to be utterly desperate, to be helpless to be clinging to the precipices of human dignity and fortitude. I know what it is like to feel a sense of life slipping away, a closeness of death, a soul shattering fear that can devour you. I have seen train wreaks, corrosion and catastrophe in the faces of human beings. So little self control, so much antipathy for life and a sense of catatonic shock seems to echo through the core of these human beings, who have fallen on hard times.

When I was 21 years of age, the symptoms of a psychosomatic disorder were already beginning to show themselves. First of all I was suffering panic attacks at night, terrible insomnia, an irregular heartbeat. My stomach was beginning to cause me terrible trouble. I would spend endless nights with severe stomach trouble, nausea, feelings of sickness, acute abdominal pains and acid. At the end of a marathon of trips back and forward to my local GP I was told that I had acid reflux and had to adopt to a new lifestyle, with a wholly different diet and this meant that I would have to sacrifice or cut down on my drinking and smoking. I was depressed with this intial diagnosis and stupidly enough I did not make the dietary change required but merely took the medication prescribed to me. While I was working hard one evening on an assignment for college, I began to go into a cold sweat, my heart began to beat faster than it had ever beat before, it thudded so fast that I nearly fainted in the hallway.

But I had absolutely not idea what was going on, I was oblivious to this experience and to reassurances from family that I was not going to die. This was the beginning of decline in terror and anxiety, into fear and reclusion, my lowest ebb was dawning and many more panic attacks were to follow, some would last up to six hours and some would hit me while I was flying on a plane. I stupidly on my first encounter with this terror drank myself into a drunken stupor and of course this was, me pouring petrol over the blazing fire. Things went from bad to worse; I spent many days in bed trying to recover from both my nerves and my stomach.

I continued to write throughout this time, found renewal through my faith and my adoration for writing. I even managed to finish my final exams for my college degree and achieved a positive result overall. But the kettle was long due to over boil, I had not properly dealt with my nervous disorder, had gone for a gastroscopic examination in a private hospital and was told that I had no peptic ulcers, no bacteria in my gut but told that my stomach trouble was caused by my nervous disorder. I did not believe this and I only reluctantly accepted this after months of constant tension.