“Third time I was sectioned was in January 2013. I knew I would die and again something simple and normal was blown out of proportion. I cannot explain to you how much weight they made me gain. I became so fearful of my medication and I refused to take those medications. So I am in my house and police arrived to take me away. I cannot tell you how it felt when all those assessments were carried out on me. No one listens to you. To keep myself sane, I would talk to myself night and day. This time I was lucky, because when I rang home, my brother answered and I begged him , I told him if he believed in God, he will help me. I said help me for the love of God who gave you life, help me. He fought for me and got me out of hospital.” He asked me what I wanted and I told him to get well. I just could not face the local mental health services again. So what my brother did was something that has saved my life and has returned me to sanity. He made a decision to send me far away from this place to a to a private rehabilitation centre. My family retaliated, my extended family pointed fingers and my father threatened to cut him out of family circle. He fought my family, my treatment team single-handed while I sat on the cold floor of my cold bedroom shivering uncontrollably. It was horrible, but I knew I could not get better with my extended family meddling in my treatment and making things worst for me in the house and outside house. I was so tired all the time. It’s ironic how they manipulated my illness, I was told to prove to everyone that my illness was no longer part of me and that I was a good obedient girl again. No outburst was allowed, The word NO was not in the dictionary. No slacking with house work. Every time I used my own initiative I was labelled crazy and told that if I step out of line again, they will send me to hospital.
Please Note: The content in this article maybe triggering for some readers.
Dear Visitors,
A story of hope and courage. Thank you for sharing.
I believe that family plays a critical part in Eating Disorder Recovery. I would not be here today, if it wasn’t for my parents. They can either push you to one edge or become your guide in your journey of recovery and self-discovery.
Equally important in a patient’s recovery is early intervention and a complete understanding of and commitment to the recovery process. Ideally, this means working with Eating Disorder team to design an individualized recovery program.
Today I pay a tribute to a Great Brother for fighting the society and his family to save his sister’s life, May God Bless You Forever.
A Tribute to a Great Brother
It’s incredible how strange life is. I had a surprise visitor today, a girl who I thought I will never ever see again in my life. She has been sectioned three times under the Mental Health Act 1983 Section 2.
I remember this young inspiring fashion designer from 2002 Skills workshop. We soon became friends. She is stunning and one of the most brilliant people I had ever met. One of her few good traits are that she is honest, humble, gentle, quiet and reserved. She wanted to be a fashion designer. She is brilliant and her designs were simply amazing, soft lines, beautiful cuts with touch of timeless elegance. I aspired to be like her. She was adored by her family, extended family and her community. She visited my family home in Islamabad, and with this simple act she touched depths of my heart. We went to Reading Festival in 2003 and in 2005 she convinced her boss to give me one of the backstage passes to London Fashion week. We both enrolled in same course in London in 2006 and spent times exploring fabric shops in London. Our friendship grew stronger and then she disappeared.
In 2007 I heard that she was ill and last I saw her was in 2008, when she looked weak, fragile and very withdrawn. We had a family wedding and she was among the guests. I remember how she refused to take off her coat and how she held onto corner radiator for warmth. She was cold despite the fact that temp in the wedding hall was over 30 degrees.
It was in 2010, when I was getting ready to leave for hospital that I discovered that this beautiful person was sectioned under Mental Health Act 1983 Section 2. She was forced to remain in hospital for some time and then sent home with a care plan to follow. She had a care worker and long list of rules to follow. She was sectioned second time last summer just before Ramadan and third time in January 2013.
She came to see me today, and I was shocked by a person who stood in front of me. I went back to year 2002 when I first met her, but how she looked today simply reminded me of 2005, when she looked absolutely amazing in anything and everything she wore. In 2007 she was working for one of the most prestigious fashion labels in London. She had to resign because of the significant amount of weight she had lost. No one knew she had anorexia, even her local GP failed to diagnose it. Weight loss always comes with a price, and hers came with sleepless nights, cold body and changes in personality. She was always angry, always mad, angry at world, mad with her family and mostly disappointed in herself for failing and falling ill.
Her story is incredible. But what helped her to recover and beat her illness was the courage she gathered one day all by herself when she was at hospital in psychiatric ward heavily sedated. Nothing was working for her, she was tired of hospitals. Her simple words were taken out of context and enforced medication and re-feeding was making her worst. What were the normal fears in Pakistani culture were recorded as ramblings of lunatic by mental health team. She said her mind was giving up.
Her second sectioning happened when she was preparing herself for Ramadan. “You are planning your Ramadan, and then all of a sudden these people arrive on your door step and take you away by force, you try to retaliate, but they misinterpret your fear and retaliation as aggression and dangerous behaviour.” She said that she felt her care worker breached her trust “I saw Ramadan as a chance to heal, I expressed all my fears to my care worker, my troubles with my family, my extended family and how I felt about confines of my culture.” It is simply unbelievable how each and every word I said was recorded and then quoted back to me when I was sectioned. Second time sectioning was horrible“I just cannot put into words how I felt, I begged my family to get me out and they did after 2 months”.
“I could not sleep, could not eat and could not understand why someone who always followed the society’s norms and rules was subject to such humiliation and degrading treatment.”
“Third time I was sectioned was in January 2013. I knew I would die and again something simple and normal was blown out of proportion. I cannot explain to you how much weight they made me gain. I became so fearful of my medication and I refused to take those medications. So I am in my house and police arrived to take me away. I cannot tell you how it felt when all those assessments were carried out on me. No one listens to you. To keep myself sane, I would talk to myself night and day. This time I was lucky, because when I rang home, my brother answered and I begged him , I told him if he believed in God, he will help me. I said help me for the love of God who gave you life, help me. He fought for me and got me out of hospital.” He asked me what I wanted and I told him to get well. I just could not face the local mental health services again. So what my brother did was something that has saved my life and has returned me to sanity. He made a decision to send me far away from this place to a to a private rehabilitation centre. My family retaliated, my extended family pointed fingers and my father threatened to cut him out of family circle. He fought my family, my treatment team single-handed while I sat on the cold floor of my cold bedroom shivering uncontrollably. It was horrible, but I knew I could not get better with my extended family meddling in my treatment and making things worst for me in the house and outside house. I was so tired all the time. It’s ironic how they manipulated my illness, I was told to prove to everyone that my illness was no longer part of me and that I was a good obedient girl again. No outburst was allowed, The word NO was not in the dictionary. No slacking with house work. Every time I used my own initiative I was labelled crazy and told that if I step out of line again, they will send me to hospital.
So I cried to my brother. He has a family and his wife had just had second baby in 2012. He sent me to private hospital with nice doctors, nice therapists and nice clean beds with nice clean bed linen.I am still attending that private hospital as an out-patient. They are managing my weight, my digestive problems and my mental health problems. My nutritionist has devised an excellent food and exercise program for me. My brother takes me to my appointments and brings me back and he is my rock. I look up to him. This is the same brother and I had such a strained relationship with him years ago. But they say God works through people and Indeed Allah has worked through my brother.
We had dinner together and then it was a tight hug and good-bye with promises to meet again.
Thank you Dear Brother. Words fail me. My father saved me from my Anorexia and you saved your sister. Her journey was much more difficult than mine. But what you did for her indeed saved her life.
Disclaimer: Our content is for educational purposes only and not medical advice. It does not replace professional care. Consult a qualified health professional for diagnosis and treatment.
