Many will probably have the idea after reading my story I probably am a emotional wreck. However, the opposite is true. Finally the mental healthcare recognized my background and my reason for psychosis. But I am and was a fighter. But deep down I always kept hope and stick to what I knew. Likewise I knew quite early and remembered that my psychosis sprang from abuse and mistreatment. My way through the mental health care has been that of mostly disappointment when it
comes to recognition, openness and sometimes emotional repetition and forced silence due to the diagnosis of schizophrenia. All that adversity has also made me wise. But now I'm free from voices or psychosis. That message of hope, with often setbacks is very rewarding, but it is unfortunate that people sometimes think you can better let the past and the hurt rest. So don't keep your silence, you are not alone.
"There are simply no words for it"
"No words can express the frightening inner pictures that had tormented me."
"No tears, how many cried, can relief me."
"My past, my inner child, unreachable for ever."
A long time I was forgotten what happened when I was a toddler, it seemed a black hole in which I would vanish, to bad to remember. But alone in bed at night the pieces came in my mind. I live in the north of the Netherlands and I presume I was abused from my fourth year on. But I have memories that tells it started even when I was younger. I was abused both physically and sexually by mother, father, downstairs neighbor, his wife and older son and daughter. I was nowhere safe even when playing in the baby box. Father took a fireplace poker and rubbed it in my anus when lying on my back after lifting me up on my foot. Silently I underwent the abuse and humiliation not understanding it. I felt ashamed, like being separated from my body and self.
As a baby remembering old photos I had big staring eyes with no expression and a pale muscle tone. A sign that I should have abused as a baby. Mother always stated that I was a strange boy even when I was a baby. "You never used your arms." Father was a silent and aggressive man. Often drunk when he abused me. The abuse was serious, father liked to abuse me with other women and groups wise with neighbor, his older son and daughter and his wife using knives, rope and whip playing his sadomasochistic play forcing me to suck his dick and that of other men while being tied with a rope.
Father didn't care that he had sex with me and other women when mother was away. Usually liquor was consumed and they probably fantasized about what they would do. They tried to burn me alive with petroleum because I told a so called aunt what father did with me. A man overheard what I sad, got angry and said "I will kill you no matter how old you are" and pored the petroleum over me. Much of it I was forgotten later on in live. In those days - the '60 - police, social workers and doctors didn't knew that boys could be abused, police didn't had a vice squad then. Only in the year 2012 or so I was for the first time taken seriously considering my past of long lasting abuse. It stopped when I left home to study and live elsewhere. Father stopped the abuse when I was six years old but stayed an aggressive man who liked to beat me and humiliate me. Mother took over when I searched for some tenderness. I had to shower with her naked when I was in puberty and she liked to stroke my belly and feel my dick while she moans in bed. As a young adult I developed social phobia, dissociative states of mind and panic attacks. I could lose consciousness in groups when I was in school. Nightmares I had all my life. I'm now used to nightmares or strange dreams. Later on in live when I was around 40 years old I developed my first psychotic symptoms. Now I know that it was a mix of PTSD and psychosis. I had a long journey of periodic search for help for what I knew, that the reason must be my past. But it was fruitless. No one seemed to have a clue what was really wrong with me or not one asked me what happened to me when I was young. It didn't seem to matter. Not even a psychologist who laughed at me while leading a group session when I had written down on a large paper that mother abused me. He said to the therapy group "well what is your real problem, what are you here for." In front of all to see was written down on a large paper that I was abused. The group members said irritated together "well what are you here for, what's your real problem...." After a week I packed my stuff and left. Again ashamed. Even another psychiatrist asked me when I told him about a memory, "Did it happen in your head or where you confused?" Again ashamed and I left silently. Another psychologist head of a psychotherapeutic center replied: "Well your mother was simple a attention draw star." When I was a adult I was confused of being gay. I was confused seeing men naked or to take showers during school or after sport.
Because gay men saw my need for companionship as a invitation to have sex with me I sometimes got in awkward situations. I now know I love women but I was often confused. I found myself in situations that were really awkward for me. To find myself attractive or women was not the case for a long time. I was always tensed in relation to women and men. My problems started to get worse during the years. When I developed psychotic episodes I was often hospitalized. There I got in contact with a fugitive who was hospitalized for having psychotic symptoms, nightmares and so on. In a split second after asking a few questions I got his background and reasons of his problems. I watched him in his room sleeping and shouting and I knew why. We felt we both understood each other. But never I felt the opportunity to talk about what happened to me. Talking with other patients most of them replied that many couldn't talk about what made crazy. They now assumed that my psychosis was simple induced by what I felt as a emotional death sentence the sickness schizophrenia. Never did they asked about the narrative of my psychosis. Nor did they mention abuse or asked if had PTSD like symptoms. Being schizophrenic was like closing the past forever and "please don't mention it again.", because the overall consensus was that talking about abuse or going in treatment would make me psychotic or confused.
I had lived alone until my late 40, but I got so scared, developed PTSD and was often confused. Voices like my mother, father and neighbor, my abusers in my head demanding to jump out of the window or whatever. Because I could not live alone anymore they advised me a sheltered home. For a while the confusion went and even the PTSD but after a while it came back. It took me 35 years of searching to be finally recognized as a person with a history of severe abuse and PTSD. For the first time I got therapy EMDR and was afraid of being overwhelmed with fear but that seemed to go all right afterwards. But after the EMDR therapy and not long afterwards, I had one memory after another. Later I had to figure out, what was true or what was the result of confusion. I wrote them down in my mail contact with the therapist I had for EMDR. There seemed no end to the many frightening memories. Luckily she said "you may fill my mailbox if you want" So I did. My head was freed of tensions, my intelligence, memory and feelings got free. Like a internal shower. Thinking back about being an toddler, police, social workers and doctors came walking in en out of our home. They did nothing for me, never assumed that I was a victim of abuse. I felt trapped. My mother took me to visit the prison in our town, where my father and neighbor were taken prisoner. She blamed me for it, as she did with everything I was not guilty off. The neighbor said behind bars "will you do a good word for me to the police." The policeman who asked me about it said something like "well it seems all like a fantasy, you were confused and your parents love you." When we finally left in a car I felt depressed, sad and trapped. I felt I never be happy again. The abuse got worse. Father had no job. Mother blamed me for it. Mother said "from now on things will change, you will stop that nonsense or you will be alone for the rest of your live, your sister and brother will go to a orphanage." "You don't want that, do you want your mother to be so unhappy that she will kill herself?"
She did afterwards on a evening when coming home from kindergarten. Seeing her on the kitchen floor while smelling gas. To continue my story I will tell something now what is a horror story and what probably happened. I mention probably, because for me it is too shocking to be true, but the overall picture tells to me "Yes it happened, believe it.." See "You are going to live elsewhere."
His older son said to me "my father is experienced in torture." and showed me a box with torture things. He said he worked in the Scholtenshuis during the war and can make anyone talk. "No Jew or men from the resistance will keep his silence." So all those men were sick Nazi's with perverted fantasy's. Finally now I told my story I feel such a relieve. You can't imagine how afraid I was to say anything about it. It was for me as if someone would find me and picture out where I live, that I have told it and kill me for it. People still afraid of the truth of a little boy with a horror story. Always looking over my shoulder. I hope to find peace and finally let the past rest. But my story is a bizarre one, no mental health care worker could imagine that background. It was like a war for me which seemed not to have taken place.
"You are going to live elsewhere."
On a morning mother dressed me in the kitchen, she puts on my jacked and hands me over a suitcase with my clothes. "We can't have you here in home anymore, you are going to live in another family." Then father steps in the kitchen and lifts me up and takes the suitcase in his other hand. I thought we are going for a ride in a car to people I don't know. But father takes me a floor below, in the same house where I was abused several times. The same house where I felt trapped. There in the living room they had made a sort of dog house. They undressed me naked and put a chain on me. Then the door of the dog house was opened and they forced me in and locked it. Father and neighbor are laughing and said "tonight it's your turn again. It gets dark and often in the company of other men they pull me out the dog house naked on a chain. There I have to suck of dicks from moaning men naked in SM outfit and whipping me and laughing. With whips they make me do things chained and have to crawl on the floor naked. Every night I had to swallow sperm. In the morning my so called aunt feeds me by laying a dish with some sandwiches and a cup of mild in the front of the dog house. She washes my face in the morning. After that the neighbor teaches me words in Dutch and German. He had made a sort of school board and while pointing his stick to the words which I had to speak out aloud. At night I could hear German music from a record. Marching music, German soldiers songs. At night I could overhear them talking and planning what to with me and with other children.
How they could lead those children from the neighborhood into this house. At night I saw parts of 8 mm movies that the neighbor had of concentration camps. They said that the Netherlands were traitors or so. It was a meeting of SM orientated sick men who abused me and other children. There were policemen, doctors and other men present with highly educated jobs. A secret SM meeting group. Father being a former prisoner was unemployed and some men gave him money. Some said "you must be certain that your son must keep his mouth." They mentioned what they might do, because they had the power. At night alone in that dog house chained naked I trembled over my body. There I painted with blood from my finger faces of my brother and sister. I missed them and want to be home again. I was in shock at night, crying silently, feeling despaired. At night I could hear them drinking and planning the most perverted plans while laughing, smoking and drinking. The neighbor was the head of the planning. Later on a evening in his room - I have a memory that someone told me he committed suicide - one found him hanging in the bedroom. His wife blamed me for it. I know that he was a former NSB'er of ex-Nazi, because his son showed me his SS black leather uniform with a swastika and a Luger gun. He threatened to kill me while pointing the gun at me if I would tell anyone what his father did with me. I found 8 mm movies of concentrations camps named "Dachau", "Bergen Belsen" and so on. Quite a lot of black boxes.
"We should kill him...."
One night I woke up in the house below us. I walked into the owl light to the living room. I heard that there were people in the room. I must have been dreaming. I wanted to open the door and must have had the heck in my hands. I could hear people talking and wanted to know what they were talking about, so I cautiously opened the door a little. For a moment I stood there. Through the crack opening at once I heard a woman say. "We should kill him, he brings us all to jail." Now I know that it was that so called aunt, she was in fact the brain of the abuse. I heard someone walking towards the door and it became quiet. I quickly crawled back into bed and pretended I was sleeping with the blankets over me.
In the owl light the bedroom door opened. I heard someone in the hallway saying "Has he heard something .." I remember nothing after that. But perhaps it will come to me. As often as I have a memory, I do not feel anything at first. I see that as a fact and now I understand why I have been silent for years as a tomb. Moreover, I almost know for sure that there are little or no social workers who will believe this story. I must have been frightened in bed, fearing that they realized that I had heard what they were planning.
The role of my mother; "emotional blackmail, betrayal"
Instead of viewing her son's behavior as the result of her abusive and molesting husband, in my opinion for her the easiest way avoiding her own fear of him and his aggressive and drunken behavior, she blamed me for it. She was convinced that like many known others that I was crazy. I remember a visit to a local mental hospital where I had to reply to several Rorschach pictures. In those day's a common practice for clinicians to form a diagnosis. I replied something like "blood, knifes, war and so on." I can't recall it exactly, but I showed that I was very frightened, confused and I cried. I remember the doctor saying to me: "please wait in the hallway, I have to talk to your mother." Then I heard "your son is very sick, he needs treatment, he is schizophrenic." "We like to have him hospitalized." "If he doesn't get treatment he will get worse and must be hospitalized for life, so I could visit you at home and explain how to treat him there." My mother of course never mentioned the abuse to her. She instead complained about my difficult behavior and that she did everything to be a good housewife, but that I was a ungrateful and obstinate boy doing everything making her life difficult. She tried so hard to convince the doctor that she was instead a very good mother and wife. How I did everything to make her miserable. She never mentioned that she herself threatened that if I ever mentioned the abuse again, my father would go to prison. She never mentioned what she did - locking me up in the closed whole day - if I protested. But instead as she did often she blamed her own son, which later on developed a incestuous husband like relation with him. Being a responsible mother was never the case. In fact I certainly know that my father abused everyone in the family, not mentioning the many other children in the neighborhood.
Nowadays I began to understand that she must have a narcissistic personality disorder. A woman for which her adapted ego is more important that the needs and feelings of her children. The easiest way for her was to complain, in fact saying my son does everything against my best wishes. In fact saying that she was a victim. A woman feeling insulted when confronted with the facts. But also a woman who uses the children for her own childish needs for emotional support and comfort. Later on I remember being hospitalized and treated with ECT when I was a toddler. Those days you were fully aware of being shocked and loosing awareness. I can remember the humming noise of the ECT machine. Tied with leather bonds, having memories of abuse before passing away. After the visit of the hospital she took me by my arm, mentioning that if I didn't stop my behavior she would leave me here forever. If you are punished for your pain and sorrow and being treated as if the abuse were simple a delusion originated from schizophrenia then perhaps you can understand the result is that I often doubt my own experiences later in life. Also because I am now seen and diagnosed as schizophrenic. For me it was as if my mother and the mental health care were good friends, both saying "oh please stop making us...." But in my case the real facts aer more worse than than being delusional. I still believe that somehow many and also workers might think "he is simply delusional" For me my story never can be validated and most of the time when feeling it and be aware, it is too much for me. I live sometimes in a twilight zone, being aware and being aware that many might rather think "this is schizophrenia" Like my mother, the mental health care was a long time a denying and betraying answer. As a result I still doubt even my thinking or memory. I think there are many with psychosis who are not recognized as being abused.
The awful buzzing device is brought home
One day someone rang at our doorbell. It's was a woman. "I have speak to your mother." In the kitchen I could hear them talk. There I could heard how mother got explained about that awful buzzing device. I can still hear her say to mother: "Madam, you have to treat him occasionally here with this device, otherwise he will not get better." "I'll give you some medicine he has to take, which I called Broomium as a toddler, dirty stuff that I had to swallow. Afterwards the nice woman ask me: " How are you doing, you should do what your mother you ask of you, otherwise you will not get better." I have a recollection that I'm lying in a bed in the kitchen and how I was tied and shocked. Father at one point noticed that I started to forget things and I do not know in whose kitchen or room I was, but it was at one night, he got mad, took the mattress off and said, "Electric current is good for you! " On the metal spiral I was tied naked and he turned the knob totally open.
Drunk as he was, he went away. Mother later on found me unconscious. I vaguely know that father began to use the ECT machine as a punishment and let me forget the abuse. So he shocked me after he abused at night. I must have spent some time in the hospital, so the doctor visited me again and the ECT machine was taken away. She sounded angry at my mother. "If you do not know how use the machine, I have to take it away." I also remember that being bound in bed I tried to pull the cord out off the machine or to destroy it. I also remember how my sister asked "what's wrong with him, what is this for device." I have been so often shocked with that device that I sometimes didn't remember my name or what had happened days before. So my head often felt like a block of concrete. So I have memories that I walked with my mother, seeing acquaintances and people without knowing who they are. Like I'm a shell without spirit and seeing people like mannequins without a soul.
How did this child get these injuries
I had long forgotten that as a toddler I was regularly hospitalized at a local clinic. To forget is the only option as a child and therefore victim in order to survive. Because although neighbors and in my case the police, childcare, doctors, social workers had a suspicion of abuse, they did nothing. Of course I told others as a toddler that father did thing with me I didn't want or what he did. In some cases, after I told it to others, the result was that the abuse got worse or I was being punished. So often my hope was shattered. But I had a mother who thought my stories was based on my "madness", something like father told his accomplice "no one will believe what we did because my wife still thinks he's crazy." Because no one intervened and due to disbelief, I call betrayal, I had to forget.
I remember that I'm in a hospital and felt that I could finally sleep safely. In the hope that someone would see what they did to me and how much pain I had. Sometimes I was there because I weighed very little and sometimes with wounds. Then beside my bed were worried perpetrators, my dear abusive and sadistic father and worse the nice neighbor and mother who thought that her child was mad. Then I heard the doctor say 'how did this child got his injuries." Then the neighbor replied: "Doctor, I need to talk to you, you must understand that the child is schizophrenic, we are are very worried." "He does it to him self." Likewise, the neighbor offered money when a doctor said that the injuries should be examined.
Then we have to operate him
One day I was with mother in a hospital. I was in a wardroom where I saw a patient in a bed with a metal frame around his head. Mother went with the doctor and I was left alone in that wardroom. Afterwards they came back and the doctor said, "if his behavior doesn't change, we have to operate him." I heard that while looking at the man in his bed. Angrily my mother grabbed me and I saw the doctor looking at me. Mother grabbed my head and said something like "if you do not listen, you come back here .." I asked her "will they operate me?" Mother replied," Yes, there. "
"Then you see your brother and sister never again." The doctor strode away in his long white coat. Walking home, I thought of this man and I knew what that meant somehow. I then thought when they operate on my head, I'm dead. I was very quiet and sad and I dare not say anything anymore in the future, because then they would change my brain and thus myself. That walk home was long and in my mind I saw how hopeless it all was. One day I would run away for good, I thought. I remember how I saw how that man was taken away in his bed. I thought they will cut his brain.