The Locked Unit

The Locked Unit

Hello and welcome. At this time, I invite you to take a short walk with me in my journey of healing from sexual assault and abuse. Don’t forget to stay to the end, in order to enjoy my gem of positivity.

I was having great trouble with horrendously heinous nightmares, flashbacks, and prolific memories from past rapes. It brought me, once again, to be seriously considering suicide. I had an appointment with my psychiatrist, Dr Q, and told him of my current consistent thoughts and of my constant agony. He felt that he had no choice but to write what is called a letter of transportation to the area base hospital, which is in the public health system. I was taken to the hospital by ambulance, where I was supposed to be assessed by the mental health team there, to see if locking me up was truly necessary. The public health officials failed to do this assessment. I was merely locked up, or sectioned. I became traumatised and dissociated, lasting the entire time I was there.

To start with, the locked unit was enormous, with males and females in the one unit together. It automatically had my senses go into overdrive. The men were supposed to have their bedrooms on one side of the unit, and women the other. Between the two separate wings of the unit, was the common area, where the men and women mixed together.

I was in the bedroom in the women’s section closest to the shared area. Yet I was too scared to even leave my bed, let alone the room. I wasn’t even able to work up the courage to attend meals, which were taken as a group.

I somehow learned that one of the men, a “frequent flier”, whom I nicknamed Casanova, had previously got another “frequent guest” pregnant, whilst in the unit. So much for all the careful rules and supervision that was supposedly done by the staff. The staff, I might add, kept themselves in their own locked staff area, and never came out, except at patient mealtimes.

I went in on the Thursday. What occurred there happened on the Sunday morning, at 5am. I was asleep in the locked unit, when a new “guest” started screaming about there being a fire in the unit. It was a big  interruption on the unit, with patients all coming out of their rooms, and general chaos ruled. The staff had no chance of knowing where each and every person was. It was during this distraction that Casanova slipped into my room, entrapped me on the bed, and raped me.

I didn’t scream before, during or after the rape. I just froze. I was incapable of moving or speaking. This also meant I didn’t fight. In past experience, I knew that if I fought, I was likely to be hurt more in the violation of my body.

This, I might say, is the first time I have ever admitted the truth of what happened in the locked unit during my stay there. I have never before been able to admit and acknowledge the truth of that rape. My only comfort was that, unlike the other woman, I didn’t fall pregnant.

My psychiatrist has no idea of what happened that night. My motto after each rape I have endured, is that if I don’t say it out loud, it isn’t real. If it’s not real, then it never happened. Like an ostrich, I stick my head in the sand. It’s been two years since the rape, and I still feel wary of Dr Q sectioning me again. He knows I have been wary of him since my stay in the locked unit. But he does not know exactly why. And I still don’t plan on telling him.

Unfortunately, rape survivors like me and you, can find ourselves being locked away. Some in hospital mental health units. Some, sadly enough, are even locked in prison. Simply because we can’t always cope with the traumatic experience of being raped. It seems like we are not only raped, but also feel punished by society for being raped. I’m just grateful that I was released the following Tuesday. More traumatised than when I went in, but free to be in the community nonetheless.

This time my gem of inspiration, has been found on the internet. I don’t know who the quote is from, but I am grateful all the same:

If you tell the truth, it becomes a part of your past. If you lie, it becomes a part of your future.

This is so relevant in the situation I have talked about here. If I had told the truth about why I was feeling so low, my psychiatrist may have been more understanding. So my lie, in effect, became my future. Telling the truth is hard, but ultimately worthwhile. So despite my fears, I am going to tell Dr Q what happened two years ago. Make the choice to tell the truth. Your truth will become your past, so that you do have a future.

Thank you for joining me on this short walk through my journey of healing. Don’t forget to leave a comment on your definition of truth. And until next time, breathe - and believe.