Truth Is Stranger Than Fiction

It interested me recently when I was observing that as it is 2018 this year we have been remembering that in this country women got the vote 100 years ago.

Having achieved that milestone ; women were hoping that their ability to vote would signify that women might affect changes in this country and that they might not be subjugated or enslaved by man.

I have called the title of this Post : Truth is Stranger Than Fiction for a reason. The truth is : I don’t always know what the truth is because to me it seems so strange.

I have told you in previous posts that I was adopted and that I was just a small baby. I had given up on ever finding who my birth mother was (or birth father for that matter). Then I was contacted and given details which seem to mean that some birth relatives have looked for me and have found me. (funny also that they found me before I even found myself – but perhaps that’s another story).

The reason I began this post pondering the centenary of Vote for women (age 30 I think) was to bring to attention the struggles of two women : born a generation apart : my birth mother and myself : and how sad and wrong it seems to be to me that despite the fact that my birth mother and myself were born in the 20th Century, in a democratic society, which seemingly was teaching women that we are empowered: yet both of us were punished for falling in love with a man who didn’t want our love.

The man my birth mother loved was my birth father. The man I loved was the father of my daughter.

My birth mother became pregnant with me in 1965. I became pregnant with my daughter in 2007.

First of all I believe that after my birth mother discovered that she was pregnant she was encouraged to put me up for adoption by her parents. My birth father had been a trusted friend of the family. He was married. He had a family already. He was a magistrate : a respected occupation supposedly.

Secondly my birth mother was for some strange reason persuaded to commit fraud on my birth certificate. This means that she somehow was able to invent a name for herself and even invent a place where she lived. Not only that : the story she told about how I came into existence was also a lie.

So what were the consequences for my birth mother?

A year after giving me up for adoption my birth mother had a breakdown. I have been told that part of her treatment included electro convulsive therapy.

So : a woman falls in love, has a baby, is shamed into giving it up, is further shamed by being told she has a mental illness. This happened in the 1960’s and later. My birth mother had a secret : a shameful secret : I was her shameful secret. She wasn’t a bad person : she fell in love. Why did she have to suffer so much? Why did the NHS play such an unforgiving role in my birth mother’s life : or so it seems to me? – and how does 1966 attitudes compare to attitudes towards women in 2008?

I use 2008 as a sample year because that is when circumstances took a turn for the worse for myself also as a mother to a baby girl. I also was in love with the father of my baby. Rather than receive ANY support : I was penalised for falling in love with someone who didn’t want me – and previously had shown very little interest in my pregnancy and my daughter.

Again lies were told : this time by the authorities : I was forced to stay in a mental hospital and my baby was taken by the state to stay with a foster carer and her family.

At this time my daughter was almost 10 months old and I had been demand breastfeeding her. She had been with me all that time the way babies that are breastfed are close to their mothers.

90 years after women first got the vote in this country (United Kingdom) – my daughter was born.

The authorities did what they could : and persuaded everyone that the little child who had bonded with me should be given to the man who never loved me. My daughter didn’t have a clue who he was. She was 17 months old or so : she got somewhat acquainted with him over the period of a week. Then he flew with our daughter away from Liverpool to take her to his home.

In March 2010 – he was awarded Residency of our daughter.

In July 2011 : he was arrested and charged with being drunk in charge of a minor (and also accused of hitting our daughter at the KFC though this was later dropped). She stayed with someone for 3 weeks and was returned to him by the authorities – their reason being she was due to begin kindergarten education.

In 2018 we remembered that 100 years ago women were given the right to vote. If this means women have become more empowered and have more rights – how did that help my birth mother in 1966? How did it help me in 2008? And how will it help my daughter in 2018 and beyond?


Authorities Anger And Misuse of Power

My daughter was born in Liverpool in the second month of 2008.

In the end of November 2008 – I became mentally unwell following 8 weeks of taking a prescription of anti-depressants which after making me feel happy at first – they caused me to be hypomanic and for a short moment I falsely had the belief that someone at the hostel where I had been residing with my baby daughter had given me something which I had eaten and it had made me feel odd.

This odd thought was an adverse reaction to the anti-depressant medication and was not at all a true indication of what my behaviour is like from day to day

Although I have a diagnosis of bipolar which was given to me in 1996 when I was 30 years old – at the time my daughter was born I had only been hospitalised twice in a Mental hospital. Once in September 1996 just following my first being diagnosed and for two weeks in 1998 after I had got my divorce through and I felt I needed a “break” in the hospital. Between 1998 and 2008 I managed to stay well so that I didn’t have a hospital admission for 10 years : due to the fact that my Bipolar was being managed successfully by me.

In that time my son who was born in 1992 lived with me. I looked after him. No-one took care of him for me and I rarely socialised at night. I mostly saw friends when he was at school. I used to smoke cigarettes but I very rarely drank alcohol.

I was living at my mother’s home with my mother and my school age son.

During that time my youngest brother returned from having lived for several years away in London and in Brighton. Despite being an exceptionally talented oboe and cor Anglais musician – my brother blew all His opportunities for a career as a musician by being expelled from The Royal College of Music for committing Fraud in his College Work. This affected his chances of finding work as an oboeist despite the fact that he was a seriously good player. Subsequently I believe This is the reason why unfortunately my youngest brother became an alcoholic – to drown his sorrows after the failure of his being able to follow his chosen career.

So alcoholic Pete – unhappy/frustrated/angry with the way his life had gone – he returned to live with my Mother, myself and my school age son.

Following several episodes of violence from Pete my brother towards myself – I put my name down on Property Pool -(a resource which provides Council Properties for families) and I hoped to eventually be housed with my son somewhere which would allow him to travel easily to his secondary school.

Then my brother continued to behave appallingly which in turn had a negative effect on my mental wellbeing. I therefore in 2006 requested more support from my mental health team – hoping just for a short period to be helped to find accommodation so that my son and I were no longer at the mercy of the intolerable alcoholic rages of my brother Pete.

When the psychiatric team refused to give support I visited a solicitor. At that time one could get legal aid in such matters. I am not entirely sure if that is the case nowadays in 2018. The solicitor was requesting my medical files. The mental health people were refusing to release my medical files.

At the same time I had a discussion with my solicitor. I discussed with him details about my adopted mother which I had discovered. I asked him if I could sue the Social Services due to information which I knew about my mother. He said that because I was adopted in 1966 I could not sue the Social Services. However my brother Pete who was adopted in 1976 could seek legal advice and it was likely my brother would be eligible to sue the Social Services.

The information I inadvertently uncovered about my adopted mother was as follows. When she was 17 she had to see a psychiatrist because she was suffering from some kind of “nervous” problems. Then when she was 28 years old: after 2 years of marriage her gp prescribed her a very strong sedative based anti-depressant called a tricyclic named amytyptilene. She took Amytyptylene for 17 years until she was prescribed a very strong benzodiazepine called Ativan which now is called Lorazepam.

In order to get permission to adopt babies one had to have a healthy medical record with no sign of mental difficulties and having to take medication in order to sleep at night because our adoptive mother had severe mental problems which gave her severe anxiety. Her G.P. Dr Thomas lied on the forms and didn’t reveal the medication she was taking: I believe probably. If he didn’t lie and he did reveal the medication my mother was taking due to her severe anxiety then Liverpool Social Services ignored that information and went ahead and allowed my adoptive Mother and father to adopt Peter in 1976.

I later informed my brother Pete that he should visit a solicitor armed with the above information but he felt unable to do so at the time.

The Social Services knew about my knowledge of their mistakes which I perceive they made in not researching my adoptive mother’s abilities thoroughly and thus allowing a baby to be adopted by her even though she was not truly up to the responsibility.

I believe that the knowledge I had of the mistakes I believed the Social Services made in 1975/76 when my brother was fostered and adopted : this annoyed them. This annoyed them So much that in 2008/2009 when I was incorrectly prescribed anti-depressants (My mental health team already knew that anti-depressants would most likely cause me to be one hypomanic) – when I became mentally ill I was subsequently sectioned and detained first of all under section 136 of the mental health act. My baby daughter was taken to a foster home because no one else in my Liverpool Family was considered as an option to look after Jenny. At the time my adoptive Mother was 74 and had recently had an ovarian cyst removed and had had a complete hysterectomy.

Liverpool Social Services were clearly extremely angered and irritated by the knowledge I had previously imparted to people. They preceded to invent stories about my behaviour and lied about my mental health to make it appear that I was extremely unwell and that I was unlikely to recover sufficiently to ever be able to perform properly as a caring mother should perform.

They lied about me in the Family Court which is a Legal Court of Law. In other words they broke the law by lying in A Court of Law.

I can only assume that the reason these people lied about me was a form of revenge. Nobody exposes the mistakes of the authorities without receiving some sort of retribution.

My punishment was that those lies made me appear like a really sick person who would never be able to cope with bringing up a child – despite the fact that my son was 16 years old and I had looked after him for all His life including breast feeding him for 2 and a half years.

If authorities want to discredit a person they have the power to do so. If they want to make a person look inept and incapable they have the wherewithal to do so.

No matter that my daughter’s father had a police caution for breaking down my front door in Liverpool for no obvious reason. No matter that he tested positive for smoking cannabis when his hair strand was tested in Liverpool. No matter that he would arrive at the court early in the morning stinking of alcohol because according to him he had drunk a pint of lager to steady his nerves at 10 o’clock in the morning. No matter that my daughter had not developed a bond with her father because he had shown virtually no interest in her since the moment I became pregnant.

No – on the contrary – Liverpool Social Services were on a determined trajectory. They convinced my daughter’s father to get a solicitor and they had convinced the closed Family Court that he would make a better parent than me.

Therefore my daughter now does not live in Liverpool with me but rather she lives with her father in Northern Ireland.

Equally all the lies which were told during that time have found themselves in my medical file. Therefore it is also my belief that any psychiatrists or mental health teams which are treating me : are also treating me based on a whole pile of untruths about my mental health and incorrect information about my ability to parent my child.

On top of all this : my child is being cared for by an alcoholic who puts his own addictions before the needs of our child. If I ever find the courage to complain or explain my worries and concerns : if or whenever I have any : then I am threatened once more with the prospect of queries about my mental health. In other words : in order to avoid investigating any issues which might legitimately exist : The authorities hope that I will keep my mouth shut if they threaten to keep me away from my child because I am “mentally unstable” and therefore my daughter will be harmed by my mere presence. This continued threat despite the fact that the last time I was detained in a Mental hospital was in 2009 : because it has been my goal to remain out of hospital for my daughter’s sake and also because the ONLY time I was severely ill was following prescriptions of Anti-depressants : both in 1996 and 2008.

So now my daughter lives in Northern Ireland – and in order to try and prevent me from revealing the truth : I am still being threatened using my mental health as a weapon.

Lynne Keren Jones

Father Christmas over the Albert Dock, Liverpool

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Walked a bit but I have sore Achilles especially on left ankle. 

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time and patience

Intelligent and thoughful blog – always enjoy reading midnightdemons7


Last night I was in excruciating pain. It was terrible. I emailed my psychiatrist that I was done. If my PCP wants me to jump hula hoops he has another thing coming. I am not buying into it anymore. I no longer care what is causing my pain. I know what helps my pain and that should be all that matters. He isn’t questioning my blood pressure medication. Why the hell is he giving me a hard time about my pain medication. I am sick of it. After last night, I swore to myself this was it. It’s the weekend so I can’t do a thing about it. My foot still hurts so I won’t be going out like I had wanted to. It probably would hurt me anyways.

I know I posted a lot yesterday and last night. I got the writing bug back so please forgive me. I…

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