My late husband Mark was a gardener by profession and with what he taught me and since his death I have made myself a beautiful garden. I find my solitude and peace there and it is an ongoing work of love. It is a place to escape from the realities and unrealities of my life.

I now live alone except with my lovely cat for company. He is pure love and no messing and I feel I am lucky to have him.

At present I am in the process of attempting a meeting with a hospital manager, to be accompanied by an advocate, with a complaint to the hospital about my treatment that I received whilst a patient there. It occurred when I was kept in solitary, known as the area of High Dependency.

I am looking for, at the most, a written apology. When I refused my medication, believing that my life was in danger, I was forced onto a bed and my knickers were pulled down and I was injected against my will into each buttock. Once with Lorazepam and once with Haldol, which are anti-psychotics. This happened three times and by two male nurses and three females.

I was prescribed by my psychiatrist tablets of Haldol, Lorazepam and Valium 2mg three times daily and I felt so awful physically I knew my life had to be in danger. So I refused to take the tablets. Then they injected me and I realized afterwards that the injections, because of the way I was feeling, were probably a purer form of the medication. So I told them they could continue to inject me but I would not take the tablets. I was then 60 years old and was quite aware of what was happening to me and what they were doing.
During Christmas 2011 whilst I was in solitary, two men in uniform who looked like armed guards came into my room and said I had to go with them immediately. So I dressed quickly in what clothes I could find and with no underwear on, my pyjama top and wearing damp jeans they whipped up my belongings, some of which had been soaking in the sink, and whisked me into a state of the art security vehicle.

They took me from Shelton Psychiatric Hospital in Shrewsbury to The Priory, Cheadle Hulme in Stockport, Manchester. Where I became a patient from Stokesay Ward onto the Pankhurst Unit.

This happened around the time I was applying to go to tribunal to contest my Section 3 of the Mental Health Act l983, which I was detained under at the time.

Reaching Stockport was kind of like returning home, because my mother was raised there and it was where she grew up. She used to take us by bus to visit my aunty and Granny every Xmas when we would all receive presents.
My Granny and aunty lived in the house where my mum grew up with her 11 sisters and brothers in the area of Reddish. Although I never was given access to walk the grounds during my months stay on the Pankhurst Unit I felt close to the area which used to be home.

Pankhurst Unit was not unlike a high security prison and not what you would expect a hospital to be like. You might be asking yourself what my particular crime was? Was I a danger to myself or the public? My crime? I became overwhelmed with fear and I called the police out on numerous occasions, because I relate police to protection being a law abiding citizen.

I thought I was being stalked online and that somebody or some people were going to harm me and my son. I couldn’t figure out why anyone would stalk me because although I access radical feminist websites and buy books on this and psychiatric books I am nothing at all special. There was no threatening emails just an intuition and feeling I was being watched online. No evidence at all. Just the odd thing would happen to alert my suspicion. It so pointed to my craziness but I know it is real.

I was exchanging emails with Ginger Breggin and sometimes I felt that certain ones I had posted to her she was not receiving. So one Saturday afternoon I sat down and checked. It took me two hours of actually sorting which had been sent and which she had responded to and in fact the ones that were most important to me she did not receive.