If you do not trust the NHS services, I recommend you visit the Doctor that Lady Diana visits. She doesn’t make physical contact with anyone unless she needs to – and it is unlikely that she would need to at all. All Doctors in the United Kingdom are expected to work for the NHS and Doctor Coxon was not allowed to work for the NHS because she insisted upon treatments for children that would have otherwise died, and the NHS was reluctant to provide those treatments for those children because they were expensive.

I believe that people will have to accept the truth at some point.

I am sending this to the NHS and I am awaiting compensation from them.


To whom it may concern,
My name is Anna Karina Jarade, I’m a twenty nine year old British Passport holder and I am presently an unemployed person living in Brighton.
I’m currently in receipt of Universal Credit. I apologise that I’m currently unable to locate my NHS ID. 
 
I think that this might be a distressing email for any reader and before I explain the nature of my issues: I think that so as not to incite any undue concern: 
I’m very comfortable, I have access to all the necessary amenities such as gas and electricity and I can afford more than enough food.
I’m unable to work because I suffer with a bowel condition that is so severe I believe it warrants the title of a “disability” – and I believe I have very, very severe PTSD. I also suffer with rage episodes towards my abusers and my older brother’s abusers. These are very safe rage episodes as I practice CBT methods such as lying down calmly and trying to sleep but they are painful to experience all the same.
My circumstances deserve thorough explanation which I will attempt to offer, it would be impossible for me to verbalise this without rendering myself vulnerable. I have no issue with feeling vulnerable but it triggers my PTSD.
I don’t want to cry in front of a doctor because it isn’t helpful. And if I sense that the doctor enjoys my distress it triggers my PTSD. I am very empathic and I can feel the emotions of others. I don’t like it but it is true.
I don’t particularly want to meet with a doctor either, but I am prepared to invite a select few into my home if they really feel an assessment is necessary. I would think it dishonest because I’m aware I’m observed, but it will trigger my PTSD and it is possible I will experience difficulties communicating with success. I don’t personally think that doctors should work if they are prepared to lie to people asking them for help as I am but if I am met with honesty, I will perhaps value the interaction.
I contribute a lot of trust towards a person who can take an oath, as doctors are required to, if they mean it. I have never met a doctor working for the NHS deserving of that title who honoured their oath and I know that the NHS probably doesn’t employ one that would not ignore their oath to engage with me. That disrespect will trigger my PTSD. I am tired of the suffering I have endured with people invading my personal space, under dishonest circumstances.
I have recently moved to Brighton, after being legally evicted from a family home in which I was pretty severely abused in growing up, by both my mother and sister.
My mother began acting very unusual when I started teaching myself how to cook and it culminated in a very heated argument, and I think there was some new hurt in the realisation that she and my sister went behind my back to arrange for a legal letter that told me I was to leave that house.
My relatives very kindly and generously offered to support me by paying for my rent and I was not unhappy to move out, but I was physiologically affected by the damage of that callousness. Before I moved out I had achieved some bowel/regularity and when I moved out I returned to the worst states of my condition. I kept being mistreated by residents in Brighton and that stressed me out too – and stress really affects my ability to shit.
I believe that both my mother and sister suffer with anorexia – my sister recently had a procedure abroad in which a balloon was inserted into her stomach to control her appetite and both seem to encourage one another to keep their conditions a secret – and having had an eating disorder in my teens and during my time at University, I am familiar enough with the nature of an eating disorder to know that erratic moods and stupidity come with the territory. I do not have an eating disorder presently, nor am I concealing one – if you were to regard my medical notes you’d see that I am quite inclined to communicate any manner of issues with doctors because I enjoy feeling well and I have very few pleasures in life, amongst them – eating.
And the representatives of the NHS sent to assess me deliberately protected my abusers (they thought my mother was blonde, she is not blonde) and my abusers protected them. Both parties were very conscious of what occurred.
I have been waiting for a letter from the NHS to apologise for their series of gross misconducts and I’ve not got it yet.
That adds insult to the suffering of my PTSD.
And that affects my personal wellbeing deeply, because I feel as though no one cares about what has happened to me at the hands of the NHS. It’s repulsive to write something like that but if I don’t, the alternative is a depression so painful and so plausible that it isn’t mental illness, it is an appropriate response to being victimised by society.
I am very aware that whoever reads this will know that I am only writing the truth and I don’t want to give anyone the opportunity to lie to me by pretending otherwise. Please don’t lie to me.
I am writing to discuss two issues that are deeply affecting my quality of life.
The truth is that I am vehemently against suicide and self harm – so you have no cause for concern therein, however if it helps to paint a picture of my emotional landscape – there was an occasion in which I was contemplating contacting the Netherlands to discuss my eligibility for euthanasia less than three years ago.
Fortunately I was able to overcome thoughts of that nature with meditation.
I don’t have suicidal thoughts, nor do I have thoughts towards any kind of self harm. I am in no way a danger to myself or to anyone else. Again, this took a lot of work and no help from the NHS – nothing the NHS did helped me at all. I feel they benefitted tremendously from being in my company and that they assumed I would not find out – I have found out, and I still have not been compensated. This would enrage most people but a lifetime of familial abuse prepared me for that.
As aforementioned: I am content, although I am suffering somewhat – however – I’m positive that I am on a journey towards feeling much better and I feel that if I were helped to do so, it would catalyse the process of that. This is a depressing email to write but if I don’t, I haven’t made the appropriate efforts towards the maintenance of my personal health nor have I tried to resolve the abuse I experienced because of the NHS.
The only medication that helps me is cannabis.
I do not want to create a dependency on laxatives, over the counter laxatives don’t work at standard doses and I don’t like those medications sitting in my body.
I don’t like taking painkillers and I became very familiar with a variety of kinds that were made available in my childhood and teens – with debilitating menstrual cramps that were so severe that they caused me to vomit and kept me from school I found that over the counter medications did not work, I was prescribed various medications and if the cramps were particularly severe my relatives would provide me with medications that otherwise helped.
On one occasion during my time at University, I was asked to leave a job because I was experiencing period cramps and I vomited audibly, and my boss’ son decided that I was hung over and I lost the job.
I don’t really ever drink and I am capable of working very competently on cannabis.
Cannabis, for me, alleviates feelings of all kinds of pain and actually, I can recall the very worst moments and betrayals of my isolated life – and laugh.
And I even manage to find love. (towards my plants, the spiders on my balcony, the catterpillars on the greens growing in a little pot outside my window)
Obviously I don’t trust other human beings (I’m sure if you’ve done research on child development you’d know that if you can’t trust a single person you meet in your infancy, you will never be able to trust in adulthood. If you laugh when people abuse you as a child (and I did) you will laugh when they abuse you as an adult.
I enjoy self deprecation as a form of humour but I’ve found that people do insult me with ulterior motives and that they wouldn’t ever do so to themselves.)
I am suffering tremendously and it is very difficult to annotate these complaints for a number of reasons, this is a deeply personal and frankly quite embarrassing email to write to anyone – but I think it is necessary at this point.
I have preferred to live in denial about this but it isn’t working for me and I’d appreciate if you would be able to arrange for me to seek some kind of personal resolution pertaining to these difficulties. I need a prescription for medical cannabis, I don’t want to engage with drug dealers and I don’t have the financial means to buy it.
It is very expensive to grow and I have no idea towards the legalities of growing that plant at home, even if it is exclusively for personal use.
I know that I can only blame them so much, but I also know that they flirted with doctors when I tried
The moving company that helped me to move my belongings from London to Brighton stole a lot of my living expense money and have made it thoroughly difficult for me to get it back.
This dishonesty also triggered my PTSD and soiled my moving experience.
Staying in my mother’s home triggered me because every corner of my mother’s home seemed to remind me of some uncomfortable childhood memory that I’d of preferred not to have been reminded of.
I am sad to write “I have one memory of feeling loved by my mother.” and that she only really hugged me after arguments.
My sister and I only ever had to speak for a few minutes on the few occasions that we spent time together, before she exchanged some very subtle cruelty or subtle nasty comment, which affected my self esteem deeply. And does so until now.
 and we really only met very few times in our lives. That is – it is difficult to express any further sympathies or empathy at all – towards either of those individuals.
Both of them seem to be very connected to a series of physical abuses I’ve experienced throughout my life at the hands of nurses and doctors and I’m quite scared of your services. After some prolonged discussion I’m sure any doctor or nurse would feel the same.
This was quite consistent an experience for the period that I was staying in my mother’s home and I became accustomed to the constant reminder of the difficult time I had growing up.
I convinced myself of the possibility that I would recover from my conditions because I used meditation and stillness, it certainly helped the PTSD once I had settled in my abusive family home and for awhile I felt a lot better physically and my bowel condition didn’t affect me as much.
miscarriages and abortions “SHUT UP”
 of instances of childhood emotional abuse. My mother suffers with severe anorexia and borderline personality disorder. She is a disabled person and the majority of my memories of her involve her sleeping on a sofa. I spent the majority of my childhood in absolute isolation.
My family have abused me but because it is all I knew, I excused it, and I was also a victim of serious bullying at every school I attended. I was so insecure that I believed it was my fault that I was being abused at home and at school.
My mother was my ‘primary care giver’ although we only ever communicated to argue, or when she arranged for me to go to school, or if we were to spend time together in the car.
When I moved home I was forced to share a living space with a relative that I had not grown up feeling close to, although he gave me money and I felt that if I did not enact closeness I wouldn’t be given that money.
Until now that relative supports me financially, actually both my mother and father provide me with some money. As much as I would like to cut ties with my family it is presently impossible because I feel somewhat financially controlled into maintaining a relationship with them. They have cultivated a dependency and they are comfortable compulsive liars, even when I confront them of instances wherein I know they have lied they choose to continue to lie and that further renders me incapable of trust.
Universal credit has given me £700 – which I had to fight for – and they were unable to really invite my trust. I was assigned to a lady at Universal Credit in London; whom I had begun to trust.
And then I was given the opportunity to move to Brighton and leave my ‘family home’. I took the opportunity and it is unfortunate because the result of doing so was that I lost her contact. I was introduced to women who had clearly been privy to personal information but had not read my personal documents. This further triggered my PTSD.
I have a difficult history with the NHS, including sexual harassment that took place in a GP’s office as a child in front of parents (I was encouraged to laugh about it) and later in life. It would be difficult to recall what occurred later in life because I was administered sedatives, I do remember being dragged down a hallway by my hair by one of the nurses, and passing out. The following morning I woke up with a very sore throat. I later learned, when I moved to Denmark for a gap year holiday to recover, that smokers are optimum victims of roofie-rape because it is very easy for them to put a sore throat down to smoking ‘too much’. I stayed in a mansion, for a period, with a number of unethical psychiatric nurses in training. I was then given a ‘new’ medication by my psychiatrist Dr Bench; that had been developed in Denmark. I was a test subject for a medication that gave me parkinsonism. I knew that medication was not appropriate for what I was suffering with but I chose to take it anyway, because I did not want to appear to be non-compliant. I felt that the professionals I was assigned to by the NHS were consistently lacking in any kind of honesty or professionalism and that further triggered the lack of trust I felt towards my family growing up.
I was not ever given a proper assessment by a psychiatrist at the NHS, not even when I was sectioned proceeding a nervous breakdown. My mother and sister spent more time talking to my appointed psychiatrist during one stay, than I had ever done – and I could see through the glass door that she was performing flirtacious body language and knowing her enough, I would not be surprised if she had convinced him that she was attracted to him so that she could lie to him about my nature.
My sister is a compulsive liar but she performs socially much more successfully than I do, and that invites the affections of everyone who meets her. I do not have any such similar affect on people.
She is a dangerous person and she masks that very well. I would not trust her with animals, children etc.
A man that I had been attracted to for several years informed me that he had raped me and that he had been observing me without my knowing so, and repeated a conversation I imagined having with him aloud and that triggered my PTSD also.
I was then dubiously put into a relationship with a psychiatric student nurse that appeared on my tinder feed (it made no sense for him to appear on my feed, he had no reason to be within the area) and to escape a very frightening experience at a half way house I agreed to reside with him in a rental property near to my parents, and on one occasion I woke up feeling quite certain I had been raped in my sleep. Again.
His name is Valentin Macau, he studies at University of West London.
When he accounted memories of his work experience I realised that he found personal power in physically dominating psychiatric patients who were on medications that physically incapacitate the people they are administered to – I found that quality in him very frightening also. I was forced to pick an evil and the fact that I preferred living with someone that I knew was raping me should tell you what it is like, to stay in your psychiatric wards and your halfway houses with people that are not empathic enough nor emotionally intelligent enough to be trusted with the vulnerable.
I believe that he was chosen to live with me by naive people or alternatively people who were well aware I could be raped (and that I was being raped regularly in my sleep, during my time in the ward) and that they thought I would be endeared to him because his name had ‘tin’ in it, my chihuahua’s name.
Other things of note
  • A doctor failed to acknowledge I had akithisia for months. I communicated very severe physiological experiences and I was suffering tremendously. I later read that a psychiatrist had described the experience of akithisia as being worse than torture in a journal.
  • I was punched in the stomach by one of your nurses, a woman called ‘Tima’. She pretended she was looking for a lighter. She knew I was not concealing a lighter. She wanted to touch me. I have a very sensitive stomach, and having had two abortions under the NHS (both of which were traumatic – a nurse shouted at me to “shut up” while I cried. The second time I cried “IM BURNING. IM BURNING” and I was given the depo injection. I was told that it would stop my periods for eight months, and that it was a birth control. A woman whose sister works for the NHS informed me that if I started taking birth control ever again – I would become infertile. I know that your staff knew that I was told that, and when I was in a psychiatric ward I was given birth control. I don’t know why you’d give a person birth control in a psychiatric ward unless they were being raped at night without the use of condoms. If I could have some explanation towards this, I’d accept that in place of compensation for the invasion of my privacy. I will await honesty on your part regarding this.
  • The above points each triggered my PTSD.
Having also been sexually molested by the police (the result of which was positive – I’ve learned that police are now forced to wear cameras on their bodies) I was terrified to report the issue to them. I informed various doctors and they did not consider the possibility of my having PTSD which means they aren’t very clever and shouldn’t be prescribing mind altering medications to people.
I ought to have communicated this at the time, and as I’m sure you’re aware I annotated many complaint forms but I was so relieved upon my release to have been able to delude myself that I had escaped the psychotic people you had put me in the company of that I didn’t ever arrange to send them to the appropriate parties. I believe that the appropriate parties were well aware of what occurred and that embarrassment, guilt and fear of being implicated kept them from delivering the appropriate apologies.
I felt very disempowered and afraid for my life, and none of my relatives were prepared to listen to me when I tried to communicate what I was experiencing and that probably triggered my PTSD too.

I suffer with a disability, that is I suffer with episodal chronic constipation that is exacerbated by stress. It is debilitating physically as at times, I suffer with low energy levels and chronic fatigue. This was an issue that affected my schooling and further education. It was very painful at times, actually I am never not in physical pain with this condition. I use the loo approximately four times a month on a very ‘good’ month and perhaps two times a month – which is more often the case.

I have attempted to engage with NHS services many times, to confront this issue and I have been assigned to doctors that were not concerned for my condition and were in fact rather unable to offer any kind of helpful opinion.
Or compensation. I deserve compensation. If this email is met without response I will assume you agree. It is terrifying isn’t it?
As an infant I was given an enema in the United Arab Emirates, where I resided before moving to the United Kingdom. It was effectively a rape, my underwear was pulled down to my ankles and four nurses held me to a table and I screamed because the procedure was so painful. That is probably the first experience that gave me PTSD and afterwards I was laughed at by my autistic brother and not-at-all-autistic-sister.
The truth is that I am afraid to sign up with a GP upon moving here, I’m afraid to visit a practice. I need to be compensated financially so that I can visit private doctors, such as Doctor Coxon
I need a prescription, I have suffered with these conditions for long enough and explored enough possibilities within the medicinal industry to know that my condition is helped by two things: MDMA and Weed. I do not particularly want to take MDMA but I will accept a cannabis prescription. I hate to speak to candidly in an email that deserves seriousness but doing so has been a kind of death in a life of many deaths and it’s an insult to have to write it.
I am livid that I’ve had to write this, but I am in so many kinds of pain at once that if you were to look at me experiencing this moment of my life, I am exhausted and I am lying down forcing myself to carry on typing.
All of my emails are observed and it is correct for me to inform you that your response will be observed.
I don’t like it either but if I don’t tell you, I’m dishonest and there is little I would resent in myself more.
Kind Regards,
Karina Jarade
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