This article was initially published by the online journal, Probation Quarterly. After the National Probation Service complained, the journal was re-launched without my article.
The following link will take you to The Record, run by the charity, Unlock, who have published my article under the name, Stacey
Otherwise, see below:
Probation, ‘borderline’ offenders and the need for boundaries
One person in 20 is currently living with a personality disorder and a large proportion of these are women. Symptoms vary but in Stacey’s case she struggled with her emotions and relationships with others. She feels strongly that probation officers need more training to enable them to understand the difficulties of working with people with personality disorders.
The first meeting with my probation officer started off badly. She had read my case notes which said I was ‘high risk’ and made it clear she had reservations about supervising me. I had Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD) and was known to struggle to manage my emotions. The Community Mental Health Team (CMHT) had refused to help me saying first that there was no treatment for BPD and then, after my arrest, that I was obviously in crisis and so unable to engage, so I was used to knock backs.
Nevertheless, I was a little disappointed with her attitude and the fact that she had pre-judged me. I had never had a probation officer before and didn’t know what to expect. I was 55 years old and this was my first time in prison. I was looking forward to going home to my partner and I was sure that I would not be returning to prison.
After my release I saw my probation officer twice a week. I attended all my appointments and didn’t offend further, so after a couple of months they were cut down to one a week. I wasn’t getting any help from the CMHT but it didn’t seem to matter because I could talk to my probation officer. She’d softened towards me since our initial meeting and I looked forward to seeing her each week.
We spoke about issues I was having but equally, we discussed her and her personal life.
“Enough about you, did I tell you about what I did last weekend?” she’d say.”
I liked talking to her. She was funny, intelligent and interesting. She seemed to care about me. We discussed my issues with attachment, a common symptom of BPO, and she seemed to understand what a serious problem it was for me. The feelings can become so intense that some people become obsessed and even resort to stalking. I hadn’t, but I understood how easy it could be to reach that stage.
We talked about anything and everything, and we laughed, a lot. I was becoming attached to her, and she knew it. She asked if I wanted a different officer; I declined. The best way of curtailing this type of attachment is to have no contact with the subject. However, the one with the attachment will not break the contact because they yearn for that person’s attention.
Half way through my probation period I was told by a senior officer that I would now only need to see my officer every two weeks. I had been doing well and the concerns of supervising me, exhibited at the beginning, seemed to have lessened. This should have been good news. It wasn’t; I was devastated. I started to think of the time when I wouldn’t be able to see her, and I couldn’t bear it. I thought of the railway track and how much I wanted to end my life. I don’t know how I managed the drive home. I felt numb, yet desperate.
Once home, I couldn’t settle. I sent an email to the probation officer, complaining about never getting any help from CMHT. She phoned me, but I didn’t answer. I knew I wouldn’t be able to talk because I was crying so much. She asked the police to carry out a safe and well check, but they refused. Over the weekend, I sent more emails to my probation officer, threatening anyone she might send to my door. I wasn’t serious but I needed to do or say something extreme so that I could calm down. On the Monday I was arrested and charged with malicious communication. I pleaded guilty. The police said they had a statement from my officer to say she was upset at receiving the emails. The magistrate was sympathetic to my feelings but said he couldn’t allow anyone to send vitriolic comments to probation staff. He sentenced me to 6 weeks in prison.
While in the cell awaiting transport, my probation officer came to see me. She told me that her manager had recalled me to prison to serve the rest of my initial sentence, another 6 months. She also said she had not made a statement and was neither angry or upset at my emails. She thought the whole saga was ‘sad’. Despite the fact that I would have to serve another 6 months in prison, I was happy that she wasn’t angry with me.
After my release, despite the emails, and perhaps proving that she had not been upset the same probation officer continued to supervise me for the seven months extended probation I had been given. I was still attached to her and grateful that I would be seeing her every week. Our relationship went back to the way it was before my arrest and one day, she became emotional and apologised for what had happened. Looking back, I don’t know if she had genuinely wanted to help me or had encouraged my attachment. She game me a lot of information about herself but when I then tried to probe further, she said it was inappropriate. Either way, the thought of not seeing her was more than I could bear. I said it was OK, I didn’t blame her, and it was true. How could I blame her for being kind?
I do question however, why probation officers (and possibly police and prison officers) do not have the kind of awareness training that warns them about attachments so that they can set boundaries. Individuals with BPD can be extremely vulnerable and prone to overplay the smallest act of kindness shown to them. I was told that a forensic psychologist was available to give advice to officers at my probation office. Clearly the advice did not cover those with severe attachment issues.
Since leaving prison, I have been working to raise awareness of BPD and associated attachment issues. One in ten people with BPD end their own lives; I was very nearly part of that statistic.
By Stacey (name changed to protect identity)