The "Dear Dr George Letter" (Exhibit W)
49The appellant was arrested and charged on 8 February 2007. Police searched his caravan and found a photocopy of a handwritten 22-page document in the form of a letter. It was addressed to "Dear Dr George" and dated 24 October 2006. It contained a number of corrections and additions which suggest that it may have been a draft rather than a final version.
50Broadly speaking, the document was a narrative of the appellant's problems, centred very much on chronic depression throughout his life. Towards the end of the document there was a section containing references to Sean (Shaun) and Brian. No doubt these were Mr Bateson and Mr Hadfield. The prosecution wanted parts of this letter tendered as admissions. After argument, those parts were admitted. The defence wished other parts of the document also to be tendered, so that in the end most of the document was tendered as Exhibit W.
51The complete section of the letter in relation to Shaun and Brian is:
"After leaving the psych ward I was discharged under George Capsis (what I had thought was care and understanding) oversight to stay at his share house. I was paying around $120 per wk for a drab room. I had to walk to buy food etc. I was told I was expected to go out and look for work. I had no car, licence, family, friends, son, girlfriend, and why would anyone want to be with me I had nothing and was fighting for air to breathe for (end of page 16/beginning of page 17) the agony of weight of sadness upon my chest. I was enveloped in a suicidal depression. I didn't eat or leave my room for days just sobbed into my pillow so no one would hear me. I heard George come to the house and talk to one of the older guys about me and said among other things "this is not a doss house, if he doesn't pull his socks up, he'll be asked to leave". I feel so sad for that person and all who know the place of despair I was in. It makes me weep and I want to go back and help them (me) and comfort then in that place of utter despair and blackness. I was terrified of being homeless and alone. When it was quiet I crawled through the clutter in the garage and began inhaling petrol from a mower. I had no pride left, I sat there crying and sniffing so as to in any way to numb away the sadness. I had my last useless antidepressants, poured petrol on a cloth and sort of crying and stumbling toward the doctors or the bottle shop first. I got the only other medication that had any effect left together to lift the despair. I had been trying yet again not to take them because they had so ---after often distorted all mind, reason and judgement and personality causing me such embarrassment, suffering and death.
*this is all too much of an absolute understatement.
*my recollection is poor so please forgive my corrections at doubting my ... I had such self hate at being so pathetic. I took some of the meds. We went out (Sean and I) but it wasn't me it was the manic person whose mind had been list lost again. Sean kept asking me what I was on, he told me all the drugs he used to take. When I told him, he said he had been on antidepressants (*sorry for all the scrawl and mess. I can barely write this) and was depressed about his eyesight. What is so horrifying is that in the past I had had no memory of having given him any of the medication but I have a vague memory. He asked me for a couple and I (end of page 17/ beginning of page 18) gave them to him. We stayed out all night and the next day I marched off in a dream to "steal" some new clothes fuelled by some delusion. I would have confidence in them to meet a girl and thus suddenly everything would start to finally come together this time. All I had to do was look the part. I do not understate - this was the dementia going around in my head. I got caught because I was apparently in the change room for over an hour or something. I had no concept of anything. Then when I was caught I suddenly woke up to what had happened but I could never tell anyone because it was all too insane so I went through the motions. After the Police released me I went back to the house. I found Sean and called the ambulance.
*please forgive me not writing about how I felt and feel about this at seeing him like that and what happened. I cannot yet get my mind around what has happened. I know I'll be asked about it at the inquest but I cannot process it. It leaves you with such a sick awful feeling such as I cannot ever define. And to have it happen again is a horror of a burden and vexation that twists me up inside. It's hard enough to talk about what has happened to me but I think I find it so hard to talk about Sean and Brian simply because I would never ever want to hurt anyone and I cannot get around that was not me but a personality outside normal reason and sense when around them and other people who wh e r e were more influenced by that persons excited, reality burred mind which they envied as fun while seeing and knowing nothing of the true, misery, nightmare prisoner existence that was me also.
Sean had an incredible story and could have helped so many young people. He encouraged me. If I make it it will be to always keep what has happened as a force to help others. This is not the 'expected sentiments speech' it is a (end of page 18 / beginning of page 19) poor attempt to find a way to try and find traction to go forward via the only means left - to fight for truth for the lives of others.
After Georges house I think I was at Nowra at my mums and being so sick ended up being then in derelict houses. I had all sorts of agonising pain in my back, body, head. Nightmares, sleeplessness, blackouts, insanity, police, hospitals, psych wards -
*really over the last half page I have just hit burnout, emotions. May be I can now write point forms.
I went to live with a helper in Menai. I was too much strain on them.
He took me to the lodge in Darlinghurst. I came under deep depression for which the option epilum was useless and worsened. I couldn't leave my room for days. Black and terrified.
At what point into being there I came under severe depression I don't know. I think I was on other antidepressants again, being terrified of effexor and aurorix which by those years nothing else lifted the depression but they gave me blackouts, fainting, seizures, sweats, shocks and stabs in the brain, nightmares, mental insanity, mental retardation. When manic or insane I think outwardly I appeared fine most of the time but I was in my own world/mind. Whatever I was on or had resolved gave way to blackness and I began drinking again. Bryan was or we were best friends there. In the end I was again putting hope in the medications (I never wanted to take against out of horror at Seans death) to lift me out of the depression that came down with a vengeance when whatever I was on ceased to have effect and I grew worse and worse.
As I see it, the warped relationship one has to the lethaly addictive mind slave medications is like a pharmacological version of Stockholm syndrome. All your life has become - all you know, see, hear and feel is a distorted reality from that (end of page 19 / beginning of page 20) which has taken you captive and you are totally under the power and control of. You are its prisoner, and though it has stolen you, and killed you, and is destroying you, - yet you are still utterly dependent on it, and so you need it, and therefore value, if not twistedly love it. It is so abominably sick and perverse.
Brian was a beautiful person. We would do little things like getting a homeless person something to eat and drink. That similar heart was why we became best friends. Then the crushing despair came down again I hid away. Crying in bed for days. Later told people I'd gone away.
Later when manic (poisoned again) I was probably mindlessly espousing the wonders of the very medications that had utterly killed me and laid my life waste and which things terrified me and I hated. But having brought me out of utter suicidal darkness into delusional psychosis again, I was probably singing their praises. I dont blame Brian for envying another persons happiness. I just wish I could go back to before I had ever taken prozac. Because Brian did not see a happy person he saw a manic fool whose demeanour came from a mind affected by poisons. The very antidepressant poisons that also cause him suicidal despair in spite of taking those other misnomers, 'mood stabilisers' and 'antipsychotics'.
I can only think and write at all (all be it still very poorly) because of the proper and true diagnosis (conclusively proven by blood tests) and medical treatment I've finally been receiving after 36 years and that with vital full time carer/support and in education of these toxic drugs I've finally been able after an absolute nightmare 2yr life and death struggle to wean off and break free of them.
I can see similarities between the two tragedies in that both Sean and Brian had previously been on and were talking of antidepressants (end of page 20 / beginning of page 21) when they witnessed my total change in mood which probably they misconstrued as being a 'positive antidepressant effect'. I must have seemed like a convincing ad for these things and in some strange capacity may have thought I was helping them by telling them to go see their doctor, and when asked - giving them, a sample of mine. When I found Sean I had been convinced it was a day or two later or something and I asked him if he's taken more and how many but he couldn't even speak. It was like everything was going on outside of you, being in a dream. It has been that way really to some degree since first ever being prescribed these things. But I can only now clearly discern that, being off them all. I am and will forever be hauntingly burdened.
I had left Brians room at his insistence at needing to get sleep for work. I only left him because I felt sure he was Ok, being conversant and normal. Others had said they had seen him ok as well, so it can't have been imagined. I mean it must have been so. I don't know what happened after that. I don't know what of my medication he may have taken earlier on in the night when I'd gone downstairs and left my bag there because I can never clearly remember or think. He'd just grin that grin of his. I never knew he was taking some other medications besides.
How could I have had anything positive or praiseworthy to say to Sean and Brian or anybody else about these things? They hadn't taken away my depression they'd cast me into suicidal despair, then into insanity. Then I'd been given more drug poisons, and still more. On Lithium or Epilim I had been overcome with a metallic tasting nausea and begun vomitting, shaking and sweating profusely. I had an horrific nightmare hallucination I was vomitting up my insides and was screaming in terror trying to stuff them back in my mouth. Made to appear like a returning dog."