Two years ago Ashley Peacock, 42, was released from a life of hell after being confined in a cell-like room for at least 23 hours a day and subjected to frequent abuse. Now he lives in his own house on the Kāpiti Coast. Carolyne Meng-Yee reports.
Ashley Peacock is free from his prison cell - but not from the invisible friends in his head.
The voices have followed him to freedom - Abdullah was a family friend, Maz Quinn the surfer is Ashley's idol, Pluto is from another planet, and the dentist hurt him.
Their imaginary voices in his head are not always friendly.
"The dentist" provokes Ashley to lash out.
But there are people watching over Ashley now, carers who are in his corner.
His best friend, carer, and neighbour, Glenn Buglass, who Ashley calls "Andy" knows the warning signs to watch for.
"He has all these ghosts in his head. He talks about being shot and people trying to break in to get him. He has different names for his different personalities. They are generally people he has met in the past or dealt with him," Buglass said.
"He can be psychotic. His eyes glaze, he stares blankly there's a look on his face, then he's gone. When he's violent he shows remorse - we have a wonderful staff who calm him.
"He has never been hurt by us and doesn't lie on the ground anymore. "
Ashley has an intellectual disability, autism, and a schizophrenic illness.
He had been detained as a compulsory patient under the Mental Health Act. For nearly 20 years he was institutionalised, and for much of that time he was at Tawhirimātea, a psychiatric hospital in Porirua he was kept in "cruel" confines in a 10sq m seclusion room.
Buglass says it was "heartbreaking" the first time Ashley lay on the ground after being released in 2018.
"He was waiting for us to jump on him and when we didn't, he burst into tears. It's been a while getting his trust - he doesn't trust anyone."
Two years after his release from "prison" Ashley lives in his own trailer home on wheels on the Kāpiti Coast.
He looks out onto a picturesque valley with gigantic hills, native bush, and a nearby river. It is a life he loves. He has a goat to feed, vegetables to harvest, and fish to catch.
He is house-proud and has learned how to use a washing machine, a vacuum cleaner, and a microwave. Most mornings he fries his own bacon in a pan.
He still can't shake off the fear of returning to Tawhirimātea.
"Are they going to send me back to prison?" he regularly asks.
For much of the time, Ashley spent up to 23 hours in an isolation wing, costing the public health system nearly $1 million a year.
He was confined to a cell-like room for nearly three years with only a mattress, no bathroom facilities, and comic books.
His mother Marlena Peacock says sometimes her son was forced to "pee "in a cup, and at times he used to drink it.
His living situation was labelled "cruel, inhuman and degrading" in an Ombudsman report.
"He certainly doesn't want to go back to that dump; he is frightened of that place but isn't able to articulate that. I think he knows a lot has gone on up there. You just don't shake that off because you are in a new environment," Marlena and Dave said.
Community Connections executive director John Taylor told the Herald the first year was a "big test" for everyone.
"No one knew how it would work or if the wheels would come off whether Ashley was going to be as difficult as he was at Tawhirimatea. I expect it will take between five and 10 years before he gets over the previous 20 years in institutionalised care."
David and Marlena Peacock say their son is damaged and his health has deteriorated.
"He has no motivation and has put on weight. He sits around watching too much TV and cogitates. Doing nothing is not good for his mental health; he gets depressed. He can fish next door but he rarely does that unless we encourage him," David says.
Ashley has two full-time carers who cook and care for him 24/7.
They have set routines for him, and he is slowly learning about boundaries.
He writes a "to do" list that's reliably predictable: Get up. Meditate. Drink tea. Drink tea. Drink tea ...
Marlena says Ashley's obsession with drinking tea stems from Polydipsia - a condition where you are constantly thirsty.
"At one point when he was in a psychiatric ward, he was drinking up to 25 cups of tea a day," Marlena says.
He phones his parents twice a day, sometimes just five minutes after the first call.
And he is obsessive about locking doors.
"That's his protection. I suppose in the past he's had stuff stolen and nothing has been sacred in his room, so he carries these keys like no one I've seen," Buglass says.
But what has always been predictably unreliable is Ashley's behaviour.
"You tend to be on edge waiting for something to happen. He can be delightful, but he can also be atrocious. You can be talking to him one minute then he'll tell you to piss off," Marlena says.
Two weeks ago, Ashley randomly pushed a female carer to the ground and assaulted the male carer.
Buglass says "the dentist" got into Ashley's head.
"We are gutted. He got a real hammering from me and said it wasn't 'him' that did it. I told him, 'you don't ever hit women'. This was the first time," Marlena says.
"He has written apology letters to the two carers who got hurt. He came here to mow the lawns, and I didn't speak to him. When Dave gave him $7, he insisted on giving it to me. He knows what he did was wrong. There have to be consequences even at his level."
Taylor says there have been three assaults over the past 10 months.
"When we see an outburst coming, we put our hand on his arm and say 'Mate you are OK' then he snaps out of it. It's incredibly quick when it happens. He would've retaliated in the past because he was maltreated.
"The staff deal with a fair bit of anxiety too. I think to their credit they have never lost respect for Ashley. It is hard day after day to be on high alert with somebody like Ashley, and they are at the sharp end of it. But when he is part of this world, he is a really nice, funny, gentle sort of chap," Taylor says.
Ashley's carers are now being trained in Aikido - a form of martial arts that is a style of self-defence that keeps the carer and the person being supported safe.
"Most courses teach you how to strike, punch, and hurt someone but 'Quiet Confidence' teaches you how to get out of the way, calm and not restrain. Keeping Ashley safe is paramount," Buglass says.
Every Saturday, Ashley cleans the office at the Community Connection's office in Paraparaumu.
"It takes him about 2 minutes and sometimes 20 and he gets about $50 ( $25 for pocket money and the rest goes into his savings account). He's on the best hourly rate ever. I've asked to swap jobs with him," Buglass says.
John Taylor has recently facilitated a governance group that will focus on Ashley's future wellbeing.
"It's set up for when Dave and Marlena pass on. The reason why Ashley is still not in institutional care is entirely down to the advocacy of Dave and Marlena and Ashley's clinician, Doctor Rosie Edwards -they never gave up.
"All people like Ashley need someone in their life who are not paid to be. This group is to make sure Ashley is getting the best life he can get. You need a set of eyes over organisations like ours to keep us honest and make sure we are looking at things from Ashley's point of view," Taylor says.
His care costs over $700,000 a year. Taylor would like more funding for counselling and equine therapy for Ashley.
Marlena is concerned funding for her son keeps being reduced and might eventually cease.
Taylor would like government agencies to be held accountable for the trauma Ashley and his parents have endured.
"His parents have suffered 20 years of stress and financial hardship through the inappropriate application of state power. Despite a directive from the Prime Minister to 'be kind', the state officials are doing nothing."
David and Marlena, who are both in their mid-s70s, have filed a complaint to the Royal Commission of Inquiry into historical abuse in state care.
"We think that there needs to be accountability and transparency. We fought for 20 years to get Ashley out of the mental health system- he shouldn't have been there in the first place, they said.
"I am still stroppy but not nearly as much as I used to be," Marlena says.
"After all the hassles I never gave up hope, so I suppose that kept us going. I felt distraught at what happened to him from being a lively, healthy fit young guy to what he is now is beyond words really."
Marlena and David are thankful Ashley lives in a "beautiful" environment and is well-cared for. But he is lonely.
Ashley has never fallen in love. The only intimacy he has experienced is with sex workers.
"He did go to prostitutes that I paid for and he was very well behaved. One woman said 'How do I deal with this one?' But I think he coped well and I found the girls quite nice," Marlena said.
Buglass says he'd love Ashley to find a girlfriend.
"He's not shy; he flirts with the girl at Subway and the girls at the supermarket. He'll ask for their phone number but not in a creepy way.
"He has a friendly smile on his face, and he knows exactly what he's doing, I'd love to see him find a girlfriend and settle down."
Buglass says he would be happy to care for Ashley indefinitely.
"We're in it for the long haul. Ash is awesome. He is his own person. He can be as funny as he wants but you still have to take it minute by minute.
"Everyone deserves a chance, and I don't think he has had that. I don't believe people should be locked up because they are different."
Quinovic acknowledged the breaches and confirmed exemplary damages were paid.