I am always amazed at how much my mental health stories resonate with others. Apparently, I am an inspiration. But the fact that people are saying this, suggests that we still have a long way to go in breaking down the stigma of mental health.
Lots of people have told me how “brave” I am to talk about my mental health publicly. I’m never quite sure if this is a compliment or a warning.
Speaking publicly about PTSD and autism has felt relatively safe. But there’s something I want to talk about that is going to make me extremely vulnerable.
You might even question my sanity right now, and wonder whether I need a further mental health diagnosis. It’s okay. I’ve been wondering that too. I’ve also been wondering why I feel so much shame in talking about this.
I think it’s because, as a society, we are starting to talk about mental health. But we are mostly talking about the things that we all struggle with to some degree at various moments in our lives, like depression or anxiety.
We still don’t talk much about the “other” mental health. The one that makes us feel very uncomfortable.
Like the times when we are not ourselves, we have lost our identities, we don’t know who we are anymore.
Like the times when we feel so disconnected from reality that it feels like we are just outside our bodies.
Like the times when we are so emotionally dysregulated one moment and then completely fine the next, as if we have split into two or more separate people.
Like the times when the noise in our heads becomes so loud, it’s hard to even hear ourselves think.
These are uncomfortable thoughts. Distressing even. I'm not sure there'll be as many people who will publicly tell me that this resonates.
And yet there will be many for whom this does resonate. 1 in 20 people apparently. I am now a statistic. Sobering.
My therapist says these are the body’s natural defence mechanisms. It doesn’t feel quite so threatening when you put it that way. It feels easier to accept that I need this right now in order to survive. When I stop fighting it, I can finally deal with the shame and start to heal.
We are three
We are three,
fragmented me
Abandoned child
Frightened, wild
Professional me
Confident, free
Parent emerging
Vulnerable, hurting.
We are three,
fragmented me
Senses heightened, feelings trapped
Stuck in limbo, words unmapped
Too young to voice the nightmare scene
Reliving now as waking dream.
We are three,
fragmented me
Educated, scripted words
Concealed emotions, yet unheard
Competent professional face
Protective thoughts to keep us safe.
We are three,
fragmented me
Absent nurture breaking through
Being seen and heard feels new
Loving arms embrace our soul
Now satisfied and fully whole.
At last, tripartite starts to blend
Our undivided souls can mend
Soothing words start to unfurl
Our disassociated worlds
United, merging into one
Our healing journey has begun.
No longer three,
united me
Arms enfolding splintered heart
Desperate dark thoughts now depart
Exposed, unscripted words can feel
Professional, parent, child can heal
I am in conflict with Me
I am hiding behind Me
Me is brave, resilient, and strong
She belongs among the greats
Who create their own fates
She is hopeful and bright
And I follow her light
I’m a dark definition, mere shadow outline
I am striving to be like Me
Me is in control,
No holds, only bold steps
Towards a goal
Unhindered by the fear
That I wear, as I stare at Me
Wondering how she got there
On her own, without help.
I don’t think I recognise Me
Me has slipped from the grace
Of the trophy placed
At the fore of my mind
No longer in line with the person I knew
The image askew
Crushed and defeated,
Her spirit depleted, her pain intense
The immense risk she took
As she shook her very essence
Into effervescent disharmony.
Her shiny front now cracked from the fall.
I am in conflict with Me.
Me and I are hiding together
Tethered by our bond
We long to belong
On the prized shelf amongst the trophies
We are relegated to recycling
Waiting to be repurposed.
Our surfaces buffed into good enough
New victory labelled, our history disabled
I don’t know this side of Me.
The label does not fit
Doesn’t sit with the bit in my mind
That had Me defined
As a picture of good and strong and refined
I am a mere reflection of my former self.
When I sit long enough to let the waters quieten,
I am still agitated,
my disturbed thoughts thrashing below the surface,
does anyone even know I am down here? Drowning in this filthy sludge,
hidden in the depths of my despair.
I am trying to swim up,
to breathe and call for help,
to be seen and heard,
not forgotten and lost.
The last few months have been extremely difficult. I have hesitated a long time about publishing these poems because it shows a side of me that is really struggling, despite the amazingly confident and inspirational keynote speaker, lecturer and activist and talented speech and language therapist that I am.
I am at the same time thriving and also just holding on. It's a strange dichotomy. The mind is such a marvellous creature, full of mystery.
Find out more about PTSD and cPTSD:
*Artwork by Ace
Comments