Tomorrow I start a new job. I feel happy, excited, anxious amongst a mix of emotions. I’m currently questioning what I’m going to wear, how much of myself I’m willing to expose on the first day. I am not referring to the length of my skirt, or whether or not I hide my cleavage under a collared shirt, I’m talking about whether or not I allow my true self to be revealed, scars and all. Do I wear long sleeves and jackets in the middle of an Australian Summer, or do I open myself up to vulnerability and the possibility of being judged by my past and the interpretation from my new colleagues of what they misguidedly believe it may mean?
For my friends on Facebook I’ve not kept my past history of self-harm a secret, I’ve not hidden it, because whilst I’m not particularly proud of the scars, I have come to accept that I did the best I could with the skills I had at the time. I know each individual scar holds a memory of a time when life was more difficult for me than it was for most, each scar reminds me that even though the emotional pain at that time was overbearing, I still somehow found a way to make it through. Each scar tells a story of hopelessness, of anger, or despair, of numbness that I never thought I’d get through, yet here I am.
My self-harm history is something I don’t give much thought to these days, because the scars have healed and all that I see when I look at them are victories and lessons learnt which have given me the skills of empathy, understanding, kindness, and an ability to express compassion to others without making impetuous judgements. However, in times like this where people have not had the chance to get to know me and what I am capable of, I am weary that others don’t have the same life experience as myself, many others do not express the same understanding and empathy that I do, and I am mindful that the appearance of these scars can sometimes lead to others judging me and my abilities prematurely.
I guess as unjust as it may seem, am I willing and open to the possibility of having to work three times as hard as anyone else to prove my worth to the workplace, by allowing them to see the scars of my past before they see who I am and what I’m capable of, or will I be the crazy, uncomfortable colleague who sits in the office in long-sleeves and jackets, sweating profusely, trying to hide the scars that have shaped me into the positive, hard-working, friendly person I know I am?
Showing posts with label Self Harm. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Self Harm. Show all posts
Saturday, January 30, 2016
Saturday, February 7, 2015
And the battle, although just as painful, becomes easier to cope with...
And as she climbed up on that chair and placed the noose around her neck, she realised she would finally get that escape that she so desperately longed for. She would finally be free of the constant battle against herself. She would finally have an end to the chaos that all too often erupted inside her mind. She would finally find peace. But, before she had a chance to take that huge leap of courage, with only a small step, and seek the freedom that she so desired, a lifetime of memories flashed before her eyes..........................
She saw her mother standing in the corner of the Intensive Care Unit. She saw the pain in her mother's eyes. She could tell that her mother hadn't slept a wink all night. And whilst she'd seen that look of pain in her mother's eyes many times before from not being able to pull her out of this depression, and not being able to show her the beauty the world has to offer, she realised that nothing had ever compared to the fear and pain she saw in her mother's eyes right then and there.
She remembered the words that still resonate with her today. The words that send a sharp pain right through her heart, and never fail to bring a tear to her eye. That one statement, a single sentence from her little sister, which easily broke her heart, and changed her world. "It was hard growing up, going to bed each night, and not knowing whether I'd still have my sister when I woke up." Her sister was an adult when she'd shared this raw, emotional statement, but despite them both being adults, all she'd seen was her little baby sister, a young teenager, standing in front of her, in a world of her own pain, and all at the thought of losing someone she'd cared so deeply about. All at the thought of losing her big sister, who had long lost herself and constantly questioned her existence through the pain. The big sister who honestly, and whole-heartedly believed that life would be easier for her family if she ceased to exist.
She remembered the exact thoughts she had at that time. She remembered feeling like things would never get any better. She remembered feeling so guilty for the pain she was consistently putting her family through. She remembered the tip-toeing that the family was forced into, for fear of pushing her over the edge during one of her intensely emotional mood swings. And hearing her baby sister express in this single sentence that despite the emotional pain and outbursts that were tip-toed around, despite the pain of seeing her sister fade away into a shell that she feared she'd never come out from, the most painful thought was that she would lose her completely, and that somehow, life would have to go on without her.
The last 12 months have been an intensely emotional rollercoaster for me. There have been some great ups, really there have, but each time the downhill has closely followed and I've delved faster down that track swaying from side to side, hoping like crazy that the safety harness would hold me in, the entire time feeling like my life was turning completely upside down.
I've been trying to write this post for months. I've been struggling to find the right words. And I've been afraid of what people would think of me if they'd learnt that even today, I'm not always that bright and bubbly person that they all see. Would they judge me, treat me differently, whisper nasty things behind my back? Surely it would be easier to fake it than to show them the real way I feel at times? Right?
Despite questioning whether I'd get through the pain, and whether I was strong enough to come out the other side for quite some time during the past 12 months, this week things became a whole lot more intense and I seriously considered options I'd not seriously considered in years. I had two good friends, both unknown to each other, that questioned our friendship, and the reason, because I didn't share myself with them wholly (negative and all) and because of that, I avoided any conversations that may lead them to believe otherwise. I had friends questioning our friendship because I failed to communicate with them at all, failed to share my true emotions, because I put up that mask, and because I hid behind that wall that protected me from them finding out and consequently realising I was way more work than any friendship was worth, and that quite simply put, I was toxic and a burden on their lives.
I know I've shut my family out for years, because of similar reasons, and I know how irrational it is to not share your emotions with the family that have continued to love you through the worst and most difficult years, and that have never left your side when things get tough. I realise how completely ridiculous it is to hide your feelings from those who love you unconditionally, and feel completely crushed that when things do hit rock bottom, because you'd not shared your pain with them and let them be the support you so desperately needed.
And gradually but then all at once, I realised that life isn't the same as it was a decade ago. I'm not a 19 year old girl consistently struggling to make sense of my own head. I'm not wearing long sleeves to cover the fresh cuts on my arm, or on the very odd occasion in which someone found out, sitting at Emergency waiting for a nurse and doctor to give me a look of disgust and reluctantly stitch up the damage I'd bestowed upon myself, the self that I seemed so determined to destroy. I'm not constantly in and out of psych wards several times a year (and when I say several, I mean SEVERAL), merely to protect me from myself and the costly, permanent decisions I was likely to make in the acute heat of the moment. I'm not in a hospital bed, covered in wires plugged into monitors that will reveal if this time, I've managed to cause some irreversible damage to my body.
I'm now a 29 year old woman, who whilst still affected by Bipolar Disorder, whilst still battling the same mental illness I was a decade ago, whilst feeling that forceful pain I have in the past, has learned healthy coping mechanisms, and isn't that tiny, scared little girl she was back then. I'm now a 29 year old woman who, at 19, never imagined a year without a hospital admission, let alone the fast approaching three years since such an admission has taken place. I'm now a 29 year old woman who has no desire to place any more scars on my body that has already been punished so badly. A woman who whilst uncomfortable with meeting strangers for the first time and receiving judgement for something they simply don't understand and for their inability to see past these and get to know who I am, feels proud to see those scars on her arms. They are a constant reminder of how much pain I was in, and how I'm still here, and I'm still fighting. They are my battle wounds. They are my evidence that the pain I've been through is a lot deeper than many others could handle. They are a testament to my courage, my strength and my determination to go on, despite at times feeling as though all hope was lost.
I am now a 29 year old woman who has been given a lot of support over the past 15 years, even from those who don't realise it. I am now a 29 year old woman who can honestly say she has the most amazing family and friends in the world. I'm now a 29 year old woman, who despite still suffering at times, even with getting out of bed proving a struggle some days, believes that life has so much more to offer. A woman who has been questioning her existence and feeling like a failure for not accomplishing most of the things on her "before 30" bucket list.
I now know that I have the power to create my own reality. All I need to do is try and believe it's worth it, believe that I'm worth it. Be determined... Love completely... Trust fully... Believe it's possible... Try... Hope... Create... These things have the potential to change my life. These things have the potential to assist me along my journey, with all it's twists and turns, and at 39, write another post about how much further I've come in the last decade, and how glad I am that I made the decision at the time of writing this very post that I have the power to manifest my dreams into reality, and that I deserve to be happy and fulfilled with my life.
I started writing an application to become a member of the BeyondBlue speakers program, and that's really the driving force that provided me with the inspiration to share this raw, deep and mostly hidden side of me and the battles I still fight each day. I'm willing to share my story with complete strangers and allow them to somehow see they're not alone, and that things can get better, and even if they don't recover completely, they can have good moments as well as bad moments, and those good, positive, loving moments can be enough to pull them through the darkest of their days. Showing them that even if their illness is likely to stay with them, it gets easier to manage, and they'll learn how to cope. Show them that there is nothing like the hug of a niece or nephew (or their own children / partners) to make them smile, inspiring them to be all that they can be, and provide them with the determination they have been lacking to make this possible. If I'm willing to share my story with complete strangers, surely I should be willing to share this story with friends and family. Surely I should be willing to let them know what depression and mental illness feels like, to give them some sort of insight. Surely I should be willing to share my story with the friends that are suffering so that they, like the complete strangers I'm willing to share with, will know they're not alone, and that things can get better.
.........................And in that moment, with those very thoughts and images running through her mind, she slipped the noose from her neck, cut the rope from where it was hanging, lit it on fire and watched it burn, envisioning the fire taking away all negativity and things that were holding her back, the smoke floating away as she let her fears leave with it, allowing her to free her mind and believe that life could be wonderful, and that if you look hard enough, you will always find beauty in this sometimes messed up crazy world. To believe that life was worth it... To believe that she was worth it.
**Please note - the writing about suicide by hanging at the top of this email was only meant as an indication of the pain and anguish within the story. I have not stood on a chair with a noose around my neck, and I am in no danger of self-harm or suicide. It was used as an analogy, and should not be interpreted as a serious threat to my safety.**
This post was originally posted on my Facebook page on 8 February 2015
She saw her mother standing in the corner of the Intensive Care Unit. She saw the pain in her mother's eyes. She could tell that her mother hadn't slept a wink all night. And whilst she'd seen that look of pain in her mother's eyes many times before from not being able to pull her out of this depression, and not being able to show her the beauty the world has to offer, she realised that nothing had ever compared to the fear and pain she saw in her mother's eyes right then and there.
She remembered the words that still resonate with her today. The words that send a sharp pain right through her heart, and never fail to bring a tear to her eye. That one statement, a single sentence from her little sister, which easily broke her heart, and changed her world. "It was hard growing up, going to bed each night, and not knowing whether I'd still have my sister when I woke up." Her sister was an adult when she'd shared this raw, emotional statement, but despite them both being adults, all she'd seen was her little baby sister, a young teenager, standing in front of her, in a world of her own pain, and all at the thought of losing someone she'd cared so deeply about. All at the thought of losing her big sister, who had long lost herself and constantly questioned her existence through the pain. The big sister who honestly, and whole-heartedly believed that life would be easier for her family if she ceased to exist.
She remembered the exact thoughts she had at that time. She remembered feeling like things would never get any better. She remembered feeling so guilty for the pain she was consistently putting her family through. She remembered the tip-toeing that the family was forced into, for fear of pushing her over the edge during one of her intensely emotional mood swings. And hearing her baby sister express in this single sentence that despite the emotional pain and outbursts that were tip-toed around, despite the pain of seeing her sister fade away into a shell that she feared she'd never come out from, the most painful thought was that she would lose her completely, and that somehow, life would have to go on without her.
The last 12 months have been an intensely emotional rollercoaster for me. There have been some great ups, really there have, but each time the downhill has closely followed and I've delved faster down that track swaying from side to side, hoping like crazy that the safety harness would hold me in, the entire time feeling like my life was turning completely upside down.
I've been trying to write this post for months. I've been struggling to find the right words. And I've been afraid of what people would think of me if they'd learnt that even today, I'm not always that bright and bubbly person that they all see. Would they judge me, treat me differently, whisper nasty things behind my back? Surely it would be easier to fake it than to show them the real way I feel at times? Right?
Despite questioning whether I'd get through the pain, and whether I was strong enough to come out the other side for quite some time during the past 12 months, this week things became a whole lot more intense and I seriously considered options I'd not seriously considered in years. I had two good friends, both unknown to each other, that questioned our friendship, and the reason, because I didn't share myself with them wholly (negative and all) and because of that, I avoided any conversations that may lead them to believe otherwise. I had friends questioning our friendship because I failed to communicate with them at all, failed to share my true emotions, because I put up that mask, and because I hid behind that wall that protected me from them finding out and consequently realising I was way more work than any friendship was worth, and that quite simply put, I was toxic and a burden on their lives.
I know I've shut my family out for years, because of similar reasons, and I know how irrational it is to not share your emotions with the family that have continued to love you through the worst and most difficult years, and that have never left your side when things get tough. I realise how completely ridiculous it is to hide your feelings from those who love you unconditionally, and feel completely crushed that when things do hit rock bottom, because you'd not shared your pain with them and let them be the support you so desperately needed.
And gradually but then all at once, I realised that life isn't the same as it was a decade ago. I'm not a 19 year old girl consistently struggling to make sense of my own head. I'm not wearing long sleeves to cover the fresh cuts on my arm, or on the very odd occasion in which someone found out, sitting at Emergency waiting for a nurse and doctor to give me a look of disgust and reluctantly stitch up the damage I'd bestowed upon myself, the self that I seemed so determined to destroy. I'm not constantly in and out of psych wards several times a year (and when I say several, I mean SEVERAL), merely to protect me from myself and the costly, permanent decisions I was likely to make in the acute heat of the moment. I'm not in a hospital bed, covered in wires plugged into monitors that will reveal if this time, I've managed to cause some irreversible damage to my body.
I'm now a 29 year old woman, who whilst still affected by Bipolar Disorder, whilst still battling the same mental illness I was a decade ago, whilst feeling that forceful pain I have in the past, has learned healthy coping mechanisms, and isn't that tiny, scared little girl she was back then. I'm now a 29 year old woman who, at 19, never imagined a year without a hospital admission, let alone the fast approaching three years since such an admission has taken place. I'm now a 29 year old woman who has no desire to place any more scars on my body that has already been punished so badly. A woman who whilst uncomfortable with meeting strangers for the first time and receiving judgement for something they simply don't understand and for their inability to see past these and get to know who I am, feels proud to see those scars on her arms. They are a constant reminder of how much pain I was in, and how I'm still here, and I'm still fighting. They are my battle wounds. They are my evidence that the pain I've been through is a lot deeper than many others could handle. They are a testament to my courage, my strength and my determination to go on, despite at times feeling as though all hope was lost.
I am now a 29 year old woman who has been given a lot of support over the past 15 years, even from those who don't realise it. I am now a 29 year old woman who can honestly say she has the most amazing family and friends in the world. I'm now a 29 year old woman, who despite still suffering at times, even with getting out of bed proving a struggle some days, believes that life has so much more to offer. A woman who has been questioning her existence and feeling like a failure for not accomplishing most of the things on her "before 30" bucket list.
I now know that I have the power to create my own reality. All I need to do is try and believe it's worth it, believe that I'm worth it. Be determined... Love completely... Trust fully... Believe it's possible... Try... Hope... Create... These things have the potential to change my life. These things have the potential to assist me along my journey, with all it's twists and turns, and at 39, write another post about how much further I've come in the last decade, and how glad I am that I made the decision at the time of writing this very post that I have the power to manifest my dreams into reality, and that I deserve to be happy and fulfilled with my life.
I started writing an application to become a member of the BeyondBlue speakers program, and that's really the driving force that provided me with the inspiration to share this raw, deep and mostly hidden side of me and the battles I still fight each day. I'm willing to share my story with complete strangers and allow them to somehow see they're not alone, and that things can get better, and even if they don't recover completely, they can have good moments as well as bad moments, and those good, positive, loving moments can be enough to pull them through the darkest of their days. Showing them that even if their illness is likely to stay with them, it gets easier to manage, and they'll learn how to cope. Show them that there is nothing like the hug of a niece or nephew (or their own children / partners) to make them smile, inspiring them to be all that they can be, and provide them with the determination they have been lacking to make this possible. If I'm willing to share my story with complete strangers, surely I should be willing to share this story with friends and family. Surely I should be willing to let them know what depression and mental illness feels like, to give them some sort of insight. Surely I should be willing to share my story with the friends that are suffering so that they, like the complete strangers I'm willing to share with, will know they're not alone, and that things can get better.
.........................And in that moment, with those very thoughts and images running through her mind, she slipped the noose from her neck, cut the rope from where it was hanging, lit it on fire and watched it burn, envisioning the fire taking away all negativity and things that were holding her back, the smoke floating away as she let her fears leave with it, allowing her to free her mind and believe that life could be wonderful, and that if you look hard enough, you will always find beauty in this sometimes messed up crazy world. To believe that life was worth it... To believe that she was worth it.
**Please note - the writing about suicide by hanging at the top of this email was only meant as an indication of the pain and anguish within the story. I have not stood on a chair with a noose around my neck, and I am in no danger of self-harm or suicide. It was used as an analogy, and should not be interpreted as a serious threat to my safety.**
This post was originally posted on my Facebook page on 8 February 2015
Sunday, September 28, 2014
That positive moment...
I started with a completely different approach to this post, but have decided to take this in another direction. I've had a wonderfully, content weekend, and I was going to share some things about the realisations of the weekend, and the positive potential they have to take my life in a way that I've always dreamed. But then I changed my mind. I decided to move on, I need to let go of the past. I came to a point this afternoon, where I let go of those that had hurt me, and I forgave them, all of them. Then, as I started the original idea of the post, I realised that the only person I hadn't forgiven was myself, so that's what this post is about... A letter to a younger me, a letter to myself, reminding myself that I did the best I could with the skills I had, and that I am a lot stronger than I gave myself credit for back then.
Dear The Early Adult Me...
Please stop destroying yourself. You will see one day, that life has amazing, beautiful things in store for you. I know it doesn't feel like it now. I know that every single day, you feel like life is never going to be any different. I know that every single day, the pain you feel inside for absolutely no reason, consumes you, and takes over your thoughts. I know that, right now, you can not see any possible way out. I know right now, you think your friends, and your family would be better off without you destroying their lives. One day though, you'll realise that you're an amazing friend, and an amazing sister, daughter, aunty, and anyone would be lucky to have you in their lives. One day, YOU will realise that YOU are a worthwhile person.
Every time you pick up a razor to release that pain inside, and distract you from the intensity of those thoughts, I want you to know that one day, your thoughts won't be consumed like they are now. One day, you'll be able to deal with your problems in a way that isn't physical harming to yourself. And each time you punish yourself for cutting, with another cut, I want you to know that in a decade's time, even though you'll still feel a sense of disappointment when you see the hundreds of marks on your body, you'll also feel a sense of pride. Because although your body will be scarred for life, each scar will remind you that despite the hundreds of times you felt no other way to cope, despite the times you didn't care what the outside of your body looked like, because the inside was even uglier, despite your feelings of worthlessness, each scar will remind you that you have overcome things that most people couldn't even begin to understand.
I want to tell you that, although suicide will always be an option, you're stronger than this. And you can, and will beat this. It may not seem like it now, and taking those boxes of pills may seem like a great idea to escape, to ease the burden you are to others, but one day you'll realise that you are a worthwhile person, and people actually feel lucky to have you in their lives. I want you to know that when you wake up in hospital, for the second, and third, and fourth time, and feel that pang of disappointment in yourself, and see the pain in your family's eyes, wishing you'd succeeded so that they wouldn't feel this, every, single, time, one day you'll see that the pain in their eyes was not a pain caused by you being a burden, it was one of not being able to help you. One of not being able to show you just how amazing you are, and how lucky they feel to have you in their lives.
I know the first visit to the psych ward made you feel so stupid. I know the walk up those stairs was one of the biggest steps you had forced yourself to take at that point in your life. I know you wanted to turn around and run. I know you wanted to go and take the pills you'd planned on taking to get you admitted it in the first place. I know you worried about what people would think and the shame this would put on your family. I just want you to know that I am proud of you. I am so proud of you for taking those steps. Without taking those steps, not just that time, but so many times after, that I've lost count, you saved your life, you saved my life. I know many hospital admissions you felt were unnecessary as no one was able to save you, and when you got out, you'd just do something stupid again to escape the pain, but I'm still proud of you for agreeing to go most times, and not fighting it, when you were forced to stay against your will. And whilst your hopelessness at the time, blinded you from asking and accepting the help you needed, hospital was at least a safe place for an interim period. Hospital will keep you safe, until such time as you can keep yourself safe on your own.
I want you to know that the moment you get that glimmer of hope that encourages you to reach out for help, beyond a safety measure, that glimmer of hope that encourages you to try and change your treatment, from the crisis management perspective to assistance with overcoming and dealing with underlying issues, it won't be easy, but it will be worth it. I want you to know that for every two steps forward, there will be another step backwards. I want you to know that as time goes on those two steps forward, will become three and four steps forward, and the one step back will only come occasionally. And whilst it seems incredibly hard to keep the hope alive when you see yourself get so far, and then feel like you go back to where you were, I want you to know that one day you will succeed.
I want you to remember that even as the years pass you by, there will still be moments where you believe you can't cope anymore. There will be moments where you just want to give up. There will be times where you truly believe that things are as bad as they were in the beginning of your journey, where you will feel frustrated and like you're failing again. There will be set backs and quite a lot of them. But as you mature, as you accept the help you're given, you won't be that same scared sixteen year old, you won't be the eighteen year old taking those first steps up the stairs, or waking up in emergency for the very first time. However, all of those things have equipped you to deal with the set backs you feel at this time.
I want you to know that one day, there will come a day when you don't even need to see a psychologist any more. One day, the problem won't be with your difficulty handling your emotion, and you'll be able to cope with any issues in a healthy way. One day, you won't even fit the criteria for Borderline Personality Disorder any longer. One day, you'll get that Bipolar diagnosis that you've known existed for years. And you'll realise right then, there is hope. If you can overcome a personality disorder, and change the way your thoughts work after a decade of thinking this way, a simple chemical imbalance is unlikely to beat you. If you can go from thinking of self harm and suicide at least once a day for as long as you can remember, to letting it be a fleeting thought from time to time, with no intention to act on it, correcting that brain chemistry in your head should be an easy task.
Mostly though, I want you to know you are worth it. I want you to know that you're amazing. That you have overcome so much. That you're stronger than you give yourself credit for. That people are lucky to have you as their friend, and as a member of their family. I want you to know that whilst there was a time when I would look at my arms, legs and stomach and hate you for what you did to my body, I forgive you. I realise now that the constant labeling you gave yourself of being weak and pathetic was anything but. I want you to know that I wish I could have shown you how things would be for you today. I wish I could show you how happy you could be, how functional your life could be. I am proud of who you will become, and one day, you will be too, even if it doesn't ever seem like it right now. I want to apologise for all you went through. You didn't deserve it. But I also want to THANK YOU, for if you didn't go through what you went through, if you didn't fight for our life so many times, I wouldn't be the person I am today, or worse still wouldn't exist at all. Thank you for shaping me into the amazing 29 year old I am. Thank you for trying, even though you felt like giving up so much of the time. Thank you for being you, and contributing to making me, me. I love you, and you are a very, very worthwhile person.
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