PROUD TO BE ...

Proud to be an expert by experience

trigger warning

I am proud to be not only a Survivor, but a Warrior.

I am a strong, resilient black woman who was once a frightened, confused and abused little girl. I went through trauma at a young age, something which although unspoken happens to many young black girls, and boys.

Added to that the micro-aggressions suffered growing up as a black child in a predominantly white community, facing daily racism, it is not surprising that I suffered from mental health problems.

I never told anyone about the secrets going on in my life, and the pressure of bottling things up caused me to suffer from anxiety and depression from my teenage years, even though it wasn’t explicitly named as such at the time. Words like ‘mental health’ were not used in Caribbean families back in those days. But this is the type of thing that used to go through my mind....

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"Another year, another book and yet again not 1st January. This time I am well and truly messed up. I feel as if my mind is not my own. I am like a child again, but more out of control. Not only has he invaded my body, but also my mind, my feelings and my life… and probably my death if things don’t get better.

Sometimes I feel so desperate. I just want to scream, but I can’t do it loud enough to make anyone hear me. I am so confused and frightened. I can’t work out what is happening to me. Every time I think it’s better I just come crashing down again. Sometimes I really want to fight it, and other times I just want it to come to an end. I feel trapped, like I’m on a treadmill going faster and faster, and I just can’t get off. And even when it’s going slow, I can’t control it. I just want to get off. My head needs to explode, and get rid of all the crap inside it. It’s so full of shit that I’ve lost the meaning of it. I can’t control it anymore, it’s controlling me. It’s shutting me off from the rest of the world. NOBODY can see inside me. My brain hurts. I feel so sad, and I just can’t be bothered. I can’t see the point of it all. I’m scared of everything. I don’t want to see anyone or speak to anyone; I just want to be held safe. I want my smile back, but a real smile that doesn’t tell lies. I want to trust and understand. I just can’t work it out.

Why is it still there? What do I feel? Why did it happen? Why did it happen to me? What did I do to deserve it. It wasn’t so bad really. I’ve got no visible scars, but it has messed me up completely. I can’t cope anymore. I’m scared of everything. I’m scared of living and I’m scared of dying. And I am scared of pain, and I’m guilty because my pain is causing pain. I’m a lump of shit. I’m scared, and I want to go to sleep forever.

I’m frustrated because I can’t remember clearly, and scared in case I do. I’m scared of not knowing what I’m feeling, and not feeling what I should. He has made sure I don’t allow myself to feel. I understand all of that. I know why things happen and why I reacted the way I did. All the sex; all the men, all the drink. I know all that, but it doesn’t make any difference. It still hurts. I am still confused. I still can’t cope. I feel as though I’m falling apart. Like I’m crumbling and cracking and bits of me are falling off and dissolving; like I’ve been battered. I feel as though I’m sitting on a chair in a tunnel, and I can’t move, but I can see and hear everything around me, but I can’t respond. I can’t make them understand what’s happening inside my tunnel where I am being eroded away by things eating into my soul / brain / mind / self / feelings / ME!

I wish I could close my eyes and make it all go away. So much hassle, so much stress. I can’t cope with it. I thought I’d be OK now, but I just keep sliding back. When is it going to end, and who is going to end it? Maybe it has to be me? I can’t trust anyone. They all want a piece of me, or think they know what is inside my head. How dare they? They don’t know anything. I am not a child, or a thing. I’ve got my own feelings. I just wish I could understand what those feelings mean. I can’t remember what it feels like to smile and not tell a lie. I could probably paint a happy face on and carry on as I always have, but I’m so sick of it. But I can’t see the end. It’s so scary. There are so many things in the way I don’t feel safe anymore. I feel threatened. I feel like I’m not going to survive.

Little tiny things affect me so much – even more than they used to. How can I live like this? I want to be blank with a smile on my face. I don’t want to feel, because all I ever feel is pain. I don’t want to go to sleep because all I ever have is nightmares. I wish I could sleep forever, because the nightmares are easier to cope with. They are not real. I am not real. I’m a big phony. I don’t deserve to be here. I want to be someone else, somewhere far away from everyone, and from myself. Yes, I wish I could get away from myself. Every day is the same. There’s no future. The days and months and years will go by and it will all be the same, and then it will be over. I don’t want to feel all that pain. I can almost feel it already waiting for me, waiting to hurt me. I can feel the pain in my brain. I am so unhappy. I NEED TO EXPLODE."

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I finally told my secret to my GP in my early twenties, and it was during this time that everything came to a head. I had a complete breakdown, and had lots of help and treatment, including hospital, counselling, medication, psychotherapy, support groups, Cognitive Behavioural Therapy (CBT) and later finding Faith. Throughout this time I went from feeling shame, fear, rejection, powerlessness to gaining understanding, self-confidence, healing, self-esteem, assertiveness, empowerment, and strength. Just like having a physical illness, like diabetes, I learned that mental illness could be treated, made better and managed, and that my life was still positive and worthwhile.

I manage both conditions now, and rather than just surviving, I strive. Like I said, I am a warrior! I am proud of everything I have achieved and how far I have come, and feel passionate about sharing my recovery journey with others who may be keeping those secrets and hiding those feelings and thoughts they mistakenly think they cannot share. I believe the strongest thing anyone can do is stretch out their hand and reach for help when it is needed.

I now do things to maintain a healthy mind, like socialising, prayer, performance, singing and writing; and the narrative in my writing has changed… I now celebrate who I am.

I celebrate myself because I am here. I have survived so many things in my life. I have survived dangerous things, joyful things, sad things, exciting things and some very, very boring things. I celebrate that I am enough, just as I am, even though it took me nearly a lifetime to realise that fact. I celebrate that there are parts of me that I don’t celebrate very easily, like my body (the middle bit) and my flat bottom, but there are other bits that I love, like my skin, my smile, my breasts and my voice.

I also love my sense of humour and the fact that I am kind and sensitive. I am ME, one of a kind, authentic and nobody else is like me. I am perfectly flawed and don’t always get things right. I make mistakes but I am real. I share myself and what is on my mind and in my heart. I love deeply and I am fascinated by humans and animals and relationships. I am often scared, but I am brave because I still take chances regardless, and live life to the full.