Reading my previous blogs to this one. It’s strange, I feel so much compassion for that woman. For the pain I’ve read over the last few years trying to process a lifetime of trauma. It’s weird where I am now, reflecting. I’m in no way healed, but I now have a luxury I never had before; time. Four months ago, I stopped working, tomorrow will be the anniversary of I think a pivoting moment in my life. Something that has floored me, but also something I’m not ready to write about. Not yet. These blogs take time to write, to feel the rush of emotion that swamps my vision till I spill it onto a page. This disconjointed view of myself and the world I live in. It’s completely terrifying. But also completely invigorating. It’s astounding this feeling sometimes, of writing a script to life you have no idea of the plot. Watching each failure and success with fascination. It’s strange living like this. Because it’s familiar to me, whilst also being so fantastically strange. I haven’t read about this, seen it on TV or in movies. I haven’t heard about it in a song, or heard a friend described it to me. I have read it in research though. This ability to stand observant to my behaviours, emotions and wellbeing, to witness my triumphs and my struggles. It’s like when you spell a word over and over, then it looks so bizarre that when you see the right spelling, it doesn’t make sense. It looks wrong, but it’s right. It is completely discombobulating.
I’ve stopped working for four months now, my livelihood and passion. I haven’t been able to be that woman or my profession. I’ve had to stop, look at my mental health and get help. It has been so difficult; asking for help, admitting how unwell I actually am and most of all; being honest with myself. I am not okay. I haven’t been for years, in fact, I’m not sure if I ever been truly okay. I was seeing a sexual assault counsellor fortnightly, art therapy weekly, physical trauma therapy weekly and doctor visits. Not to mention so many phone calls to a psychiatrist to get into a mental health day program. I am desperately trying to get help and feel better. It’s working, but I know four months is too early to tell. I continue to have lows, the difference is now I have the time to process them. They weren’t joking when they said mental health is for the for middle and upper class. Because I keep wondering what if I didn’t have these supports? This workplace insurance, the money to pay for therapy, the people around me who have time to spare for me? What would happen then? Who would I become? I am so incredibly thankful for this opportunity, time, healing, love, understanding and support. I desperately needed this. But what of those who are not in this position?
How can we help them? Because we have to. To go through this alone, to not get help or support. To not be given time or compassion. It’s disastrous for them and those around them. So how can we as a community alleviate the pressure for those without the opportunity or circumstance to heal as is prescribed by those wearing similar shoes to me?
I refuse to believe that because I CAN work forward, I have to leave others behind.
I’m calling bullshit on that one, straight up and way.
Fuck that mentality.
Flickering Dedications. 