So, in huge contrast to my openness and regular content online, my
Mum is actually very private and rarely uses social media; and this has made
wanting to write a blog post for her Birthday very challenging! After trying a
few different angles and themes for this post, I finally came across
inspiration for it whilst just watching an Instagram post that used Erica
Padilla’s song ‘By the Way’ as background music. The lyrics were so perfect for
my thoughts, feelings, and memories with my Mum that I thought I’d use them to
influence this piece…
It’s too much that I can't
explain, because you've done so much for me
The second biggest difficulty in writing
this blog post, was the realisation that there are just not enough words with
enough power, meaning, and importance, to really thank my Mum for everything
that she’s done for me.
As a Blogger – with my huge passion being about writing – I find it frustrating when I feel as though I can’t explain things or get across my thoughts properly. I think that this stems from the struggle I faced when my mental health first deteriorated, and I began hearing voices before making my first suicide attempt in 2009. I mean, I had already had to stop writing when the abuse began because I was so afraid that my natural affinity for it would lead me to using it as an outlet; and for so many reasons, no one could know what was happening to me. So, without that as a coping strategy, and my fear of what would happen if I told someone – anyone – that I was hallucinating, I kept quiet about that too.
All that silence and energy spent
maintaining it inevitably tired out and when I found myself sectioned under the
Mental Health Act and in a psychiatric hospital, I felt backed into a corner.
As though I was left with no choice but to open up and tell the professionals
what was going on in my head; because I knew that if I didn’t, things weren’t
going to get better, and I’d end up stuck in that horrible hospital. I was
pleasantly surprised to find that when I had this realisation, my almost
natural instinct was to pick up a pen and notebook again!
I guess that having this experience of
using writing in a therapeutic way, should have meant that becoming a Blogger
was kind of a natural progression. Inevitable. And whilst – nine years later – I’m
forever being surprised by my blog’s achievements; it does feel like I’ve found
my purpose in life. Like there’s a reason why I’m here. And that notion, is so
reassuring and comforting that it’s definitely helped with the suicide thoughts
and feelings.
But, those nine years of
blogging – of managing to put my thoughts, feelings, and experiences into
words; have really added to my frustrations of feeling that no words are good
enough to thank my Mum for all that she is and all that she does (because her support
doesn’t end just because I’m not in the psychiatric hospital!). Being a
look-on-the-bright-side type of person though, means that I want to take that
frustration and see a positive in it… So, I figured that the fact I manage to
find words for absolutely everything in my life, really illustrates just how incredible
and monumental my gratitude and appreciation for my Mum really is.
Pull me out of my darkest
place, couldn't let myself believe
Don't know how you could see
when I was at my low
When my mental health first deteriorated and the
auditory hallucinations started, one huge reason for me not telling anyone, was
the conviction that no one could help. No one could make a difference. No one
in the world could really appreciate what was happening. And no one would know
how to stop it.
I think a huge part of this very little faith in
those around me, was mostly caused from the abuse. I think it’s from the months
of me doing all that I felt capable of to tell someone what was happening to me.
I mean, my abuser told me time and time again that there was nothing anyone who
could stop him and that if I did tell anyone, they wouldn’t care anyway. And
being told that numerous times a day for months? It breaks you down. It leaves
you doubting all of the relationships in your life because you find yourself
questioning the trust you have in another person and the love that they claim
to hold for you.
And that’s what happened with my Mum – I fought with
the notions that either, I’d tell her, and she’d believe me and march down to
his place of work and throttle him(!), or I’d tell her, and she wouldn’t
believe me. Either way it felt like a loss. And when there was a meeting at his
place of work and I ran out crying and he was left in the office with my Mum
and started getting all emotional, my Mum thought he was just invested in my
wellbeing. Now, she believes he was panicking that I was about to tell someone
what he’d been doing. But at the time, it was like a punch in my heart. Like it
had shattered a bit and the rest of it just wasn’t stable anymore and one more
punch could break me completely. So, I didn’t tell my Mum.
And looking back? Of course, I can see that my Mum
would’ve believed every word and of course I know she wouldn’t have considered
him worth her getting into trouble for hurting him! But that’s how influential
his words were. And it actually still angers me to think that he had the power
to change my relationship with my Mum so dramatically. That he almost ruined
everything.
In hindsight? Well, I still recognise why I felt so
hopeless in speaking up, but I can also see that even if I thought they
couldn’t make a difference, I should’ve given others the chance and the
opportunity to help me. I think that at the time though, my thought was: ‘what
if I confide in them, they can’t help me, and I end up worse off?!’ And the
fear that would destroy me, meant it was a risk I wasn’t willing to take.
In my silence, there was no one to ‘pull me out of my
darkest place,’ and it wasn’t until I was sat in a psychiatric hospital, two
suicide attempts later, noticing that I was the youngest person on the ward and
realising that if I didn’t speak up now, that wouldn’t be true for much longer;
that I finally started talking about the abuse. And I can honestly say that I
don’t regret that at all. I know some people will think I’m saying that for
‘show’ and because if I had regretted it then I have no right to encourage
others to report abuse… But I think that the one time I sort of wished that I
hadn’t said anything was during the Police interviews and giving my statement. It
was difficult, and it seemed to require a lot of energy and strength. Energy
that felt sucked out of me to the point where I didn’t know how I was managing
to hold myself upright as I left the Police station.
Ultimately, though, finally reporting the abuse felt
like a weight was lifted. And when my Mum began to put the pieces together –
the clues that the abuse had been happening – I felt relieved and comforted in
the knowledge that she believed me and that, actually, in her trying to make
sense of everything – it also helped me to better understand things too. But
what’s more; knowing what had happened also gave her the opportunity to help
and support me in ways that she hadn’t been able to – as hard as she had still tried
despite that absence of information/details!
My Mum recognised some things in me that most
‘experts’ or ‘professionals’ in my care either completely missed or blatantly
ignored. She knew me inside and out. Even when I didn’t. Even when I was in
‘the tunnel’ (as my Mum named it) and couldn’t see much further beyond whatever
I was about to do to hurt myself. Even then, she knew. But when I was really
poorly with my mental health, I didn’t find her insight helpful. I saw it as an
absolute hinderance. A block to my ability to self-harm or attempt suicide. I
was never grateful for all the times she saved my life (in numerous ways and on
numerous occasions) until I actually wanted it to be saved. Irony is, I would
have never gotten to that point had my Mum not saved me.
And I wanted you to know that
Either way, you saved me
