WHAT DISASSOCIATION REALLY FEELS LIKE

I wrote a post about disassociation four years ago (which you can read here) while I was in a psychiatric hospital but I think it’s a little out of date and there’s been A LOT of new readers since then who probably won’t be going back through all of the 802 posts on I’m NOT Disordered! I also experienced an episode of disassociation recently when I ran away from hospital and it has been the inspiration for this post.


I had been taken to A&E (by Ambulance) after self-harming and was told I’d need stitches but before they had the chance to do them, I ran away. The Police found me on a road in a nearby town and I had no clue how I’d gotten there. The Police called an Ambulance to take me back to Hospital and I was sitting on a seat in the back of it with the Paramedic and she asked how I’d come to end up where I was found and I told her I had no clue. We laughed that it was probably safe to say I hadn’t been kidnapped and let go but I knew that it was actually serious. I explained that I used to disassociate a lot and she asked what had brought it on and I told her I had been abused. She said I didn’t have to talk about it, but I explained that I wanted her to understand – or at least have a better understanding – why these things were happening. And when I told her how scary it was, she said something wrong; she said, “it must be hard because you can control your self-harm, but you can’t control what you do when you disassociate.” It wasn’t her fault that she got it wrong; mental health is such a hard-to-understand topic that it tends to only happen when you, yourself, experience it. But rather than react the way I used to – by shouting at her and telling her she knew nothing. I corrected her “it’s not about control; it’s about not being conscious of it happening.” She understood and agreed but no matter how I tried to explain it in the back of that ambulance, how could she possibly understand something that even I struggle to get my head around?! But maybe a blog post would be enough of an opportunity to explain this and to explain it to as many people as possible?

You CAN Get Through Reporting Your Trauma

Note: This post discusses aspects of sexual abuse and rape; some parts may be triggering or upsetting.

Some photography credits to RJ Photography - with all editing done by me via Moldiv

The reason I wrote this post is to illustrate that you can overcome the fear and tell someone - anyone, about what has happened to you. And even if you're battling against the fear that no one will believe you or that nothing will be done - that the person will get away with it; then know that even if that happens you can and will still get through it. 

As is typical in a lot of sexual abuse stories, one of my main reasons to go for three years before disclosing it to anyone; was the fear - conviction, almost - that I wouldn't be believed.

In the late part of 2009 I was in a Psychiatric Intensive Care Unit (PICU), and after having just come out of the seclusion room that I had been restrained and sedated in, I was sat in a room with a nurse; about to tell her my deepest, darkest secret. Immediately after returning to the female part of the PICU I had sat with a woman - an amazing, special, and kind woman who I'm forever thankful I had the chance to meet; in the walled outdoor area and she was asking if I was ok and what'd happened because she was in the next room to mine and had heard the emergency assistance alarms and other commotion.
She told me some of her own trauma story, (which hadn't been disclosed until that moment) and how she thought that if she'd reported it things mightn't have got so bad; and she might not be in the position she is, feeling that it was too late now. Telling people now wouldn't make a difference. "Nothing, could make a difference," she said. And then she told me a, LOT of her mental health story. The things she'd done. The things Services had done. The things Services hadn't done. The Hospitals she'd been in. The treatments she'd had, and the amount of years this has all been going on for.

Inadequate, Waves, & Mindfulness

For a few weeks now- maybe just over a month, I've been having a tough time; the kind where if someone were to ask what was wrong, I wouldn't have an answer. Now though, I've realized that it's been millions of different things that all seem to be happening either one after the other or a few at the same time. You know in that movie 'Blue Crush'? And it's the bit when she's fallen off her board and into the sea but as soon as she gets to the surface for air, another wave comes rolling over her and she's pushed back underwater. That's been my past few weeks.
But it's only recently that I've realized, that the majority of them have been caused by the fact that I'm not good enough. Or rather, that's what I've surmised from them.

The biggest 'wave' has been this blog. Firstly, just saying that I'm NOT Disordered has played some role in my recent struggles is hard. And this is part of the problem too. You know when something happens and you have your thoughts and opinions on it (which are sad), but then you feel even sadder for having those thoughts and opinions? Well, I've been struggling with (in short) the fact that I haven't gotten many blog posts up for quite a while; but then I struggle with the thought that I'm NOT Disordered might be contributing to this bad spell. My blog has never been anything but positive, to my life; it's been an outlet for the good, the bad, and the rants, and it's the reason that I'm offered so many amazing opportunities beyond blogging. In my refusal to accept that my blog could now be having a massively negative affect, I've at least been able to recognize that it isn't really my blog doing this; it's me. I put too much pressure on myself - stressing that I'm not publishing many posts, and worrying that this'll mean I'll lose readers and subsequently, won't be offered opportunities as others will think less of me. Then I feel bad at the thought that I'm letting people down, disappointing them, and I convince myself that I'm undeserving of the success of I'm NOT Disordered and in meetings I just sit there thinking that I'm such a fraud and that I have no right to be sat there.
And with all of this going round and round in my head, I start to wonder if there's a deeper reason for the lack of posts; 'is this the end of I'm NOT Disordered?' 'Am I finished being a Blogger?'
No. I think I would know if it was finished, and if I was. And I definitely wouldn't be stressing and struggling about it all so much if I didn't care and wasn't determined to make changes.
I do care. And I am determined.
 How I'm Coping 
One massive development in my coping skills during these recent struggles, has been that I'm now using 'Mindfulness'! For anyone who hasn't been here from the beginning, 'Mindfulness' is a skill we were taught in Hospital through Dialectical Behaviour Therapy; and it was the one that I didn't get along with! My argument was that I'd spent the past five years (I was in Hospital from 2012 and the abuse lasted until 2007) surviving by keeping out of the moment and I was convinced that using Mindfulness skills would kill me. That allowing myself to feel everything I felt in one moment and to just be in that moment, would make me want to die. I'd rather kill myself.
The Hospital staff explained that a huge influence on this was that during the abuse - the actual incidents; I would disassociate and often remembered the incidents from the view of floating on the ceiling and just watching on. And so, I had convinced myself that this was how I'd gotten through those days and was now (understandably I hope) reluctant to do the exact opposite.
My relationship with 'Mindfulness' was one where if you mentioned to the Hospital staff that I've actually now used this skill, they wouldn't believe you. For those staff who do read my blog - I really did do it! And it really did help! There was so many thoughts whizzing around in my head that selecting one and just sitting with it, whilst the rest faded away, helped me to process the thought and decide what to do about it.

How To Tell People You Hallucinate

Firstly, I just want to put it out there that I'm in no way telling you to tell anyone and everyone this very personal aspect of life. Secondly, you must be ready to tell someone, and this will take many personal, individual rational. And thirdly, the personal and individual decision of who you tell, is also something that is completely within your control and if you ever feel it is not, if you feel pressured tell a particular person, then don't. It will take a lot out of you to disclose these things and you need it to feel worthwhile after doing so. For example, if your having a mini meltdown in public and a random, Good Samaritan asks what's up, you could probably get around the incident without having to admit to hearing voices. In contrast, if you have a carer or close family member then it might help them better understand and support you if they're aware of what you're experiencing. Worthwhile.
I think the best way to explain something that few people experience is by comparing it to something others are more likely to have experienced so that they are more empathetic to your situation and how you may or may not be coping.
To explain auditory hallucinations (for me, this means voices) I have used the comparison of listening to music through headphones. The noise is coming through your ears and feels as though it's filling up your head. You can hear it but no one else can and sometimes it's so loud you worry others will hear. I experienced hearing voices for three years (six, now in total) before the visual hallucinations began, so I had a long time of professionals being unable to understand what I was going through. The main problem with this, is that when you self-harm or attempt suicide because of this thing they don't understand and have no empathy for, it's almost understandable to be met with ignorance and a bad attitude. No excuse but almost understandable.
Visual hallucinations, are something I've experienced for the past three years and I've personally found them to be something more widely comprehended because how many people do you hear saying 'oh I thought I saw something out the corner of my eye'? For many people, this is what they liken a visual hallucination to. Not those who experience such hallucinations though. Mostly those who have someone tell them they're hallucinating and they say 'oh this time I thought I saw something but looked again and there was nothing there, is it like that?' No, it is not. Imagine someone asking about your childhood and you tell them how you had a family dog and have lots of fun memories with it. Your family tell you there was never a dog. You remember playing in a paddling pool with it, taking it for muddy walks in fields... But it was never there. It's strange and at first you're confused and are desperate for proof that it hadn't been there. And then the acceptance sets in. And with the acceptance that something you thought was there, wasn't really, you begin to question all of your childhood memories. Or even the dog that you currently own, does he exist? Can everyone see him?! This, is how I'd help someone to understand a visual hallucination.
I've only experienced other hallucinations a handful of times so I can't advise on these but I hope this post might have inspired other ideas of how to help those who care understand what you're going through.

"I came to accept this was the path chosen for me" - A guest blog by Jonny Benjamin

I was ten years old when I first heard a voice in my head. It told me it was an angel. At first, I quite liked it being there. It was more like a companion, telling me such things as "don't forget to do your English essay; it's due tomorrow."

Around the same time, I first saw the film 'The Truman Show.' My friend who I watched it with suggested that I might possibly be in my own version of the film. I laughed off the absurdity of the idea, but in my mind a seed had been planted. What if I was on my own TV reality show without my knowledge? It was possible. It happened to Truman Burbank; it could happen to me.
And so, for the next decade I believed I was being watched by cameras wherever I went. I also thought that my family and friends were actors, playing their parts in a world fabricated around me.
Like the voice I was hearing, I came to accept that this was the path chosen for me, and that there was little I could do to change that. I may as well embrace it. But when I turned 16, I started developing severely low moods. They would last for days and weeks on end, and I spent hours in my room crying at times. I was embarrassed, ashamed and didn't know how to articulate my feelings to anyone. I kept silent about it. It was at this point that the voice I was hearing changed too, becoming sinister and tormenting. I now believed I was being possessed by the devil. It issued me challenges like: "your parents are going to die in a car crash unless you walk up and down the stairs three times." I started to consider suicide. One day I tried to strangle myself in the school toilets. Life had become unbearable and I was unable to cope.
Despite all of this, I probably seemed like a typical teenager to those around me. In fact, I was a bit of a swot at school; achieving really high grades in my GCSEs. One friend did notice a difference in my behaviour though, and confronted me about it. I told him about the incident in the school toilets and he forced me to see my GP. Over the next few years I saw various GPs and tried courses of anti-depressants. I always played down the true state of my mind. I was terrified I would end up in an institution like Claymore Hospital in the film 'Girl, Interrupted' if I did. I was also convinced that this would all just pass. At 18 I left my home in North London to go to drama school in Manchester; I was sure that it was the change I needed to put everything right. It only took a few days though, before I fell back in to a cycle of depression. This time, it hit harder than ever before; but I was determined to carry on and achieve my degree. I treasured my time at drama school; every day it allowed me to escape my reality by becoming someone else. Outside of it though, I was really struggling: drinking heavily, self-harming and alienating myself more and more from people around me.
At the age of 20 I had a breakdown. It was a freezing cold night in late November 2007 when I left my house feeling totally out of control. I went onto a dual carriageway and walked down it, shouting and screaming at the cars driving past. It felt like my mind and body were being controlled by the devil. I was in psychosis and needed serious help. I collapsed on the carriageway and was taken to A&E. It would be another few weeks though before I was admitted to a psychiatric unit and given a diagnosis of Schizoaffective Disorder; a combination of Schizophrenia and Bipolar. I found it impossible to come to terms with; it seemed like I'd been handed a life sentence. There was also the issue of my sexuality, which I refused to talk about whenever it came up in therapy. I couldn't bring myself to admit I was gay; coming from a Jewish background, I was sure that my family would disown me.
A month into my stay, having given up hope of getting better, I ran away from hospital, intending to take my life. I was apprehended though by a passing stranger who stopped me with his word: "I've been where you are. I got through it, I know you can too." I will never forget the weight of these words and the impact they had in me. For the first time in so long, I could see through the darkness that had brought me to this moment. I decided not to go through with my actions and returned to hospital.
Recovery was slow and gradual, but from my brief meeting with the passing stranger, I had a sense that it was possible to overcome my illness. I was also able to accept my sexuality as well, thanks to a wonderful nurse who sat with me every day, telling me how happy she was that her son had come out. Her words of love and pride prompted me to do the same.
It's taken a number of years, but I can finally say I have learnt how to manage my condition. I'm now very open about my mental health; creating a YouTube channel that has been watched by hundreds of thousands of people and receiving praise from the likes of Stephen Fry. I've also written a book of poetry and presented a BBC3 documentary about living with mental illness. I want to pass on the message of hope to others. Overcoming any adversity in life is possible.

"My arms have scars but I've never needed stitches"

TW: this post discusses self-harm

Last night, was a hard night. 

The past three or so weeks, I've had three - what the professionals deem to be - 'psychotic episodes'. This is where I have strange thoughts. I can't remember the first episode, but on the second I had developed a belief that if I'm right-handed then that must mean that something is wrong with my left arm. And so, I bashed it with a hammer in the hope that needing an x-ray would result in them finding out what was wrong and getting rid of it. It didn't turn out that way; I ended up with very bad bruising and a sling! 

Last night I thought 'if it's not my left arm then maybe it is my right arm' and believed I needed to bash or cut a poison out of it. During these episodes, this thinking makes total sense and I feel proud to be the first person to realise these things. In the cold light of day, my thinking still makes sense but I now know it's irrational and unpracticle. 

Anyhow, I bashed my arm with a hammer and then I opened the draw of sharps that I'd been saving. None of the sharps were intentionally made; they were all from accidentally breaking various things, such as a photoframe, a china decoration, a glass coster and a champagne glass. When I'd broken these things, my first thought had been 'I better keep these pieces; they might come in useful.' And I've had these sharps for a while, but never used them. Last night, I picked a piece of glass from the photoframe and scratched at my arm. It was literally a scratch similar to what my kitten could do. So I selected another piece and cut. The blood spurted this time. I got such a shock! And repeated 'shit' a number of times before realising that the blood was literally dripping out of me and creating a puddle.

And this is the point where the title of this post comes in... Yes, I've self-harmed through cutting before, but not like this. The worst I've ever done have need steri-strips. Even though I wasn't seasoned in the subject, even I could tell that I was going to need stitches. So I went into the walk-in centre and they used some steri-strips which didn't work, so they used some bigger, wider ones and it held for a little then bled through and opened back up. So, I was sent to A&E in our new hospital. Two doctors checked out my wound and said that because of how wide it was and where it was on my shoulder I needed stitches. Five stitches to put me back together again.

But will I ever feel 'whole'?

I was so angry at myself because that really hadn't been my intention! I wasn't really trying to cut. Not like that.

Times like these, I do lose sight of hope. I do worry that this is me going backwards. I do worry it's all going to start again and be as bad as it was before the hospital in Bradford. And I've had this worry several times in the eight months that I've been an outpatient but it's amounted to nothing. The moment in which I self-harmed, passes. And so does the fear of losing sight of recovery. And once again I'm positive, optimistic and determined. It's just... Everytime this happens, I kind of feel like there's a blemish against my name in recovery. As though it's marked by such an incident. And as the days and eventually weeks go by in which I don't self-harm, and I get through difficult moments and have achievements; that mark is being rubbed away and I'm all shiny and new again. And right now, sat here with terrible bruising down the length of my arm that gives me a permanent pain, and an ache with a dressing covers five stitches, I can't wait to be shiny and new again.

PS. When I returned home from hospital at 5am and cleaned all of the blood that went right through my home, I disposed of all of the sharps, because they will NEVER be useful.

Overdosing, Running & Struggling

On Sunday, I had the best intentions. I thought, 'I'll take myself to A&E, I'll sit and have the treatment, and I'll come home the next day."

I think that the admissions when I have these good intentions, tend to be the ones that end up being the worst! Irony.

In all honesty, this is another overdose and admission that I can't properly remember; partly due to the fact I disassociated for a lot of it, and party due to all of the medication they gave me in hospital!

Basics are that I took lots of paracetamol over about 24-26 hours, and took the bus to one of our local A&Es. I booked myself in, waited to be triaged and waited to be called through to majors. I was put into a room as there were no beds and they attempted to take blood tests but once again, my veins weren't playing ball. And this is where it gets hazy; for some reason I cut myself and then for some other reason I ran off. I remember telling a Doctor that I was really struggling to it there and showed him the cuts and he said 'oh shit!' And then I remember standing at the bus stop and two security from hospital coming and I was praying and praying that the bus would hurry up because they were telling me that they'd called the Police but I knew they couldn't physically do anything as I was outside of the Hospital grounds, and then my bus came! I was on it for a little while and it occurred to me that the security would tell the police what bus I'd got on and they'd likely assume I was going to it's final destination; so I got off early. I didn't know where I was or where I was going or what I was going to do. I decided to just begin walking and to stay off the main roads and out of the street lights. I remember coming across a bush and thinking that I could have a lie down in it (it was now stupid o'clock in the morning) and keep a watch on the roads for passing police cars. Something that helped me process my thoughts and come to the conclusion that I'd ring the non-emergency number and tell them where I was, was vlogging. I like to think that my blog AND vlogs gives others some insight into areas in which they may have none e.g. I filmed inside the psychiatric hospital when I was last sectioned. So, I vlogged as I was walking about. 

The Police took me back to A&E and the rest is pretty blurry other than me refusing to have the necessary life-saving treatment, a Doctor being sent in with cookies and juice to convince me to accept it, the police changing three times until I had disgraceful stigma-holding officers sat with me and me trying to make a run for it. In the end, I found out that the horrible police would leave if I had the treatment so I told a nurse that I would accept it and oh my gosh they couldn't have acted any quicker! I found out that they'd just gotten permission from my Mum to put me to sleep so lucky escape, I guess. AND, once the officers has scrounged some food and brews from the ward, (now who's the waste of services and time?!) they left.

From the time when the Police returned me to A&E until my next memory, I was give several doses of Diazepam so it's all a bit hazy but I remember that the line in my arm that they were using for the treatment was hurting but they were adamant it was working and refused to take it out, so I took it out. And then the anaesthetists came along with hospital security but I told them that I'd let them put another line in so security left and I was given more diazepam. I remember lying there and feeling them lying sheets over my arm and when I looked I saw a tray with their equipment in and a pair of scissors and I asked what the scissors were four and was told they were going to stitch the line in place. Then I got upset that they'd been sneaky about it and weren't going to tell me they were doing that. I agreed to co-operate if they agreed not to put stitches in. I later found out that the line they'd put in was an arterial one but they'd put it in a vein and that they were usually stitched into place.
I spent the rest of the day sleeping and distracting myself to make the time away from Dolly bearable. When it got to night-time, I was struggling again and I took myself for a little wander around the Hospital before coming back to the ward in tears and being given yet more sedatives. 
My treatment finally finished at 1pm on Tuesday and after a quick mental health assessment and blood tests I was free to go! 
Looking back, I regret overdosing and I regret running off. I didn't benefit from it in any way. In the past overdosing silenced the voices temporarily but there was no real rationale behind this overdose. It just... Happened. It was horrible being treat like shit by the Police. It was horrible being stabbed at with needles by Doctors. It was horrible barely being able to stay awake on Wednesday with the culmative affect of all of the Diazepam. It was horrible being away from Dolly and my home for so long. It was horrible upsetting the people I love by what I did.
Since being discharged, I've used the time to think about why I'm struggling so much at the minute and I think it's the trauma. That being back in the area where it happened, and discussing it so much has brought it back to the surface and made it raw again. 

I've uploaded my vlogs from this overdose and admission, you can watch it here: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCxkWBmMgubKY3zfqH_VkZJg 


P.S. I have also filmed my first proper sit-down and talk video (TW) for my YouTube channel: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GI7ndU3KDcw

Detrimental Disassociation

[Note: Didn't mean to make my last two post titles alliteration; I'm naturally cool like that]


I know there have been previous posts where I have tried to describe how it feels to disassociate. I have usually likened it to if you were sat focused on something on your laptop and suddenly someone was saying 'what do you think?' and you realise they've been talking to you that entire time. In actual fact, that's probably similar to a manageable disassociation that I've experienced. For me, I have different stages of disassociation, I'm unsure if that's the same for others...
So, I've attempted to help the average lay-person who I'd imagine to read this blog, to understand the way I experience what I'd deem to be the an early stage of disassociation; now I'd like to tell you about the worst stage.
Have you ever been lost?
Have you ever gone somewhere new and not known how to get to your hotel? Or the train station? Or wherever you needed to get to?
It's kind of like that. Not in terms of seriousness or anything like that; it's a similar feeling. Not knowing. Except it's more extreme. To think about it; it's not so much about not knowing where I am - it's not understanding why I am where I am.
To have the ability to remember a horrible life event, a time in your life that was horrific, a time when you were hurt or upset... That's horrible. And it's natural to try and avoid remembering such a thing. When that thing has resulted in you being diagnosed with a mental health disorder. When the horrible memory makes you want to die, you're not allowed to avoid remembering it. People- Professionals refuse to allow you to because of their conviction that recovery and happiness and safety, come in the shape of talking. Talking through your bad memories. Telling others every little detail about them. In the hope that it'll make them less powerful. That you suddenly won't want to kill yourself because the mere act of telling someone about the abuse you suffered somehow reduces it's affect on you. It's a nice thought.
The other thing that stops your ability to avoid the memory; is your body. That sounds strange. But I think that this is perhaps the crux of disassociation. It all gets confusing when you can smell his aftershave. You can feel his touch. But you're sat watching TV in your empty home. When it feels like every single cell in your body is trying to take you back to that time, that place, that moment, and your brain is screaming 'no! Don't make me! I can't go through that again.'
That, is disassociation. That is why if I notice I'm in a lower stage of it, I take my anti-psychotic medication and hope it doesn't get worse.
Story of my life.



P.s. I toyed with whether it was a good idea to write this post when I'm actually struggling but I decided that it would have a more accurate impact. I hope I was right. Otherwise it would be like asking someone how bad their migraines get when they've just took some pain relief and can happily sit in a lit room.